Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Ryan Price (Game Changers), Svetlana Vetrova, Rose Landry, Troy Barrett, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Harris Drover

Additional Tags:

Baseball, Alternate Universe - Baseball, Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Alternate Universe, POV Alternating, Forced Proximity, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Teammates Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-02 Words: 57,973 Chapters: 11/11

Designed To Break Your Heart

Summary

Ilya's eyes snapped. Something hot behind them. "You think you are better than me?"

Shane shook his head. It was like comparing apples and oranges, he wasn't sure how to even measure who was better. "No, and you know that's not what I meant. It's true, I'm more likely to get called up before you, and-"

Ilya propped himself up, nose now inches from Shane's. Shane couldn't help looking at his lips, flushed from running. To his horror, Ilya seemed to notice, and he started grinning.

"I think I will catch you." Ilya said, casually. "I cannot let you play without me. Would be no fun."

***
Baseball au. Shane Hollander is a tightly wound pitcher who has been dreaming about the major leagues since he was six. Ilya Rozanov is a cocky shortstop who is infuriatingly good at reading him.

Chapter 1: Prospects

Chapter Summary

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.

A Great and Glorious Game, A. Bartlett Giamatti

Chapter Notes

It was the night before the draft. Shane had been lying awake in his hotel room for hours. Logically, he knew his agent would not have had him fly out to Boston if he wasn't going to be drafted in the first round. There had been whispers that he might even go one-of-one. But he couldn't help himself from imagining the worst case scenario. Humiliation. Nobody wanting him. Maybe worse, he got drafted and was a bust. Fans eagerly awaiting his arrival in the big leagues only for him to flame out in the minors. It was all too easy to visualize when he was on the eve of a day he had dreamed about for years.

Shane threw back the covers. He had to go for a run.

In ten minutes, he was heading out of the lobby. He paused outside to stretch his hamstrings, and his gaze fell on...Ilya Rozanov. Of course he was here. If anybody else was getting flown out to attend the draft in person, it was Rozanov. The perplexing Russian shortstop (because who knew they even had baseball in Russia?) turned college phenom. Their teams hadn't played each other in the college world series. Rozanov's team had poor pitching. His stellar hitting and flashy glove could only drag them so far. But Shane had studied his game tape before his team was eliminated. Ilya played with the confidence of a big league veteran, and he had a playful attitude at the plate that seemed to get under pitcher's skins. Shane had been kind of disappointed that he didn't have an opportunity to face him, to see if he could outplay him.

Rozanov was smoking, which Shane thought was insane for an athlete to do. His curly blond hair was damp, as if he had just taken a shower. Soft tendrils were framing his face, and his light hazel eyes were staring Shane down.

"Oh. Hey." Shane said lamely. Rozanov nodded, saying nothing. Shane walked up to shake his hand, and for a moment Rozanov just stared at his outstretched hand.

"Shane Hollander," Shane introduced himself, as if Ilya didn't know who he was. He might have been lying awake plagued with imposter syndrome, but Ilya had to know who he was.

"Ilya Rozanov." Ilya blew smoke away from Shane's face, grasping his hand.

"So. Here for the draft?" The second that escaped his lips, Shane regretted it.

"No. Here because I have always dreamed of visiting Boston." Ilya raised an eyebrow, responding almost exactly as Shane had expected.

"Yeah, that was dumb." Shane muttered, which drew a small smile out of Ilya.

"You could not sleep." Ilya didn't say it as a question, it was a clear assessment of Shane, standing out there in his sneakers at 11pm.

"No. Tomorrow's just such a big day, you know?"

Ilya shrugged. He really wasn't giving Shane anything to work with. Anyway, this was the last thing Shane needed. He found himself staring at Ilya's lips as they wrapped around his cigarette, and for some reason it made him want to run ten miles.

"Well. I gotta go. See you tomorrow." Shane started off, and then Ilya yelled something that made his blood run cold.

"You will not be so nice when I am drafted first."

Shane turned around, squinting at him. "That's not going to happen."

***

That was exactly what happened. Shane shouldn't have been shocked. Boston needed infield help more than they needed pitching, and they drafted Ilya first overall. Montreal had drafted Shane immediately after. He and Ilya posed with their jerseys, they shook hands, they attended a reception afterwards, and all Shane could focus on was Ilya's crooked smile and golden curls. It seemed like everywhere he turned, Ilya was there, something inscrutable behind his eyes.

When he got back to the hotel, he had hoped the chaos and emotions of the day would exhaust him, that he could drift off to sleep the second his head hit the pillow. Instead, he just lay there, trying very hard to not think about Ilya's rosy lips wrapped around a disgusting cigarette.

Frustrated, he decided he needed to go for another run. He exited the hotel, pausing to stretch, when he almost fell over because a hand skated on his low back.

"I thought you might do this." Ilya's low voice purred as he walked past Shane and braced himself against a column to stretch.

Bewildered, Shane stared at him. He was in running gear. His lithe muscles were rippling as he gripped his shin, pulling his hamstring to warm up.

"What are you doing?" Shane found himself asking.

Ilya shrugged "I couldn't sleep. Want to run."

Shane didn't know what to say to that. He felt his cheeks heating and took off at a light jog before Ilya could notice. In seconds, Ilya was beside him, matching his pace. Shane sped up. He hadn't planned to run with Ilya, this was actually defeating the entire purpose of running to force thoughts of Ilya out of his mind.

"You don't have to follow me." He hissed, rounding the corner.

"I want to." Ilya said simply, and that statement sent a tingle down Shane's spine. As they ran in silence, Shane had a brief, bizarre thought. He kind of felt like a prey animal being hunted, Ilya chasing him down.

They ran far longer than Shane had planned. Something about being with Ilya kicked a competitive gear in him. And Ilya could match him, whatever pace they ran, however far Shane went as he tried to out race him. They stopped just short of the hotel, in the park across the street. Shane sat on the grass, and Ilya collapsed back in it with a heavy sigh that Shane wanted to hear on a loop. Ilya stretched his arms overhead and his shirt rode up, exposing firm abs, a golden trail of hair. For a second, Shane was struck with a wild urge to lick him, to run his tongue down the ridges of carved muscle. He tried to shake that thought by focusing on how sweaty and gross Ilya must be right now.

"So. Montreal?" Ilya asked.

"Yeah, Montreal."

"Montreal is nice?" Ilya asked. "We will play each other a lot?"

Shane nodded. Montreal and Boston were in the same division. Rivals to an extent. Nothing like the blood feud between New York and Boston, but there had been heated moments through the years. Seven years ago, Boston had knocked Montreal out of the American League Championship in game seven. His mom, a Metros fan, absolutely hated Boston and had been relieved the Raiders didn't draft him.

