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:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Grigori Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova, David Hollander, Yuna Hollander, Galina Molchalina, Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Rose Landry

Additional Tags:

Grigori Rozanov's A+ Parenting, how's that not a tag yet?, Period-Typical Homophobia, Fluff and Smut, Panic Attacks, I mean it's Shane Hollander what did you expect?, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Physical Abuse, by Ilya's father ofc, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Internalized Homophobia, POV Alternating, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Light Dom/sub, Consent King Ilya Rozanov, Brokeback Mountain References, Cuddling & Snuggling

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Finding Family

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-02 Completed: 2026-04-16 Words: 40,018 Chapters: 25/25

I Keep You Safe

Summary

How did he let this happen?

Shane's not sure.

One moment, he was on the gym floor not staring at Rozanov's gorgeous sweaty body. Then Shane was standing up, but his legs were weak for some god forsaken reason and Rozanov was there, just an arm around his waist to keep him upright, and now...

Well.

Now Shane's on his knees on the floor of Ilya Rozanov's shower.

 

Or

Heated Rivalry, but the boys are forced to have an honest conversation around 8 years earlier than they do in canon.

Notes

Chapter 1: June 2009

This is a bad idea. A terrible, no good at all, very bad, dangerous idea.

This is quite possibly the worst idea Shane’s ever had.

Rozanov’s hand comes to rest on Shane’s hair and Shane falls forward, taking Rozanov’s dick deeper into his mouth. He can’t help moaning at the sensation of the hard cock hitting his throat, which Rozanov seems to appreciate, if the breathless Russian cursing is anything to go by.

Shane’s nearly gagging. He’s going to die of asphyxiation while choking on his rival’s cock and even his parents are going to be too embarrassed to show up at his funeral. 

He sucks harder, drool leaking out the corners of his mouth.

How did he let this happen?

Shane’s not sure.

One moment, he was on the gym floor not staring at Rozanov’s gorgeous sweaty body. Then Shane was standing up, but his legs were weak for some god forsaken reason and Rozanov was there, just an arm around his waist to keep him upright, and now…

Well.

Now Shane’s on his knees on the floor of Rozanov’s shower.

And he’s so hard he feels like he’s gonna burst. 

Fuck.

Surely that’s impossible, right? There’s no way he can come from sucking dick alone. And, hypothetically, if that was possible, then Shane would certainly not be able to come from sucking Rozanov’s dick. Absolutely not.

He pulls back for no reason at all, but it’s okay because Rozanov’s there, pulling Shane up with one hand while frantically stroking himself with the other. Rozanov’s kissing him and Shane’s melting into it, holy shit it feels so good.

Has kissing ever felt this good before?

Shane doesn’t think so. 

Rozanov must know some secret Russian kissing technique that makes anyone turn to putty in his hands. That’s the only plausible explanation. Shane should be paying more attention to it, should be taking notes in order to improve his own skills. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to focus on that at the moment.

Suddenly, Rozanov breaks their kiss and Shane doesn’t recognize the sound out of his own mouth as he chases after the other man’s lips. But Rozanov has his head thrown back against the tiles and his eyes screwed shut and Shane realizes what’s happening just in time to look down and see cum shooting out of Rozanov’s cock.

It’s… beautiful. It’s the most beautiful thing Shane has ever seen.

What the actual fuck? 

Shane should not be thinking things like that. He has a girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. Or, like, he doesn’t right now, but he did until last week! And the only reason they broke up was for Shane to cut out distractions while training up for the draft.

Shane likes girls. He liked Natalie. They even slept together a few times. They hadn’t gotten around to fucking yet, but only bacause they’d agreed that it was best not to rush into it. She had blown him and it was nice. He’d tried to return that favour, but it was… unpleasant. There’s a learning curve to it, he hears. He’d have gotten the hang of it if given enough time.

But that’s beside the point. Shane is straight, is the point.

He’s just curious, as Rozanov said. It’s okay to be curious, isn’t it? Doesn’t make him gay or anything. Just… experimenting. And once this experiment is over, he’ll find another girlfriend. Maybe even a girlfriend he’ll enjoy eating out.

The unwelcome thought of pussy is driven out of his mind by the feeling of Rozanov’s lips pressing onto his. Rozanov’s licking into his mouth and Shane’s brain fills with static. He doesn’t register being manhandled or his back being pressed to the shower wall. Doesn’t notice Rozanov falling to his knees. Not until Rozanov’s lips wrap around his cock and—

“Holy shit, I’mma come.” Shane blurts out.

But Rozanov doesn’t pull away, not even when Shane desperately shoves at him. Instead, he leans forward, taking Shane in almost to the hilt and sucking hard.

Shane’s orgasm is so strong, he nearly blacks out. He’s surprised to find he’s still standing when he opens his eyes again, after what feels like an eternity. He supposes he has the wall to thank for that. 

Looking down, Shane finds Rozanov staring back up at him, his lips still stretched around Shane’s softening dick. It’s so hot, Shane wants to die a little bit. As if that’s not enough, Rozanov suckles gently as he pulls back. All while maintaining eye contact.

“Rozanov.” Shane whimpers. He can’t get hard again, he doesn’t think. He’s never gone twice in a day, let alone in an hour. But with the way Rozanov’s looking at him right now, he thinks he just might.

What the fuck is even happening anymore?

With all the grace of a ballet dancer and not a 200 pound hockey player, Ilya Rozanov rises to his feet. He crowds Shane against the wall again, kissing him deeply. He tastes different than their last kiss and it confuses Shane for a moment before it hits him. That’s his taste. That’s the taste of Shane’s cum that Rozanov swallowed without a second thought.

Holy fucking shit.

Shane moans loudly as he wraps his arms around Rozanov’s shoulders and pulls him closer. And yup, that’s Shane’s dick hardening again where it’s pressed against Rozanov’s hip. He’s not sure he even got fully soft to begin with. And Rozanov’s not far behind. Oh god, will Shane get to suck him again?

He’s about to get back on his knees when he hears loud banging at the door.

Fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuck.

Shane’s life is over. 

What the ever-living fuck was he thinking?

Why in the name of fuck did he think for a moment that this was something he gets to have?

Fucking stupid is what he is.

He hasn’t even played one game in the NHL yet and he’s already about to be kicked out.

Reckless. He should have known better. He had known better. And yet, here he is, caught fully erect in the shower with his fucking rival.

Rozanov yells something in Russian, but Shane can barely hear it over the wool in his ears. 

His mom’s going to be so disappointed. They had plans. Big plans. He was going to be a Voyageur! He got drafted today.

“Hollander.” Rozanov’s voice is sharp enough to pierce through Shane’s panic, especially when he grabs onto Shane’s jaw and moves his head until their eyes meet. Rozanov’s eyes are wide with fear as well, but his voice is steady and his expression is weirdly calm.

When he takes a deep breath, Shane finds himself copying the action on instinct.

“I keep you safe.” Rozanov vows quietly. “Promise.” 

Shane blinks. Then blinks again. After a long moment, he nods. He’s not sure why he trusts Rozanov. He probably shouldn’t. This has ‘bad idea’ written all over it. But it’s not exactly like he has any bright ideas of his own right now, so when Rozanov takes his hand and leads him out of the shower, Shane goes easily.

Rozanov parks him just behind the open door, so that even if people look into the bathroom, it will appear empty.

“Be quiet.” Rozanov instructs softly. “I come back.”

Shane nods again. He watches wordlessly as Rozanov shuts off the shower and wraps a towel around his waist.

Before he leaves the bathroom, Rozanov stops for a moment in front of Shane. He kisses Shane’s hair in a gesture that should feel condescending but all Shane registers from it is warmth and reassurance. When he pulls back, Rozanov brings a finger over his lips as if to say ‘shush’.

Shane shoves his arm into his mouth and bites into it to muffle any involuntary sounds.

“Good.” Rozanov whispers.

And then he’s gone.

Shane doesn’t as much as breathe as he hears the room door open and Rozanov greet whoever’s at the other side.

Chapter 2: The Same Night

Chapter Notes

Ilya takes a deep breath to center himself before opening the door. 

“Father.” He greets steadily, because who else would be banging at his door at fuck o’clock in the morning?

Grigori Rozanov walks in like he owns the place. “Do you have a girl in here?” he demands, looking around the room before shifting his focus to the open bathroom door.

From out here, the bathroom seems empty, but obviously if Grigori decides to walk in there Hollander will have nowhere to hide. 

But Ilya’s been dealing with his father’s temper his whole life and he knows exactly what he needs to do to distract Grigori’s rage from someone less deserving of it (his mother, his brother, Polina or, in this case, Hollander). “A girl?” He scoffs loudly. “It’s 3 in the fucking morning and we’re in an unkown city, father. Where would I possibly find a girl?”

Like clockwork, Grigori turns towards him, his face contorted in anger and his hand already raised to meet Ilya’s face in a vicious strike that echoes around the room.

“Do not talk back to me, boy.” He spits out dangerously. “Remember your place.”

Ilya keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. Do not react, he reminds himself, this isn’t about you. The thought is calming enough. This isn’t about Ilya, it’s about Hollander, who has done nothing to deserve the wrath of Grigori Rozanov. As long as Ilya can keep his cool, Hollander is safe.

He takes a deep breath once. Twice. Three times.

“I’m sorry, dad.” Ilya manages at last, his voice carefully even. “There is no girl.”

“I heard how long you were in the shower for.” Grigori’s tone is still accusatory, but not disbelieving.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Ilya looks up, but can’t quite meet his father’s eyes. “The shower was… relaxing.”

“Pathetic.” Grigori tsks. “Do you command your body or does it command you?”

“I command my body, father.” Ilya recites dutifully.

“Then go to sleep and don’t complain about it.” Grigori turns away. “This lack of discipline is why you couldn’t make it to the KHL, Ilya.” He throws over his shoulder before marching out of the room.

Nevermind that Ilya never wanted to play in the KHL. That getting drafted into the NHL is the escape he’s been dreaming about for years. Nevermind that whatever discipline he’s lacking didn’t keep him from getting drafted first, over the great Shane Hollander.

But Ilya doesn’t dwell on any of that as he closes and locks the door. He just stands there and listens for the sounds of Grigori entering his own room and closing his own door.

“You can come out now.” Ilya calls out softly, the English words feeling weird in his mouth.

There’s a long pause before Shane Hollander slowly steps out of the bathroom. He’s found a towel to wrap around himself as well and he has an angry red mark on his arm from bitting down to keep quiet. The sight breaks Ilya’s heart a little bit. This is his fault, of course. Why would he go and let Hollander get tangled up in his mess? Maybe his body does hold too much power over him. Or at least his dick does.

Hollander hesitantly looks at Ilya, then at the door and then back to Ilya. “Was that… your father?”

Ilya feels his eyebrows rise. “You speak Russian?”

“No.” Hollander’s freckled cheeks blush so adorably, Ilya would want to bite them in any other situation. “You said ‘papa’.”

“Ah,” is all Ilya says in response. That, at least, makes sense. It’s the same word in many languages and Hollander is a smart guy, obviously he’d figure it out.

Hollander himself doesn’t look a bit concerned with the intricacies of bilingualism, though. No. Hollander has his eyes glued to Ilya’s right cheek and his eyebrows furrowed in concern. It confuses Ilya for all of two seconds before he realizes his cheek’s still burning from where it made contact with Grigori’s open hand. It’s probably red enough for Hollander to notice, not to mention that he most likely heard the sound of skin hitting skin.

Ilya goes to turn his face away, to hide the evidence of his weakness, but before he can, Hollander is on him. Ilya finds himself enveloped in a tight hug. He freezes.

What the fuck—?

“I’m so sorry, Ilya.” Hollander whispers against Ilya’s shoulder.

Ilya.

The use of his first name is not lost on him and, to be honest, Ilya’s not sure how he feels about it. It’s like Hollander is taking advantage of a level of intimacy that Ilya didn’t offer him. Although he supposes it’s a level of intimacy they stumbled onto anyway.

But more importantly, what is Hollander talking about?

“Why?” Ilya asks, genuinely baffled. “Is not your fault.” He hugs Hollander back. It’s nice. Sweet. “Nothing to forgive.”

Hollander lets out a confused noise. “Oh!” He pulls back enough so that Ilya can see his face. “Not like…” Hollander frowns in concentration before carefully picking his words as he speaks again. “You’re right. Sometimes, ‘sorry’ means ‘I regret it’ or ‘forgive me’. But sometimes it just means ‘I feel for you’. Like, I’m sorry your father is such a dick. You don’t deserve that.”

Privately, he thinks Hollander doesn't have the first clue about what Ilya does or doesn’t deserve. But he doesn’t want to get into that, especially not in this minefield they call a language. So all he says is “okay.”

Hollander lets go of him properly this time. Ilya wishes he hadn’t, but he doesn’t make a move to stop it. 

The silence grows uncomfortable between them until Hollander awkwardly gestures towards the door. “I should probably go, right?”

“No.” Ilya replies far too fast.

Hollander blinks. “No?”

Ilya scrunches his eyes shut. “My father is in room…” What's the stupid word? Like for the people who live in the house close to yours? “...neighbour?”

“Oh.” Hollander replies quietly. “Your father is next door?”

“Da. Yes.” Ilya nods. “He thinks I have girl here. If he sees you…”

“That would be bad.” Hollander surmises. Understatement of the fucking year. “Do you… have a plan?”

“Sleep here.” He gestures towards the bed, which is thankfully big enough for the two of them. “I have early flight. You stay until I’m gone, you can leave after me, yes?”

It’s a terrible plan. Unfair to Hollander, who probably has a flight of his own to catch tomorrow. But Ilya doesn’t have anything else to offer, and he wouldn’t put it past his father to stay up and keep an eye on the hallway.

Hollander doesn’t complain, he probably can’t think of a better alternative either.

And that’s how Ilya Rozanov finds himself lying next to Shane Hollander on a narrow hotel bed. Hollander insists on pulling the duvet over their heads with some explanation that Ilya doesn’t fully follow. Something about slumber parties, which Ilya doesn’t understand and doesn’t ask about because there’s been enough English learning for one day.

It’s good, though, the dark. Cozy. Like the only people in the world are him and Hollander and nothing else matters. In here, it’s easy to think about things that are scary out there.

Ilya thinks of the day he’s had. 

He thinks of the draft, of all the work he’s put in over the past 18 years finally paying off. Of how proud his mother would be. Of the cherry on top of it all: Hollander’s angry face as he held up two fingers to Ilya’s one.

He thinks of the gym, of adrenaline coursing through his veins and only one thought in his mind: I can be faster than him. Of sharing a water bottle and Hollander’s easy obedience when Ilya told him to drink more.

He thinks of the shower, of Hollander on his knees, looking like he was having the time of his life. Of how fast Hollander came, before Ilya could even suck him at all. 

He thinks of his father. And then he stops thinking of his father, because he’s in bed with a beautiful boy and Grigori Rozanov is not allowed to intrude on this moment.

So instead, Ilya thinks of Shane Hollander lying next to him on this bed. In their cocoon, it’s easy to face the intimacy he tried to deny.

“Shane?” Ilya whispers.

“Yes, Ilya?”

Ilya grins. “Was fun beating you today.”

Shane giggles, a perfect pretty sound. “You’re such an asshole.” He shoves lightly at Ilya. “I’ll get you next time, you know?”

In the dark, it costs Ilya nothing to take Shane’s hand before he can pull it back. It costs him nothing to hold on to it all night.

“I look forward to it.”

Chapter End Notes

Ilya Rozanov: professional rage-baiter , but make it sad

Chapter 3: December 2009

Chapter Notes

Shane won.

Shane Hollander won gold over Ilya Rozanov. The very thought makes him giddy with excitement.

Okay, technically, Shane’s team won the final game against Rozanov’s team. Canada won gold, leaving Russia with silver.

But it does feel, just a little bit, like Shane beat Ilya for once.

He worked so fucking hard for this moment. There had been no other thought in his mind for the past six months. Always the first one on the ice, always the last one to leave after practice. Not to mention the hours upon hours Shane spent on Russian youtube hunting for any scrap of footage showing Rozanov in action that he could use to build his strategy.

Shane could admit he was proud of himself for this win.

It felt good.

The only thing that would make it feel even better was if Shane could talk to Rozanov right now.

“There you are.” Shane can’t help the soft smile on his face when he spots the smoking man by the edge of the rooftop. He makes sure to close the door behind himself before going to stand next to his fellow player. “You realize smoking is bad for you, right?”

Rozanov spares him a quick glance before looking back at… probably the worst view of Ottawa Shane has ever seen. “You were searching for me?”

“Not searching.” Shane replies slowly, playing it cool. He rests back against the parapet so as to not be assaulted with that view. “I just had a feeling you’d be here.”

“Oh?” Rozanov looks at him properly this time. 

“Within view of the smoking area,” Shane nods toward the cordoned off section of the rooftop, “but refusing to step foot on it.”

Rozanov looks away so fast, Shane nearly misses the small smile on his face. “You played good today.” He offers before taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Thank you.” Shane can’t help but preen a little bit at the praise. He did play well today, and it means something that the complement comes from the one player he knows can match him. And then, because Shane wasn’t raised by wolves, he adds, “so did you.”

Rozanov blows the smoke away slowly. “Was not enough.” He says at last, his voice loaded with bitterness.

It hits Shane like a bucket of icy water, which is silly because what had he been expecting? Of course Rozanov wasn’t going to be happy for him. He certainly hadn’t been happy when Rozanov beat him.

Suddenly, the whole idea of even coming up here in the first place seems ridiculously foolish. 

“Anyway.” Shane shakes his head to clear those thoughts away. “I should go.” He steals a glance at Rozanov, but the man’s still looking resolutely at an abandoned shopping mall. “Right.” Shane mutters under his breath. “Goodbye, Rozanov.”

He makes it halfway to the door before he hears a quiet “Hollander.”

Shane stops, but doesn’t look back. He waits for Rozanov to talk, if the man has anything to say at all.

“It’s not…” Rozanov starts, but he quickly trails off. He takes a moment before trying again. “I mean, I’m not…” 

Turning around, Shane can see the frown on Rozanov’s face. It takes him too long to recognize it as confusion. And frustration. Like Rozanov is trying and failing to find the words for what he wants to say.

Shane walks back slowly, waiting until they’re face to face again to say “it’s okay.” He smiles reassuringly. “Take your time.”

Rozanov nods gratefully and takes a long moment to try and organize his thoughts, but in the end he gives up with a sigh. “My father.” He says with a broad gesture that Shane can’t even begin to interpret.

But Shane does remember Ilya’s father. Or, at least, he remembers standing naked in a hotel bathroom, terrified out of his mind as he heard angry Russian being thrown at Ilya and the deafening sound of a slap.

The mere memory makes Shane’s posture stiff. “Is he here?” He asks cautiously.

Ilya lets out a disbelieving laugh. “No.” He says with a bleak smile. “But he watches, yes? When I play for Russia, he pays attention. He will be…” he trails off for a moment but ultimately does find a word: “disappointed.”

“Well, that’s fucking stupid.” The words burst out of Shane before he can stop them. He immediately wants to take them back but, for one thing, he doesn’t know what to replace them with and, for another, Ilya’s smile is already turning into something more genuine. So Shane takes a deep breath and tries to be more coherent when he speaks again. “You played some great hockey out there today. If he doesn’t understand that you can’t win literally everything, then he doesn’t understand hockey at all.”

Ilya lowers his head in a move that looks almost shy. It makes Shane wonder when exactly he fell through the looking glass. Quietly, Ilya replies, “it does not matter. He is my father.” 

And… Shane doesn’t know what to say to that. Ilya’s right. So Shane does the only thing he can do and steps closer to Ilya, placing an awkward hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ilya.”

Ilya shakes his head, but when he looks up his eyes are shining with mirth. “So very Canadian.” He teases.

“You deserve better.” Shane doesn’t let himself be distracted. “He should be so fucking proud of you. Hell, even I’m proud of you”

Before Shane can understand what’s happening, Ilya’s lips are pressed firmly to his and the world’s gone fuzzy around the edges.

Oh.

He hadn’t been expecting this, which is baffling even to himself because, now that it’s happening, it’s obvious that this is exactly why he went looking for Ilya to begin with.

“Oh.” Shane says out loud when the kiss breaks.

“Oh?” Ilya huffs out a soft laugh. “You make long sexy speech and you are surprised that I kiss you?”

Shane feels his face heat up. Great. “I wasn’t trying to be sexy.” He mumbles.

“Of course no.” Ilya nods mock-seriously. “Happens naturally with you, yes?”

“Shut up!” Shane shoves weakly at Ilya. He doesn’t care much about moving his hands away from the other man’s chest afterwards. “I just  wasn’t sure if you still wanted…”

Ilya kisses him again, his arms coming to rest around Shane’s waist. “I want.” He whispers against Shane’s lips.

Shivers run down Shane’s spine, but forces himself to lean back. “Not here.” He shoots a quick glance at the door. “Anyone could walk in.”

“Okay.” Ilya steps back with a dramatic sigh.

Shane smiles dopily. “Okay?”

“Yes.” Ilya gestures at him to lead the way. “Take me home, Shane Hollander.”

Oh, God. 

Wasn’t that a mental image? He could have Ilya on an actual bed, they never did make it that far last time. They could do more than just blowjobs. They could… Okay, maybe Shane doesn’t know exactly what they could do. Anal? Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, Shane’s confident it would feel pretty fucking amazing with Ilya.

It sounds like a dream, except…

“I can’t.” Shane groans.

Ilya lifts an eyebrow. “No?”

“I’m staying with my parents.” Shane explains, before he’s hit with a bright idea. “But you must have a hotel room, right?”

“Yes.” Ilya pauses just long enough for Shane to get his hopes up. “Small hotel room with big Russian roommate.”

“Fuck.” Shane whines.

Ilya laughs as he pushes Shane to walk backwards until he hits the door. “Like this.” He crowds up in Shane’s space.

Shane has trouble thinking with the way Ilya’s breathing against his mouth. “What?”

“Can’t open door with you here.” Ilya cages him in, one hand on each side of Shane’s head on the wall. “Is safe, yes?”

“You are so smart.” Shane says dumbly. Embarrassingly.

It doesn’t matter, Ilya’s kissing him now.

And kissing him.

And kissing him.

Time ceases to exist. Or, at least, is not as relevant as the feeling of Ilya’s lips on him. Of Ilya’s tongue in his mouth. Of Ilya’s firm pecks under his hands. Of Ilya’s hand on his jaw.

Ilya tastes like tobacco, but Shane can’t bring himself to care.

Shane’s growing hard in his pants and weak at his knees, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t push things farther, because they can’t go any farther. But he can kiss Ilya.

And kiss him.

And kiss him.

The shrill sound of Shane’s ringtone yanks him out of the moment. His parents, he’d forgotten, are waiting downstairs. 

Ilya leans back and Shane wants to protest. Wants to pull him back in. Wants to kiss him until neither of them can even breathe anymore.

“I have to go.” He says instead.

“Hmmmm.” Ilya pushes his face onto Shane’s neck and runs his nose up to Shane’s ear. “No.”

Shane wants to scream. He weaves his fingers onto Ilya’s hair and pulls him back enough to look him in the eye. “I’ll see you in October, right?” He asks far too needily.

“Yes.” Ilya sighs, but lets go. “When Bears destroy the Voyageurs. Will be very sad for you.”

Shane smiles. “Fuck you, Rozanov.”

“Promise?” Ilya asks with a bright smirk.

It takes a few moments for Shane to adjust himself in his pants and put his clothes to rights. “Good night, Ilya.” He says when he’s ready to leave.

“Good night, Shane.” Ilya replies softly, not bothering to fix himself up at all. He does, however, press his lips to Shane’s one last time.

Shane gets as far as opening the door before he’s hit by an urgent thought and has to turn back. “You will be safe until I see you again, won’t you?”

“I am always safe.” Ilya smiles widely.

Shane doesn’t feel particularly reassured as he walks away.

Chapter End Notes

Fun to write Rozanov's early English as a non-native speaker myself. Is that grammar mistake mine or Ilya's? You'll never know.

Chapter 4: July 2010

Chapter Notes

The thing about Shane Hollander is not his cute little freckles, even though they’re so pretty it makes Ilya feel stupid. And it’s not that he sucked Ilya’s dick like he’d been starving for days and Ilya’s cum was the only food left on Earth, even though that had been a recurring sight in Ilya’s masturbatory fantasies for the past year. It’s not even that he can match Ilya on the ice, even though playing against Hollander gets Ilya’s blood pumping in a way he hadn’t felt since he was 12.

No.

The thing about Shane Hollander, the real thing about Shane Hollander if Ilya allows himself to be honest for a second, is that the motherfucker has the biggest softest deepest brown eyes Ilya has ever seen. And they shine with so much sincerity while Hollander says the craziest shit, it’s ridiculous. It’s like the man has never heard of a poker face. 

Shit like “I’m sorry your father is a dick” and “you don’t deserve that” and fucking “I’m proud of you”, like Ilya is some overgrown child. Things that are categorically untrue, but when Hollander says them with his big stupid eyes, a tiny part of Ilya’s brain (one he thought he had long since buried) can’t help but believe him.

It’s a heady thing, to be perceived by Shane Hollander. Like a drug. Like the cocaine Ilya’s brother can’t live without. Like the booze his mother used to hide around the house. Like the cigarettes his father has chain-smoked for as long as Ilya can remember.

And, like his family before him, Ilya can’t resist.

He knows it’s no good for him, obviously. He knows it’s dangerous, that seeking out Hollander is the first step on a slippery slope that leads to Ilya’s life going up in flames.

Still, when his agent tells him that CCM has signed both him and Hollander, Ilya doesn’t think twice before suggesting that they should do a photoshoot together. That it’d be good for his brand. That he can only ever look good when standing next to boring Shane Hollander. That the ad will be more popular, the fans will be more excited, the Bears will get more out of it.

Which is how Ilya lands himself in a dingy ice rink in Toronto, staring into those big brown eyes and failing miserably at maintaining the intensity of a face-off. He should maybe feel bad about giggling like a school child. And he would if Hollander wasn’t laughing just as hard, if those eyes weren’t shining with something like mischief.

The stupid photoshoot is the most fun Ilya’s had all year.

Once it’s over, Ilya walks back to the locker room where he left his stuff and smiles widely at the sound of the shower running as he walks in. His day just keeps getting better and better.

Hollander checks him out when Ilya steps into the showers, but quickly looks away. Ashamed or scared, probably both. A resolute frown paints his face as he stares a hole into the tiled wall. 

It’s cute, Ilya thinks, how determined Hollander is. How prim and proper.

Ilya wants to eat him alive.

He doesn’t bother with a showerhead of his own, instead going to stand directly behind Hollander. Ilya places his hands on Hollander’s sinful hips and presses himself up to Hollander’s back.

“Hello.” Ilya breathes into Hollander’s neck before taking in the scent of him under the cheap locker room soap.

For a single glorious second, Hollander presses back onto him. He grinds his ass back onto Ilya’s crotch and tilts his head so Ilya can more easily kiss his neck. It’s heaven.

And then, in a flash, Hollander comes to his senses and pulls away, turning around to shove at Ilya’s chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He hisses. “Anyone could walk in.”

“Relax, Hollander.” Ilya laughs freely. “I locked the door.”

“You…” Hollander seems to lose steam at that. He leaves his splayed hands on Ilya’s chest. “There is no door to the showers.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Door to the locker room, Hollander. I locked it.” He grabs Hollander’s hands without moving them. “Is safe, yes?”

“Oh.” Hollander breathes out, his eyes now falling to Ilya’s lips as he leans forward.

“Yes.” Ilya smirks. “Oh.”

Ilya walks Hollander back until Hollander’s back hits the wall and proceeds to kiss him breathless. He can feel Hollander’s hands all over him, from his thighs, to his ass, up his back, through his neck and into his hair. Ilya’s own hands, however, have a much more specific goal: to feel and squeeze and play with Hollander’s firm perfect tits.

“I fucking missed you, angry kitten.” Ilya rasps out when the kiss breaks. In Russian, of course, because that’s too much English for how distracted he is and too much feeling for Hollander to be allowed to understand. “I’ve been dreaming of getting you just like this. For months, Hollander.”

Hollander makes a whiny sound and pouts. “I don’t know what most of that means.”

Ilya freezes. “What.”

“What did you say?” Hollander finally opens his eyes and immediately they meet Ilya’s.

All the alarms go off in Ilya’s head. The way Hollander is looking at him is beyond dangerous, it’s the kind of look that spells nothing but trouble.

Luckily, Ilya fucking loves trouble. 

He ignores the question, focusing instead on the much more important matter. “What do you mean ‘most’, Hollander?”

“I mean…” Hollander blushes adorably and Ilya would bite his rosy little cheeks if the situation wasn’t so dire. “You said, uh, mesyats, right? Isn’t that like ‘month’?” His forehead furrows in either concentration or frustration, Ilya’s not sure. “Or is it, like, plural? I keep forgetting the plural variations of words.”

“Mesyatsev.” Ilya corrects softly. “‘Months’.”

“Oh.” Hollander’s face falls a little bit. He looks down at the floor. “It was plural.”

But Ilya won’t let him look away now, so he brings his hand to Hollander’s chin and gently tilts it up until their eyes meet again. “You learn Russian now?”

“Yes?” Hollander gives him a small shy smile. “I figured, you know, English can’t be an easy language to learn.” Those brown eyes are growing bigger and softer and deeper with every word out of Hollander’s mouth. Ilya wants to drown in them. “And maybe if I knew even a bit of Russian maybe that would make it easier for us to talk?”

And that’s the moment when Hollander disappears, maybe forever. The only one left in the shower with Ilya is Shane.

Beautiful, sweet Shane who’s learning fucking Russian just so Ilya can be a little bit more comfortable talking to him.

“I’m terrible at it, though.” Shane chuckles self-consciously. “And I only really have time during the offseason, so it’s probably not going to help anyways.”

Ilya shakes his head. “How much do you know?” He manages to ask through the dryness in his mouth.

“My name is Shane Hollander.” Shane manages in broken Russian and probably the most awful goddamned accent Ilya’s ever heard.

Ilya laughs in delight. “My name is Ilya Rozanov.” He replies slowly, so Shane can make out each word.

Shane smiles. “Hello, Ilya.”

He says it the way Ilya does, with the Russian inflection on the right syllables. Ilya feels his eyes filling with tears that he refuses to let fall. He kisses Shane instead.

Shane kisses back just as fiercely and it’s somehow even better than their previous kiss.

“I think I might have dreamed you up.” Ilya whispers when he finally needs to come up for air.

He feels more than sees Shane scrunch up his nose. “What does that mean?”

And, because Ilya’s allowed to keep some secrets, what he says in English is “Get on your knees, Shane.”

Shane doesn’t speak again for quite a while after that.

Chapter End Notes

I don't speak a word of Russian. I'm using google translate, but please let me know if you realize they're talking nonsense.

Also, feel free to let me know if the switch between languages is not clear enough!

Chapter 5: Later That Night

Chapter Notes

Shane had no idea sex could feel this good.

He knew, in an abstract sort of way, that sex was supposed to feel good. That’s what everyone always said. Only, it never felt all that great for Shane. It was… okay, honestly. It was awkward and frustrating and no matter how hard Shane tried, he never seemed to get it quite right. But the orgasms were nice enough.

Mostly, he had long accepted that sex was simply overrated.

The singular exception being, of course, draft night. What he did in that shower with Ilya Rozanov was as effortless and shameless as it was pleasurable. But the emotions of that night are so tangled up in the excitement of the draft and the mortification of coming second and the pure unadulterated terror of thinking they were found out… 

No, that night was an outlier and should not be counted.

Since then, Shane tried again a couple of times, but it was even more lackluster than before. Eventually, he decided that learning a new language was a better use of his limited free time than looking for women to disappoint in bed.

There was nothing lackluster or disappointing about the feeling of Ilya moving inside him tonight. It wasn’t even awkward or gross, like Shane thought such a thing might be.

Ilya licked Shane’s hole like that was the most natural thing on Earth. Fingered him open like it was his favorite thing to do. Fucked him like Shane was someone deserving of the highest worship.

It was a revelation.

It was pleasure like Shane had never felt before. Pleasure that emerged from his very core and grew and grew and grew until Shane couldn’t contain it anymore. Then it exploded into a million pieces leaving Shane shaking and gasping in its wake. When Shane was sure that he couldn’t take any more, all the little pieces started growing again, enveloping him from all sides until there was nothing else in the world other than yes, Ilya, please, Ilya, more, Ilya, fuck me, Ilya.

He came once on Ilya’s tongue, his ass up in the air and his knees spread apart like an offering. It snuck up on him. The sensation so novel and intoxicating, he hadn’t seen the wave coming until it had already pulled him under.

And again with Ilya’s cock buried deep inside him while Shane was folded up like a pretzel, his legs pressed to his chest. This time, he saw it coming from a mile away. But no matter what he did, he just couldn’t get there. And so he begged. Begged and pleaded and sobbed and maybe even cried a little bit before Ilya finally took pity on him and gifted Shane with an orgasm so intense he blacked out for several moments after.

Maybe because it was so mindblowingly intense, it didn’t occur to Shane to think about the implications of what was happening. Not until it’s over and Ilya has wiped him clean with a damp towel and a gentle hand. Not until Ilya has climbed on the bed and pulled Shane on top of him. Not until the calming beat of Ilya’s heart has lulled Shane half to sleep.

That’s when it hits him.

This is really really gay.

The thought turns Shane’s blood to ice in his veins. Shane’s not gay. He can’t be gay. It’s impossible. There’s no such thing as a gay hockey player and Shane is, first and foremost, a hockey player. So that must mean he is… confused?

Yes.

Confused. 

Shane’s going through an extremely confusing phase that is bound to end soon. And then Shane will meet a girl he won’t mind having sex with. And they will get married and she’ll wear his jersey and go to all the WAG events and he will be normal. Or as normal as Shane can be, anyway —

“Shane.” Ilya’s calm voice pulls Shane out of his spiral. “You are okay?”

“Sure.” Shane replies automatically. He’s okay. Just a little confused.

For a long moment, Ilya’s silent and Shane thinks maybe that will be the extent of their conversation. But then, Ilya maneuvers them until Shane’s on his back and Ilya’s expertly positioned between his legs and looking down at him. 

Shane’s arms wrap themselves around Ilya’s back and Shane does nothing to stop them, but Ilya’s gaze is far too intense for him right now, so Shane stares at the ceiling instead.

“What is wrong?” Ilya asks.

Shane shakes his head. Nothing’s wrong, not really. He’s just confused, which is perfectly normal and doesn’t mean anything at all. 

Ilya doesn’t seem particularly convinced, judging by the way he continues to hover over Shane, now bringing a hand to frame Shane’s cheek and gently coax him into meeting Ilya’s eyes.

“Don’t you need to go back to your room?” Shane asks instead of voicing any of the thoughts actually going through his head.

Ilya’s eyes widen for a second, but the expression is smoothed over before Shane can figure out what it meant. “You want me to go?” Ilya asks evenly.

Shane has no answer to that. Does he want Ilya to leave? Would that be less confusing? Probably, yes. But the thought of being left alone right now is so deeply unappealing, Shane can’t help but shake his head.

It does little to reassure Ilya, who continues to study Shane’s face like it will eventually reveal the secrets of the universe.

Shane caves. “It’s just—” he starts, but cuts himself off with a sigh. “Don’t you think this is all a bit too… you know?”

Ilya’s eyebrows knit together. “I do not know.”

“Gay?” Shane whispers, like it’s a dirty world. He knows, logically, that it’s not, but, in this context, it kind of feels like maybe it is. Just a little.

Ilya blinks. “Yes.” He says slowly, then pointedly looks down to where their naked bodies are pressed together. “Yes, Shane, is very gay.”

Shane feels heat flushing his cheeks and has to look away to his side. His eyes land on the bottle of lube abandoned on the side table. It’s half empty. Is that normal? Shane hadn’t questioned Ilya’s expertise at the time, but half a bottle seems somewhat excessive now.

“You are scared.” Ilya says matter-of-fact.

Shane snaps back to glare at him. “I’m not scared.” 

“Is okay.” Ilya’s smile is so gentle, Shane feels his own frown softening. “Is scary thing. Gay and hockey is dangerous together.”

Dangerous.

Shane hadn’t thought about it like that before.

Not impossible or wrong or broken or dirty. Just dangerous. Like rushing across the ice at 30km/h with blades on his feet is dangerous. Like getting checked against the boards is dangerous.

But Shane doesn’t stop doing those things just because they’re risky, does he? That would be no way to live, without hockey.

So then what is so different about this? 

Maybe Ilya has a point. Maybe it is just really scary.

“You don’t seem scared.” Shane points out, because, unlike him, Ilya looks relaxed as can be.

“I am very good actor.” Ilya replies with a smirk. “Will win Oscar someday.”

He sounds confident, even cocky, and Shane huffs out a little laugh. But he’s also reminded of the fear in Ilya's eyes when they heard the knock on the door that night a year ago. Of the way he had covered it up, put on a brave face to meet his father and accept whatever punishment he was dealt without giving Shane away.

How scared must he have been?

A very good actor indeed.

“Stay the night.” Shane whispers, melting onto the mattress and pulling Ilya down with him. “I want to hold you.”

Ilya doesn’t protest. He folds himself over Shane’s body, fitting his face on the curve of Shane’s neck like it belongs there. Shane tilts his head so his nose is on Ilya’s curls, breathing him in. His hair smells so nice, Shane can’t help but give it a quick kiss.

“That is very gay, Shane.” Ilya mumbles into his skin.

Shane snorts. “Fuck off.”

“You will be gay again? With me?” Ilya’s voice is so very quiet. Almost scared.

It’s okay, Shane thinks as he brings a hand up to play with Ilya’s hair, it’s a scary thing. 

“Yes.” He whispers into Ilya’s hair. “Next time I see you, we’ll do this again.”

“Okay.” Ilya breathes out. He says something in Russian that Shane doesn’t quite understand.

It takes him a long while to figure it out, but eventually Shane replies in kind: “good night, Ilya.”

When Shane wakes up, Ilya’s gone. 

In his stead, there are three texts from a new contact on Shane’s phone.

Lily

Доброе утро, солнышко

had to leave for early flight

see you in october ;)

Chapter End Notes

Доброе утро, солнышко -> good morning, sunshine

I considered writing out their first time scene here, but it's been done before. By Rachel. And Jacob. Who are both much more talented than myself. I do have ideas for other smut scenes that will pop up later on, but I figured I'd leave this one to the professionals.

Also, I absolutely had planned for their first ass eating scene to be a bigger deal later on until I watched that Jacob Tierney interview. Just in case you were wondering lol

Chapter 6: November 2010

Jane

Are you sure it’s okay for you to ditch the team bus?

You shouldn’t call attention to yourself

Ilya

is fine

not first time

Good

But be discreet, okay?

i know

And remember to check the tinting on the car windows

yes

i know

And don’t trust the company’s GPS

yes, shane

i know

you said

Oh my God

We’ve talked about this

No names!

Please delete that text

relax, hollander

you worry too much

You don’t worry enough

You realize it’s our lives on the line, right?

And you better delete that one as well

yes, mom

got the car

The code for the garage is 1919

It’s a private elevator to my floor

No one will see you

be there in 30min

Really?

I can’t wait :) 

i know you cant

so hungry for my cock

Fuck you

soon <3

Ilya might have broken a couple of traffic laws on his way to Shane’s place. Not many. He’s not desperate or anything. But he will admit he is… excited. 

It’s been months since their last hook-up and, sure, it’s not like he’s been a monk or anything. But there’s something about Shane. Something that sets Ilya on fire. It makes him impatient. Greedy. 

It’s the eyes, he's positive. Those goddamned brown eyes should come with a fucking warning: moderation is adviced, may cause addiction.

Ilya stops for a deep breath before he leaves the elevator. He will not jump Shane the moment the door opens. Because he’s not desperate.

He crosses the hallway to the only door on the floor and knocks.

“Not so loud!” Shane hisses as he flings the door open half a second later. Ilya’s hand was still touching it, mid-knock.

Ilya raises his eyebrows as he looks around the hall. “You do not have neighbours.” He points out.

“I have neighbours downstairs.” Shane glares at him before hushing him inside. It’s adorable. “Get in!”

Ilya follows the instructions without complaint. He has a quick look around Shane’s boring-ass living room and turns around to chirp him about just that, but he can’t get a single word out before Shane’s lips are on his.

The wall to Ilya’s left is empty (because of course Hollander doesn’t have any art), so it’s perfect for Ilya to pivot and push Shane against. He deepens the kiss, moaning at how fast it turns dirty. Shane kisses like a starving man and it occurs to Ilya that maybe he is.

Sweet anxious Shane Hollander, who bought this condo specifically because of the private garage and exclusive elevator and who makes Ilya delete even the most innocent of texts, is certainly not taking the risk of seeing other men. He could be seeing women. He almost definitely is seeing women. But Ilya gets the impression that Shane doesn’t enjoy that in the same way that he does.

Either way, if Shane’s starving, Ilya will make sure to give him a goddamn buffet. Enough to hold him over until they can meet again. And then some. He kisses Shane hard and deep until he starts to get lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and has to pull back.

“Fuck, Hollander.” Ilya breathes out, not bothering to translate his thoughts from their instinctive Russian. “You go from angry kitten to dog in heat so fast. Makes me dizzy.”

Shane blinks twice before his eyebrows furrow in concentration. “Did you call me an angry— what?”

Ilya can’t help the smile taking over his face. “Kotenok,” he says slowly, exaggerating the pronunciation. And then in english: “kitten.”

“What?” Shane splutters. 

“Very angry kitten.” Ilya smirks, savouring the blush taking over Shane’s face. “Very– uh–” he has to search for the word, even though he knows this one, “menacing.”

“‘Menacing’?” Shane repeats, all indignation forgotten in favour of a proud glim in his eyes. “Have you been working on your vocabulary?”

Ilya shrugs, gesturing vaguely to show how much this is not a big deal. He forces his face not to heat up. “They call me ‘red menace’, I look it up.”

“It’s bullshit.” Shane growls suddenly. “Stupid anti-communist propaganda. They shouldn’t be calling you that.”

“Angry kitten.” Ilya repeats in Russian. “It’s cute.”

“Oh my god, Rozanov.” Shane shoves half-heartedly at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Hmm.” Ilya grins, leaning closer. “Make me.”

When Shane kisses him again, Ilya immediately presses him more firmly onto the wall. Shane positively melts with it, because he’s responsive like that. Always so eager. Ilya takes the opportunity to pick him up, his hands coming under Shane’s thigh and boosting him up. Shane promptly wraps his legs around Ilya’s hips and his arms around Ilya’s shoulders.

He gives himself up so freely. So trusting. Utterly delicious.

Shane’s head falls back onto the wall with a soft thump and it makes his neck stretch in the most enticing way so that Ilya simply has no choice but to lay open mouthed kisses down his throat. He tastes clean, but a little sweaty already. Just enough to be sweet. Enticing.

“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane groans, grinding his full erection against Ilya’s growing one.

“So eager.” Ilya murmurs in Russian. Can’t find the English words to save his life. “Such a good little slut.” And then he breathes directly into Shane’s ear. “My hungry kitten.”

Shane gasps in surprise and the way his legs tighten around Ilya’s hips is almost painful. Then he goes very still and slack, except for the little gasping breaths that shake his whole body.

Ilya must be the luckiest bastard on Earth. “Did you just…?”

“Shut up.” Shane grumbles, but there’s no bite to it. In fact, the threatening effect is greatly diminished by the way he tucks his face into the space between Ilya’s shoulder and his neck.

“In your pants?” Ilya lets out a delighted laugh. “Like a fucking virgin?”

“Fuck off, Rozanov.” Shane whines. “Like you’ve never gotten carried away before.”

“Da.” Ilya concedes. And after a moment: “when I was fucking 14 years old.”

“Fuck you.” Shane finally pulls back enough to glare at him. “Let me down.”

Ilya presses close again, trapping Shane between his body and the wall and kissing his cheek. “No.”

“Let me down, asshole.” Shane doesn’t move his legs in any way, but he does move his hands from Ilya’s neck to his chest, as if to push him away. “I’m gross now. I need to clean up.”

“Okay.” Ilya agrees easily, unglueing Shane from the wall and carrying him to the bathroom.

Shane yelps, but doesn’t physically fight it, instead holding on tight.

The shower that they share proves to be extremely futile when they move from the bathroom straight to the bed and Shane ends up much dirtier than he started out.

Neither of them complain about it.

They do, however, complain about it when Ilya’s phone starts ringing with the alarm he set earlier so he wouldn’t miss curfew. They are pressed together on Shane’s fresh sheets after a second (less heated) shower and Ilya was almost falling asleep with Shane on top of him. Would have been nice.

Shane walks him to the front door and gives him a lingering kiss before letting Ilya go. It keeps Ilya warm throughout the drive back to the hotel and the quiet walk to his room. He’s careful not to wake up his roommate as he changes into proper sleep clothes.

When the large bed starts to feel a bit too cold, Ilya pulls out his phone.

Ilya

did you practice sucking dick?

Jane

What?

Of course not

do not lie

I’m not lying!

liar

your gag reflex is gone

How did you learn “gag reflex”????

google translate

what is american saying?

your pants are burning

It’s “liar, liar, pants on fire”

And I’m not lying

whatever you say, котенок

Is that “kitten” again?

Don’t call me that

you said no names

котенок is not name

I hate you

but you practice sucking dick for me!

No, I don’t

Fuck you

would be nice

but you can’t last that long :(

Good night, Rozanov

that is a name!

not fair

good night, котенок

enjoy your rest

will be hard to sleep after we beat you tomorrow

In your fucking dreams

Ilya goes to sleep with a smile on his face.

Chapter 7: February 2011

Chapter Notes

Shane opens his email to find yet another sponsorship offer that his mother “strongly recommends” he accept. For Calvin Klein this time. The thought of his mom arranging for pictures of Shane in his boxers to be displayed in billboards everywhere leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but he’s long since learned to ignore that. Instead, he sits down at the edge of his bed and takes a moment to study the offer.

It’s a lot of money. It’s always a lot of fucking money. But the thing is, Shane doesn’t need any more money. 

He bought this condo with the money from his signing bonus and it’s perfect for him: close to the practice rink and big enough to fit his extensive personal gym. Most importantly, it’s safe for Ilya to come over whenever he’s in Montreal. Shane even bought the place downstairs, intending to keep it empty for extra privacy, but Ilya convinced him that it was probably overkill so he compromised by renting it out for cheap to an elderly couple he’s almost positive can’t hear a thing that happens upstairs.

He tried to buy a bigger house for his parents, but they refuse to take any money from him. He doesn’t have any expensive hobbies: no interest in sports cars and boats make him nauseous. 

The one thing Shane plans to spend any money on is building a cottage of his own, as soon as he finds the perfect piece of land for it. But his Voyageur salary and his current sponsorships (not the least of which are Reebok and Rolex) are more than enough to make that dream happen.

Shane could tell his mom that he’s not interested, in theory. As he opens his messaging app, he debates how willing he is to have that conversation right now. He must not have been all that inclined to get into it with his mom, because he ends up distracted by another contact.

Shane

How many sponsors do you have?

He doesn’t expect to get a reply any time soon. Tomorrow, maybe. But it doesn’t take more than a minute until his phone is pinging:

Lily

i know this one

is what the guys call a dick measuring contest, yes?

it does not matter who has more sponsors, котенок

my dick is still bigger

Shane can’t help but smile at the stupid pet name. He can never admit it to Ilya but, secretly, he thinks it’s kind of sweet. And it’s been months since Ilya has used his actual name in a text, which helps keep the panic at bay.

Of course, given that this conversation is about life as a professional hockey player and Ilya’s literally talking about dicks, they’ll have to delete it anyway.

But it’s nice to know that sometimes there are texts that he gets to keep.

Shane

It’s not a dick measuring contest, asshole

I’m being serious

Lily

checking out the competition?

Jesus Christ

You’re impossible

Would it kill you to just answer the question?

probably yes

i don’t know

i only care about adidas

my agent handles others

would like car sponsorship but they all want exclusivity :( 

My mom wants me to do Calvin Klein

yes 

What do you mean “yes”?

yes do calvin klein

and send me pics

need dirty pics for my spank bank

“Spank bank”??

yes 

is all your highlight reels

Fuck.

Why is that so hot? Does Ilya really get off to videos of Shane playing? Shane can’t deny that he’s done it once or twice, when Ilya has scored a particularly gorgeous goal. But the idea of Ilya doing it?

Holy shit.

Shane

You’re gross

I don’t think I want to do it

Calvin Klein, I mean

Lily

?

just say no?

I can’t

there is gun to your head?

No

I can’t say no to my mom

There’s no immediate response to this one. In fact, enough time passes that Shane starts to wonder with maybe Ilya has gotten busy with something (or someone) else.

Just as Shane’s about to get up and go get ready for bed, his phone lights up again.

Lily

are you alone?

Shane

Yes

Why?

Shane’s phone rings in his hand and it surprises him so much he almost drops it. ‘Incoming call from Lily’ it reads. They’ve never spoken on the phone before. By unspoken agreement, they’ve only ever texted. 

What the fuck is happening?

His heart beats a bit too fast as he answers the phone. “Ilya?”

“You want me to type too much English.” Ilya says instead of a greeting.

“Oh.” Shane feels his face heating up and he’s ridiculously grateful that Ilya’s not there to see it. “Sorry.”

Ilya huffs out a dismissive sound. “What is the problem, Shane?” He asks softly.

“I don’t know.” Shane falls back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I just want to play hockey, you know? Why do I need to do all this other stuff?”

There’s a pause. “You don’t need to do it.” Ilya says slowly.

Shane lets out a hollow laugh. “You clearly don’t know my mom.”

“Shane,” Ilya’s voice suddenly turns low and serious, “what happens if you say ‘no’?”

It takes a moment for Shane to register his meaning, but then it hits him like a brick to the face. “Nothing.” He says quickly. “Shit, Ilya. I’m sorry.” God, how could he forget he’s talking to Ilya? Ilya, who endures actual physical abuse from his father without saying a word and still finds a way to protect those around him? “Nothing happens if I say no. My mom’s great, I shouldn’t be complaining.” 

“Good.” Ilya lets out a relieved sigh. “That’s good, Shane.”

“I’m sorry.” Shane repeats weakly.

“No sorry.” Ilya’s tone is light again and Shane finds himself relaxing as well. “You can tell me, if you want.”

“She won’t be mad at me or anything. She just has a whole speech prepared.” Shane closes his eyes, speaking the familiar words into the void. “This is a great opportunity, Shane. It’s so much money. They never sign players this young. It’s important for the Asian kids who see themselves in you. I wish there had been someone like you in the league when I was growing up. That kind of stuff.” He sighs. “She just talks and talks and talks and eventually I cave.”

Silence stretches between them. “I see.” Ilya says at last.

“It’s really not a big deal.” Shane insists. 

“Is big deal to you.” 

“Well.” He shrugs, even though Ilya can’t see him. “I don’t have any real problems.”

“Oh, kotenok.” There’s so much feeling in Ilya’s voice, Shane just has to get away from this conversation.

“Are you going back to Russia in the summer?” He ungraciously changes the subject.

Ilya lets him get away with it. “Da. Yes”

“You could stay in Boston, you know. You could—” Shane doesn’t finish that sentence. Because Ilya can’t stay with him for the summer. It isn’t safe for Shane and it definitely isn’t safe for Ilya. No matter how nice it sounds.

“I can’t. My father, he is…” Ilya trails off in a way that Shane has learned means he can’t find the English word he wants.

“A dick?” He suggests.

“No.” Ilya snorts softly. “I mean, yes, that too. But he is sick, I think.”

“Oh.” Shane wishes he could hold Ilya, wishes he was here. The pillow he hugs to his chest is a poor substitute. “I’m so sorry, Ilya. That sucks. What does he have?”

“I do not know. I think maybe…” In his mind’s eye, Shane can see Ilya gesturing like he’s trying to pick the words out of thin air. “I don’t have English words.”