"I mean, eventually. I don't think for a while, college pitchers usually reach the majors before position players and you-"

Ilya's eyes snapped. Something hot behind them. "You think you are better than me?"

Shane shook his head. It was like comparing apples and oranges, he wasn't sure how to even measure who was better. "No, and you know that's not what I meant. It's true, I'm more likely to get called up before you, and-"

Ilya propped himself up, nose now inches from Shane's. Shane couldn't help looking at his lips, flushed from running. To his horror, Ilya seemed to notice, and he started grinning.

"I think I will catch you." Ilya said, casually. "I cannot let you play without me. Would be no fun."

Shane felt the truth in that, miserably. He was right. He already wanted to face off with Ilya. See him step into the batters box, try to outsmart him and outplay him, frustrate him, drive him crazy. Hear him let out a long sigh like the one he had done after their run, lick his abdomen-Shane shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Ilya seemed to interpret the movement as an answer.

"You are a liar. See you in spring training."

***

Spring training was incredible. Their veteran catcher, Murphy, had offered Shane a bedroom in his rental. They shared with Hayden Pike, the young backup catcher, and all three men would talk strategy, pitch shapes, and strike zones over breakfast. It felt like Shane's personal heaven. Pitchers and catchers always reported first to spring training, taking the extra time to warm up and tweak what they had been working on in the offseason.

For Shane, it was a chance for the coaching staff to start refining him. He knew they had drafted him because of his 4-seam fastball, his pinpoint command, and his low release point. He had always thrown with his arm angled lower than other pitchers, and it had worked to his advantage. Batters had a hard time reading the movement of the ball as it came out of his hands.

Now that he was in camp, the coaching staff wanted him to work on his off-speed pitches, get a better pitch mix so he could put batters away if his 4-seamer couldn't fool them

A few nights before position players reported, Hayden said something that made Shane freeze.

"Hey, what do you know about Rozanov?"

"Uh. He's good, obviously. Lots of potential. Great bat speed, more power than a short stop usually has-" Shane started rattling off the scouting report while Hayden waved him off.

"No, I meant what is he like? Sometimes guys' personalities help us figure out how to pitch to them. Did you talk to him at all at the draft?"

Shane thought about Ilya, panting a little in the grass. A competitive streak, something inscrutable behind those eyes. Gorgeous curly hair.

"Only a little. He can kind of be...an asshole." Shane said, truthfully.

Hayden nodded "Good thing you'll be able to show him who's boss right?"

Shane did not have an opportunity to do so for two weeks. Not that he was counting. Montreal and Boston played against each other a few times, but with pitchers and batters only going short stints in spring training games, things never lined up for them to face each other. He did notice Ilya staring at him. Arms slung across the top railing of the Boston dugout, chewing furiously on some gum, eyes piercing across the diamond. It was unsettling. It was kind of thrilling.

Finally, two weeks into spring training, the cosmos aligned. Shane was brought in for a late inning. He struck out the first batter easily, a AAA player that Hayden had drawn up an excellent scouting report on. The next batter gave him some trouble. He wasn't swinging at anything outside the zone, so Shane had to nibble at the corners of the strike zone until he got weak contact, a dribbler to first base that was picked easily for the second out. His heart started pounding as Ilya approached.

Ilya was smiling, relaxed, as if he was playing in his backyard. Shane took a moment to steady his breath, and shot his slider past Ilya. He'd been working on it with the coaching staff, hadn't debuted it in a game yet, and Ilya was completely unprepared. Ilya backed out of the batter's box, grin spreading wider as he shook his head and readjusted his gloves. When he stepped back in, Hayden called for a 4-seamer down and away. In a split second, Shane saw the ball traveling to the plate, saw Ilya swing under it at just the right angle and...it was gone. Utterly humiliating. Their first time facing off, and Ilya had proven he could hit a home run off of him. Ilya rounded the bases as the Boston fans cheered, and once he tapped home he did something that only rubbed it in worse. He turned around and blew Shane a kiss.

***
Four Months Later

Ilya was buzzing with excitement. His season in the minors had been fun so far. He had outperformed expectations, and had gone on a base stealing tear that contributed to him being selected for the MLB Futures game during All Star Weekend. It would be exciting to play in a real major league stadium and meet other prospects he didn't regularly play against. But he was most excited about playing on the same team as Hollander. Shane Hollander had fascinated him, since well before the draft. He had first seen footage of Shane when his team was preparing for the college world series. Grainy, far away footage that showed a powerful athlete with intimidating precision.

What had surprised him when they met was how pretty Hollander was. He had freckles splashed across his cheeks, long eyelashes. Hypnotic brown eyes. He had looked at Ilya with a barely disguised hunger and curiosity, and Ilya was practically crawling out of his skin now, wanting to test his theory.

The prospects were rallied for warm ups and practice the day before the game, but Hollander was never near. He was always in the bullpen with the other pitchers or somehow ducking out whenever Ilya would enter the clubhouse.

In the afternoon, Ilya finally gave up all pretense and wandered over to the bullpen.

"What do you want, Rozanov?" The pitching coach asked. Shane's head whipped around, locking eyes with Ilya. Ilya could feel a smirk cross his face.

"Nothing, just want to watch."

He slipped in, standing against the wall next to the AA pitcher for Arizona. Shane was studiously ignoring him, but a pink flush was creeping across his cheeks. Ilya's eyes traced over his cheekbones, his freckles were as irresistible as ever.

"Ok, let's try that one more time." The coach nodded to the bullpen catcher, who sank into a squat. Shane took a breath and then fired his slider. Ilya had seen it once, on the receiving end. Deceptive, and it had felt unfairly fast, a slider shouldn't be that fast. The bullpen coach checked the radar gun and whistled.

"Shane, save some of that heat for tomorrow, buddy."

Ilya peeked over his shoulder. 90 mph. He could feel his forehead crinkle. That just wasn't fair. Shane was known for his fastball, it lived in the mid-to-high 90s but he had hit 101 in a game recently. He wasn't allowed to also throw a slider like this.

Ilya looked up and Shane was smirking at him. Something hot started pooling in Ilya's belly, an urge to test him, or fuck him, he couldn't really tell. Maybe they were the same thing.

***

The press would not stop asking Shane about Rozanov. That stupid kiss he'd blown in spring training had gotten a lot of attention. They were on a clear race through the minors, seeing which top draft pick could debut first. It was all too tantalizing for reporters.

"What's it going to be like, putting your competition aside today?"