“Say it in Russian?” Shane sits up, closing his eyes so he can fully focus on trying to understand what Ilya’s about to say.

Ilya’s voice takes on a melodic quality when he speaks Russian. It’s so beautiful, it almost distracts Shane from the task at hand. But he does ultimately manage to pick up on some of what Ilya’s saying.

“Something with his memory?” Shane tries to put it together. “Like dementia? Or Alzheimer's?”

“I think so, yes.” Ilya seamlessly switches back to English. “I go home this summer, take him to doctor to...”

“Diagnose?”

“Da.”

“That sounds really awful, Ilya.” Shane breathes out. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”

“No more sorry, kotenok.” Ilya’s voice betrays his soft smile. “Is okay.”

“It’s really not.”

“Oh!” Ilya exclaims suddenly. “I know!”

Shane blinks. “What?”

“Tell your mom you can’t do photoshoot during the season.” Ilya says confidently, as if that’s related to anything they’ve been talking about.

“She knows that already,” Shane rolls his eyes, “she finds plenty of time for them during the summer.”

“But, in summer, rest is so very important, Hollander.” Ilya continues slowly, like he’s explaining something obvious to a child. “Really, you can only do sponsorships for two weeks. In the end of August. And they all should be in same city. New York is only option, I think.”

What the fuck has gotten into Ilya? “Why would I want to go to New York in fucking August? It will be hotter than the fucking sun.”

“Because I’ll be there, Shane.” There’s a playful condescending edge to Ilya’s voice now. It’s kind of hot, if Shane can be honest with himself. “Doing my own stupid photoshoots.”

“Holy shit.” Shane's jaw drops open. “We could be in the same city for two whole weeks?”

“Da. Yes.” Is Ilya smirking? He sounds like he’s smirking. “Talk to your mom, kotenok.”

“Yeah.” Shane’s cheeks hurt with the strength of his grin. “Fuck, Ilya. This is great!”

“I know.” There’s a rustling noise in the background, like Ilya’s getting settled somewhere. “I am genius. I deserve dirty pics for my spank bank, I think.”

A bubbly laugh bursts out of Shane. “No way in hell, Rozanov.”

“You are so fucking boring, Hollander.” Ilya scoffs. And then, after a moment: “what are you wearing?”

Shane looks down at himself. “A white T-shirt and Voyageurs’ sweatpants. Why?”

“Like I said, boring.” Ilya tuts. “Take it off.”

Shane doesn’t have to think twice before following the order.

Chapter End Notes

Honest question: is it noticeable that I'm projecting my mommy issues onto Shane? lol

Chapter 8: July 2011

Chapter Notes

Ilya slowly blows out the smoke and watches idly as it floats up and away.

It’s peaceful up here. Not silent, but the noises of the city are reduced to distant honking and the vague acknowledgement that there’s probably music playing somewhere, which is miles better than the stuffy hall that they found for the stupid after party.

The phone sits heavily on Ilya’s pocket, but even that is quiet. He’d turned it off before the ceremony and didn’t bother to turn it back on again. It gives him the distinct impression that what he’s experiencing right now is nothing but the calm before the storm.

“Déjà vu.” A voice calls from behind Ilya and he doesn’t have to look back to know who it is.

He has to agree with the sentiment. His mind wanders to another bitter loss, another rooftop, another cigarette. The same sense of dread in Ilya’s gut, the same soothing balm in the shape of the man who defeated him.

Ilya must have been a veritable saint in his previous life to deserve a comfort as sweet as Shane Hollander’s presence.

“Is the party over?” Ilya asks the night sky.

“No.” Shane comes to stand next to him, close enough for Ilya to feel the heat emanating from him, but not quite touching. “I just needed some air.”

Ilya steals a glance at the other man’s profile. He looks far too sombre for someone who just won an award they’d both been working towards all year. “You should be celebrating.” Ilya offers quietly, facing away once again. “You deserve it.”

“It could have gone to either of us.” Shane replies evenly. Too evenly, maybe. Like he suddenly cares about not bragging.  

Jesus, does Ilya really look that pathetic? “It went to you.” He says with an impatient eyeroll.

Shane shrugs. “Who knows how they decide these things?”

“Hollander.” Ilya says seriously, turning towards Shane and waiting until the other man meets his eyes. “I am proud of you.” Repeating the words Shane said to him all those months ago, Ilya’s completely unsurprised to find that he means them with every fiber of his being.

Shane smiles shyly, but Ilya barely even registers it, too distracted by the way Shane’s eyes grow impossibly wide and shiny. And then Shane’s kissing him, taking advantage of the fact that Ilya’s completely lost on those big brown eyes. It’s a quick thing, over before Ilya can properly kiss back, because of course Shane Hollander wouldn’t take the risk of someone else walking in on them.

“I have to go back to the party.” Shane says quietly. “But I was hoping that maybe later…?”

“Yes.” Ilya digs through his pocket and pulls out the spare key card he’s now glad he had the foresight to ask for. “1107.”

Shane grins widely as he takes the card. “Okay.”

“Don’t drink too much.” Ilya’s hit with a sudden burst of inspiration. “I need you sober for your reward.”

“My reward?” Shane’s eyes drift to Ilya’s mouth.

“Mhmm.” Ilya leans in. “You earned it, I think.”

Ilya can hear Shane gulp. Shane’s eyes fall closed and he presses even closer, their noses just about touching together as they breathe the same air.

“I’ll see you soon.” Shane murmurs. 

And then he’s gone. 

Ilya only waits two minutes before leaving as well. He’s got some planning to do.

“Take off your clothes.” Ilya instructs as soon as the door closes.

Shane narrows his eyes at him, but doesn’t take long to comply. Probably because Ilya had a headstart and is already shirtless.

Once they’re both naked, Ilya leads Shane to the bed and covers Shane’s body with his own. He holds on to Shane’s jaw and kisses him deeply. And Shane, beautiful eager Shane, responds immediately, opening his legs to make room for Ilya while burying his hands in Ilya’s hair to pull him closer.

For a long time, they just kiss. And grind together a little bit. But mostly, they enjoy the simplicity of their kiss and try to make up for all the kissing they couldn’t do up on the rooftop.

“You want your reward?” Ilya asks when their lips finally part for more than two seconds.

“Yes.” Shane breathes out, resting back onto the pillow with a dopey smile on his face. “What is it?”

“Let’s play a game.” Ilya props himself up on his elbows, so he can fully see Shane’s face as they have this conversation.

Shane blinks. “Okay?”

Ilya nods and carefully pronounces the words he practiced while he waited: “the rule of the game is: you cannot come until I say you can.” 

“What?” Shane’s jaw is slack with surprise, but his blush and his eyes betray how interested he already is.

“And you must tell me if you are close.” 

Shane lets out an indignant sound. “I thought this was supposed to be my reward!”

“It is.” Ilya says simply. “You will like it very much, I think.”

Shane licks his lips in anticipation and, after a moment, nods. Turns out, it’s very easy to convince a man to do something he already wants to do anyway.

“Yes?” Ilya double checks, just in case.

But Shane doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Ilya can’t help but kiss him again. Just a quick press of lips. Then two. And three for good luck before he pulls back again and focuses his gaze on those beautiful brown eyes.

“Then this is important part,” Ilya says slowly, each word precisely selected to make sure that he is understood, “if you want to stop you must say ‘stop’. You will beg and you will cry, but that will not make me give in. But if you say ‘stop,’ I will stop. If it is not fun anymore, we do something else. I make you come any way you want. Okay?”

Shane’s looking at him with so much unfiltered want, Ilya worries that maybe he was too far gone to pay enough attention. But Shane’s nod is resolute when he says “Okay.”

“Promise me.” Ilya insists.

“I promise I’ll say ‘stop’ if I need to stop.” Shane recites dutifully. He’s always so fucking perfect at following orders.

Ilya smiles. “Alright.”

And then they’re off.

Ilya didn’t really plan what would happen after this point. He just knew that this would be the sweetest kind of torture for Shane, who’s always so eager and who orgasms within 5 seconds of getting any attention on his dick. He knows he can take Shane apart with this game.

Shane deserves that kind of bliss and he’s earned it tonight, so Ilya wants to give it to him. He also wants to witness Shane Hollander turn into a sloppy desperate mess, but that’s beside the point.

Ilya starts off slowly: a trail of kisses down Shane’s neck. He’s had a full year to study Shane Hollander’s body by now and he knows all about the spot near his clavicule that never fails to make him squirm. That’s his first stop. A long, luxurious stop that comes just shy of leaving a mark.

“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane groans, thrusting his hips up. Ilya angles his own body away, so that there’s nothing for his lover to rub against.

Next are Shane’s glorious tits. They’re so fucking plump, no woman compares. Ilya wants to fuck them, but tonight’s not about what Ilya wants. Soon, then. Next time. For now, Ilya licks a broad strip over Shane’s left pec before taking the nipple into his mouth and sucking hard.

“Holy shit, Rozanov.” Shane yelps, which only makes Ilya suck harder. Shane tightens his hands in Ilya’s hair, holding on for dear life. He’s exactly where Ilya wants him to be.

When he pulls away, Shane’s nipple is red and swollen. Ilya takes a moment to admire his handy work. “Good?” He asks smugly.

“So fucking good.” Shane replies at once, eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Of course, Ilya then simply has to give Shane’s right boob the same treatment. It leaves Shane panting, his dick leaking onto his abs. 

Ilya licks the precum away, moaning at the taste. “Kotenok,” he calls softly, “look at me.”

Shane’s pupils are blown wide when he finally looks down, like he’s drowning in want. Ilya steadily holds his gaze as he takes Shane’s cock into his mouth, all the way to the hilt. 

He bobs his head up and down once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four.

Five.

And then, like clockwork: “Shit, Ilya. I’m close.”

Ilya takes him in deep one more time, making sure Shane’s at the very brink before pulling back. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Shane drops back down onto the bed like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He’s trying and failing to keep his breath under control.

“Very good, kotenok.” Ilya presses a kiss to Shane’s hip, one hand moving soothingly up and down Shane’s thigh. “You are okay?” 

“I want to strangle you.” Shane glares adorably at him.

“Yes.” Ilya smirks. “But do you want to stop?”

“Don’t you dare.”

Ilya hides his answering smile by nuzzling into Shane’s crotch before giving his outer thigh a light smack. “Turn around.”

Shane turns to lie on his stomach, instinctively opening his legs. It’s a sight directly out of Ilya’s dreams. He wastes no time diving in for a taste, his hands keeping Shane’s cheeks spread as he slurps around his hole until Shane’s relaxed enough to let him in.

Shane can last longer like this, the sensation less overwhelming than when Ilya’s touching his dick. Still, it’s not long before he’s rutting desperately against the mattress.

“Fuck, Ilya. I’m close.” He moans. “Please. I’m so close. Please let me—”

Ilya not only pulls back, but he grabs Shane’s hips and yanks him up to his hands and knees so that his dick’s no longer touching the bed.

“No.” Shane whines. “Fuck, no, Rozanov. Fuck you. God. Fuck.”

Ilya chuckles. “Okay?”

“I hate you.”

“Mhmm.” Ilya hums agreeably. “Ready for more?”

Shane drops his head down onto the pillow, which has the delightful side effect of arching his back and presenting his ass in the most enticing way. “Bring it on, asshole.” He challenges.

Ilya doesn’t need to be told twice.

This will be the hardest one, he knows. He’s done it before, gotten Shane off with nothing but his tongue, cock untouched. But it takes some time and Ilya has to focus all of his skill into it. He settles into a comfortable position and prepares to keep at this for a good long while.

He didn’t consider, however, how worked up Shane is from being snatched back from the edge twice already. How every move that Ilya makes results in a gasp or a whimper or a curse. How Shane’s mumbling needily under his breath: “yes” and “more” and “please” and, his favorite, “Ilya.” How Shane’s thrusting his ass back onto Ilya’s mouth, seeking his touch like he’ll die without it.

In the end, it’s when he harshly kneads Shane’s glutes, trying to force them further apart that he’s rewarded with a sharp “Close!” Followed closely by “Yes. Fuck, Ilya. Yes. Please please please let me come.”

Before the plea is even fully out of Shane’s mouth, Ilya’s already sitting up and wiping the slobber off his chin.

“Fuck.” Shane sobs. “Fuck, Ilya.” 

Ilya blankets Shane’s body with his own. “So good for me.” He says in soft Russian, in between soft kisses pressed all over Shane’s shoulders and neck. “Perfect. Beautiful. You sound so fucking pretty when you beg, Shaneusha. It’s music. Makes me want to give you everything.”

Shane sniffs. “What?”

“Such a good boy.” Ilya switches back to English, delighting in the way Shane shivers under him. “You can take more, yes?”

Shane sighs happily, nodding with his face still squished onto the pillow.

“You want my fingers?”

“Yes, please.” Shane breathes out, his voice distant and dreamy.

Ilya chuckles. “So polite.” He kisses Shane’s cheek before reaching for the lube and kneeling between his lover’s open legs. 

After how long Ilya ate him out for, Shane could easily take two or even three fingers. But Ilya doesn’t want to overwhelm him again so soon, so he coats a single finger in lube and fucks it slowly in and out of Shane, careful to avoid his prostate. 

It’s a good thing too, because at the first brush of Ilya’s finger Shane’s already moaning louder than Ilya’s ever heard him before.

Two fingers have Shane begging shamelessly. Not that he can convey anything specific, mind. Just nonsense that Ilya wouldn’t be able to decipher if the tone wasn’t obviously supplicant.

With three fingers up his ass, Shane Hollander is beyond pleading. Instead, he sobs quietly while the tear stain under him on the pillowcase grows progressively larger.

Ilya’s internally debating whether he should double down and focus his attention on Shane’s prostate when he hears a soft “‘m close” and pulls his hand away instead. 

Shane whines in protest, but seems unable to form any actual words, which is maybe a little concerning. Ilya quickly manhandles him to lie on his back, stretching his legs out so they don’t cramp, before climbing on top of him and bringing both hands up to tenderly cradle Shane’s face.

“Shane?” He asks softly. “Kotenok?”

The only reaction he gets from Shane is that the man angles his head up for a kiss, which Ilya’s only too happy to grant, making sure to keep it gentle for now.

“You are okay?” Ilya asks, pressing his forehead against Shane’s, but putting a little distance between their lips.

“It’s so much.” Shane murmurs in response.

“Do you want to stop?” Ilya brushes his thumbs over Shane’s stunning freckles.

“No.” Shane whines. “I want to come.”

Ilya swallows down a laugh, carefully studying Shane’s face. He looks sloppy and messy, but not completely wrecked yet. Ilya just knows he can push this further. Make it better for Shane. “I want one more.” He decides.

Shane lets out a distressed sound. “I can’t—”

“You can.” Ilya interrupts him, gently but firmly. “You are Shane fucking Hollander, rookie of the year. You can do anything.”

When Shane finally opens his eyes, they’re red-rimmed and the pupils are so wide there’s barely any brown left. It’s the kind of vision that can make a man like Ilya do outrageous things. “I can?” He sounds enthralled.

“Yes.” Ilya kisses him again. “Just one more, Hollander.” He whispers against Shane’s lips. “You are such a good boy for me. One more and I’ll make you come so hard, kotenok.” 

“Okay.” Shane breathes.

Ilya smiles. “I want to fuck you.”

“Yes.” Shane opens his legs wide. “Please fuck me.”

Ilya was wrong. 

This is the hardest one. By a long stretch. So far, he’d been able to keep his composure because he was focused entirely on Shane. But now? With the tight slick heat of Shane enveloping him so deliciously, Ilya realizes he’s in danger of coming before he can even get Shane off, let alone edge him one more time.

He moves slowly. So. Very. Slowly. Building a rhythm one thrust at a time.

It feels like forever before he works up to fucking Shane as hard as he wanted to, elbows on each side of Shane’s head and face buried into the crook of Shane’s neck like that connection is the only thing tethering him to Earth. He changes his angle just slightly, so that instead of lightly brushing against Shane’s sweet spot, he’s now hitting it head on.

“Stop!” Shane screams.

Ilya’s hips freeze in place, but his head snaps up so he can look at Shane’s face. His eyes are pressed shut in what looks like agony and he seems to be holding tension in every nerve of his body.

“Shane?” It takes everything in Ilya to keep his voice steady, especially when Shane doesn’t respond. “Kotenok? Please talk with me.”

“Did I come?” Shane asks weakly.

Ilya blinks. After a moment, he looks down. There’s a puddle of precum on Shane’s stomach, but he didn’t actually come. Of course not. Ilya would have noticed if Shane had come. “No.”

All the tension bleeds out of Shane at once. “Oh.” He exhales.

“You are okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. I just…” Shane opens his eyes and gives Ilya a little shy smile. “I wasn’t sure if I could keep that one in.”

“You did.” Ilya finds himself smiling back with pride. “You are amazing, Shaneusha.”

“Yeah?”

“Incredible.” Ilya leans down to press little kisses all over Shane’s face. “Stunning.” He continues in Russian. “Magnificent. Sensational. Wonderful.”

“Ilya.” Shane’s voice sounds like molten lava. “Can I come now?”

Ilya laughs. “Yes, kotenok.” He takes both of Shane’s hands in his, pressing them to the mattress next to Shane’s head and interlacing their fingers. “Come on my cock. Is enough for you, yes?”

Shane nods wordlessly and Ilya starts moving again. 

He does try to keep it slow again. He tries really hard. It’s just impossible to do it with how Shane’s thrusting back to meet his every move. How his face instantly went slack with pleasure at the first touch to his prostate and how he’s squeezing Ilya’s hands almost to the point of pain.

“I’m close.” Shane announces.

“Yes.” Ilya fucks him harder. “Come, kotenok. Come for me.”

“’M coming for you.” Shane moans senselessly. 

Ilya keeps his eyes fixed on Shane’s face and savours all the ways it contorts gorgeously in pleasure. He doesn’t slow down, fucks Shane through it.

Shane isn’t slowing down either. He comes and comes and comes for longer than Ilya would have thought was possible. 

It’s not until Shane relaxes that Ilya allows himself to chase his own pleasure. 

It doesn’t take very long at all for him to get there.

Ilya collapses on top of his lover, which he knows Shane will hate in about 5 seconds, once he realizes he’s covered in cum. 

So Ilya gives himself exactly 5 seconds to indulge in this moment. In the glorious orgasm he’s just experienced and the exquisite man under him. When his mental count gets to 5, Ilya forces himself to pull out, dispose of the condom and grab some wet wipes and clean them up as best he can. 

Once Shane’s back to himself, Ilya will carry him to the shower and wash him properly. He will make sure Shane hydrates and will get him a ridiculously overpriced snack from the minibar. He will tell Shane how much of a good boy he is and how proud Ilya is of him.

For now, Ilya lies down on his back and pulls Shane on top of him. 

He holds on tight to this beautiful man who, against all common sense, repeatedly chooses to gift himself to Ilya.

He exists in this pocket of peace and tries not to think of the chaos that awaits him in Russia.

Chapter End Notes

Consent king Ilya Rozanov is back at it again!

 

Me writing this: Isn't it unrealistic for Ilya to still be struggling this much with his English after a year in the US?
Also me on the phone yesterday (after living in the UK for 5 years): All the English I've ever known has left me and now there's a 50 seconds gap in the middle of this sentence. Also, what's the English word for "time"?

Chapter 9: October 2011

Chapter Notes

Something changed in New York.

Or maybe it was before then. 

Maybe it was in Las Vegas or at some point during the long summer Shane spent away from Ilya.

Last season, Shane didn’t mind that Ilya was routinely sleeping with other people. Didn’t even think about it when he saw the evidence, it just seemed like a foregone conclusion.

Last season, Shane had no issue sleeping with other people. He didn’t particularly enjoy it — it was never half as good as it was with Ilya — but he did it. It scratched an itch and it kept Hayden off his back to accept his setups sometimes.

But now?

Now Shane knows what it feels like to float. To be weightless yet still safe, because Ilya was there to gently pull him back to Earth when the time came. 

Now Shane knows how to say “I wish you were here” in Russian and he knows what Ilya Rozanov looks like when the phrase makes him speechless.

Now Shane knows Ilya’s morning routine, how he takes his coffee black but has a taste for overly sweet american breakfast food.

Now Shane can’t stomach the thought of anyone other than Ilya on his bed.

Now Shane’s staring unseeingly at a picture from some fluff gossip piece on his phone: Ilya standing outside a club, his clothes sticking to his body with the sweat of dancing, a huge smile on his face and his arm around a tall gorgeous woman’s waist. He’s leaning on her, saying something in her ear.

Something shifted while Shane wasn’t paying attention and now he can’t go back. He doesn’t want to go back to a time when he didn’t know the weight of Ilya’s head on Shane’s stomach and the silky feel of Ilya’s curls between Shane’s fingers as Ilya recharged after a long day of video and photoshoots.

And he can’t move forward. He can’t be that for Ilya, can’t take him out to a club and dance with him all night. Can’t lean on him outside and hear Ilya whisper dirty things in his ear.

Shane’s sweat is cooling on his body and his post-run smoothie remains untouched, but he’s frozen in place. He’s stuck.

His phone pings with new messages.

Lily

you will come over after we beat you next week?

my bed misses you

It’s enough to snap Shane out of his trance. 

What he can do for Ilya is what they’ve been doing from the beginning. He can go over to Ilya’s place and spend the night with him. He can enjoy Ilya’s company and Ilya’s body and for the brief time they’re together, he can make sure Ilya’s safe.

Shane

No way in hell

I’ll come over after WE beat YOU next week, asshole

“Wait.” Shane sighs as Ilya stretches over him to reach the lube on the bedside table. They haven’t talked yet, too impatient to touch each other, but Shane needs to get this out. 

Ilya stops directly on top of him, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he smiles down. “You are okay?”

“Yeah.” Shane responds automatically. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just. Do you want to…?”

Ilya raises his eyebrows expectantly after Shane trails off.

“You know.” Shane tries again. “Do you want to, you know, swap?”

Ilya blinks. “You want to fuck me?”

“I can.” Shane declares, but it comes out weaker than he would have liked. “If you want me to.”

“So you don’t want to fuck me.”

“No!” Shane rushes to deny, he can feel his face heating up. “It’s not…” God, this conversation is torture. 

Ilya’s face softens. “Is okay.” He cradles Shane’s jaw with a gentle hand. “Just tell me.”

When Shane finally meets Ilya’s eyes the care he sees there has him melting instantly. “You shouldn’t have to risk finding another man when I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.” He explains softly.

“You don’t want me to see other men?” Ilya’s face does something weird, but it smoothes back to normal before Shane can decipher it. 

“I mean. It’s not safe for you, right?” Shane rambles awkwardly. “Obviously. So if you want to—”

Ilya cuts him off with a kiss. “I don’t want to.” He whispers against Shane’s lips, not pulling away.

“Oh.” Shane exhales in relief. “Okay.”

For a long moment, they just breathe against each other. When Ilya breaks the silence, it’s with a Russian phrase so quiet Shane almost misses it. “I don’t want anyone else but you, kotenok.” 

“Holy shit.” The words are out of his mouth before Shane can stop them.

Ilya snaps back with wide eyes. “You understood that?”

Shane can only nod. He had worked hard on his Russian over the summer, but he realizes now that he hadn’t really shared his progress with Ilya yet. It just hadn’t come up.

Ilya clears his throat, looking away with an honest-to-god blush on his cheeks. “Is okay if you don’t feel like me.”

“I do.” Shane quickly finds his voice. “Fuck, Ilya. Of course I only want you too.” He pulls Ilya back into another kiss. “I just didn’t think I’d be… enough. For you.”

Ilya relaxes his elbows, resting his body weight on top of Shane like the world’s most comfortable blanket and tucking his face neatly into the space between Shane’s shoulder and his neck. “I tried.” He confesses softly. “In Russia, with girls. They are not you.”

Shane wraps both arms around Ilya, getting comfortable in their embrace. “I was jealous.” He suddenly realizes, the feeling much easier to name now that it’s gone. “I saw you with a girl on fucking TMZ and I was so fucking jealous, Ilya.”

Ilya pulls back with a confused frown on his face. “What girl?”

“I don’t know.” Shane lies, like the image isn’t burned into his retinas. “She was… tall. Dark curly hair.”

“Ah.” Ilya’s face clears. “Sveta. She’s old friend. We don’t fuck anymore.”

Shane smiles. “‘Anymore’?”

“She is not you.” Ilya repeats with a shrug.

“Wow” is all Shane can think of to say, too distracted by the brightness of Ilya’s crooked smile.

Ilya kisses him again, long and deep. It feels different somehow, lighter. Shane can’t help but moan into it. “I fuck you now, yes?” Ilya rasps out when their lips finally break apart.

“Yes.” Shane breathes. “Yes, Ilya. Please fuck me.”

Chapter End Notes

I haven't heard a phrase for this in English, so let me know if there is one, but the concept of a "serious situationship" is pretty common in Brazil. And yes, I do think it sounds oxymoronic. I also think it's exactly the kind of bullshit Shane and Ilya would get themselves into lol

Chapter 10: January 2012

Ilya’s always had a love-hate relationship with winter.

On the one hand, hockey season has always been a welcome escape from… everything. From his father’s expectations and punishment, from his brother’s hatred and from his own grief after his mama passed.

On the other hand, long days at the rink meant sometimes Ilya didn’t see sunlight for weeks on end and, although Boston didn’t get quite as cold as Moscow, it was still cold enough to make him feel like he was moving through molasses. Worst of all, days like today were more likely to happen during winter.

Days when Ilya feels like he’d rather die than get out of bed. When he is disgusted by the grease on his hair, but the effort to take a shower seems insurmountable. When he waits until his stomach was gnawing on itself to finally order something because the idea of cooking is ludicrous.

Days when he can’t help but remember his mama in bed just like he is right now and feel soul-deep dread at just how similar they are. In every other aspect, he is proud to be like his mama. Strives for it, even. But not in this. This terrifies him.

At least it’s a day off. Normally, he’d have to force himself out of bed and put on a smile and pretend everything is fine and it’d take everything in him not to collapse onto himself in the locker room or on the ice. Not today.