Shane cleared his throat. "I'm looking forward to it. He's a fun player to watch."

"Rozanov said he was hoping you'd give up some contact, give him an opportunity to use his glove." A reporter grinned.

Shane couldn't really figure out how to respond. Was Ilya saying that he knew Shane was good, that there wouldn’t be many opportunities for Ilya to show off his defense? Or did he mean, yet again, that he was the real star, that Shane was always coming in second to him?

Shane had been keeping up with him in the minors, because of course he had. Their teams were in different regions, so they hadn't played since spring training. But he watched his game tape, noted the adjustments he was making. Noticed, with dread, that he was doing really, really well. Like, might make the big leagues next year well.

***

Taking the mound in a major league stadium felt right. Shane could feel some tension in his shoulders relax. The crowd in Houston wasn't huge, maybe half the stadium. More people bought tickets to the All Star Game, the real show. But Shane knew his parents were there, somewhere in the stands.

The first batter was easy. Second baseman from DC's minor league team. His bat speed was too slow to keep up. The second batter got a hit, an easy play that skittered off the third baseman's glove. Shane was readying himself for the third batter when the catcher called time out for a mound visit. As he approached, Shane felt someone sling an arm over his shoulder.

"Come to my room tonight." Ilya's hazel eyes were flashing while he covered his mouth with his glove, as if he was talking strategy. His arm was still draped over Shane's shoulder and it felt like there was an electrical current running between them.

"What the fuck, we're in the middle of -" Shane cut himself off as the catcher arrived and started rattling through the double play he thought they could turn. Then the mound visit was over. The catcher walked back, Shane took a deep breath, and Ilya smacked his ass. "1221" he said, with a sharp glance, and then hustled back to position.

Something kinetic was roaring through Shane's bloodstream now. He fired a 2-seam fastball exactly where the catcher had asked for it, the batter made weak contact and the ball sailed into Ilya's range. He promptly turned a double play. Shane's inning was over, and his head was spinning.

***

Ilya felt like he had been waiting for hours. The prospects had been taken out to dinner, guys getting drunk and enjoying themselves now that their obligation for the weekend was over. Shane had firmly avoided his gaze all night. Ilya had almost given up on the idea of him coming to his room, if it weren't for the way that a blush crept across his cheeks whenever Ilya glanced at him.

Sure enough, there was a soft rap on his door at 9:30.

Ilya slowly pulled the door open, and Shane burst inside.

"Is someone chasing you?" Ilya looked out into the hall.

"No, Jesus. You want me to stand out there in the hallway waiting for you like an idiot?" Shane was nervous. He was so nervous, and that felt...satisfying.

"So..." Shane took a breath. "Did you want to talk?"

Ilya shook his head. "Not really. And I do not think you want to either."

Shane's cheeks were bright pink now. Like a peach that Ilya wanted to bite into.

"Why did you ask me to come here?" Shane whispered. Ilya didn't really want to play this game, because he felt like Shane could drag it out for hours.

"I asked you to come here because I am very curious about you." Ilya circled him and then took a step towards him. Shane took a small step back.

"And I think you are curious about me." Shane's breathing had started to go ragged. Another step forward from Ilya, a step back from Shane that pushed his back against the door.

"And I would like to kiss you." Shane's lips parted. "I think you would like to kiss me." Shane didn't agree or deny it. Ilya leaned in, giving him a moment to stop him, but no protest came, so he gently kissed Shane. Softly sucked on his lower lip, which coaxed a delicious groan out of Shane. In an instant, Shane's hands were threading in his hair as he pulled Ilya closer with flattering enthusiasm. It caught Ilya off guard, and he heard a hiss escape his lips, Hollander's hands twisting in his hair did something to his core.

"Get on your knees." He groaned, and Shane shot down rapidly, obediently. He had not expected that. "You have done this before?"

"No. Obviously." Shane was working to unbutton his pants. Ilya wasn't really sure why it was obvious. Shane was hot. He seemed a little shy, very tightly wound, but surely Ilya wasn't the first guy who had...every thought left his head as Shane wrapped his lips around his cock.

Shane was a little clumsy, tentative at first. Ilya stared at him, wanted to reach out and brush his fingertips on Shane's cheekbones, when suddenly, Shane took him deep, gagging. "Blyat'" Ilya cursed, bracing himself against the wall. Shane picked up tempo, bobbing his eagerly, and then he moaned. Ilya was suddenly teetering on the edge, and he had a searing moment of clarity. Shane Hollander could not think he was the kind of guy who came in five seconds from a messy blow job.

"Stop." He hissed, desperately.

Shane looked up, slowly eased off, a string of spit between his pretty lips and Ilya's cock.

"Come, bed." Was all Ilya could spit out. He stepped out of his pants, threw his shirt on the ground. He turned around and Shane was just standing there.

"Come on." He patted the spot on the bed next to him, and Shane started walking towards him.

"Clothes. Off." Ilya rolled his eyes. He couldn't trust himself to say more than two words at a time, it seemed.

Shane started to strip, and Ilya watched in delight as he carefully folded his t-shirt, then his joggers. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear and Ilya was grateful that he had a second to drink in the sight of him. He was truly gorgeous.

Shane stepped towards him, slid on the bed, and sat there. As if he was going to prop up the pillows and read a book.

"You have not done this with anyone?" Ilya asked again. It seemed impossible that Shane Hollander had made it to the age of twenty without hooking up with anybody. Shane shook his head.

"I mean, with girls, yeah." That made more sense. Girls were probably throwing themselves at him, why wouldn't he hook up with them? Ilya himself had hooked up with countless women, and only hooked up with one guy before this. Sure, he had hooked up with Sasha many times, but he still only knew that one man's body. And now Shane was giving him permission to learn his.

"Let me show you how to do this." Ilya laughed at the anger in Shane's eyes, and practically dove his mouth onto his cock. He ran his tongue slowly along the underside, feeling Shane shudder. Emboldened, he wrapped his lips around him and took him as deep as he could. Shane was not small by any means, and Ilya felt a sense of pride taking him to the back of his throat, swallowing around him. The sound that ripped out of Shane was filthy, needy, and desperate. Ilya began bobbing his head, working to drag as many moans as he could from Shane. He swirled his tongue on the head of his cock, swiping a lick of precum before hollowing out his cheeks as he sucked Shane's length. In moments, Shane's thighs were shaking. Ilya grasped them, hard, and Shane gasped.

"Rozanov, I'm going to come, plea-" in an instant, Ilya was tasting him, pouring down his throat. Ilya felt Shane's orgasm wrack his body, he swallowed his release, and then looked up at Shane, grinning as he wiped his mouth. Shane looked wrecked.

"Oh my god." Was all Shane could say, and Ilya tried to push down a weird, possessive feeling. He was the first to see Shane like this. He was certain the girls he'd slept with hadn't seen him this undone, Shane looked awestruck right now.

"Ok?" Ilya couldn't resist teasing.

"More than ok. Fuck off." Shane covered his face with his hands.

Ilya slid up next to him, and in an instant, Shane was climbing on top of him. Ilya was caught completely by surprise. Shane started planting kisses on him, rough ones at the sensitive skin where Ilya's neck met his shoulders. Shane started kissing his way down his body and then he dragged his tongue down his abdomen. Ilya had no idea where he had been hiding this whole time, this version of Shane Hollander was so much fun.

Shane took him in his mouth, slowly this time, as if he had been taking notes. His mouth felt warm, and wet, and overwhelming. Ilya was already painfully hard, swallowing around Shane's cock had turned him on to the point of stupidity. Ilya gasped as Shane swirled his tongue, and Shane moaned in response. The sensation drove Ilya mad. He fisted his hands in Shane's glossy hair and felt his hips jerking roughly, cursing in Russian as he gasped, and then, far too soon, he came. His vision spotted out for a moment, and when he re-entered his body he was staring down at Shane, who was softly kissing the inside of his thigh. He lay there, panting, and then Shane slowly climbed back up the bed to sit next to him. Not touching him.

Ilya registered the absence with an ache.

"So.” Shane took a deep breath. “This...you can't tell anyone about this."

Ilya frowned and waved his hand around "No shit." He couldn't think of a single teammate or coach who wanted a bi shortstop on their team who had just been sucking off Shane Hollander like he was sent from heaven for him personally.

Shane's posture relaxed a little. "Good. And this can't happen again."

Ilya felt a stinging sensation in his core. He had fun. Had Hollander not? Had Ilya read him that poorly? Why couldn't this happen again?

"Hollander, is just sex. Not a big deal." He tried to soothe, but Shane stiffened even more.

"I have to go. My flight tomorrow is early." Shane stood abruptly and threw his clothes on, back turned to Ilya. Ilya could feel spite rising in him. He hadn't expected Hollander to stay and snuggle, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, but it was hard to not feel insulted by the speed with which the man was trying to run out of the room.

"Hollander." Ilya got up, and was rewarded with a glimpse of Shane turning around, eyes tracing his body. "Give me your phone."

Shane pulled it out immediately, and Ilya had to bite back a smile.

He typed his contact in under a code name, then texted himself.

"Text me when you are getting called up. Don't want to hear it from ESPN."

Shane nodded, as if Ilya had given him a homework assignment, and left.

Ilya tried to not think too hard about why the room suddenly felt cold and empty.

***

Lily: Good job in the northern league championship

Jane: thanks

Lily: nothing for me?

Jane: you guys didn't win

Lily: yes, but I was good

Jane: congratulations

Lily: see you at spring training

***

Ilya was bored. He was so fucking bored. The off-season meant caring for his father, avoiding his brother, partying with Svetlana, and training. Winter off-seasons meant winter in Moscow. Bitter cold, the kind of gray skies that felt like an oppressive barricade. Ilya usually went for runs when he couldn't take it anymore, when the boredom felt like it was turning every nerve numb.

Often he pictured his run with Hollander in Boston. Shane had been so desperate to push himself, to prove something to Ilya. Or maybe just prove something to himself. He had that same fire in Ilya's hotel room, a desire to perform for Ilya that was equal parts sexy and sweet.

It was too tantalizing, trying to get under his skin. Ilya couldn't wait to face him again in Florida.

***

Hayden was the starting catcher for the Metros now. He and the coaches were putting extra attention on Shane from the beginning of training, and Shane couldn't help hoping it meant he might get the call up soon.

"Your secondaries have come really far, and I don't know how anyone hits that 4-seamer." Hayden shook his head one afternoon.

Shane had been checking his phone all day. Ilya had to have gotten to his camp by now, the Metros position players had been trickling in the past few days. Boston trained two and a half hours away from Montreal, but it was much closer than their off-season distance from Ottawa to Moscow.

Shane had been so scared of how much he'd liked what they did in Ilya's hotel room. At the time he had said they couldn't do it again. Ilya seemed to see right through him. Shane couldn't tell if he wanted to avoid him or if he wanted to see him immediately.

But for now, he was waiting by the phone like a helpless teenager, wondering if a boy on the other side of Florida felt a magnetic pull towards him too.

***

"Ilya, focus." Coach Wiebe called out. Ilya had missed two catches during routine infield drills, not nearly good enough when he was trying to be perfect, to convince the team that he was ready. They were going to play Montreal in a few hours, and Shane would be starting. Ilya had hitched a ride with the first baseman, Cliff Marleau. The team bus would have done a number on his nerves on a day that he was already wound tight.

As the crowd filtered in, Ilya's excitement mounted. Shane was just out of sight, behind the chain link of the bullpen. When he finally entered, he got a big round of applause. The fans had palpable expectations for him, Ilya knew exactly what that felt like. Part of him wanted to crack those expectations open, to prove that Shane Hollander was mortal. And part of him recognized that Shane really could be what everyone wanted. He was that good. Ilya strode up to the plate, scouting report running in his head.

"Hey Rozanov." The catcher piped up.

"Don't talk to me, Pike."

Ilya dug into the dirt, took a breath, and looked up. It was the first time he'd seen Shane since the hotel. Shane's biceps had gotten bigger. He looked a little taller. Something molten started to build in Ilya.

Shane fired off his slider. His unfair, too fast slider. He looked confident. He looked dominant. Ilya backed out of the batter's box, looking to throw him off rhythm. When he stepped back in he didn't allow himself to glance at Shane's face. Shane's arm snapped forward at a bizarrely low angle, and his fastball flew past Ilya, the movement had been so flat.

Fuck. Ilya could already tell this wasn't going to happen. Shane was on one today, that laser precision and confidence that everything was just working.

Ilya struck out, and only then did he let himself look at Shane’s face properly. Shane avoided his gaze.

***

Ilya was running drills a few weeks later when he heard something that made him grind to a halt.

"Say that again" he barked at Marleau.

"Hollander's getting the call up. The team just posted a video of it."

Ilya could feel himself scowling. He hadn't heard anything from the Raiders yet, had been resigning himself to at least a few months in the minors. Shane had not been wrong, that night in Boston. It usually took position players longer to develop, to learn how to hit big league pitching. Ilya had been playing his ass off though.