Today he gets to just… exist. And maybe pretend that he doesn’t.

Ilya’s startled by the sharp sound of the doorbell. 

He pulls the comforter over his head, pretends he isn’t home. It’s probably amazon or something. They will drop whatever package they have at the door and go away.

The bell rings again, twice in rapid succession.

Shane. He realizes suddenly, and then, just as quickly: Fuck. 

In a jolt of adrenaline, Ilya is out of bed and running to the front door. If he leaves Shane outside for too long the man will probably have a panic attack.

He forgot. How the fuck did he forget that Shane was coming over today? They have an afternoon game tomorrow, of course Shane came over so they could spend the night together. Like they always do. Like Shane had told him he would.

And now Ilya’s opening the door with messy oily hair and teeth he hasn’t brushed since yesterday and unattractive fuzzy pajamas, which he’s pretty sure are also not smelling great.

“What the fuck, Rozanov?” Shane hisses as he marches in. He has his angry kitten face on, but it doesn’t spark the same joy in Ilya that it usually does. “I was standing outside like an idiot. Anyone could have seen me.”

“Relax, kotenok.” Ilya forces a smirk on his face. “Is long driveway, no one saw you.”

“God, you’re such an asshole.” Shane grumbles, but he’s already crowding Ilya against the wall and leaning in to kiss him.

Ilya manages to turn his head at the very last second.

Shane makes a confused sound before pulling back enough to look at him. “Ilya?"

Ilya turns to face him again, trying for a smile, but he doesn’t think he’s pulling it off. “Shane?” He says obnoxiously.

Shane’s frown deepens. “Are you okay?”

Those eyes. Those goddamn fucking eyes are looking at him again. Shining and big and so fucking sincere and open and vulnerable. Ilya has no defense against such assault. He shakes his head.

Shane’s eyes somehow widen even further and he seems to freeze for a second before going into action. “What’s wrong?” He asks softly, one hand gently cupping Ilya’s cheek.

Ilya leans into it, closing his own eyes to escape Shane’s. “Nothing’s wrong.” He says, because nothing is wrong. It’s a regular fucking day, it’s just a regular fucking day when his brain has decided he doesn’t get to leave the bed. “I forgot you were coming today. I am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Shane offers quietly. “Can I, uh, do anything to help?”

Shane sounds so uncomfortable. Fuck, he’s made Shane uncomfortable. “Is okay.” Ilya says quickly. “You can leave, I will be fine.”

Shane doesn’t move away from him, but he also doesn’t say anything for so long that eventually Ilya gets curious enough that he has to open his eyes. “I’d rather stay.” He says with a sad smile. “If that’s alright?”

Is Ilya tearing up right now? What the fuck? 

But no one has ever stayed with him through a bad day. The team usually falls for his fake smile and he knows he can’t fool Sveta, so he avoids her like the plague when he’s feeling like this. His mama would have stayed, but the bad days were never this bad while she was alive.

He hides his face on Shane’s shoulder before he can embarrass himself further. 

Shane responds by wrapping Ilya in a tight hug. “You are okay.” He says in fucking Russian. His accent is dodgy, but Ilya can understand him perfectly and it cracks something open inside of him. “I am here. We are safe.”

A sob is ripped out of the depths of Ilya’s being. And just like that, he can’t hold back anymore. He clings to Shane like he might get snatched away at any moment and cries like he hasn’t cried in years, since before his mama died.

“That is okay.” Shane runs his fingers through Ilya’s hair, not seeming to mind the grease. “I’m sorry I don’t know the Russian for this, but crying is okay. It’s good. Let it all out.”

Ilya’s sobbing unashamedly into Shane’s shoulder now. It’s disgusting, probably. He’s going to leave a stain on Shane’s boring white T-shirt. But Shane hasn’t pulled back, so neither does Ilya.  He clings on and weeps for no reason that he can name and all the while Shane reassures him in soft Russian.

You are okay.

I am here.

We are safe.

Eventually, Ilya runs out of tears. He sniffs a couple more times before he gathers the courage to pull back and look at the kind smile on Shane’s face.

“Better?” Shane asks softly.

Ilya nods wordlessly. He does feel a bit better. Still not great, but at least a little more human.

“Good.” Shane’s smile grows a fraction. “What do you want to do now?”

Ilya shrugs. Go back to bed, maybe. If Shane will go with him. 

Shane nods to himself, like he’s trying to come up with the right play to get the winning goal. “What about food?” He settles on. “When was the last time you ate?”

Ilya has to take a moment to think back. “Last night?”

Shane’s smile falls. “It’s four in the afternoon, Ilya.”

Ilya feels his face heat up, but all he can do is shrug again. He is hungry, but not quite hungry enough to accept that he is too pathetic to cook and order food instead just yet.

“I’ll cook for you.” Shane nods decisively, apparently glad with his game plan. He leans in to kiss Ilya’s cheek before taking his hand and leading him to the kitchen.

Ilya’s sitting at the kitchen island watching Shane search for something on his phone when it hits him. “I didn’t buy any Shane-safe foods.” He admits dejectedly. “There’s tofu in the pantry, I think? But that’s it.” Even that’s from his emergency stash, he can only hope it’s not expired by now.

Shane glances up from his phone to give Ilya a baffled look. “I’m making pancakes.”

Ilya blinks. “You are making pancakes? Shane Hollander?”

“Yes.” Shane says simply. “With chocolate chips.”

“Wow.” For the first time all day, Ilya’s smirk is real. “Are you sure your body will know what to do with that?”

“Go fuck yourself, Rozanov.” Shane throws over his shoulder as he gathers the ingredients, but from what Ilya can see of his profile, Shane’s smiling too.

Soon, Ilya’s standing opposite Shane with a literal pile of pancakes in front of him. Shane’s plate only has three, but even that is more than Ilya expected.

They are delicious. Although, to be fair, Shane did burn his first couple of attempts. Then again, the recipe he used was for 20 fucking pancakes, so they can afford to toss one or two.

“I like your pajamas, by the way.” Shane says easily.

Ilya stares resolutely at his food. “Thanks.” He mumbles. He’s still wearing his ridiculous fleece pajamas that he’d never have voluntarily shown Shane because they’re the opposite of hot. “They are very comfortable.”

“They look it.” Shane says between one bite and the next. “Cozy to hug you in, too.”

When Ilya looks up again, Shane’s not even really looking at him. He’s just… eating. And making conversation. Like this is no different than any other day. He feels himself relax and lean into it, finding some other mindless topic to talk about. 

After pancakes, Shane leads him to the bathroom for a shower. Ilya goes willingly. The water is warm and Shane’s very naked in there with him, which is nice to look at, even if Ilya’s stupid brain is sending all the wrong signals and he remains limp throughout.

Ilya does take the opportunity to brush his teeth, though. So they can at least make out in the shower.

Before too long, they’re both on the couch wearing soft sweatpants and sweatshirts. Shane’s sitting near the edge and Ilya’s lying down with his head on Shane’s lap as Shane runs his fingers through Ilya’s still wet hair.

There’s a hockey game playing on the TV for background noise. Buffalo vs New York, he thinks. Nothing either of them should really be paying attention to.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shane asks just as the second period is starting.

Ilya opens his mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. He closes it. Waits a few moments before trying again, but there’s still nothing. “I don’t have the English.” He says at last.

“Then say it in Russian.” Shane suggests. “I won’t understand all of it, but maybe it will be enough?”

If Ilya wasn’t all cried out, the offer might have split him open again. Instead, he says, in Russian, “my mama died during winter.”

He’s not entirely sure where that came from, but his mama has been on his mind a lot lately, so it makes some kind of sense. And it’s nice to let it out, so he keeps going.

“Ever since then, winters are… hard. It’s so cold and so dark and I feel so empty. Some days, I can’t do anything at all. And the thing is, I don’t know if I’m sad because I miss her or if it’s because I’m like her. I don’t know which one is worse.”

Ilya’s not sure how much of that Shane can actually understand, but clearly he understands something, because he says “I’m so sorry about your mom, Ilya,” and runs a comforting hand up and down Ilya’s arm. “Do you want to talk about her?”

Ilya’s surprised to find that he does. He really fucking does. “She was so funny and beautiful. She was so smart.” He starts slow, but soon the words are flowing out of him, like they’ve been trapped inside for too long. “My father was always so hard on her, but she knew how to play him. She never let father turn his anger on us if she was around. She was so sad. Towards the end, she was sad more often than she was happy. I hate that that’s what I remember the most. There are so many good things I wish I could remember instead. Happy things. I know she was the one who taught me to skate, but I don’t remember. It would be a nice memory.”

Shane waits for a moment, making sure Ilya’s done. “She was like you.” He says with an audible smile. “Funny and beautiful and clever and protective. Brave. She sounds lovely.”

Ilya exhales roughly. That’s just the thing, isn’t it? He turns to lie on his back so he can look up at Shane. “She killed herself when I was 12, kotenok.” Somehow, that’s a sentence that doesn’t sound right in Russian. It’s easier to say it in English. “I worry sometimes. Maybe I am too much like her.”

Shane scrunches his face in concentration as he thinks of what to say next. “I’m not sure that’s possible.” He decides on. “I mean, she sounds like an amazing mom and you clearly loved her very much.” His hand comes to rest on Ilya’s cheek, caressing him gently. “So if you’re like her, I think that’s a good thing. And if you inherited the illness that took her, then… there’s treatment for it now, right? We will figure it out.”

Ilya’s eyes are fucking welling up again. Fuck. “You really think so?”

“You’re so full of life and light and warmth, moyo solnyshko.” Shane’s perfect beautiful eyes shine with adoration and Ilya’s heart stumbles in his chest. “I think you get it from her.”

“What did you call me?” Ilya breathes.

“Did I not use it right?” Shane’s smile dims. “I read it online—“

Ilya reaches up to touch Shane’s face, guiding his head so their eyes meet again. “Say it again?” He requests.

“Moyo solnyshko.” Shane says it slowly, carefully pronouncing each sound.

Ilya feels a tear escape his eyes. “She used to call me that.” He whispers.

“Oh.” Shane’s eyes grow wider in that way that makes Ilya want to drown in them. “I can think of something else.”

“No.” Ilya shakes his head. “I like it. You call me solnyshko.”

“Okay.” Shane leans down to kiss Ilya’s forehead. “Solnyshko.”

“But not in bed, ah?” Ilya warns once Shane’s sitting upright again.

“Of course.” 

“In bed, you call me Ilyusha.” Ilya grins wolfishly.

But Shane only raises his eyebrows. “Like you call me Shaneusha?”

Oh. 

Shane wasn’t supposed to know that. Ilya was so sure that he only ever used the overly sweet diminutive when Shane was too far gone to notice. Apparently not.

“I don’t understand what you said.” Ilya says in Russian, turning back to the TV and effectively killing the conversation.

But Shane knows his secrets now, knows his language, he can respond in kind: “You are a dirty liar, Rozanov.”

Ilya wakes up on his own bed, Shane’s body warm behind him. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that his lover’s already awake when he turns around.

“Good morning.” He rasps out.

“Good morning, solnyshko.” Shane replies with a sweet smile.

“I do not remember coming to bed.” Ilya accuses.

Shane rolls his eyes. “I’m a big strong hockey player too, you know.”

Ilya pointedly ignores the butterflies in his stomach at the idea of Shane carrying him to bed. “Oh. I know.” He rolls on top of Shane, his right hand trailing down Shane’s chest to cup his crotch.

Shane moans and spreads his legs. “Fuck, Ilyusha.”

“Hmm.” Ilya hums as he leans down to mouth at Shane’s neck. “I plan to.”

Chapter 11: March 2012

Chapter Notes

Shane

I’ve been blackmailed into going out for a drink with the team

Lily

what do they have on you?

As if I would tell you

Just let yourself in, okay?

I’ll be home soon

i should wait for you naked in bed?

like kept man?

Just make yourself at home

There’s coke in the fridge 

I only promised them one drink

drink it slowly

so i have time to explore

Do NOT look through my stuff!!!!

😈

Shane practically chugs his ginger ale. 

It’s not so much the threat of Ilya snooping that has him in a rush to get home. Ilya already found his dildos when looking for the back up lube that one time and it doesn’t really  get any more embarrassing than that.

No. It’s the thought of Ilya waiting (possibly naked!) for Shane at home. Like he belongs there. Like Shane’s home is a little bit his home too.

That wasn’t their reasoning for exchanging keys. It was mostly a practical decision to avoid one of them calling attention to themself outside, after what had almost happened in January. But this is a very nice bonus.

Unfortunately, his efforts to get out of there as soon as possible do not go unnoticed and Hayden buys him another drink before Shane can protest.

He ends up trapped in the bar for another hour.

The apartment is quiet when Shane finally makes it home. It’s also dark as far as Shane can see, so he rushes straight to the bedroom, where a single lamp is lit on his bedside table.

Ilya’s not waiting naked in bed for Shane.

That Shane most likely could have handled. He’d maybe been preparing himself for it since he got the text.

This, on the other hand…

Ilya’s in bed, yes, lying on his tummy and half-hugging the pillow under his head. And he’s not wearing any pants or underwear. What he is wearing, however, is Shane’s jersey. The name “Hollander” written clear as day over his shoulders and the number 24 scrunched up just enough for the fabric to ride up and expose Ilya’s perfect bubble butt.

And he’s asleep.

Ilya dressed himself up and staged himself enticingly for Shane and then he fell asleep. On Shane’s bed. Because he feels comfortable and safe in Shane’s home.

It’s a miracle that Shane doesn’t come right there at the doorway.

He doesn’t remember telling his body to move, but in a flash he’s down to his boxers, blanketing Ilya’s body with his own and kissing as much of Ilya’s neck and face as he can reach.

“Wake up, Ilyusha.” He says into Ilya’s skin. “Wake up, I need you.”

Ilya startles awake, looking almost scared for a moment before he relaxes back onto the bed. “Shane?”

“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane grinds his fully hard cock down against Ilya’s ass. It feels fucking amazing, but it’s also kind of weird. They don’t find themselves in this position very often. “How do you even come up with this kind of shit?”

Ilya smirks. “You like?”

“I like.” Shane groans. “So fucking much. I wish I could fuck you.”

Ilya manages a confused frown at Shane over his shoulder. “You do?”

“Well, no.” Shane admits. “I wish I wanted to fuck you, I guess. I wish we could fuck while I see my name on your back.”

“Ah.” Ilya considers for a moment. “You can fuck my thighs.” He suggests.

Shane stops grinding. “What?”

“I squeeze them tight for you. We can fuck like that.”

“But would that…” Shane’s mouth suddenly goes very dry. “Would that, uh, feel good for you?”

“I don’t know.” Ilya shrugs. “Probably.”

Shane smiles. “And you’d do that?” 

Ilya nods. “You can suck me off after.”

“Yeah.” Shane kisses his jaw. “Fuck, yes. I want to.”

Shane stands up to quickly remove his underwear and get the lube from the side table, but as he turns to get back into bed, his eyes catch on Ilya’s ass again. Ilya’s flawlessly sculpted round ass.

He’s always been transfixed by Ilya’s ass, from the first time he saw it at that shower on draft night. But it’s not usually on display like this, gorgeously presented and framed by Voyageur blue.

“Can I eat you out?” Shane blurts.

Ilya spreads his legs lazily. “Be my guest.”

Shane sets the lube by Ilya’s hip as he lies back down between his legs. Ilya’s ass is even more beautiful up close.

It deserves worship, Shane thinks.

So that’s what he sets out to do.

It’s a bit strange at first, trying to do things Shane’s only ever been on the receiving end of. But he must not be doing too badly, because soon Ilya’s rutting against the mattress. On the contrary, Shane knows he must be doing something particularly right because Ilya’s now slipping into Russian.

And Shane’s not stupid. He realized months ago Ilya hides behind his mother tongue when he wants to let stuff out that he maybe wouldn’t want Shane to know. But, in his defense, Shane’s usually the one with his face pressed into a pillow and his ass up in the air, struggling to hold on to any sort of coherent thought. He mostly doesn’t follow what comes out of Ilya’s mouth when they’re like this.

But not tonight.

Tonight he’s clearheaded. 

Tonight he understands everything.

“So good for me, kotenok. So perfect.” Followed by “must be a gift from the gods. What I did to deserve you, I don’t know. But I am forever grateful.” Or “just like that, yes. Fuck, you’re a natural. Did you practice this too?”

And then, when Ilya’s rubbing his cock on the bed and his ass on Shane’s face in turns, frantically chasing his pleasure:

“Claim me. Take me. Don’t stop. I wear your name, Shaneusha. I’m yours.”

Shane pulls back then. He has to. Otherwise he’s going to come without his dick having even touched Ilya’s body.

He grabs the lube and spreads it haphazardly over Ilya’s inner thighs. “Close your legs for me, Ilyusha.” Shane says as he adjusts himself to hover over Ilya’s knees. “Come on, I want to fuck you.”

Ilya doesn’t need to be told twice. He crosses his legs at the ankle and Shane can see the muscles tense as he squeezes tight.

Shane holds on to Ilya’s hip with one hand, the other guiding his cock to the spot just under Ilya’s ass before thrusting down slowly.

It feels incredible. Hot and tight and wet and Shane can’t fucking believe that they’d never done this before. He pulls back and stares at how his cock disappears onto Ilya’s body again. It’s an mesmerizing sight.

Eventually, he manages to break the spell. He moves his eyes up to see his number, his name and the golden curls of the man wearing his jersey. His Ilya.

“Say it again.” Shane begs. “Please Ilya, say it again.”

“Say what?” Ilya sounds genuinely confused.

“Say you’re mine, Ilyusha.” Shane falls forward, his chest pressed up to Ilya’s back as he fucks Ilyas thighs with abandon. “Please, I need you to say it.”

Ilya inhales sharply in surprise at having been understood, but he recovers quickly. “I’m yours, Shane.” He professes in loud clear English.

“Mine.” Shane growls.

“Yours, Shaneusha.” Ilya vows. “Only yours.”

The words push Shane over the edge and he comes all over Ilya’s thighs, marking him as undeniably Shane’s.

It takes him a moment longer to catch his breath, but they’re not done yet. As soon as he can think again Shane’s manhandling Ilya onto his back and diving down to swallow his dick.

“Fuck, Hollander.” Ilya curses, anchoring a hand on Shane’s hair. “I won’t last. You are too good.”

Shane takes Ilya into his throat and swallows around him a couple of times, until he can tell that Ilya’s at the very edge, before pulling back and stroking Ilya firmly with his hand.

“Come on my face.” Shane pleads. “Mark me up too. Claim me. I’m yours, Ilyusha.”

Ilya comes with a gasp of Shane’s name and Shane does waste an ounce of it. He rubs his face on Ilya’s cock until every last drop of Ilya’s release is smeared over Shane’s skin.

Once it’s over, Shane grins up at Ilya, who uses his hand on Shane’s hair to roughly pull him up until their lips meet. Shane gives himself over completely. They hadn’t kissed tonight yet, a gross oversight that Ilya’s right to rectify.

“Hello.” Ilya says when they eventually break for air.

Shane giggles. “Hi.”

“Welcome home, kotenok.” Ilya murmurs warmily.

Shane kisses him again.

Chapter End Notes

They are soooooooo casual, you guys. Like, the casualEST

Chapter 12: June 2012

Chapter Notes

“And I keep saying that I’m a fully grown adult, you know?” Shane is saying over the phone. 

Ilya doesn’t suppress his smile as he walks around the park. Shane’s been ranting for a while. ‘Venting’ Shane told him it was called, when he wants to complain and doesn’t want Ilya to offer solutions. Not that Ilya has any solutions to offer.

The Hollander family dynamics are baffling to him.

“I’m 21 fucking years old. I live alone.” Shane’s still going. “Literally no one else shows up to every photoshoot with their manager. She doesn’t need to be there. But she doesn’t listen! It’s like I’m talking to a wall. Fuck, at this point I might have better luck with the fucking wall!”

Ilya takes advantage of Shane’s break to breathe. “I’m sure the wall would listen to you.” 

“Ilya.” Shane sighs in a half-hearted warning. Ilya can perfectly picture the fond smile on his face.

“I mean it.” Ilya smirks. “You, kotenok, are very persuasive.”

“Clearly I’m not.” Shane sounds like he’s rolling his eyes, which Ilya takes as a personal victory.

“You are.” He insists. “It’s all in the eyes, very big, very brown. Very – what is English phrase? Deer eyes?”

“‘Like a deer caught in headlights’?” Shane offers.

“No, no.” Ilya gestures as if to shoo the suggestion away. “That’s different. I mean like… puppy dog eyes?”

“Fuck you.” Shane replies immediately. Automatically.

Ilya hums. “That’s not it either, I don’t think.”

“I do not have doe eyes, asshole!” Shane hisses. Like an angry cat.

“Doe eyes!” Ilya laughs. “That is it! You have very big, very brown, very doe-y eyes, kotenok. Very hard to say no to.”

Shane chuckles and finally, finally starts to get his breathing under control. “I’m sorry, I’m ranting.” He says after a long moment.

“I don’t mind.” Ilya shrugs. It’s not exactly true, but it’s less weird than Ilya’s initial instinct, which was to say something mushy like I love listening to you talk.

“Anyway, I’m done.” Shane announces. Ilya can’t help but think it’s kind of adorable. “How’s, uh, how’s Russia?”

Ilya scrunches his nose at the question. What can he even say? Russia is Russia. It’s no different than it has always been.

His father is more confused these days, but not so much that he can’t find something to berate Ilya about. In fact, he’s been revisiting some old classics: the shame Ilya brought on Russia by losing the prospect cup in 2009, the personal failure that is not playing in the KHL. Like a highlight reel of their worst moments.

His brother didn’t suddenly grow to like him after a lifetime of hate just because he gets monthly checks to provide for the lovely niece that Ilya still isn’t allowed to visit.

Even Polina is seeing the writing on the wall. Grigori won’t be around for much longer, so it’s better to appeal to Ilya’s generosity now, while they still have someone tying them together.

“Not bad” is what Ilya says. He feels a little bad for feeding Shane a lie after Shane’s shared so much with him, but he really doesn’t want to get into it right now. At least he can follow it up with a truth: “Sveta’s here too, so it’s okay.”

“I’m glad you have someone.” Shane says in a voice so soft it sets off a warm funny feeling in Ilya’s chest. He squashes it down. “Your father—?”

“Shane.” Ilya interrupts gently. “He has been my father for many years now. I am used to it.”

“I know.” Shane sighs. “I know. Just… be safe, okay?”

The warmth grows so much in Ilya’s chest that he can’t keep it down anymore.

Fuck.

Ilya has to stop walking and take and take a couple of deep breaths himself. Does Shane even know what he’s saying? Does he know that the only real safety Ilya ever experiences is when he’s alone with Shane in one of their homes?

Does Shane feel the warmth too? 

“Okay.” Ilya breathes out. And then, at a loss of what else to say: “I should go now. Sveta’s waiting for me.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course.” Shane clears his throat. “Goodbye, Ilya.”

“Goodbye, Shane.” Ilya hangs up the phone before he can follow that up with something stupid like I miss you or I won’t feel safe until I see you again. Or, god forbid, something worse. Something Ilya can’t put into words yet.

He walks the long way around the park, using the time to clear his head before he finds Svetlana lounging in the shadow of a Sycamore tree, exactly where he left her.

She smirks as she notices Ilya approaching. “How is Jane?” 

Ilya puts on a neutral mask as he drops the bag of pastries at her feet and sits down next to her on the grass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been gone for over 30 minutes.” She points out, taking a Khvorost for herself and setting the bag between them.

Ilya shrugs and takes one as well. “There was a line at the bakery.” He lies.

“So you did not just spend the last half-hour talking to the person who is saved on your phone as ‘Jane’?” Her tone is light, but her eyes betray the serious undercurrent to her questioning.

The person who is saved on your phone as ‘Jane’.

The phrase is unsuspicious enough, but it also tells him everything he needs to know, that Svetlana is too perceptive for her own good. She puts things together too fast. She knows him too well.

Ilya buys time by taking another pastry and shoving it into his mouth. “It’s not what you think.” He says around it.

But, of course, Sveta doesn’t let it go. “So Jane isn’t your lover?”

“Of course not.” Ilya finally caves, turning to glare at her. “You know that’s impossible.”

“And yet…” She gestures vaguely in a way that’s clearly meant to encompass something like this whole situation.

“It’s casual, okay?” Ilya bites out. “We are… friends, or whatever. And we sleep together sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

Sveta raises an eyebrow. “Are you lying to me or to yourself?”

Good fucking question, Ilya thinks. Both, probably. He’s definitely downplaying it for her. But also… is he even fooling himself anymore?

Was he ever?

Ilya can’t bear to look at Sveta’s expectant face anymore, so he doesn’t. He lies down on his back and looks up at the sky, watching the clouds go by.

“Ilyusha.” Sveta’s voice goes soft as she lies down next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “You know I love you, right?”

Ilya snorts. “What are you, jealous?”

“I’m saying I’ve got your back, asshole.” She shoves lightly at his arm. “Even if it means I have to help you get out of this dump and leave me here alone.”

“You know I can’t leave.” Ilya replies quietly. 

This, he has always known. 

Ilya can run as much as he wants. He can spend all year playing hockey on the other side of the world and he can steal little moments with a beautiful Canadian boy.

But, at the end of the day, he can’t leave his father, sick as he is. He can’t leave his brother when he has a young daughter to raise. He can’t even leave fucking Russia without jumping through hoops to get citizenship elsewhere.

“You’ve always been too good for these people.” Svetlana says resignedly.

Ilya takes her hand in his. “I love you too, Sveta.” He says simply. And then, after a moment: “like a sister I used to fuck.”

Sveta laughs. “Fucking gross, Ilyusha.”

They stay silent for a long time after that.

When Sveta finally starts talking again, it’s about hockey, of course. Who’s getting traded in the offseason. Who’s getting drafted. What teams have a real shot at the Cup.

They talk about everything and nothing until it starts getting dark and Ilya walks her to her apartment like the gentleman he sometimes is. She kisses him on the cheek before going in and leaving Ilya to walk home alone.

He’s already in bed, fruitlessly trying to fall asleep, when his phone lights up with a barrage of texts.