As soon as their drills ended, Ilya was digging in his bag for his phone. He wanted to watch this video, to see how Shane would react to getting the news he had probably wanted to hear since he was six years old.

His heart missed a beat when he opened his phone to a text

Jane: I got called up

It was sent a few hours ago. How quickly had Shane texted him after he got the news? Ilya thumbed over to look up the video Cliff mentioned.

Shane was seated in his manager's office, he was appropriately humble and happy when he got the news. He didn't look shocked. Ilya felt a streak of pride. Shane knew how good he was, of course he wasn't surprised. There were hugs with the coaching staff, and Ilya was about to exit the video when it cut to Shane in the locker room, on his phone. He called his parents, and the response on speakerphone was about two minutes straight of excited screaming and yelling. Ilya watched the reserved, composed expression on Shane's face crack, tears streaking down his cheekbones.

For a brief moment, Ilya only felt happiness for Shane. And then he was struck with an ugly feeling of resentment and fear. Who was he supposed to celebrate with when he got called up?

Lily: congratulations
Lily: I'm next

***

Ilya had been correct. A few days after Shane was promoted to the major league roster, the Raiders told Ilya he was headed to Boston when spring training ended. ESPN speculated that they were determined to show their top draft pick was just as good as Montreal's.

Ilya had texted Shane before the news even went public. He had just gotten a simple "told you." Shane had to act surprised when the news hit the bullpen and the pitchers started buzzing.

Shane had texted Ilya after his call up as soon as he had gotten off the phone with his parents, and it seemed like Ilya had similarly rushed to taunt him. They had faced each other more often this year, and Shane looked forward to it every time. Ilya was a problem that he was constantly trying to solve. Fast, lots of power, and an uncanny, annoying ability to pick apart pitching strategy. Ilya still couldn't get a good read on Shane's slider, but he could foul it off over and over, driving up a maddening pitch count.

Shane couldn't wait to see him in the big leagues.

***

Ilya came to Montreal frustrated. His first few weeks in the majors had been...fine. His defense was excellent, he had stolen a base the first time he drew a walk. But big league pitching was hard to hit, and he felt the pressure. It didn't help that they reviewed game tape of the starting pitchers they'd face in Montreal, and their hitting coach had spent ages showing them how perfect Shane Hollander looked nearly impossible to hit.

Ilya was also frustrated because he had texted Shane his hotel and room number when they landed, and there had been no response. Maybe he didn't want to risk being seen going into a hotel full of Boston players. If Ilya had gotten a text like that from Shane, he would have just replied with his address and demanded that Shane show up at his doorstep that night. But no such text came from Shane, so Ilya showed up to the stadium in a petulant mood. It didn't help that pictures of Shane's face were already plastered outside the stadium, his molten chocolate eyes staring down the camera.

As the start time neared, Ilya began to feel a familiar buzzing in his limbs. From the dugout he could see Shane working in the bullpen, his forearm flexing with a strength that shot sparks down Ilya's spine.

The game started, Shane striding out to thunderous applause. Ilya was batting fifth right now, and he had to wait till the second inning to face Shane.

He stepped into the batter's box, digging his feet in the dirt.

"How's it going, rook?"

"Don't talk to me, Pike."

Ilya tapped his bat on the plate and got in position. Ilya was irritated that he couldn't tell if Shane’s freckles were still prominent, he was too far away.

Shane took a deep breath, came set, and fired. Ilya swung without thinking. The older players on the team always said it was as simple as "see ball, hit ball." Ilya felt the bat connect, heard a glorious crack of the wood smacking the ball, and he took off. The ball bounced off the wall in left field, an easy double.

Panting, grinning, Ilya stood on second directly behind Shane. Shane's neck had turned red, and Ilya felt like he could read his thoughts. Something about Shane drew out a deeper competitive edge, a desire to best him. Maybe to impress him. Ilya wondered if Boston beating Montreal tonight would hurt or help his chances of getting Shane into his bed.

***

Lily: send me your address

Jane: why?

Lily: so I can send you a fruit basket
Lily: why do you think?? so I can come fuck you

Shane slapped his phone down on the counter in his kitchen. Ilya had texted him the night before, he had been way too wound up to contemplate going to his hotel. Ok, he had contemplated it late last night, when he couldn't sleep. He had gotten embarrassingly hard, and when he'd finally started stroking himself he came yelling Ilya's name.

So he wasn't exactly confident about meeting up with Ilya. He wanted him, badly, and he worried that the desperation was too obvious. Ilya seemed casual, confident. He had gotten a hit off Shane in their first big league appearance against each other. It didn't really matter that Shane had struck him out the next time he faced him, Ilya would always be able to hold that first hit over him.

Jane: my arm is sore

Lily: ok, so you don't jerk me off

***

Ilya had gotten across town rapidly, Shane wondered if he had been dressed and ready, confident that Shane would buckle and text him his address. He cringed a little with embarrassment that he had caved so easily, but he was also enjoying watching Ilya walk around his space.

"Looks like hotel." Ilya gestured.

"Thanks?"

"Not really a compliment." Ilya shrugged. "Where are your photos, personality?"

Shane chewed his lip, and the movement seemed to distract Ilya for a moment before he grinned.

"Are you really as boring as your apartment?"

"My apartment isn't boring!" Shane protested. "I hired a decorator, ok?"

Ilya rolled his eyes. "You should get refund."

"Like your home is so great. " Shane grouched.

Ilya's eyebrows shot up, grinning "You can see for yourself in two weeks."

Shane's mouth suddenly felt dry. He had looked at their schedule this evening, wondering when he'd have another shot at beating Ilya. He had not expected Ilya to be anticipating their next match up as eagerly.

"So." Ilya started pacing towards Shane. He struck with the same sensation he had during their run in Boston. Ilya was backing him against the wall like he was getting ready to eat him, and worse, Shane wanted him to.

"So?" Shane whispered. Ilya closed the gap between them, kissing him gently. He started trailing soft kisses along his neck.

"So, where do you want me? On the kitchen counter, on the floor?"

Shane's mind entertained the fantasy for a moment, but he shook his head. "Bed."

Ilya followed Shane to his room, right on his heels.

"I have...stuff." Shane said unhelpfully, fidgeting. Ilya raised an eyebrow as he reached to take his shirt off.

"Stuff?"

"Condoms, lube." Shane gestured to his bedside drawer.

"You have done this before?" Ilya asked, yanking his pants off.

Shane could feel his forehead creasing. He had told Ilya last time that he hadn't ever hooked up with a guy. Ilya seemed to be reading his thoughts.

"You have not been with anyone since..." Ilya looked a little astonished.