Jane

I forgot to say this earlier

And I know you’re not sure about it, so no pressure at all

But I had the time, so I thought I would do some research, you know?

And I put together a list of Russian-speaking therapists in Boston

1 Attachment

You don’t have to use it, of course

No pressure at all

I just thought it might be useful

Ilya’s chest is already flooding with warmth before he even opens the attachment. Something about the nervous rambling is so Shane. So eager to help, to take care of Ilya, even in a small way. So hesitant to push too far, because he knows Ilya’s not very good at being taken care of.

The list itself is immaculately organized. Five therapists ranked by their fluency in Russian, their online reviews and whether their specialties align with what Ilya might need.

And the thing is, Ilya didn’t even want to see a therapist. Not really. When Shane first suggested it, it seemed like some western bullshit about how to deal with one’s feelings that didn’t apply to him at all.

But now that Shane has gone to this trouble and found actual Russian therapists, it doesn’t seem quite so stupid anymore. It seems like something Ilya should do. Shane’s worried about him and he doesn’t want Shane to worry, because—

Fuck.

He doesn’t want Shane to worry because he’s in love with Shane, isn’t he?

Ilya Rozanov is in love with Shane Hollander.

Hands shaking, Ilya types out his response. 

Ilya

Thank you, котенок

And, when that doesn’t seem like enough, but Ilya also doesn’t know how to express what he’s feeling without saying way too much, he follows it up with 

Ilya

❤️

Chapter End Notes

Unsurprisingly, Svetlana is the brains of this whole fucking operation

Chapter 13: August 2012

Chapter Notes

TW for disturbing imagery and panic attacks on this chapter. Check out the end note for details if you need to.

“What are we watching?” Shane asks as he leaves the bathroom after his shower. He only catches a glimpse of the frozen frame on the TV before moving towards the wardrobe and busying himself with getting dressed for bed.

This has been their routine for the past week. After spending the whole day in front of the cameras for sponsor after sponsor, Shane and Ilya both come home to this rented apartment. They eat dinner and they shower and Ilya picks a movie for them to watch together. 

And then they see how far they can make it into the movie before they get distracted.

They haven’t managed to get to the end of a movie yet.

“I’m not sure.” Ilya shrugs from where he’s sitting up against the headboard. “Hammy said his wife made him watch this cowboy movie and he was traumatized by the men having sex.”

Shane, now fully dressed, turns around so he can raise an eyebrow at his—. At Ilya. “So we’re watching traumatizing porn.” 

“Of course not.” Ilya scoffs. “Hammy’s a closed-minded idiot who wouldn’t know good sex if it hit him in the face, but his wife knows her shit. I bet the porn is good.”

Shane sighs. “Can we watch something that maybe isn’t porn?” He sits down next to Ilya on the bed. 

Ilya wraps an arm around Shane’s shoulder and pulls him closer. “Where’s the fun in that?” He kisses Shane’s temple and presses play.

The movie is not at all what Shane expected from Ilya’s description. 

So far, it’s just two men in cowboy hats asking for a job and then talking about why they need said job. Everyone is fully dressed.

“I don’t think this is porn.” Shane says once he realizes nothing more exciting is going to happen any time soon.

“There is just no pleasing you sometimes, Hollander.” Ilya grumbles. “If I say is porn, you complain. If is not porn, you complain.”

Shane chuckles. “I just think porn might have done a better job of keeping me awake.”

Ilya shushes him. “Watch the movie, Shane.”

It doesn’t get any less boring from there. The men go up the mountain. They tend sheep. They eat way too many cans of beans. They fight for no reason at all.

Ilya’s the next one to break the silence.

“I thought I knew what cowboys were.” He says. “There are no cows in this movie. They are sheepboys.”

“Shepherds.” Shane corrects automatically.

“What?”

“It’s what they’re called.” He burrows deeper into Ilya’s embrace, laying his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “They herd sheep, they’re shepherds.”

As Shane closes his eyes, he vaguely wonders if this will be the first time he doesn’t make it to the end of the movie for a reason that isn’t sex. But he’s comfy and warm against Ilya’s side, so he wouldn’t mind it too much.

He needn't have worried, though, because before Shane can even properly fall asleep, Ilya’s already startling him back awake again by victoriously exclaiming “There it is!”

Through his blurry vision, it seems like the men on the screen are fighting again, but when he focuses his eyes, he realizes they’re fucking. Fucking while fighting, maybe?

And okay, yeah, maybe Shane enjoys the occasional roughhousing as foreplay. Or when Ilya holds him down and makes him take it, that can be hot.

But this?

This just looks painful. And dry.

“Maybe Hammersmith was right about this one.” Shane says after a moment. “That does look traumatising.”

“This is terrible porn.” Ilya agrees.

Shane tries to imagine himself and Ilya as the men on the screen and immediately scrunches his nose in distaste. “If you try that with me I will kill you.”

“I would never!” Ilya makes an offended noise. “If we have no lube, I open you up with my tongue. Simple.”

Shane’s mental image changes to Ilya eating him out until he’s so wet and relaxed that Ilya’s cock can slide right in. That thought sends shivers down his spine. “Okay, maybe we could try that.” He concedes.

Ilya smirks at him and lowers his head to lay dirty kisses up Shane’s neck. Shane leans into the touch. Maybe this movie is not so bad after all.

Shane’s only half paying attention anymore. Not even. He’s at least 80% focused on Ilya’s mouth on him, but with the 20% that’s left he catches a glimpse of a scene where the two men are caught in an intimate moment by the rancher who hired them.

It hits Shane like a bucket of icy water. “Stop.” He breathes out.

“You are okay?” Ilya pulls back with a confused frown that only deepens when he follows Shane’s gaze to the TV. “I can turn it off?” He offers

“No.” Shane replies without thinking about it. His dick has lost interest in the proceedings anyway. “I want to see what happens.”

Ilya acquiesces without protest, settling back against the headboard and pulling Shane flush to his side.

And they watch the movie.

The characters, Ennis and Jack, Shane learns at some point, go their separate ways after their summer of herding sheep. They each marry a woman and start a family and that makes sense.

Shane has always known, at some level, that that is how such things go. That one day he and Ilya will have to grow up too, they’ll have to stop doing whatever this is that they’re doing and find respectable women to marry. Or Shane will marry. Ilya might just find a great many women to sleep with.

It turns his stomach when he watches Ennis be intimate with his wife. How obvious it is that he doesn’t want to be there, it feels painfully familiar to Shane.

But it makes sense.

What doesn’t make sense is that the men start sneaking around, going behind their wives’ backs. Because by then, what is even the point anymore? Why get married if they’re going to cheat, if they’re not going to give it their all?

Still. Somewhere deep inside, Shane maybe understands it. If it were him in this situation, with the picture perfect wife and the picture perfect family and Ilya showed up offering… whatever it is that Ilya offers. Would Shane be able to say no?

Fuck. 

Maybe he would. For a year or two. But he knows it’s not sustainable. Staying away from Ilya was never a real alternative, no matter how much of a bad idea it is each time they see each other.

It gets worse when Ennis tells the horrific story of the suspected homosexual tortured and murdered in his home town. The visual flashback that accompanies it is unspeakably gruesome.

Shane doesn’t register the tears flowing down his own face, but evidently Ilya notices them, because he’s now fully turned to look at Shane’s face.

“Shaneusha.” He says softly, his hand drawing comforting circles on Shane’s back. “Please, let me turn it off.”

“No.” Shane says simply. He needs to know what happens next. What happens to people like him and Ilya.

But nothing changes.

The men keep going the way they have been. Always on the cusp of something more, but never crossing that final line. Ennis’ marriage burns down and Jack’s is little more than a farce because they can’t quit each other.

Staying away was never a real alternative.

They are so unhappy.

And then Jack dies.

And the movie ends.

“I don’t understand.” Shane stares unseeingly at the credits rolling.

“Shane.” Ilya pulls Shane into a hug and lays Shane’s head to rest on his shoulder.

“The wife, she said it was an accident.” Shane says tonelessly. “But he was beaten to death. Was she lying?”

“I don’t know, kotenok.” Ilya runs his fingers soothingly through Shane’s hair. “I think maybe we are not meant to know.”

“So he might have been beaten to death. For being…” Gay Shane’s brain provides, but he can’t bring himself to say the word. Like us is the next suggestion, but that’s hardly any better. “For liking men.”

“Yes.” Ilya sighs. “Maybe.”

So that’s what happens to people like them, then. They die or they get murdered, and no one ever finds out which one it was.

Shane pulls back abruptly, suddenly needing to see Ilya’s face. “You noticed it too, right?”

Ilya blinks. “Noticed what?”

“That they are…” Shane swallows dryly. “That they are us.”

“They are nothing like us, Shane.” Ilya says resolutely. “We are not cowboys. It is not the fucking 60s and this is not rural fucking America.”

Shane shakes his head. Ilya’s not getting it. “What would happen to you?” He tries instead.

Ilya’s eyes go wide, but his voice is soft as anything. “Shane—”

“If people found out.” Shane interrupts insistently. “In Russia. What would happen to you?”

Ilya scrunches his eyes shut. “Nothing good.” He admits.

Unprompted, Shane’s brain comes up with the vision of Ilya’s wonderful exquisite body, mutilated and disfigured at the side of some backwards road in Russia. 

“Fuck.” Shane sobs.

Ilya’s lovely beautiful face getting smashed in with a tire iron until there’s nothing left.

Shane can’t breathe. 

Or maybe he’s breathing too fast

It’s unclear what’s wrong with his breathing, but something is undeniably very wrong.

And Shane can’t figure out what’s wrong because at every turn his brain comes up with worse and worse images of horrific things that could happen to his perfect Ilya.

“Shane, kotenok, look at me.” Ilya’s voice cuts through the fog in Shane’s mind, mostly because he’s taken hold of Shane’s jaw and forced him to meet Ilya’s eyes. Ilya’s gorgeous undamaged eyes on his gorgeous undamaged face that Shane loves so fucking much.

“Fuck.” Shane whimpers again.

But Ilya doesn’t let him pull away. “You are having panic attack, but you do not need to.” He says in a soothing voice. “We are safe here, okay? Is just you and me. We are safe.”

Shane shakes his head. “For how long?”

“As long as we’re here.” Ilya replies without hesitation, calm and level. He gently presses his forehead to Shane’s. “Together. Alone. We’re safe, Shane.”

Ilya’s taking slow deep breaths and Shane finds himself trying to match him.

It helps that Ilya keeps talking, low tender Russian that Shane can’t decipher. But it helps anchor Shane, keep his mind from wandering away from him again.

Eventually, once Shane’s breathing is almost normal again, he collapses. He lies tummy down in between Ilya’s legs and his face instinctively finds Ilya’s crotch as his arms wrap around Ilya’s waist.

Ilya reaches out to play with Shane’s hair. “I am sorry.” He says quietly. “Was bad choice for movie. I did not know.”

“Not your fault.” Shane mumbles the words into the fabric of Ilya’s boxers.

Ilya hums. “I know it’s scary. Is dangerous. But I…” Words seem to fail him and for a long moment he says nothing. Shane’s just about back to himself enough to follow when Ilya continues in Russian. “I feel safer with you than I’ve ever felt anywhere else, Shaneusha. I need you to know that you are not the one who makes me unsafe. I’ve been unsafe my whole life. You are the one that gives me relief.”

Shane looks up at Ilya’s beautiful unmarred face. “Thank you for telling me.” He reaches up to cup Ilya’s cheek. I love you, he doesn’t say. “Moyo solnyshko.”

The corner of Ilya’s mouth curls up into a small smile before he leans down to kiss Shane’s forehead. “Go to sleep, kotenok.” He whispers against Shane’s skin.

Shane’s too exhausted to do anything but follow the order.

Chapter End Notes

TW details: The boys watch brokeback mountain, which contains violent and deadly gay bashings. Shane pictures Ilya in that situation, which results in a panic attack.

Chapter 14: A Week Later

Chapter Notes

Ilya could kick himself for choosing such an awful fucking movie for them to watch.

It was a simple task that Ilya had assigned to himself halfway through their last New York trip. Shane can get overwhelmed by too many options, so Ilya took on movie picking duty. He listens to suggestions, of course, it’s just that Shane doesn’t usually have any.

And he’s gotten pretty good at knowing what movies Shane would enjoy the most, so there’s really no excuse for the rookie mistake of not checking if a movie he knew nothing about would throw Shane into a fucking panic attack. He got so distracted by the idea of a movie where two men get to have sex that he forgot to consider what happens to men who dare have sex with each other.

So now Shane is… not distant. But something like it.

Their routine hasn’t changed. They still wake up together and sit down to have wildly different breakfasts at the same time. They still go about their days separately and come home in the evening for dinner and a movie (that Ilya thoroughly vets). They still have loud enthusiastic sex, so hot that Ilya feels he might burst into flames at any moment.

But after all of it, they don’t cuddle close and fall into peaceful slumber like they did last week. Instead, Ilya holds on to a restless Shane and has to force himself to sleep. Or he wakes up to a cold bed in the middle of the night because Shane has snuck out to the kitchen with his laptop.

The meaning of it could not be more clear: tonight is their last night on this trip and Shane’s planning to let him down easy. He’ll say “I wish we could keep doing this, but it’s just not safe” and he’ll be right. He’ll probably be saving Ilya’s life by breaking it off. Ilya’s just not sure he can make that life worth living.

Shane’s already home when Ilya arrives, after his shoot ran long. He’s frowning at the clock, but his face lights up when he sees Ilya.

“There you are.” Shane walks over and presses a sweet kiss to Ilya’s lips. “I made dinner, but I was starting to wonder if it’d go cold.” He takes Ilya by the hand and leads him to the kitchen, where the table’s already set for them.

Ilya moves to the sink to wash his hands as Shane takes a dish out of the oven. But it’s not some Shane-approved birdfood, like Ilya had assumed. It’s fucking chicken parm. Ilya’s favorite.

So this is how it ends.

Ilya wants to cry.

He doesn’t.

He sits down at the table and eats the delicious dinner Shane prepared for him. He puts a smile on his face and talks to Shane about their days, about their plans for the season, about hockey news. He tries to stretch this moment as long as it will go, but eventually there’s no food left and dinner is over.

They lapse into silence and the anticipation grows so thick in the air that Ilya can’t take it.

“I’ll do the dishes.” He says quickly, getting up to flee the table.

“Would you marry me?” Shane blurts out before Ilya’s even fully standing.

Ilya drops back onto his chair like a bag of potatoes. “What.”

“For citizenship.” Shane rushes to explain, like that makes it any less insane. “If we’re married and you live with me during the summers, you can apply for permanent residency. And after that it’s just a 5 year waiting period until you can get citizenship in Canada. Then you wouldn’t have to rely on your Russian passport anymore. You would be safe.”

Ilya blinks, barely keeping up with the words out of Shane’s mouth. “But.” He has to clear his throat. “But wouldn’t people know? If we get married, wouldn’t someone notice?”

“Not necessarily.” Shane reaches across the table to take Ilya’s hand. “It’s certainly a risk. But we can request that the records be sealed because of safety concerns, there’s precedence for it in the case of queer weddings involving citizens from countries with homophobic laws. And then if someone does find out, you can request asylum. There’s precedence for that as well.”

Ilya skips past the words queer and homophobic, because although it is a huge deal for Shane to be saying them, they are by far the least concerning thing about Shane’s response.

“That’s not what I meant.” Ilya says. “I meant about hockey, Shane. If there’s a risk that people would find out, then there’s a risk we would be blowing up your career. You know as well as I do that there is no space for,” he has to swallow his own saliva before saying, “for openly queer players in the NHL.”

“I know.” Shane nods seriously. “And I hope it won’t come to that, I really do. But if it does, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. To keep you safe.”

And Ilya loves hockey, he does. But he’s always known that, at the end of the day, hockey is simply what he does. He’s good at it and he’s working hard on building a career out of it, but if hockey was gone tomorrow, Ilya would find something else.

Shane has never been like that. Hockey is who Shane is. It is a fundamental part of Shane’s identity and if you take hockey away, there might be nothing left.

Yet here Shane is, willing to give up hockey for Ilya’s safety.

Ilya hadn’t noticed his eyes filling up with tears, but there’s no missing it when one escapes down his cheek. He looks away from Shane to try and hide it, but Shane is not so easily fooled and in no time he’s walking around the table to straddle Ilya’s lap.

Shane cradles Ilya’s face with both hands and just like that Ilya’s looking into Shane’s deep brown eyes. The same irresistible eyes that roped Ilya into this whole situation to begin with, big soft eyes that haven’t changed at all and to which Ilya surrenders willingly.

“I love you.” Ilya whispers in Russian. And then, in English, “fuck, Shane. I love you.”

Shane’s beautiful eyes widen in shock. “Holy shit.”

Leave it to Shane Hollander to propose marriage but fail to consider the possibility of love. Ilya would laugh if he hadn’t just exposed his whole entire heart to the man currently freaking out on his lap. “I mean…” he desperately grasps for anything he can say to walk it back.

Thankfully, the words seem to startle Shane out of his stupor. “I love you too.” He blurts out. And then, in carefully put together Russian, he says “my beautiful solnyshko, I love you so much.”

And Ilya makes a noise that he himself doesn’t understand if it’s laughing or crying, but it doesn’t matter because Shane is kissing him. Ilya wraps both arms around Shane’s waist and holds him tight as he deepens the kiss. 

When they pull apart, after the sweetest kiss of Ilya’s life, Ilya buries his face on Shane’s neck. He needs a moment to get his breathing under control.

“I can’t marry you.” Ilya says at last. “I am sorry, my love. I would never be able to go home again and I can’t… My father is sick and my niece, she has no one looking out for her. I can’t abandon them.”

“Okay.” Shane says simply, his fingers slipping into Ilya’s hair. “Plan B, then.”

Ilya’s head snaps up. “Plan B?”

Shane smiles. “You didn’t think I was going to force you to marry me, did you?”

“What is Plan B?” Ilya asks incredulously.

“Plan B is less risky, but it also offers less of a safety net if we do get found out.” Shane explains. “You continue on the path for American citizenship: it will be another 5 years until you can apply for a green card and once you get it, 5 more until you can request citizenship. It’s a more complex process than in Canada and it gives them more opportunities to make up bullshit reasons to deny you, but you’re a famous athlete, so it’ll probably be alright.”

“Okay.” Ilya blinks, trying to process the information that he only half knew from when he first moved to Boston. “Ten years, then. Until I’m free.”

Shane nods. “And in the meantime, we should become friends. Publicly, I mean.”

Ilya raises an eyebrow. “Friends?”

“The league won’t love it.” Shane concedes. “But lots of guys have friends on other teams. And this way, if we get spotted in each other’s homes or something, the real reason won’t be obvious. If they know we’re friends, they’ll assume there’s an innocent explanation.”

“You have thought a lot about this.” Ilya realizes, only a little surprised.

Shane’s face blushes adorably. “Every night since…” He trails off, but it’s no mystery what he means. “I did a lot of research.”

Ilya’s heart does something funny at the admission. Every night for the past week, while Ilya thought that Shane was too uncomfortable to fall asleep next to him, Shane was researching and plotting. Coming up with a way for them to have a future together. Two ways: Plan A and Plan B.

“I love you so much, Shaneusha.” Ilya whispers in awe. “I want to make love to you.”

Shane’s arms tighten around Ilya’s neck, pressing their chests closer together. “Please.” He breathes against Ilya’s lips before kissing him again.

Ilya wastes no time rising to his feet, keeping Shane’s body pressed to his so Ilya can carry his lover to bed. Once there, Ilya makes quick work of his clothes and then Shane’s, making sure to fold everything the way that Shane likes.

“Last night here.” Ilya points out softly, once his naked body is covering Shane’s on the mattress. “Any special requests?”

Shane moans, absent-mindedly rubbing his cock against Ilya’s hip. “Take it slow?” He asks. “I want this to last.”

Ilya smiles. “Your wish is my command, lyubimyy moy.”

Chapter End Notes

Show of hands, who's surprised that there was a proposal of marriage before a confession of feelings?

Chapter 15: October 2012

Chapter Notes

Mom

I booked Jêrome’s for lunch today

At noon

Just you, me and dad, right?

Shane

Yeah, mom

I’ll see you soon

Shane places his phone back on the side table and turns to look at the man sleeping next to him. 

He should wake Ilya up, probably. So they have enough time to enjoy their morning before Ilya has to go back to his team before their game this afternoon. 

But Ilya’s sleeping so peacefully. He always looks so unburdened in his sleep. Shane doesn’t have the heart to disturb him.

He knows this kind of rest is hard to come by for Ilya. 

Ilya, who confided in him just last night that he’s seeing a therapist now and that maybe the first few days apart after two lovely weeks together in New York hit him too hard. That she thinks he might be depressed and medication might help.

Ilya, who doesn’t have anyone booking a table at a familiar restaurant before a big game because they know it eases his nerves. And so he maybe clings to Shane a little bit and he maybe sleeps better when they are together.

Ilya, who loves Shane so fiercely, but makes it look easy. Like memorizing all Shane’s favorite smoothie recipes (along with the days of the week they fit into) and learning to fold his clothes the way Shane does is nothing.

Yes, Ilya deserves his rest. He deserves much more than that, in fact.

Shane’s just not sure how he can get it for him.

For now, he’ll watch over Ilya’s sleep. And use the time to come up with ways to make Ilya feel as loved as he deserves.

He’s still thinking about it when Ilya finally opens his eyes, his face adorably scrunched up against the onslaught of light coming in through the window.

“Good morning, solnyshko.” Shane murmurs in Russian when Ilya manages to focus his gaze on him.

Ilya blinks lazily before his lips curl up in a soft smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Shane smiles back.

Ilya leans closer to kiss him, but Shane faces away before their lips can meet. “Brush your teeth first, asshole.” He switches back to English, even though their conversations these days mostly consist of an ungodly combination of the two languages. 

“Shane.” Ilya whines before turning a predatory glare on Shane and pouncing.

“Get off me.” Shane giggles, but lets himself be pinned onto the mattress. 

“No.” Ilya lowers his head to kiss Shane’s neck. “I love you.” He mumbles against Shane’s skin.

“Cute.” Shane snorts. “I’m still not kissing you.”

“Fine.” Ilya sighs long-suffering. “First, I fuck you. Then, we brush teeth. Then, kisses.” 

Shane melts into the mattress as Ilya focuses his attention on the sensitive spot near Shane’s clavicule. “Okay.” Shane agrees against his better judgement. “Fine. Fuck me, Ilyusha.”

Of course, once Ilya’s inside him, Shane can’t help but kiss him. By then he’s far too desperate to care about something as inconsequential as morning breath anyway. Which might have been Ilya’s plan all along, not that Shane quite cares about that either. 

After, when showers have been taken and teeth have been brushed, Shane stands at the stove to make them breakfast. Pancakes. Well, banana pancakes loaded with protein powder. A compromise.

Ilya steps close and hugs him from behind.

“Already angling for round two?” Shane asks, but it doesn’t stop him from pressing his ass back onto Ilya’s crotch.

“You have a one track mind, Hollander.” Ilya wraps an arm around Shane’s waist and uses two fingers on Shane’s chin to turn his head so they can share a minty kiss.

Somehow, they find a way to turn making pancakes into a team sport. Shane pours the batter onto the pan and Ilya flips them or moves them out of the fire when they’re ready. It leaves them each with one free hand to hold on to each other: Ilya’s under Shane’s shirt and over his chest and Shane’s under Ilya’s pants and over his asscheek.

It also leaves them with plenty of time for kissing while each pancake cooks (or burns, as the case may be for some of them).

Shane wishes he could live in this moment forever, but eventually the pancakes are ready and they move to sit side-by-side at the breakfast bar. They both reach to lock their ankles together, just to be touching in some way.

“I was thinking.” Shane offers after a long moment of watching Ilya drown his pancakes in syrup. 

Ilya shoves a forkful of pancakes in his mouth. “You mean overthinking.” He says around it.

“Shut up.” Shane kicks him. “I mean thinking about what your Christmas plans are.”

“Don’t have any.” Ilya shrugs. “We don’t really celebrate like you do in North America. New Year’s is bigger holiday for us.” 

“But you have the time off, right?” Shane insists. “You’re not gonna spend it with anyone? Not even Svetlana?”

“Sveta will be in Russia already.” Ilya seems completely unbothered by it.

And Shane believes it’s not a big deal for him, but still “you could spend it with me.”

Ilya finally looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed. “You will not spend Christmas with your parents?”

“No, I mean, yeah.” Shane takes a deep breath. “You could spend Christmas with us, at my family’s cottage.”

“You want me to meet your parents?” Ilya’s face softens.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, obviously.” Shane feels his face heating up. “I was just thinking —”

“Overthinking.” Ilya corrects automatically.

Shane kicks him again. “Thinking that it might be nice.”

“Nice.” Ilya repeats the word to himself, like it’s a completely foreign concept. “And they won’t mind that I am…?” He gestures vaguely towards himself.

Truth be told, Shane’s worried about it too. Not so much about Ilya being a man, but about him being Ilya Rozanov. His parents will be surprised, at the very least. But he’s sure they’ll get over it. Probably.

He can’t help it, though, he wants his parents to meet the man he loves. And he wants to share his parents with Ilya, because Ilya deserves to know what having a loving family feels like.

 “They love me” is what Shane manages to say out loud. “And they will love you.” 

Ilya studies his face for a long moment before nodding. “Okay.”

Shane beams. “Okay?”

“If is such a big deal to you, Hollander,” Ilya turns back to his pancakes, “I’ll do it.”

Shane presses a lingering kiss to Ilya’s cheek. “I love you so much.”

Ilya pats Shane’s leg in an infuriatingly condescending way. “I know.”

Chapter End Notes

I also don't know why 2012 lasts 5000 years, things just keep happening 🤷

Chapter 16: December 2012

Chapter Notes

Ilya can feel the anxiety radiating out of Shane as they stand outside Shane’s family cottage. 

What he wants to do is fold Shane into his chest until Shane’s breathing falls into step with Ilya’s own. But he doubts Shane will accept that when his parents are supposed to open the door any moment now. So what he does instead is discreetly take Shane’s hand and act naturally when Shane holds on to him like a lifeline.

The door opens to reveal a middle-aged man that he instantly recognizes as David Hollander, Shane’s father.

“Shane!” Mr. Hollander smiles brightly when he sees his son, but the smile freezes in place when his eyes draft over to Ilya. “... and Rozanov.”

“Hi, dad.” For a moment, it seems like Shane will snatch his hand back, but his need for reassurance must be bigger than his embarrassment, because he only clutches it tighter. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Hollander.” Ilya echoes politely.

That seems to snap the man out of it. “David, please.” He gives Ilya an awkward smile. “Come on in, the both of you.”

Mr. Hollander – David – steps aside so Shane and Ilya can enter the house, leaving their shoes by the door. 

“You have a very nice house.” Ilya offers as he respectfully looks around, his gaze lingering on a picture hanging on the wall: little Shane Hollander, drowning in his hockey gear but smiling from ear to ear. Ilya’s heart feels like it’s going to burst.

“Thank you.” David says after maybe a moment too long. “Uh. Shane can show you to your room. He said you don’t mind sharing?”

Ilya turns to smirk at Shane, who’s already blushing bright red. “Oh, is that what he said?”

“Shut up.” Shane grumbles under his breath, pulling Ilya by the hand towards the stairs. “We’ll be right down, dad.” He calls over his shoulder.

Their bedroom is simple enough: a queen-sized bed made up with fresh sheets, a mostly empty wardrobe and an ensuite bathroom. There are a couple of hockey books on one of the side tables, but nothing else to indicate this is Shane’s room.

Ilya drops his bags on the corner and finally pulls Shane into a hug. “You are okay?” He asks softly.

“Yeah.” Shane rests his forehead on Ilya’s shoulder. “That wasn’t too bad, right?”

“No, lyubimyy.” Ilya agrees. “He didn’t even curse me out.”

“Well, that was just dad.” Shane points out. “Mom’s the real Voyageur's fan.”

“Moms love me.” Ilya replies confidently.

Shane snorts. “Have you ever even met someone’s mom?”

“Okay, maybe no.” Ilya concedes. “But if I did, they would love me.” 

Shane pulls back enough so that Ilya can see the indulging smile on his face. “You’re ridiculous.”

Ilya just has to kiss him. “You love me.” He says after a quick peck, because they don’t have the time to deepen it.

“I do.” Shane sighs happily. He keeps their noses pressed together for just a moment longer before stepping back and nodding to himself.

Ilya follows Shane all the way to the living room, where Shane’s mother seems to have already been briefed on the situation and both his parents are sitting at the table waiting for them. Shane and Ilya sit down as well.

Shane takes a deep breath. “Mom, dad,” he says slowly, “this is Ilya. I want you to meet him because he’s my…”

As Shane trails off, Ilya naturally fills in the gap. “Lover.”

“No, Ilya.” Shane groans. “That’s gross.”

Ilya blinks, feeling like he’s missed a step in the conversation. “Vozlyublennyy.” He says by way of explanation, before translating it to: “Lover.”

Shane’s pained expression softens into a half-smile. “That’s the literal translation, yes.” He says patiently. “But in English ‘lover’ has a more, uh, sexual connotation.”

A smirk grows on Ilya’s face and he opens his mouth, but Shane cuts him off before he can speak.

“Do not make that joke in front of my parents.” He warns.

Ilya blinks, appropriately chastised. He’d lost track of the circumstances a little. “I’m sorry.” He glances towards David and Mrs. Hollander, who are staring at them with a mix of shock and curiosity. To Shane, he offers “boyfriend?”

Shane nods, his shoulder relaxing a fraction, before he turns back towards his parents. “I want you to meet Ilya because he’s my boyfriend.” 

Both David and Mrs. Hollander look like they’re completely speechless, but she recovers first. “But,” she says slowly, “you hate him.”

“No.” Shane exhales. “I mean, I get that. But I never…” He shakes his head. “Everyone just assumed. And I guess I let them. But I never hated Ilya. I.” He glances towards Ilya then quickly back to his parents. “I love him, actually.”

“Me too.” Ilya feels the need to add. “I hate losing to Shane, but even then I could never hate Shane.”

“Same here.” Shane says with the slightest flicker of a smile.

This time, David seems to find his voice first. “And how long have you two been…?”

Ilya turns towards Shane, letting him take the lead. “Since draft night” is what Shane comes up with, and Ilya nods in agreement.

Mrs. Hollander gasps. “You two have been in love since you were drafted?”

Once again, Ilya lets Shane respond, but after it becomes clear that Shane has no answer he speaks up. “I think so. Yes.” Ilya says. He sees Shane turn his wide surprised eyes to him and has to continue. “I did not know then, of course. But…”

“In hindsight.” Shane finishes the sentence for him. “In hindsight, I think I’ve loved you from that first night.”

“Yes.” Ilya reaches over to take Shane’s hand under the table, interlacing their fingers together and resting them on Shane’s thigh.

“Oh.” Mrs. Hollander says weakly. “So it’s been years.”

Shane squeezes Ilya’s hand to the point of pain. “I’m sorry, mom.” He says quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and I’m sorry…” Shane’s eyes are filling with tears and Ilya hates that all he can do is squeeze his hand back. “I know this fucks up all our plans. And I tried not to. I tried really hard. I thought, maybe we could just be friends. Or casual. Or have it not mean anything. Or… But I can’t. I just. I love him. I’m sorry, mom.”

Shane’s crying. There are tears sliding down Shane’s cheeks and there’s nothing Ilya can do about it. He wants to take Shane in his arms and hold him until everything is alright again, but it’s not his place. Not right now. So he sits very still and draws circles on the back of Shane’s hand with his thumb.

Thankfully, Mrs. Hollander is only frozen in place for one second before moving around the table in a flash and crouching down to meet Shane’s eyes.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” She says vehemently. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me or that the plans were more important than your happiness. Nothing is more important to me than you being happy, Shane. And if Ilya makes you happy, then that’s all I need to know.”

Shane sniffles. “He makes me so happy, mom.”

“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Hollander pulls Shane into a hug. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. Please forgive me for ever letting you think otherwise.”

“I forgive you, mom.” Shane hugs her tightly with one arm, not letting go of Ilya’s hand with the other. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She responds instantly. “I love you so much.”

When they finally pull apart, both Shane and Mrs. Hollander have red puffy eyes and wet cheeks and Ilya wants nothing more than to push Shane back into their bedroom and cuddle him for days.

“How about dinner?” David doesn’t wait for an answer before getting up, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist and leading her to the kitchen. 

Ilya’s so grateful he almost bursts into tears himself. Instead, he scooches closer, pulls Shane onto his side and guides Shane’s head to lie on his shoulder.

“You are okay?” Ilya kisses his boyfriend’s hair.

“Yeah.” Shane sighs. “It was just… a lot.”

Ilya hums. “But good, yes?”

“Yes.” Shane burrows closer. “Really good.”

They stay like that for almost half an hour, until Shane’s parents come back with a large pot of pasta and a pile of plates and cutlery that Ilya takes to help set the table.

Over dinner, the conversation is lighter. Then again, it couldn’t very well get any heavier than it was before. 

They give David and Yuna (“you have seen me cry, Ilya, you can use my first name”) a sanitized version of their relationship history and they talk about the plan Shane came up with in New York. The path to citizenship, the idea of becoming friends publicly, probably starting on the next All-Stars game.

Yuna has suggestions. She understands their public images from a perspective that’s different from their own. She wants to be put in contact with Ilya’s manager, maybe sell them on the idea of joint campaigns. She can think of advertisers who would love that opportunity and it would give them something to point to if anyone asked why they suddenly became friends.

For the most part, they are great ideas and Ilya appreciated her help very much.

It’s not until she starts talking about them coming out or, worse, managing a possible outing, that Shane starts going green around the edges and Ilya maybe wishes that she wouldn’t push so hard.

Soon, Shane has his head down on the table and is clearly focusing on breathing slowly. Ilya looks over at Yuna and David to see if they have any kind of routine for this, but when they come up with nothing Ilya takes it upon himself.

He runs his fingers through Shane’s hair and speaks quietly to him, in Russian. “Do you need me to put you on your knees in front of your parents?”

Shane’s head snaps up to glare at him. “Don't you fucking dare, Rozanov.” He hisses like an angry kitten.

“But nuzzling my dick is the best way to calm you down, no?” Ilya smirks. “Ten out of ten success rate.”

Shane can only sustain the glare for a moment longer before bursting into laughter. “You’re such an asshole.” He says in English.

Ilya leans in to press a quick kiss to Shane’s lips. “Okay?”

Shane nods and he’s looking much better already, so Ilya returns to his pasta. He doesn’t even notice the shock from the other side of the table until Yuna and David exclaim in unison:

“You speak Russian?”

Chapter End Notes

I do feel a little bit like I'm reinventing the wheel with this one. But it had to be done and I love how it turned out, so I'm anxious to read what you gives think about it!

On an unrelated note, this chapter was growing too big, so I had to cut it in two, so there's even more 2012 on the way!

Chapter 17: The Following Days

Chapter Notes

Shane wakes up to the comfortable weight of his boyfriend wrapped around him.

It had been an eventful evening but, overall, a good one. 

Of course, his parents were shocked at first, maybe a little concerned, but Shane had expected that. And Ilya was being freakishly polite from the moment they arrived, which Shane found unsettling, if understandable. But by the end of dinner the atmosphere was already lighter.

Shane turns around to look at Ilya’s slack sleeping face. He’s drooling onto the pillow, it’s adorable. Shane has to get out of there because there’s no way he can resist morning sex if he waits for Ilya to wake up, warm and content. And he’s not having sex while in the same house as his parents.

He presses a soft kiss to Ilya’s hair before getting up and going for a run.

When he comes back an hour later, he finds mom and Ilya in the kitchen. Mom’s at the stove frying up some bacon for breakfast and Ilya’s closing the fridge door and crossing over to the blender with an armful of fruits and veggies. They are both so engrossed in a discussion about how the Bears have been playing this season, Shane has to take a moment to just watch them and bask on the homeliness of the interaction before interrupting.

“Good morning, mom.” He calls out as he walks up to Ilya and kisses his cheek. “Good morning, solnyshko.”

“Good morning, lyubimyy.” Ilya responds softly, leaning into his touch.

At the same time, mom huffs “why don’t I get a good morning kiss?”

Shane turns towards her, confused. “I assumed you’d want me to shower first?”

Ilya makes an indignant sound. “What if I wanted you to shower first, before, ah, contaminating me with your stinkness?”

“Then I’d assume you were abducted and replaced by a pod person.” Shane raises an eyebrow at his boyfriend.

Mom laughs inelegantly. “Go shower, Shane. You smell.”

“Yes. Shoo.” Ilya pushes him towards the door. “Gross smoothie will be ready when you come back.”

Shane leaves the kitchen with a huge smile on his face. 

Later, as they are having breakfast, dad tries to find common ground with Ilya about anything that isn’t hockey, which ends up being classical Russian composers. Shane knew Ilya loved music, both classical and modern. But Shane himself never knew enough about it to make actual conversation, so he’s happy to listen and maybe learn something.

The day goes on like that, with Ilya fitting into the Hollander family like he was made to measure for them. He’s more competitive than mom when they play Yahtzee and he spends over an hour working on a puzzle with dad. He’s happy to help mom with the baking and even happier to smuggle out a couple of fresh cookies to share with dad on the back porch.

By the time the next morning rolls around and they sit down to exchange gifts, Ilya is comfortable enough to put his arm around Shane’s shoulders. And Shane is only too happy to lean into him.

It’s safe to say that Ilya didn’t need to bribe his way into mom and dad’s good graces with expensive gifts and Shane had said that, weeks ago. Ilya, however, didn’t seem to care, judging by the fancy box of Japanese teas that he got for mom and the nice bottle of Russian vodka he got for dad.

Stranger still, is that mom and dad got Ilya a gift.

“Now,” dad says as he hands Ilya a carefully wrapped package, “keep in mind Shane didn’t tell us anything about the person he was bringing over. Please don’t judge us too harshly.”

Shane watches as Ilya unwraps his gift, but all he can see is that it’s made out of blue fabric.

Ilya lets out a loud laugh. “I love it.” He says. “It is perfect.” And, at Shane’s questioning noise, he pulls a blue scarf. Voyageur blue, to be precise, embroidered with the number 24.

“Mom.” Shane groans. “You got him merch?”

“We knew he liked you!” Mom defends. “It seemed like a safe bet.”

“And you were right.” Ilya wraps the scarf around his neck before facing Shane. “How do I look?”

“Like you are going to get mobbed in the street.” Shane says because it’s more appropriate than the thoughts going through his head right now. He picks up his own gift for Ilya to distract himself from the sight of his gorgeous boyfriend wearing his number. “It’s okay if you don’t like it.”

“Is it Canadian tradition, to apologize before giving a gift?” Ilya smirks. “I forgot to do it.”

“Fuck off, Rozanov.” Shane hands it over. 

Ilya smiles at him before looking down and opening the envelope to take out two tickets for Swan Lake at the Boston Ballet. “Shaneusha.” He breathes.

“I remember you said you went with Svetlana over the summer and you seemed excited about it.” The words fall out of Shane’s mouth without his consent. “But I wasn’t sure if maybe you were just indulging her? I thought—”

Ilya laughs. “She was indulging me, kotenok.”

“Yeah?” Shane smiles.

“Sveta’s almost as bad as you.” Ilya gestures vaguely. “All hockey all the time. Does not care about ballet.”

“But you do.” Shane says.

“My mama loved it.” Ilya slips into Russian, like he usually does when talking about feelings or home or, especially, his mom. “She took me to see the Bolshoi a couple of times as a kid. It wasn’t as expensive back then. I hated it, of course. I thought it was so boring.”

“You love boring.” Shane takes his hand.

Ilya looks up with wide surprised eyes before his expression softens into a smile. “Yes.” He admits. “I do. And now I love the ballet. It reminds me of mama.” He squeezes Shane’s hand. “Thank you, Shaneusha.”

Shane presses a quick kiss to Ilya’s lips. “I love you, moyo solnyshko.”

“I love you too.” Ilya whispers back. He pulls back after a moment and looks up at mom and dad, his face suddenly sheepish. “I am sorry.” He says. “My English. It is, uh, not enough. Sometimes.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Ilya.” Mom says softly, reaching a comforting hand to Ilya’s shoulder. 

Ilya clears his throat. “Thank you.” He visibly shakes himself before picking up the last present from under the tree. “For you, moy lyubimyy.”

Shane opens it slowly, careful not to damage whatever is inside. “Oh.” He’s confused to find a camera inside. It’s maybe not what he would have chosen for himself, but Shane appreciates the gesture. “Thank you.”

“You always worry about digital records.” Ilya explains. “Always with ‘no pictures, Ilya.’ ‘We could be hacked, Ilya’.” He points towards the package on Shane’s lap. “This is an instant camera. No evidence, just the physical photo. Nothing to hack.”

Shane feels lightheaded. “We could have pictures?” It’s like his whole being is vibrating with giddiness at the idea.

Ilya grins at him. “We can take one right now if you want.”

“Yes!” Shane says at once, offering the camera over to dad. “Dad, can you…?”

“Of course.” Dad easily takes the camera and aims it at the two of them. He waits until they’re both situated, Ilya’s arm back around Shane’s shoulders, before saying “say cheese!” 

The shutter clicks and a moment later there’s a photo coming out of the opening in the front of the camera. Dad sets it down on the center table.

“Can you take one more, please?” Ilya asks, not letting Shane pull away from him.

Shane frowns. “Why?”

“One for you and one for me, lyubimyy,” Ilya says simply. “Of course.” 

“Of course.” Shane echoes. “Dad?”

This time, right after dad says “say cheese!” Shane feels Ilya pressing an obnoxious kiss to his cheek. Before Shane can school his face back into a picture smile, the photo’s already being printed.

“God, Ilya, you’re such an asshole!” Shane shoves at him, but Ilya only laughs.

After a moment, Ilya holds out his hand to dad, asking for the camera. “And one of the four of us, I think.” He suggests.

It takes them a while to get into place before Ilya extends his arm as if to take a selfie and clicks the button.

Shane wonders briefly if that even works, without a screen to guide them and make sure everyone’s in frame. But it turns out he needn’t have worried, because the picture that comes out is absolutely perfect.

Mom and dad with their arms around each other. Shane pressed close to Ilya’s side. And Ilya himself, still wearing that ridiculous Voyageur’s scarf. All four of them with bright smiles on their faces.

Shane already knows this is a picture he’ll cherish forever.

Their first Christmas together as a family.

Chapter End Notes

Merry Christmas?

Chapter 18: February 2013

Chapter Notes

“Shane and I had a fight.” Ilya announces into the room instead of offering any kind of greeting. He throws himself onto the couch and crosses his arms.

His therapist hums, unimpressed by his dramatics. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“He’s just so…” Ilya cuts himself off with a groan. “He’s impossible! Why does he always have to push so hard? And then he has the audacity to act shocked when I push back! ‘It’s just an offer, Ilya.’” He says the phrase in English, an echo of Shane’s voice. “Like he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Okay.” Galina says after Ilya’s lost some steam. “Maybe start by telling me what happened and we’ll go from there.” 

Ilya just stares at her for a long moment, slightly irritated by her calm. Galina stares back, unbothered. He’s been going to therapy for months and he’s lost count of how many times he’s tried to bait her into a reaction, but the most he’s ever gotten was a raised eyebrow. It’s infuriating.

Eventually, Ilya caves. But he needs to take a couple of deep breaths before speaking again.

“We were on FaceTime last night.” He tries not to get lost in the memory. “Neither of us were on the road and we had some privacy for once, yes? So we had some truly amazing sex. Like top 5 video calls we’ve ever had. My Shane is a natural born performer, he’s so shy at first, but you need to do is give him a little praise and he opens up like—”

“Is this relevant to the story?” Galina interrupts, sounding neither shocked nor scandalized, only vaguely amused. 

“And then!” Ilya uncrosses his arms and leans forward as he talks. “After the best sex we’ve had in weeks. Hell, the first time we’ve had sex this month.” It’s only the 5th, but his point still stands. “He can’t even let me enjoy the afterglow. Before I can even catch my breath, he’s already pushing, inviting me to his new cottage over the summer.”

The cottage has been Shane’s favorite topic of conversation since construction began last September. He’s shown Ilya the plans multiple times and asked for his opinion on more than one occasion. Mostly, Shane’s just really excited to build his dream home. And to share it with Ilya, which makes Ilya’s chest squeeze tightly, he loves Shane so much. 

The place should be ready enough for Shane to spend summer there this year already. He has more plans for improvements going into the next season, but the basics will be ready.

“Oh?” Galina brings Ilya back to this moment.

“He always does this.” Ilya grumbles. “He waits until we finally find a single fucking moment of peace and then brings the whole thing crashing down.”

The words sit between them for a moment before Galina asks. “How does an invitation to Shane’s cottage spoil your peace?”

“You know why!” Ilya spats. “You know I can’t do that. He knows I can't spend the summer at his lakeside mansion. Why does he feel the need to torture me with the prospect of things I can’t have?”

Galina raises an eyebrow. “Do you think he did it to torture you?”

“Of course not.” Ilya rolls his eyes. “Shane would never… He loves me. He’d never say something like that just to be mean.”

She nods slowly. “Then why would he say it?”

“Because he wants me to spend the summer with him at the cottage, obviously.”

And isn’t that just a bitch?

Ilya’s sweet, considerate boyfriend is building hockey-Barbie’s dream house and all he wants it’s to share it with Ilya. He showed Ilya the plans and asked for his opinion and decided to add a movie room when Ilya said it might be nice.

Shane’s building a home and he wants it to be their home.

And Ilya just can’t fucking accept it.

It’s bullshit. 

“Is that what he said?” Galina asks.

Ilya shrugs. “It is what he meant.”

“So it’s not what he said.”

Ilya glares at her. “Does it matter what he said?”

“Well, it looks like whatever it was got you in a pissy mood all day, so I’d say so.” She says easily. “Yes.”

“He doesn’t want me to go to Russia this summer.” Ilya sighs. “He doesn’t get it. I don’t choose to go back there every year. It’s just… It’s home. So what if it’s not safe? I can handle myself.”

“Safety’s important.” Galina concedes. “Is lack of safety the only downside of you going to Russia for the summer?”

Ilya blinks. “What are you getting at?”

In an unprecedented move, Galina sets her pen and notebook aside and leans forward with her elbows on her knees. “I’ve been seeing you for a while now, Ilya.”

“Yes.” Ilya says slowly. He feels like he’s about to walk into a trap. “And?”

“And you have made great progress. I know therapy is helping, and the meds are helping.” She pauses for only a second before adding. “But there’s only so much we can do if we continue treating the symptoms while ignoring their root cause.”

“I think I’ve lived in Russia for most of my life.” Ilya grits between his teeth. “And I’ve been fine.”

“Sure.” She pauses again and Ilya already knows he won’t like what she says next. “But have you been happy?”

Ilya feels his jaw dropping. “What does that matter?”

“You don’t see why Shane might have a problem with that attitude?" Galina asks.

And that…

That’s just a dirty fucking hit, bringing Shane up like that. 

Because of course Shane has a problem with it. Shane’s problem with it is what landed them in this stupid fucking fight in the first place.

“Shane doesn’t get it!” Ilya explodes. “He thinks everyone should be happy and safe all the time and he doesn’t understand that some of us don’t get to have that.”

Galina studies him for a long time. “Are you saying you don’t get to be happy?” She says at last.

“I…” All the wind leaves Ilya’s sails at once. “That’s not what I said.”

“No?” Galina challenges.

“I just.” Ilya takes a moment, needing to refocus on his breathing. “I can’t abandon my family just because I’m fucking unhappy.” He says quietly. “It might be something people do in North America, but it is not the Russian way. I’d expect you, of all people, to understand that.”

“And you don’t see the issue with that mindset?” She prods.

“No.” Ilya feels his eyes prickling with tears, but he resolutely ignores the Irina-shaped hole in the conversation. “I don’t.”

Galina’s voice turns soft. “Ilya.”

“What are you saying?” Ilya asks roughly, harshly wiping away a tear. “That my mother would still be alive today if she had left?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Galina says firmly, before going gentle again. “No one can know what would have been. I only mean that you won’t get better until you start prioritizing your own happiness and wellbeing.”

Ilya lets out a hollow laugh. “So I should be more selfish.”

”Taking care of yourself isn’t selfish, Ilya.” She gives him a small smile. “You have been in enough airplanes in your life, don’t you know you have to put on your own oxygen mask first before trying to help others? You are no good to anyone if you’re the first one to pass out.”

Ilya has a lot to think about after he leaves Galina’s office.

He can’t help but feel grateful that Shane’s flying to Los Angeles tonight and can’t make their usual nightly call. He’d love to hear Shane’s voice, even if they’re technically fighting. But he does need the time and space to put his thoughts together right now.

The next day, Ilya waits until he’s sure Shane’s at practice before calling and leaving a voicemail.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says softly. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry I snapped at you. I know you worry about me all summer in Russia and I wish I could say you have nothing to worry about, but we both know that’s not true. 

“I can’t stop going over there, kotenok. They need me too much.”

Ilya takes a fortifying breath. “But I can stay less time.” He offers. “I can come over to the cottage for a week, before I have to go home. Maybe two weeks, after I win the last playoff series in 4 games. I want to. You deserve my time more than those assholes ever did, anyway.

“That’s it. I just wanted to apologize.

“I love you very much, Shaneusha. Call me tonight, yes? I don’t care what time it is.” He pauses before repeating it in Russian. “I love you.”

And then, because Ilya knows his anxious boyfriend far too well, he follows it up with a couple of texts.

Ilya

please do not freak out about voicemail

is good news, i promise ❤️

Chapter End Notes

I need you to know that Ilya was pouting like a child when he first sat down. He'd never admit it in his internal monologue, of course. But he 100% was.

Chapter 19: July 2013

Chapter Notes

Shane thought he knew what it felt like to have time with Ilya after their two trips to New York.

Shane was wrong.

It’s one thing to spend his nights tangled up in Ilya in between busy days of sponsorship work. A great thing, admittedly. One of Shane’s favorite things.

It’s another thing altogether to wake up naturally to the sunlight coming in through the glass walls of his cottage and have the first thing he feels be the weight of Ilya’s arms around him, Ilya’s chest flush to his back and Ilya’s cock buried deep inside his ass. All the while knowing that there’s nowhere else he needs to be other than here, in Ilya’s arms, keeping Ilya’s cock as Ilya snores on.

This isn’t what Shane pictured when Ilya brought up the idea of touching each other in their sleep. He rather imagined that he would be waking up mid-thrust, well on his way to orgasm, not comfortably full of his sleeping boyfriend’s dick. He can’t say he minds it.

At first, Shane considers moving his hips, fucking himself back onto Ilya’s cock until it hits his insides just right. Ultimately, though, he decides against it. Partially because he can’t bring himself to wake Ilya, but mostly because this actually feels really nice.

There’s something incredibly sweet about leisurely holding Ilya inside himself without the immediate rush of chasing pleasure. Something intimate and comfortable that Shane never dared hope he would find with Ilya, but now that it’s here he’s reluctant to let it go.

So Shane snuggles back in order to get Ilya as close and as deep as he can before relaxing into their embrace.

It’s not long before Ilya wakes up, which is evident not only because the snoring stops but also because Ilya wastes no time at all before thrusting into Shane.

Shane moans at the feeling.

Fuck, this is the dream. He wishes he could wake up like this everyday. He wishes this could last forever.

“Wait.” Shane breathes out.

Ilya stills. “Lyubimyy?” His voice is rough with sleep.

“I don’t want to…” Shane shivers. He takes Ilya’s hand and holds it close to his chest. “I want this to last, we have all day.”

Ilya hums consideringly. “Like this?” He buries himself to the hilt. “You want me to stay here all day?” 

“Yeah.” Shane sighs happily. After a moment, though, he’s hit with a sudden wave of self-consciousness. “Is that crazy?” He asks. “I know it’s not practical.”