"No, not a guy." Shane cringed, thinking about the girl he had valiantly tried to hook up with last year.

Ilya shrugged "Is ok. We can go slow."

Ilya had probably meant that to be reassuring, but Shane felt his palms get clammy.

"Come," Ilya threw himself on the bed, onto Shane's side of the bed, and patted the space next to him. Shane started towards him, but something went hot behind Ilya's eyes.

"Clothes off first."

Shane rolled his eyes, as if he wasn't enjoying the hungry expression on Ilya's face, and started taking off his shirt, then his pants. He folded them and placed them on the armchair in his bedroom, and when he turned around Ilya had a hazy, unfocused look in his eye.

Shane moved gingerly onto the bed, and Ilya rolled on top of him, crushing his mouth with a sweet, messy kiss. Shane felt his tension seep out of his body, relaxing under the weight of Ilya's body. His leg hooked around Ilya's thigh and he ground into him involuntarily. Ilya tore off him and looked down.

"You still want?"

"Yes. I still want."

Ilya kissed his way down Shane's stomach, eyeing him and he lowered himself to Shane's hole, and then ran his tongue along him. He could feel Ilya's breath, hot on him as he coaxed Shane with wet licks. He moved lazily, swiping his tongue and drawing shudders and groans out of Shane. It felt amazing, and to his horror, Shane realized he was saying that out loud.

"Fuck, Rozanov that feels so good."

Ilya groaned a hum of approval, and started kissing Shane's thigh as he eased a finger into him. Shane's vision blacked out for a moment when he circled a spot inside him.

"Please." Shane whispered, as Ilya languidly coaxed another finger in.

"Please what." Ilya's voice sounded rough, hoarse.

"Please fuck me, oh my god." Shane panted. Ilya slid up, opening the drawer and in moments he was readying himself with a condom and lube. He notched himself at Shane's entrance and hovered over him.

"Still ok?"

"Yes. Please." Shane was aware that he sounded embarrassingly impatient, but he couldn't help it. The second Ilya began gently easing into him, he was groaning so loudly, he was grateful he didn't have any neighbors on his floor.

"That feels good, hm?" Ilya sounded amused, but when Shane looked at him he looked so...fragile. Almost as if he needed reassurance. Then he thrust into Shane and Shane felt his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Ilya started rocking into him, building Shane's pleasure and drawing more gasps and moans. Ilya sucked on his neck and then gasped. "Turn over."

Shane moved quickly, planting on all fours. He could feel Ilya adjust, slowly side back into him, and Shane was achingly full.

"Still feel good?" Ilya kissed his back

"Yes, oh my god." Shane rolled his hips back towards Ilya and he heard a hiss.

In an instant, Ilya was gripping his hips, snapping into him. Shane's arms collapsed, gripping the sheets as he arched his back. Ilya was panting, moaning in Russian as he pounded Shane into the bed. He angled slightly, and Shane felt his orgasm build suddenly, all at once.

"Rozanov, I'm going to-" he was cut off by an obscene moan that ripped out of him. He could feel himself spasming and clenching as his pleasure crested, and Ilya moved faster until he cried out, stilling in him.

They lay there for a moment, Ilya planting lazy kisses on Shane's back as Shane shuddered, and then Ilya slowly slipped out of him, moaning as he did so. He collapsed on the bed next to Shane, who was still face down. Partly recovering, partly hiding his face because he couldn't look at Ilya while he felt this awestruck.

"You ok?" Ilya started rubbing small circles on his shoulder blade and Shane inhaled a deep breath and rolled over. Ilya looked wrecked, he was glistening with sweat and flushed, eyes still a little hazy.

"Yeah. That was so fucking hot." Shane admitted, and that elicited a cocky grin from Ilya.

"Not bad for first time?" He asked.

Shane groaned and covered his face "No. Really, really great. For me, at least."

"For me too." Ilya said casually, and then Shane felt the bed move. He lowered his hands to look at Ilya as he got out of bed.

"Come. I should go, but we can shower first."

***

Ilya was trying to take stock of his emotions, running through them like a laundry list. He felt smug, an outsized pride that he had fucked Shane so well that he came untouched. He felt a stupid streak of possessiveness, that he was the only one who had experienced Shane like this. And he felt a gnawing feeling of need that he wanted to push down. A need to drag Shane back to his room and stay there all night, a bizarre desire to fall asleep with Shane's body cradled against his. But the pressing need, the one he could verbalize, was easy.

"So, I will see you tomorrow night?" He asked, lacing his shoes.

Shane chewed his lip. "I don't...I have a whole routine on the days between my starts. I don't want to mess with what works, and-"

"Oh my god, Hollander. Tell me you are not one of those pitchers who believes in..." Ilya flailed for the English word, and Shane helpfully supplied it.

"I'm not as superstitious as some other guys, but I just...my routine is working so far."

Ilya groaned, throwing his head back. The sound made Shane's eyes flash, and Ilya wanted to try to tempt him further, but he stopped himself. If Shane was going to pass on sex because of a stupid routine, Ilya wasn't going to embarrass himself begging.

His phone pinged, his driver was outside.

"You are very boring." He leaned in for a last kiss, and was surprised that Shane practically melted into it. He grabbed Shane's chin and kissed him deeper before nipping his bottom lip and pulling away. "See you in Boston?" He tried to not sound too hopeful. Shane nodded, and Ilya felt like he could have asked for anything in that moment.

"See you in two weeks."

***

Chapter End Notes

1. I'm using Heated Rivalry team names/throwing real team lore out the window. I know even when Montreal had a baseball team in real life, they were not in the same league as Boston. I am not making Ilya be on the actual Red Sox because then I'd have to write Shane as a Yankee, and you can bury me six feet deep before my beloved Shane is in pinstripes. I grew up hating the Yankees.

2. Ottawa Centaur players are going to pop up on both teams

3. Let me know if the baseball makes any sense. I love pitching especially, but it's easy to get in the weeds and the terms start to sound like nonsense.

Chapter 2: Rookie Season

Chapter Notes

Ilya watched Shane roaming around his home with a sense of pride. He was only renting, waiting to buy a place until his pay bumped up or he signed an extension. But he had chosen something modern and sleek, and he could tell Shane liked it.

"Are you tired?" He asked, turning to pour himself some vodka.

"Not really, the flight from New York is so short." Shane called over his shoulder. This time, Ilya had texted him his address a few days before he got to town, demanding that he come to his house the night they land. He wasn't sure where they were at in Shane's bullshit routine between pitching starts, but the direct order seemed to work.

Ilya crossed the room, handing Shane a glass. Shane took it absentmindedly. Ilya tried to recall if he had ever seen Shane drink much. He didn't have to play 162 games, the same way Ilya did. But pitchers were known head cases, freaks with superstitions, strict diets, and rules about when they could have sex, apparently. Maybe Shane didn't drink during the season.

"How was New York?" Ilya asked as if he didn't already know.

Shane squeezed his eyes shut. "Terrible. I mean, we won two of three."

"But you lost the game you started." Ilya nodded.

"Yeah. Nine strikeouts, gave up one run, and we lost 0-1" Shane grimaced. It was an excellent pitching performance, and Ilya knew the blame laid more on Shane's offense. The Metros were known for their ability to develop pitching talent, but consistent hitting had evaded them for the past few seasons.

For a brief, crazy moment, Ilya thought about how perfect it would be if Shane played for Boston. Ilya was adjusting well to big league pitching now, and he lingered on a fantasy of Shane pitching a dominant game, like his one in New York, while Ilya drove in runs and ensured Shane got the win.

And there would be an added benefit of getting Shane to come over to his place whenever he wanted. Ilya frowned, perturbed by the layers of desire he felt for Shane.

He shook off those thoughts by grabbing Shane's arm. "Come on, my bedroom is this way."

***

Shane was sitting in the bullpen, watching Hernandez warm up for his start that evening. Shane was relieved that he didn't pitch for another three days, so he wouldn't have to face Ilya this series. He was still trying to figure out if hooking up with Ilya was hurting or helping his game. Shane thought about him constantly, pitching strategy blurring into memories of Ilya pounding him into the bed.

What was most disconcerting to Shane was that he couldn't quite tell what Ilya wanted from him. When they first hooked up in Montreal he had asked if Shane wanted him to come over every night of the series. Shane had made some bullshit excuse because he was too scared. Scared that he would like it too much, and what was he supposed to do if he liked being around Ilya that much?

This time, Ilya hadn't brought up the idea of Shane coming over to his for more. Maybe he had other hookups lined up the next two nights. Shane was probably just one in an endless rotation of bodies that Ilya spent evenings with.

He grimaced. It should have felt embarrassing to be treated as a piece of ass, but he wasn't sure he really minded, if it meant he could hook up with Ilya. The sex was miles better than it had ever been with a girl, and Shane was starting to think that maybe he should stop trying to sleep with girls altogether.

It was time for the other starting pitchers to move to the dugout, and to Shane's chagrin, Ilya was standing in the outfield grass, talking to his left fielder, Connors. Shane tried to avoid eye contact, but he couldn't resist taking one glimpse. The sun was setting, casting his golden curls in a halo. Ilya glanced up and winked, and with a twinge in his stomach, Shane knew he would replay that moment in his memory about a hundred times before their next matchup.

***

Lily: Good start today

Jane: yeah, but it was against Denver, it doesn't really count

Lily: your turn

Jane: ?

Lily: you saw my game highlights, yes?

Jane: congratulations on your first home run
Jane: is that why you texted me??

***

"Marleau, you are so slow." Ilya sighed. Cliff was on the exercise bike next to him, moving at a gentle speed fit for a grandmother.

"Hey, that's not what I'm for. You steal bases and run after the ball, my job is to hit home runs and stay in one place." Marleau huffed, as if he was exerting himself on the bike.

Not for the first time, Ilya thought about Shane. Boston had been able to draft Ilya first because they had been spectacularly bad two years ago. But they had made some solid trades, and he had teammates who could challenge him, that he was learning from. But for some reason, nobody he had played with yet motivated him the same way Hollander did. And here, next to sluggish Cliff Marleau, his mind lingered on Shane running alongside him the night of the draft.

Shane was so much fun. Ilya loved annoying him, seeing his cheeks turn pink underneath those freckles. And Ilya was almost fine with the fact that they only spent one night together when they were in the same town. Like everything with Shane, it felt like a challenge. Ilya treated those evenings like an opportunity to ruin other people for Shane. Which was foolishly, impractically possessive. Shane was probably hooking up with people in every city, the same way Ilya did. Shane probably didn't fantasize about Ilya, and Ilya embarrassingly did think about him between hookups.

And a new fantasy had taken hold the past few weeks. Shane had been the best pitcher for the Metros all month. There was a strong chance he would be their representative for the All-Star Game. Ilya desperately wanted to make the team, to play shortstop behind Shane again.

***

"Congratulations Shane, you really deserve it." Hayden slapped Shane on the back as he collected himself. He had just gotten off the phone with his parents to tell them that he'd made the All-Star Game as a rookie.

"Thanks, Hayd." Shane swiped to unlock his phone.

Jane: I'm going to the All-Star game

Shane felt a twinge as he typed it. In many ways, he and Ilya were genuinely rivals. They were both vying for Rookie of the Year, the media was having a lot of fun comparing their successes. Ilya was challenging and exhilarating to play against. And the first thing Shane had thought when he got selected for the game was that he wished Ilya had too. Ilya hadn't made the first round of position players, voted on by the fans.

Shane was about to put his phone away when it buzzed.

Lily: me too, just found out.
Lily: I am not the starting shortstop, so you win this one.

***

"Is this seat taken?" Ilya grinned at Shane. He looked so nervous, sitting at the bar. The All Star Game was in Minneapolis that year, hardly a city known for its clubbing. So most of the players were sticking to the hotel bar the night before the media day and the home run derby.

Shane smiled, and Ilya took the invitation to sit. "What are you drinking?" He asked, eyeing Shane's glass.

"Just ginger ale." Shane shrugged. That answer should not have been so endearing, but Ilya found himself being charmed.

"Ah. You need to stay sharp for media day?" Ilya teased.

Shane rolled his eyes. "No, I don't usually drink during the season." He flushed at that, and Ilya frowned. Shane always accepted whatever drink Ilya offered when he came to his apartment. He was struck with the idea that he should make sure to have ginger ale on hand next time.

"What else do you deprive yourself of during the season?" Ilya teased.

Shane ran his fingers along the rim of his glass, a distracting motion for Ilya. "It’s not about depriving myself. It's about having a-"

"Routine, yes. I remember." Ilya rolled his eyes, trying to not sound too bitter.

"Right. It's all normal. Try to get eight hours of sleep every night, eat healthy, do yoga." Ilya's mind stuttered out for a moment, picturing Shane stretched in some flexible positions.

"All very boring." Ilya sighed. Shane's eyes flashed a little, and Ilya knew what he wanted in that moment. "So when does your routine say you can come to my room?"