“It’s not crazy, kotenok.” Ilya holds him tight. “I like it.” He presses a series of little kisses to the back of Shane’s neck before saying. “We’ll have to get creative, though. I’m hungry.”

Shane chuckles. “Okay.” He concedes. “First, breakfast. Then, I’ll sit on your cock all day.”

“Yes.” Ilya agrees, but doesn’t pull away.

It takes them another half hour to get out of bed.

Shane goes to get dressed, but Ilya stops him. He wants easy access, he says. It occurs to Shane that he should protest, but the idea of him and Ilya naked all day is too tempting to pass up. Simply because they can. They have nothing to hide here, at their cottage. No one to explain themselves to.

It’s freedom like they’ve never experienced before.

He decides that today’s a day of indulging for the both of them, they deserve blueberry pancakes. And when he starts feeling weird about standing naked at the stove, he puts on an apron for safety.

Shane expects Ilya to press against his back as he cooks, like he usually does. They have so little time together, they tend to be clingy with what little time they do find with each other.

Shane does not expect Ilya’s lubed fingers breeching him. “Fuck.” He startles, dropping the spatula onto the counter. Thankfully it doesn’t go into the batter bowl. 

Ilya chuckles quietly. “Relax, Shaneusha.” He whispers in Shane’s ear. “Need some fresh lube in your hole, yes?”

“Fuck.” Shane groans again, picking up the spatula and resuming the breakfast preparations. Even as his boyfriend fingers him open.

It feels like only the blink of an eye before the pancakes are ready and Ilya’s pulling his hand away. Shane whines at the loss. But it’s not for long, because Ilya quickly replaces his fingers with his slick cock.

They eat breakfast like that: standing at the counter, Shane leaning back against and stuffed full of Ilya. Keeping very still as Ilya feeds them both from the same plate.

Afterwards, they relocate to the living room couch and Shane straddles his boyfriend’s lap. The feeling of Ilya’s cock inside him is becoming almost natural, like his body has been reshaped to make space for him. It feels right.

And it feels right that they would do it here.

After Shane has made a home for Ilya in his heart and with his family and at his cottage, that he’d also make a home for Ilya in his body. Permanently moulded so they will always fit together.

That’s how they spend their morning.

They talk and they gossip about hockey.

They make out.

They discuss what meals they’re going to make for the rest of the week.

Ilya waxes poetic about Shane’s freckles and Shane calls Ilya every word for ‘beautiful’ he can think of in Russian.

All while joined together, connected in the most intimate way possible.

Eventually, Ilya carries him to bed and makes love to him slowly. 

And when Shane can’t wait anymore, he flips them around and rides Ilya hard and fast.

There’s a shared shower and there are sandwiches for lunch and there’s doing the dishes side by side. Shane now feels empty without Ilya inside him, like it’s unnatural for them to be separated. That’s when the idea comes to him.

“You said all day.” Shane says suddenly, closing the cupboard after putting away the last plate.

Ilya snorts. “You are very ambitious, kotenok.” He pulls Shane closer by the waist and places a soft kiss on his lips. “But I don’t think I can stay hard that long without melting my brain.”

Shane wraps both arms tightly around Ilya’s shoulders and kisses him deeply before pushing him to walk backwards until he collides and falls onto the couch. He takes a throw pillow, drops it on the floor and kneels on it. “All day.” He repeats.

Ilya opens his legs wide to make space for Shane. “I love you so much.” He says reverently.

Shane looks up to meet his eyes, even as he reaches for Ilya’s pants. “I love you more.”

“Impossible.” Ilya smiles tenderly, running gentle fingers through Shane’s hair.

Finally, Shane manages to pull down Ilya’s pants and boxers and expose his prize. He presses a kiss to the head of Ilya's soft dick. “Talk to me?” He asks. “In Russian?”

“Anything you want.” Ilya replies without hesitation.

Shane takes the delicate flesh comfortably into his mouth, delighting at the sensation. He closes his eyes and lays his head on Ilya’s thigh and lets Ilya’s melodic words wash over him.

Ilya recites a bed time story he used to love as a child. 

Ilya tells the story of a traditional Russian fairy tale. 

Ilya recounts the plot of Swan Lake. 

Ilya narrates an old hockey game.

Ilya talks about a funny situation he got into with his teammates.

After a while, Shane can only half hear him. Ilya’s fingers are soft in his hair and Ilya’s dick is perfect in his mouth and Shane’s floating.

Time goes funny around the edges.

Shane doesn’t know if he kneels there for five minutes or five hours. He doesn’t care. His mind is empty and his mouth is full and Ilya has him. That’s all that matters.

When Ilya’s length hardens, Shane relaxes his throat.

When Ilya guides Shane’s head up and down, fucking his mouth, Shane sucks dutifully.

When Ilya comes down his throat, Shane swallows without thinking.

And when Ilya calls him a good boy, Shane comes in his pants.

“Beautiful.” Ilya praises as he pulls out of Shane’s mouth. “My beautiful lyubimyy. So good to me. I love you so much.”

Shane feels drunk. He looks up at Ilya’s face, but can’t quite make it out in the blur. I love you too, he thinks, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is “Ilya.”

“Yes, my love. I know” Ilya grabs Shane under his armpits and pulls him up, manhandling him onto the couch until they’re both lying down and cuddling close together. “You did so so good for me.” He kisses Shane’s forehead. “Rest now, okay? You’ve earned it.”

“Okay.” Shane breathes out before letting himself drift away again.

It’s okay, because Ilya’s here.

And he’s not going anywhere.

Chapter End Notes

Is it fluff? Is it smut? Is it a secret third thing? Who the fuck knows? Certainly not me.

Chapter 20: The Next Day

Chapter Notes

Family ❤️

Yuna

You boys want to come over for dinner tonight?

David

I’m making chicken parm 

Jane

That’s blatant favoritism 😒

Yuna

Don’t be dramatic, Shane

We see you all year round, Ilya’s only here for 2 weeks

Ilya

do not worry мой любимый

we will save some plain grilled chicken for you

Jane

Fuck off, Rozanov

I can eat chicken parm on the offseason 

Ilya

then there is no problem!

we will go over for dinner

David

Does 7PM work?

Ilya

we can arrive earlier so i can help cook

Jane

Suck-up

Ilya

you would know about sucking 😈

Jane

THIS IS A FAMILY GROUP CHAT

David

🤣🤣

Yuna

Ilya, please refrain from sexting your boyfriend on the group chat

Jane

MOM

Ilya

sorry, yuna and david

Jane

Wait

Am I “Ilya’s boyfriend” now?

Ilya

…

obviously?

Yuna

Who else would you be?

Jane

Your son!

Remember when you carried me in your uterus for 9 months?

Yuna

Doesn’t ring a bell

David

Yuna, stop antagonizing Ilya’s boyfriend

Shane, your mom and I love both our sons equally

Ilya

see hollander?

you do not need to pout

they love you even if you are 2nd best hockey player

Jane

In your dreams, Rozanov

Dad, what about 5PM?

David

👍👍

“Shane.” Ilya calls over to the man sitting on the opposite end of the couch, their feet touching in the middle. When his boyfriend doesn’t look up from his phone, Ilya has to resort to wiggling their feet together and sing-songing “Shaaaaane?”

Shane’s head snaps up, glaring at Ilya even as he fights back a smile. “What do you want, Rozanov?”

“I love you.” It isn’t what Ilya had been planning to say, but it’s hard to think of anything else when Shane has his angry kitten face on.

Shane’s glare melts. “I love you too.”

Ilya smiles. “We don’t have to go over there early if you don’t want to, you know.”

“Why would I not want to?” Shane says with a cute little confused smile. Ilya wants to bite him.

“I’m only here for two weeks.” Ilya shrugs nonchalantly. “Is okay if you want me all to yourself.”

It’s understandable.

Shane and Ilya see each other so rarely and, when they do, it’s never for this much uninterrupted time. It’s only natural that they’d want to make the most out of it. Hell, yesterday Ilya spent most of the day with his dick inside Shane in one way or another.  

Having to behave for Shane’s parents would have put a serious damper on that plan.

So it’s okay if Shane wants to spend as little time in polite company as possible. Even if Ilya himself would be happy to sacrifice a few hours of dedicated Shane time to spend them with Shane and Yuna and David.

There’s something special about that as well, about being able to have someone witness how disgustingly in love they are. Sure, they have to keep their clothes on, but they can hold hands or share soft kisses or have their arms around each other and it’s just… normal. Like any other couple.

It’s nice.

“You’re only here for two weeks.” Shane echoes. “Of course they want to see you.” 

“They want to see you.” Ilya rolls his eyes. “I’m just part of the package right now.”

Shane blinks comically. “Are we not in the same group chat?” He frowns. “They basically admitted you are their favorite son.”

Ilya snorts. “They are messing with you, kotenok. You make it too easy.” To be fair, Ilya was messing with him too. It is very easy. And very rewarding.

“Ilya.” Shane says slowly, meeting Ilya’s eyes with a serious face. “My parents love you.”

“Your parents love you.” Ilya rolls his eyes. “They’re just happy you found someone who makes you happy, even if it’s me.”

Not that Ilya particularly minds it. He loves Yuna and David, he loves that they love Shane, that the three of them have that in common. That the Hollanders welcomed Ilya into their family because Ilya loves their son so much.

He really couldn’t have hoped for anything better.

At first, it was a little awkward. During Christmas break, none of them really knew how to act around each other. But Yuna and David were very nice and kind and Ilya was only overly polite for a few hours before relaxing back into his charmingly assholish self. They got along famously after that.

After the Holiday, Ilya was added to the family group chat and, for the past six months, he got used to having Yuna and David in his life. It’s nice to have someone to talk to as he watches Shane’s games and not have to filter his reactions. 

Yuna now texts him after every one of Ilya’s games as well. A thorough analysis of strategies deployed by both teams and sometimes even feedback about what the Bears could have done better. Or, sometimes, if Ilya took a particularly nasty hit, just a concerned message asking if he’s seen a doctor yet.

David texts him after tough games with words of encouragement or out of the blue with questions about music, or movies or, on one notable occasion, a passionate review of Swan Lake. These turn out to be some of Ilya’s favorite conversations.

After the Bears were kicked out of the playoffs, the Hollanders actually called Ilya to congratulate him on a great season.

It was a bizarre experience.

It’s unlike any family interaction Ilya has had in a long time and he can admit that he’s grown attached to it.

And it doesn’t matter that it’s all conditional on Ilya being a good boyfriend to Shane. All Ilya ever wants to do is be a good boyfriend to Shane. He’s incredibly aligned with Yuna and David on that front.

“I mean, maybe that’s what it was at first.” Shane says after a moment. “But then they got to know you. I bet you could go over alone tonight and they wouldn’t even miss me.”

Ilya scoffs incredulously. “That’s not true.”

“It’s an exaggeration.” Shane concedes. “But they want to see you. And you want to see them. We should get there early so you all have enough time together.”

Ilya can only stare at his boyfriend. “You don’t mind?” He asks softly. Because it’s weird to go around stealing people’s parents. Right?

“Ilya,” Shane gives him the softest most beautiful smile, “I love it. This is what I wanted when I introduced you to them.”

Oh, Ilya realizes. Shane did this on purpose. He wanted Ilya to get close to Yuna and David, to team up with them and make fun of Shane’s birdfood diet. To really be part of the Hollander family.

Not a moment later, Ilya’s leaning forward and maneuvering them around until Shane’s lying on his back and Ilya’s on top of him.

“I love you.” Ilya breathes before pressing a lingering kiss to Shane’s lips and tucking his head on the perfect curve between Shane’s shoulder and his neck. He inhales deeply, taking in the clean scent of his perfect boyfriend.

Shane dips his fingers into Ilya’s hair and tenderly massages his scalp. “I love you too, moyo solnyshko.” He whispers in Russian.

Ilya relaxes on top of him, covering Shane’s body like a blanket.

“You know,” Shane says after a moment, “my dad got a new puzzle. It’s a dog park.”

Ilya feels himself perking up, but doesn’t move. “Sounds cute.” He keeps his voice cool.

Shane snorts. “You’re not fooling anyone, Rozanov.” He kisses Ilya’s hair. “Do you want me to ask if we can go now?”

“If you want.” Ilya shrugs.

“Sure.” Shane laughs. “If I want.”

Family ❤️

Jane

Dad, Ilya wants to drive up now so he can look at that new puzzle you got

Ilya

that’s not what i said

i just said it sounds cute

we can still go over at 5

David

It’s very cute!

Yuna

You boys are welcome anytime

Jane

We can be there in 1 hour?

Ilya’s really excited

Ilya

shut up hollander

Jane

No ❤️

Chapter End Notes

мой любимый -> moy lyubimyy -> my beloved

In which Shane's mom really does teach Ilya the word sexting lol

Chapter 21: November 2013

Chapter Notes

Rose Landry was at the restaurant party J.J. dragged Shane to last night.

Rose Landry.

Shane’s not a big cinema fan by any means, but he spends too much of his time in airplanes and there’s only so many Russian podcasts a man can take before getting a concentration headache. So he watches a lot of movies. And he always watches Rose Landry’s movies.

He didn’t plan on approaching her last night, not really. Shane might not be half as famous as Rose Landry, but even he understands how annoying it can be to have fans coming up to you while you’re not at work.

But when they did serendipitously end up on the same table and they started talking, Shane was surprised by how comfortable it was. Turns out, Rose’s something of a fan of Shane’s as well. Or, at least, a fan of hockey who’s been keeping up with Shane’s career.

She comes from a big hockey family and she knows puck and talking to her is easier than talking to anyone else that Shane’s ever met who wasn’t a teammate or family or Ilya.

It feels natural, then, when she says she’s staying in town for a while to film a FBI movie, that Shane asks her if she wants to hang out again.

“Dude, you have a date with Rose Landry?” Hayden asks in the locker room after practice the next day, when Shane tells him about meeting Rose. Normally, Shane would be jealous of Hayden’s convenient excuse of a wife and two kids waiting at home that gets him out of having to attend parties like Shane, but today he just can’t bring himself to care. “She’s, like, the hottest actress in Hollywood.” 

“Aren’t you married?” Shane rolls his eyes, still focused on fitting his gear back into his bag. “Also, it’s not a date.”

Hayden looks at him like he’s grown a second head. Shane hates it. “You just said you are going out to dinner.”

“To the same place you and I went to after practice two weeks ago.” Shane turns to look at Hayden with a raised eyebrow. “Should I apologize to Jackie for stealing her husband?”

“That’s different!” Hayden protests, his face flushing pink.

Shane crosses his arms, regretting having started this conversation at all. “It’s literally the same thing.”

“But I’m your best friend,” Hayden gestures at himself. He gestures away, “and she’s Rose Landry.” 

“Rose can do better game analysis than you.” Shane shoots back. “Maybe I want her to be my best friend.”

Hayden makes an outraged sound. “You take that back!”

“Let him think he’s getting away with his lie, Pike.” J.J. laughs as he throws a casual arm around Shane’s shoulder. Great, more people are involved now. “Just remember to thank me at your wedding, capitaine.”

Shane wants to argue. He wants to say that there will be no wedding because he’s very happily taken and he doesn’t even like Rose like that anyway. But he also realizes this is the perfect opportunity for his escape from this conversation.

“Whatever.” Shane throws his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” 

And he flees the locker room.

But the interaction doesn’t leave his mind.

Does everyone think he’s going on a date with Rose Landry? Is he inadvertently going on a date with Rose Landry?

Fuck.

Ilya’s going to kill him.

All in all, it’s admirable that when Shane finally does meet up with Rose a few days later he makes it through 5 whole minutes of polite conversation before gracelessly blurting out “did you think this was a date?”

Rose freezes for a moment before laughing.

Shane feels himself blush. “Sorry.” He groans, burying his face in his hands.

“No, no, it’s fine.” She giggles. “I didn’t think this was a date, Shane.”

Shane manages to look at Rose over his hands. “Really?” He asks hopefully

“Believe it or not,” she grins, “I don’t go on a lot of dates at build-your-own salad bars with picnic style tables.”

“The food is really good.” Shane rushes to reassure. “I know you are on a diet for your next role and this place is great at making accommodations that still taste good.”

“I believe you.” Rose replies simply.

“Okay.” Shane breathes out in relief. “Good. It’s not a date.”

“Wow.” Rose suddenly sounds insulted. “Is the idea of going out on a date with me really that bad?”

“No.” Shane replies quickly. “No, not at all.” Fuck, is he digging his own grave? “You’re great!”

“Relax, Shane.” Her composure breaks into a snicker. “I was joking.”

“Oh.” He needs a moment to process that before chuckling as well.

“But seriously, though,” she says after a moment, “I don’t mind. I really didn’t think this would be a date.”

Shane nods. “That’s good to know.”

“And,” Rose continues after a pause, “I don’t judge. If you want to tell me what that was really about.”

Shane has no doubt in his mind that this is a genuine offer. More than that, Rose makes it sound like there’s no right or wrong answer. Not like when Shane discussed it with Hayden and J.J., who already had an expectation of what the truth should be and when Shane’s answer didn’t line up they assumed he was lying, or in denial, or too naive for his own good.

Rose seems like she might actually believe him.

And Shane knows he can’t really tell her the real reason. Their secret is one he knows to guard with his life.

No. Shane won’t tell her the whole truth.

But he can say: “I, uh, may already have a partner?”

Rose gasps. “Shane Hollander!” She squeals in delight. “Tell me everything.”

“Shh.” Shane hastily looks around the room. Thankfully, they are alone. “Sorry. You can’t tell anyone, okay? No one knows.”

“Oh.” Rose instantly sobers. “No one?”

“My parents know.” Shane corrects. “No one else.” And, after a moment, “Rose, promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Rose reaches out to take his hand over the table. “Your secret is safe with me, Shane.”

“Thank you.” Shane breathes out slowly.

Rose squeezes his hand before pulling her own back. “And I assume they wouldn’t appreciate you going out on a date with someone else?”

They.

The word floats around in Shane’s head. It’s so unassuming. Not ‘she’ or ‘your girlfriend’, just ‘they’. A mysterious person whose gender is unknown.

Shane can’t imagine a conversation like this happening in the locker room.

Is this what life is like outside of hockey?

“No.” He says with a shy smile. “I mean, yeah, they would hate it. But that’s not really it. I just… I really love them, you know? I don’t want anyone else.”

“Wow.” Rose’s eyes widen with glee. “You are down bad.”

Shane hides behind his ginger ale as he takes another sip. He shrugs.

“You have to tell me about them, Shane.” She rests her chin on her hand like she’s preparing for story time.

“I can’t.” Shane replies apologetically. “I really shouldn’t even have brought it up.”

“Fine.” Rose sighs dramatically, throwing herself back onto her seat. “We can talk about something else, if we must.”

Shane chuckles easily. “Let’s order first, maybe.” He points towards the menu. “Do you know what you want? It’s on me.”

“Careful there, Shane.” Rose cautions, but her eyes are shining with mirth. “You wouldn’t want to give me the wrong impression, would you?”

“Oh, shut up.” Shane rolls his eyes, standing up to go to the counter and order.

Rose finally gives him her order and when Shane comes back with their food the subject of his partner doesn’t come up again. They talk about all sorts of stuff: hockey and filming and their families and life as a celebrity and difficult coworkers. 

By the time Shane gets home (after having agreed to do this again while Rose is still in town), he has almost forgotten how their conversation started. He’s certainly not thinking about it when his phone pings with a new message.

Ilya

Spotted: X-Squad superstar Rose Landry photographed on cozy dinner date with NHL player Shane Hollander

you have something to tell me?

Shane doesn’t bother replying, choosing instead to call Ilya, who picks up instantly.

“So?” Ilya demands without preamble.

“Hello, Ilya.” Shane replies casually. “How are you—?”

“Shane!” Ilya interrupts impatiently. “Why did you go on a date with Rose Landry?”

Shane actually freezes mid-walk, still two steps away from his bedroom. “I told you I was seeing her today?” He says with a frown. He’s sure he mentioned it, he remembers Ilya being glad that Shane was making a new friend.

“You didn’t say it would be cute date.” Ilya grumbles.

“It was a salad bar!” Shane protests. “The most undate-like option available!”

“It was cozy.” Ilya retorts. “People are loving it, Shane. Twitter says you and Rose Landry are perfect couple.”

“Wait.” Shane gasps. “Are you jealous?”

“Of course not.” Ilya scoffs. Unconvincingly.

Shane doesn’t stop the fond smile from forming on his face. “Ilya.” He says slowly. “I’m gay.”

As the words leave his mouth, Shane realizes that this is the first time he’s ever said it out loud, as a half joke to appease his senselessly jealous boyfriend. 

It’s not that he didn’t know this about himself. He kind of did know it. Mostly. He knew he liked men (obviously). And it was becoming increasingly clear that he didn’t like women in the way that he was expected to. 

The thing is, it didn’t actually matter all that much. In the world of hockey, your sexuality can either be “straight” or “wrong”, and Shane was definitely not straight.

But there’s a world outside hockey, isn’t there? It’s a strange place where Shane can talk about his partner and people don’t assume he means “girlfriend” and he can say the words “I’m gay” out loud and have them mean something.

It’s not all bad.

There’s a long moment of silence before Ilya lets out a soft “Oh.”

Shane blinks back into the moment. “Are you surprised?” 

“Kotenok,” he can hear the smirk on his boyfriend’s voice, “I have known this since we were 18.” A pause for effect. “And just didn’t think you would ever figure it out.”

Shane’s jaw drops. “Go fuck yourself, Rozanov.”

In response, Ilya only laughs. And laughs and laughs.

Shane finds himself smiling at his boyfriend’s laughter, his favorite sound in the world. He feels light and content and joyful.

And, yeah, he feels really fucking gay.

Chapter End Notes

Wait, Rose! You dropped this 👑

Chapter 22: February 2014

Chapter Notes

Family ❤️

David

Good luck, kid! 

Go Russia 🇷🇺

Jane

Drinking vodka doesn’t make you Russian, dad 

Go Canada 🇨🇦

Yuna

You’re not even playing today, Shane

You’ve got this, Ilya

Go Russia 🇷🇺

Jane

…

Fine

I’d rather beat you at the gold medal game anyway

Go Russia 🇷🇺

Ilya

you will look great in silver, мой любимый

Jane

I take it back

You’re an asshole

Ilya

i love you too 😘

putting phone away now

thank you all ❤️

Yuna

That was a rough game

Try not to be too hard on yourself, Ilya

It doesn’t matter how good the offense is if the goalie might as well have been replaced by a cardboard cutout 

David

I’m sorry it didn’t work out for mother Russia this time

But you played a hell of a game

Yuna and I are very proud of you, son

Ilya rereads the text thread for the umpteenth time.

He still doesn’t know how to answer. 

The thing is, Ilya knew from the beginning that this team wasn’t going to get far. Yuna’s right, a cardboard cutout would have been a better goalie. Not to mention that every player came in used to being the best on his team, each with an ego the size of Russia, and there’s only so much Ilya can do in two weeks to whip them into a somewhat cohesive unit.

No. They were doomed from the start.

Still, it stings. To lose to fucking Latvia, of all teams.

It’s fucking humiliating.

But, of course, Yuna and David don’t make him feel humiliated. They’re proud of him. Ilya’s surprised by how unsurprised he is. It would seem that at some point Ilya became a fully fledged boring Hollander, who’s not expected to win as much as celebrated when he does.

It will never stop being strange, he doesn’t think. But it’s not unexpected anymore.

Ilya really loves this family. So that’s how he replies.

Family ❤️

Ilya

i love you all ❤️ 

Then, he finally opens his private text thread with Shane, which he had been guiltily avoiding for the past few hours.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk with Shane. If anything, he wants to talk with Shane too much. He wants to run to his boyfriend and wrap him in a hug and never let go. But he can’t. Because they’re in fucking Russia.

Ilya has to deal with his idiot brother and his asshole father instead. And the thought of texting Shane and not being able to hold him was almost too much to bear.

Jane

Jesus, that was a shit show

Are you okay?

Jane

Please text me back when you can

Jane

Did you go to meet with your father already?

Please be safe

Jane

And don’t believe him if he says any of his usual bullshit

You are an incredible player and an even better man

I’m so fucking proud of you, moyo solnyshko

I love you more than I have the words to describe 

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ 

Ilya immediately feels bad for ignoring the texts for so long that Shane had the time to work himself up to this level of worry. But it’s a feeling that easily fades in comparison with the warmth growing on Ilya’s chest at his boyfriend’s undeniable love and support.

He doesn’t have much of a response and he can’t bring himself to start a real conversation. But he can reply enough so that Shane doesn’t panic.

Ilya

i will be okay once i have you in my arms again

I love you too, мой любимый

He turns off the screen and fits his phone back into his pocket before Shane has an opportunity to respond

With a deep breath, Ilya takes a last look at the mirror. He fixes his tie and smooths over his tux before leaving to find his father’s room.

The brief moment Ilya took to read his family’s texts goes a long way to fortifying him for the talk with his father. For the most part, he ignores what the other man is saying. In one ear and out the other.

He’s played this game too many times and the answers come out of him effortlessly: “yes, sir” or “no, sir” or “it would be my honour, father.”

Until Grigori says something that Ilya has heard a thousand times. Something that he should have an automatic response to. But, this time, it throws him off kilter.

“Are you not ashamed?” Disgust colours Grigori’s voice, clear as day.

And Ilya comes up short. Because the truth is, for once in his goddamned life, he’s not fucking ashamed. He can’t bring himself to feel ashamed when he thinks about it for more than two seconds.

When he thinks of David’s text – Yuna and I are very proud of you, son.

When he thinks of a young Shane Hollander, years and years ago, on a rooftop in Ottawa after the last time Ilya represented his country – He should be so fucking proud of you. Hell, even I’m proud of you.

When he thinks of Shane Hollander today, older and wiser, but still just as earnest – I’m so fucking proud of you, moyo solnyshko.

It’s the combination of all those thoughts that has Ilya doing something he’s never done before. He stands up for himself. Not as bait so that someone else may escape unscathed and not as a sacrifice in some elaborate game of chess.

Ilya Rozanov stands up for himself because he fucking deserves better.

“I am not ashamed.” He says plainly.

Grigori blinks, taken aback. “Well, you fucking should be.” He sneers. “You squander all the promise you showed when you were young and you have nothing to say for yourself?”

“I play better hockey now than I ever have before.” Ilya keeps his voice level through sheer force of will, even as, he’s fairly sure, his hands are starting to shake. “I am one of the best players in the NHL.”

“Do not get me started on the NHL.” Grigori scoffs. “You couldn’t even make it to the KHL, like a proper Russian. You had to settle for the soft league. You are just as lazy and weak as your mother, Ilya.”

That sets something on fire inside Ilya. Grigori hasn’t talked about Irina like that for years, not since she died, and it sounds worse to Ilya now than it ever did before. “Don’t you dare speak about my mother.” Ilya growls. 

“Are you talking back to me, boy?” Grigori raises his hand.

Ilya sees the strike coming from a mile away, as he has so many times before. Usually, it’s his sign to close his eyes and brace for impact. Sometimes because he provoked Grigori’s anger on purpose and he had to see it through, sometimes because he deserved it and it was only right, sometimes because it was inescapable and there was no point delaying it. 

None of which are true this time.

This time, there’s nothing keeping Ilya from taking a step back and watching and his father’s open palm cuts through the air in front of him.

Grigori’s face goes from controlled contempt to outright fury. He moves forward, but Ilya’s already dived out of the way.

“You do not want to fight me, father.” He says with a hint of warning on his voice.

When Grigori looks up at him, Ilya can see the confusion on his face. Like he expected to find a young boy and is instead faced with a grown man. Through the mist in his head, Grigori seems to realize that he stands no chance against a hockey player who has been in hundreds of fights. So he settles for words. 

“You are no son of mine, Ilya.” He bites out. “You are a disappointment to your family and you bring shame upon your country. I never want to see your face again.”

And then Grigori spits on the floor between them.

Ilya is frozen in place, staring at the wet floor.

It should feel devastating, he knows. After so many years trying to meet Grigori’s unattainable standards, Ilya should be devastated to be discarded so easily. And a part of him is. A small childish part of Ilya that still believed in impossible things like earning his father’s affections has just been cracked into a thousand pieces.

But mostly? 

Mostly, all Ilya feels is relief. Like a crushing weight has finally been lifted off his back. The weight of expectation and obligation and family duty, gone in a puff of smoke. 

He never has to show his face around here again.

Ilya looks up and finds a challenging expression on his father’s face. Like he expects Ilya to apologize, to grovel for forgiveness and beg to be allowed back.

Instead, Ilya holds his father’s gaze as he says a simple “Okay” before walking out of the room.

Chapter End Notes

мой любимый -> moy lyubimyy -> my beloved

Story time!
When my grandfather was suffering from alzheimer's, there were actually a couple of things that he never forgot. For instance, every day he would reach for his car keys and when he didn't find them he'd blame my uncle for borrowing his car and never returning it (my grandpa got lost driving once and my uncle sold his car the very next day, this was his excuse).
In my head, this interaction will be like that for Grigori. Every day he'll look around for Ilya and when he doesn't find him he'll remember that Ilya is a traitor / a disappointment / brings shame upon his family and that's why he never calls Ilya again.

Chapter 23: July 2014

Chapter Notes

Shane knew, better than most, that Ilya’s relationship with his family had been weighing on him for years. He understood that breaking off all contact could only ever be good for Ilya in the long run.

But when he got that phone call in Sochi, with Ilya sniffing on the other side of the line and stumbling through half a sentence of English before resigning himself to speaking Russian, Shane felt his heart shatter. It didn’t matter, then, that Grigori Rozanov is an abusive bastard who’s never said a single kind word to his son. All that mattered was losing his father made Ilya miserable.

And for the first months after the Olympics, it didn’t really seem like things were getting better.

It started as endless calls from Alexei that seemed to drain all of Ilya’s energy until he finally decided to go behind his brother’s back and get their father admitted into an assisted living facility. Ilya took on all the expenses related to his father, set up a thrust fund for his niece and then blocked Alexei’s number.

Then, there were the many, many sleepless nights Ilya refused to tell Shane about until he once fell asleep during phone sex. Knowing Ilya, there was no explanation for it other than extreme exhaustion.

Worst of all, there was the one time Ilya finally cracked and called his father, towards the end of the regular season, only to be berated and turned away again. It got so bad that Ilya had to readjust his meds.

To say it’s been a tough few months is an understatement.

Yet, somehow, Ilya managed to take all the shit that life served him and turn it into fuel. He led his teams to their best season so far, through a neat flawless playoff campaign and all the way to lifting the cup.

And, just tonight, he got named MVP.

So Shane’s on his way to Ilya’s hotel penthouse with his reward. Because Ilya fucking deserves it. Shane will forever be in awe of the resilience and determination and pure unmitigated hockey expertise that Ilya displayed this season.

Fuck, Shane loves his boyfriend so fucking much.

When Ilya opens the door, he’s already removed his jacket and opened the first three buttons on his shirt. He looks so hot, Shane’s mouth waters at the sight. His boyfriend is the Most Valuable Player in the fucking NHL, can you blame him?

Shane only just barely manages to wait until the door is locked behind him before he’s throwing his arms around Ilya and kissing him stupid.

“Congratilations.” He says breathlessly when he finally manages to pull back enough to look at his gorgeous boyfriend’s face. “Fuck, Ilya.” Shane murmurs. “You are incredible. I’m so proud of you.”

Ilya smiles softly. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so fucking much.” Shane kisses him again. He whines when Ilya pulls away only a few moments later. “Ilya.”

Ilya chuckles. “Come with me.” He kisses Shane on the cheek and takes his hand before leading him to the adjacent bedroom.

Shane pouts, but follows along. He wants to kiss Ilya now, but he’s sure good things await for him in the bedroom too.

He wasn’t expecting this, though. 

“Ilya?” Shane looks around the many tiny candles spread elegantly around the floor, bed and most other flat surfaces in the room. It’s a beautiful sight, especially with the way the warm light makes Ilya’s form glow almost ethereally in the dark, but Shane can’t help the way his body tenses with anxiety. “Are you trying to set the hotel on fire?” He hisses.

“Relax, Hollander.” Ilya huffs good-naturally. “They’re LED. Is safe.” 

“Okay.” As Shane feels his muscles relax, the situation catches up to him. “Ilya,” he turns around to find his boyfriend smiling warmly at him, “what is this?”

Ilya moves a step closer, taking both of Shane’s hands. “Moy lyubimyy,” he says slowly, “I am never going back to Russia.”

Shane blinks. “You don’t know that.” He replies quietly, fumbling for the right thing to say. He knows Ilya’s feelings about his home country are complicated, to say the least. “Maybe things will change—”

“No, Shaneusha.” Ilya cuts off his rambling. “I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here.” 

“Oh.” Shane says unintelligently. “That’s okay too.”

“I want to spend my summers at the cottage with you.” Ilya continues and Shane’s finding it harder and harder to breathe. “I want to spend Christmas with Yuna and David. I want to beat you on the ice—”

Shane squawk’s. “Fuck you, Rozanov.”

“— and wake up next to you the next day. I want you, Shane.” Ilya cups Shane’s cheek, his eyes bright with love. “I want to become boring Canadian citizen so they can never pull me away from you again.”

Shane leans closer to Ilya as if pulled in by a magnet. “You want to get married?” He can hardly believe what is happening. “Go back to plan A?”

“No.” Ilya says softly and Shane can’t bring himself to pull away, so he settles for closing his eyes and leaning into Ilya’s hand. “I want to marry you because I love you, not because of plan.”

Shane’s eyes snap open. “I love you too.” He breathes. 

Ilya beams at him and presses a tender kiss to Shane’s cheek before falling down to one knee and pulling a black velvet box from his pocket. “Last time we were here, three years ago, you won rookie of the year. I was so jealous, Kotenok. But it almost didn’t matter, because I was so fucking proud of you.” Ilya’s voice is steady and his grammar is perfect, like he rehearsed the words. “And it really didn’t matter because I was the real winner of the night. That was the first time you gifted yourself to me, completely. No award could compare.” 

Shane feels his eyes filling up with happy tears. That had been a good night. One of their best, even now. Ilya’s right, that was the first time Shane trusted all of himself to him. Before they said ‘I love you’. Before they became exclusive. The night Shane was named rookie of the year was probably the real point of no return for them.

“Tonight, I want to offer all of myself to you in return.” The intensity in Ilya’s gaze breaks as his face morphs into a smug smirk. “Is not bad offer,” he shrugs. “I am MVP.”

Shane snorts, causing a tear to finally break away from his eyes, which he quickly wipes away.

Ilya’s face softens again and he opens the little box to reveal a gold band. “Will you marry me, Shane Hollander?” 

“Holy shit.” Shane whispers. He can’t tear his eyes away from the ring. It’s perfect. Unadorned, simple gold in a modern design. Something that Shane could wear without it distracting him.

When he finally manages to meet Ilya’s eyes, Ilya is giving him an amused smile. “Is yes or no question, Hollander.” He teases.

“Yes.” Shane says at once. Fuck, had he forgoten to answer the question? “Of fucking course I want to marry you, Ilya.” 

To prove his point, Shane tackles Ilya to the ground and kisses him deeply.

“Ow.” Ilya says as his back hits the ground. He doesn’t break the kiss, even as he squirms around. “Ow. The candles, Shane.”

“Oh.” Shane finally leans back, only for Ilya to pull him back in. “There’s a bed, Ilyusha.” He murmurs into his fiancé’s mouth.

Holy shit, they are engaged.

“Too far.” Ilya mumbles. When he does detach his mouth from Shane’s, it’s only for long enough for them to sit up, Shane straddling Ilya’s lap, so Ilya can slip the ring into Shane’s finger. 

“It fits.” Shane says in awe, admiring the way the ring just seems to belong in his hand. He snaps his head up to look at Ilya, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Did you get one for yourself too?”

Ilya smiles, not taking his eyes off of Shane’s as he digs through his pocket until he comes up with another ring. “I thought matching rings would be nice, but if you want something different—”

“No.” Shane takes the offered ring. “It’s perfect.” He holds Ilya’s hand and delicately slips the ring into place. 

It looks right at home in Ilya’s finger. 

“Wow.” Shane whispers in awe. He brings Ilya’s hand up to kiss the ring reverently. “I can’t wait to be married to you, moyo solnyshko.”

“I can’t wait to be your husband.” Ilya replies softly before framing Shane’s face tenderly in his hands and pulling him into a slow, loving kiss.

It doesn’t take very long for it to turn dirty and desperate. Shane loves it. It also reminds him that he had plans of his own when he came into the suite. He might have gotten distracted, but now is a great time to get back on track.

Shane breaks the kiss only to lean closer, nuzzling Ilya’s cheek and whispering in his ear. “Do you want your reward now, MVP?”

Chapter End Notes

I was sooooooo sure I could finish this in 24 chapters! I was wrong. This chapter got too long so I had to break it into two 😅

Chapter 24: A Few Minutes Later

Chapter Notes

Eventually, they get up and off the floor. Ilya pulls the duvet away with all the candles on top of it and throws it in a corner before quickly taking off his clothes and getting in bed in time to watch Shane carefully fold his shirt and place it on top of his jacket on the chair.

This dork is Ilya’s fiancé! It’s not like Ilya expected Shane to say ‘no’. Not really. They’ve been together so long, this feels like a natural next step, if not an overdue development. But fuck, sometimes Ilya still feels like he should be pinching himself, how did he get so fucking lucky?

Shane looks over his shoulder, meeting Ilya’s eyes. He’s shy, of course, even after all these years, his face blushing adorably at the attention. Then Shane smirks. He maintains eye contact as he unbuttons his pants, but has to look away as he actually takes them off.

“Fuck, Hollander.” Ilya breathes out, involuntarily sitting up to have a better look. 

Shane’s wearing a fucking jockstrap under his tux, his delicious ass gorgeously framed by the straps. Which would be brain-melting enough on its own. But when Shane bends down, Ilya can just about spot the base of the plug in his hole.

Ilya lets out a low whistle.

After standing back up, Shane turns around slowly. For a moment, Ilya’s eyes don’t move, now focused on how Shane’s half-hard cock fills his jockstrap gorgeously. “So...?” Shane asks with an ever wider smirk. 

“Get the fuck in here.” Ilya growls, extending his arm. When Shane is within grasping distance, Ilya takes his hand and roughly pulls him towards the bed, using their momentum to roll them so that Shane’s lying on his back and Ilya’s on top of him.

Shane laughs brightly and Ilya’s heart soars at the sound, but it doesn’t stop him from muffling it with his own mouth. The kiss turns dirty immediately, Shane’s so fucking hungry for it. He would be. He’s been essentially edging himself for hours, walking around with a plug in his ass.

Fuck. Shane probably sat down at that stupid party. He had to make boring polite conversation with boring money people who wanted to congratulate him on his boring season. And maybe even Shane was bored by it and maybe he would shift his hips to distract himself, to feel the relentless press of the plug inside him and remind himself of Ilya and what they’d do later.

Ilya feels like he’s about to explode just thinking about it. He groans when he pulls away from the kiss, but wastes no time manhandling Shane until he’s up on all fours. Shane, of course, adjusts beautifully, arching his back and presenting his ass like an offering.

Kneeling between Shane’s spread legs, Ilya takes a moment to fully appreciate the view before reaching to touch his stunning fiancé. He gently massages Shane’s asscheeks before spreading them apart and getting a good look at the plug. Shane chose the purple one: small enough that Shane could still focus on other things when necessary, but also big enough to keep him open all evening, presumably so that Ilya could slip right in now.

“You like it?” Shane wiggles his ass enticingly.

There are no words for how much Ilya fucking loves this. How much he loves Shane. So he lets his actions speak instead, lifting his hand and landing a biting slap on Shane’s lovely exposed ass. He can see the way Shane clenches at the impact and how it immediately leads to a dirty moan falling out of his mouth.

Ilya smirks. “Do you like it?” He asks condescendingly. 

“So good.” Shane moans, nodding into the pillow. “But ‘s not about me.”

“Of course not.” Ilya lands another, sharper slap, delighting on the way it makes Shane whimper. “So selfless, kotenok.”

Shane’s fists are clutching the sheets like a lifeline, but he somehow manages to raise his head and look over his shoulder at Ilya. “You deserve your reward, Ilyusha.” Shane says, his determined eyes shining with unshed tears. “You did so good.”

Ilya’s breath catches in his throat. “Marry me.” The words fall out of his mouth unprompted.

Shane snorts, lifting his right hand. The ring glistens in the candle light, fucking magnificent. “Already said yes, idiot.” Shane snarks, earning himself another smack. “Fuck.” He falls facedown onto the pillow, his hand back to clutching the bedsheets. 

“Marry me tomorrow.” Ilya gently caresses over the redness blooming on Shane’s ass, soothing the sting. “Is Vegas. We find a chapel, yes?”

“No way, Rozanov.” Shane angles his face away from the pillow so that Ilya can make out the words. “We’re not getting married by a fucking Elvis impersonator.”

Ilya spanks him again, lower this time, his fingers only just brushing the base of the plug.

Shane wails. “Please.” He sobs. “Please, Ilya.”

“Oh, lyubimyy.” Ilya coos. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.” Shane nods desperately. “Yes, please.”

Ilya tsks. “But is not about what you want, is it?”

Shane freezes for a moment before letting out a soft “no.”

“No.” Ilya agrees, leaning away to grab a bottle of lube from the bedside table. “Is my reward. And I want to watch you fuck yourself with your toy.”

“Ilya.” Shane whines, not moving yet.

“Now.” Ilya strikes him one last time, relishing Shane’s sharp gasp. “Take the plug off so I can put lube.”

Shane reaches a shaking hand between his legs and pulls on the base of the plug, but it doesn’t budge.

“Fuck, Shaneusha.” Ilya breathes. “Your little hole’s so hungry, it won’t let go, huh?”

Shane moans something nonsensical that sounds somewhat agreeing and finally the plug pops off. “Fuck.” He whimpers, pulling at it until it’s fully out. “Fuck. So empty.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Ilya says comfortingly as he quickly covers the plug with a generous coat of lube. “There you go. Fill yourself up again.”

The toy slides easily, like it’s being sucked back in. Like Shane’s sweet little asshole really can’t stand to be empty. 

“Fucking beautiful.” Ilya says in awe. He can’t even look at what his doing as he lubes his own dick because the sight of Shane fucking the plug in and out of himself is fucking mesmerizing . It’s slow at first, but it doesn’t take very long until desperation has Shane speeding up.

“Please.” Shane’s gasp is muffled by the way his face is now smashed against the pillow. “I need…”

“What?” Ilya’s mouth goes dry. “You need what, kotenok?”

“You.” Shane breathes out. “I need you.”

In an instant, Ilya has pulled the plug out, flipped Shane onto his back and buried his cock deep into Shane’s delicious asshole.

“Fuck.” Shane’s dazed for a long moment before his brain catches up and he wraps his legs tightly around Ilya’s hips. “Fuck, yes. Fuck me, Ilyusha.” 

Of course, Ilya’s helpless to do anything but obey. Shane’s so hot and tight inside. So fucking perfect. Always so perfect, his Shaneusha. Only for Ilya.

Ilya is going to marry this perfect man.

Fuck.

“I’m so close.” Shane moans. Like Ilya’s not the one hanging on by a fucking thread.

Ilya takes both of Shane’s hands, interlaces their fingers together and presses them onto the bed next to Shane’s head. He uses the leverage to pull himself up enough to look down at Shane’s exquisite scrunched up face.

“My future husband.” Ilya says reverently. “I love you so much.”

Shane’s eyes snap open to meet Ilya’s. “I love you.” He says. “I love you. I love you.” The words sound more and more muddled each time, but he doesn’t stop saying them. “I love you. I love you. I love—”

With a choked off sob, Shane comes untouched into his fucking jockstrap.

Ilya follows not even two thrusts later.

In the aftermath, Ilya doesn’t move. He doesn’t want Shane to feel empty, so he stays nestled inside for as long as he possibly can. He kisses every inch of Shane’s face until Shane’s gorgeous blissed out face smoothes back into a soft smile and Shane finally opens his eyes.

“Hi.” Shane breathes. 

Ilya kisses him. Deeply.

For the longest time, they just make out. Bodies slotted together and well past the point of oversensitivity, but it doesn’t matter. They kiss like they would die if their lips were to part.

An eternity later, after they have showered and Ilya has changed the sheets to the extras he’d requested and Shane has brought them each a glass of water, they lie together on the bed. Ilya has his head on Shane’s chest, listening to the comforting sound of his fiancé’s heartbeat.

“Ilya?” Shane calls softly, his fingers gentle on Ilya’s hair.

Ilya nuzzles onto his fiancé’s chest. “Yes?”

Shane’s voice is quiet, like his sharing a secret. “I was thinking—”

“Overthinking.” Ilya interrupts automatically, a longstanding habit at this point.

“Thinking,” Shane huffs, “that maybe we could have a new plan?”

Ilya smiles. Shane can’t see it from this angle, but Ilya loves him so much, he can’t help but smile. “What’s the new plan, Shaneusha?”

“Well.” Shane says slowly. “I only have one year left on my contract and you have four left on yours.”

Ilya blinks. “Okay?”

Shane takes a deep breath before continuing. “So. If I sign a short contract next year, then in four years we’ll be free agents together. Just a year before you can apply for citizenship.”

Ilya can barely believe his ears, he has to prop himself up on his elbow to study his beautiful fiancé’s beautiful face for signs of discomfort. There are none. “You would leave the Voyageurs?” Ilya asks for good measure.

“For you?” Shane smiles softly. “In a heartbeat.”

“Shane.” Ilya breathes out. Fuck, are his eyes wet?

“There are… less bigoted teams.” Shane explains. Teams that don’t use slurs as chirps, Ilya mentally translates. “Los Angeles. Ottawa. New York.”

“Those are shit teams, lyubimyy.” Ilya feels the need to point out.

Shane’s eyes sparkle. “They wouldn’t be, if we played for them.”

“Shane.” A tear finally escapes Ilya’s eyes. “You want to play with me?”

It’s a strange idea, for sure. Ilya can’t deny that he’s thought about it once or twice or a thousand times. It sounded… too good to be true, really. So much of their relationship was built on competition, Ilya never imagined Shane would agree to give that up.

But Shane takes Ilya’s face in his hands and prompts Ilya to meet his eyes. “I want to do everything with you, moyo solnyshko.”

Ilya just has to kiss him, then. His perfect fiancé with his perfect 5-year plan.

Ilya can’t wait until they’re married.

He can’t wait until they can do everything together.

Chapter End Notes

Yes, Shane had a plug in his ass the whole time he was getting proposed to. No, he will never live this down lol

Soooooo close to the end!!!
Only the epilogue left now 💜💜💜💜

Chapter 25: May 2020

Chapter Notes

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY HUSBAND?” Ilya’s roar booms above the loud cheers all around the arena. Or maybe Shane’s just primed to pick out his husband’s voice in any crowd, no matter how noisy. Either way, it makes Shane smile.

He’s instinctively drawn to the source of the yell, but he can’t see his husband through the sea of their teammates, still dispersing from their celebratory pile up on Hazy. So Shane quickly moves to skate around the commotion and meet Ilya on the other side.

Soon, he spots a familiar head of blond hair, the curls smushed into his scalp from the sweat and the now discarded helmet.

“ILYA!” Shane calls as he speeds down the ice.

His gorgeous husband turns around with a radiant smile, just in time to brace himself as Shane launches himself at him. They react seamlessly when their bodies slam into each other, Ilya lifts Shane off the ice and uses their momentum to spin them around and Shane wraps his legs around his husband's torso, pressing as close to him as humanly possible.

Ilya’s laughing. Loud and free, the kind of laughter that can’t be kept inside when one is experiencing this much joy. Shane’s laughing too, the giddiness bubbling out of him. But he quickly gets distracted by his husband’s beauty, by the glimmer in his eyes and his rich deep laugh and the way his nose scrunches up when he smiles.

Grabbing onto Ilya’s jaw with both hands, Shane angles his face up and kisses him square in the mouth. Right there at central ice, in front of their team and the fans and the cameras and the Scott fucking Hunter, probably.

He kisses Ilya because he can. Because they have the support from their family and their friends and their team. Because Ilya is his husband and now a proud Canadian citizen. Because they’re safe. 

They’ve also just won the fucking Stanley Cup together and if they want to celebrate it by making out no one can fucking stop them. 

Ilya, unsurprisingly, deepens the kiss. It quickly turns hungry and greedy, Shane feels like he’s being devoured. He devours Ilya right back.

“Get a room, cap!” Someone yells around them.

Shane’s inclined to tell them to fuck off or, better yet, ignore it altogether. They’ve spent far too long hiding in rooms, they deserve this. 

Unfortunately, Ilya breaks the kiss anyway. Shane whines at the loss, hiding his flushed face on Ilya’s neck as he takes a moment to get his body under control before facing the world again.

“Jealous, Barret?” Ilya shoots over Shane’s shoulder.

But there’s no response before someone crashes into them. And then someone else and another and another, until Shane and Ilya are at the center of their very own dogpile. 

The noise is deafening around them, everyone shouting some variation of ‘we fucking did it.’ Shane joins in without unwrapping from around his husband.

After all, they fucking did it together.

They got separated at some point, which only proves Ilya’s suspicion that he should not have set his husband down. Ever. He should be carrying Shane around in his arms until they died of old age.

Because now Shane’s all the way over there with Yuna and David (who Ilya hasn’t even had the chance to hug, by the way!) and Ilya is stuck here, listening to some shocked reporter stumble his way through a poorly thought out question about Ilya and Shane.

“My husband is very hot, yes.” Ilya interrupts. “Much hotter than Scott Hunter’s boyfriend. Younger and better at hockey than old man Hunter too. My husband scored very sexy cup winning goal. I cannot be expected not to kiss him.”

The reporter’s eyes nearly pop out of his face. “Your husband?” He squeaks.

“Yes.” Ilya smirks. Okay, maybe he’s enjoying this. “My husband, the second best player in the NHL.” Ilya pauses for a moment, expecting the reporter to ask his next question, but the man seems frozen in place. “Actually,” Ilya decides, turning towards Shane and yelling “Hollander!”

Shane looks back at him with a curious frown. When Ilya gestures him over, Shane skates to him without hesitation, coming to an abrupt stop within arms reach. So, naturally, Ilya wraps an arm around his husband’s waist, pulls him closer and kisses his temple.

“Hollander.” He says, turning back to the camera. “Tell them about the bet you just lost.” 

“Ilya.” Shane groans, but doesn’t pull away.

“Come on, lyubimyy.” Ilya jostles him. “Your husband is playoff MVP. Aren’t you proud?”

Shane snorts. “Fuck you, Rozanov.”

“So, is this…” the reporter suddenly startles back to life. Ilya had forgotten about him. “A bet, then? A prank?”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “I did not marry him on a bet.” 

“The bet was,” Shane starts awkwardly, “and I want to preface this by saying that I know it’s confusing and I tried to stop him—”

Ilya blows a raspberry at his boring husband.

“—but we agreed that if Ilya won playoff MVP he could change the name on his jersey.” Shane ends the sentence with a sigh.

The reporter blinks multiple times, his eyes ping-ponging back and forth between them. “Change his name to what?”

“Hollander, of course.” Ilya grins. “Like it says on my passport.” 

“Yes.” Shane is clearly trying to sound long-suffering, but when he looks at Ilya there’s nothing but adoration in his eyes. “Next season, the Ottawa power play will feature Hollander and Hollander.”

One look at those eyes and Ilya is done for. “I love you, Hollander.” He says quietly, before pressing a soft kiss to his husband’s lips. 

Shane’s smiling brightly when they part. “I love you too, Hollander.”

Chapter End Notes

Aaaaaaand that's a wrap 💜

While I don't have any plans to continue the story from here, I think it might be fun to explore some outsider POVs within the same universe. I make no promises, because I'm so tired after finishing this one, but I made this a part of a series so that if I do get inspired to write any companion pieces they will have a home

Thank you so much to all of you lovely people who joined me on this journey, you've made it so much more fun for me 💜💜💜💜