***

Shane was relieved that Ilya was quicker to open the hotel door than he had been at the Futures Game last year. As he entered, he was struck with a funny sting of nostalgia. He had been so excited and so terrified at the idea of hooking up with Ilya that first time. He was still nervous every time they met, but now it was an eager anticipation.

He and Ilya looked at each other for a moment before Ilya grabbed his chin and enveloped Shane in a kiss that knocked the breath out of him. An embarrassingly loud groan left Shane's mouth, and before he knew it, Ilya had hitched his hands under his thighs and lifted him up. Shane started planting kisses on Ilya's neck as they crossed the room, and Ilya threw him down roughly.

"Clothes off." Ilya ordered, and Shane obeyed quickly. There was a spark in Ilya's eye when he laid his folded clothes on the dresser.

"On your knees." Ilya gestured towards the bed. Something about these clear directions made Shane feel simultaneously relaxed and aroused.

Ilya palmed Shane's ass. "You are so sexy, Hollander. You know this?"

Shane made an embarrassing moan, not an answer at all, which got a laugh out of Ilya.

"I want to spank you." Ilya moved his hand in a soft circle around Shane's right cheek.

"Yes. Please." Was all he could force out. In an instant, Ilya delivered a sharp, stinging slap, followed by a gentle circle of his palm and a light kiss. Groans were ripping from Shane's mouth, and Ilya repeated the movement on his other cheek.

"You like that?" Shane was lost for words, all Ilya could get from him was a hoarse moan as Ilya smacked him again. "You're so good for me, you want to give me anything I ask for, hm?" Ilya's voice sounded huskier, the register a little lower. "I like having you like this, so needy for me."

Shane was already achingly hard, and the next time Ilya's palm made contact with his ass, Shane's hips bucked involuntarily. Ilya made a shushing sound. "Hollander, do you want to come already?" The next slap drew a gasp from Shane, but the broken, reverent sound that escaped Ilya made Shane want more.

"Please don't stop." He found his words as his arms gave out and he dug his forehead into the bed, arching his back.

Ilya continued, and Shane wondered faintly how he was supposed to sit on the dugout bench tomorrow with his ass smarting from this.

"Hollander, you are so fun." Ilya purred. "So obedient, just a little toy for me. You've been so good for me, I will fuck you now."

Ilya said it as if he was doing Shane a favor, and oh God, he really was. But Shane faintly registered an edge in Ilya's voice, neediness barely masked.

Ilya began working him open. Shane's cock had been leaking, and he was so blissed out already, so pliant. Ilya circled the spot in him that made him cry out, and that drew another husky laugh from Ilya. He lined himself up and then gently began to push into him.

Shane rolled his hips back, taking Ilya deeper, and Ilya let out a moan that sounded feral.

"Oh my god, Hollander. You are made for this."

In that instant, Shane felt the reality of it. His head was foggy with lust and all he could think was that he wanted to have Ilya like this forever. The thought was pierced by Ilya rocking into him faster, the sound of skin slapping on skin overwhelming Shane's senses, and then Ilya reached around to stroke him. It immediately pushed Shane over the edge, and he came, clenching around Ilya's cock. Moments later, Ilya cried out, and thrust into Shane, shuddering on top of him. They stayed like that for a moment, Ilya's forehead came to rest on Shane's back as they panted. Then Ilya drew out of him with a groan that had become customary, as if he absolutely hated leaving Shane's body.

They usually left each other's apartments quickly after they hooked up, but Ilya didn't seem in a hurry to kick Shane out of his hotel room. He was planting lazy kisses on Shane's chest after they showered when he asked something that made Shane freeze.

"Are you hooking up with other men?"

No. Obviously Shane wasn't seeing other men. He was terrified of being outed, and Ilya was the perfect solution. A guy who had the same risk at stake, who Shane trusted.

"Uh, no." An ugly thought crept into Shane's mind, he hated how much he needed to know it. "Are you?"

Ilya shook his head. "Not right now. Risky, you know? Girls are easier."

Right. Ilya liked girls. Shane was about 98% sure now that he did not like girls, although he wasn't totally ready to give up on the idea. He had tried to have sex with a perfectly nice, pretty girl a month ago, and he couldn't get it up. Which meant Ilya was really the only person he was having sex with, and Shane suddenly felt self-conscious. For a moment during sex, Ilya felt like all he ever wanted. And that was absurd, when Ilya was in front of him talking about all the girls who he probably fucked senseless too.

Maybe things wouldn't feel so imbalanced if Shane actually got out there and tried to hook up with some guys.

It often felt like their competition between each other bled into the bedroom. And Shane could feel that edge rising in him. If Ilya had a roster of hookups, so could he.

***

Ilya had been worried that their playing time in the All-Star game would not line up, that Shane would come out to pitch before Ilya was subbed in at shortstop. But the starting shortstop, Turner, had played in the All-Star Game many times and he only wanted to go two innings. Ilya was thrilled when Shane was called out to pitch the fourth inning. Shane studiously avoided looking at him while he crossed the diamond to take the mound. He looked calm, assured. So distant from the desperate mess he was last night.

Shane struck out the first batter, but walked the second. Ilya was ecstatic when the catcher called for a time out. He practically raced up to Shane, who looked pissed off. There was no real reason to have a mound visit over a walk in an exhibition game, but Shane and the catcher muttered about the scouting report as if it was the World Series, and Ilya patiently waited for his moment. The mound visit ended, and he smacked Shane's ass. Hard, exactly where he had last night.

Shane got out of the inning cleanly, and Ilya sped up his return to the dugout so he could walk next to Shane.

"Don't ever pull that shit again." Shane's eyes flashed

"I think you like it." Ilya said.

He felt a triumphant surge when Shane merely opened and closed his mouth and then said a weak "Whatever." Ilya could see a tiny flash of a smile.

For as little time as they actually spent together, Ilya realized he was cataloging information about Shane. Information that had nothing to do with him as a pitcher, an opponent. Information like what he liked to drink, what made him shake in Ilya's arms, and what Ilya could say to get a pretty flush to spread across his cheeks.

***

After the All-Star Game, the Metros headed to LA. Shane was determined to follow through on his plan of hooking up with another guy, to break this hold Ilya had on him.

He had done a lot of research. There were tons of gay bars to choose from, but Shane was too nervous to go anywhere with a ton of people, where the music would be too loud for him to think. He selected one that seemed cozy and looked nondescript on the outside, and he had his rideshare pull up two blocks away. It was highly unlikely that his driver would recognize him, let alone leak to the tabloids that a rookie pitcher was getting dropped off at a gay bar, but Shane was too nervous to risk it.

When he entered, he was relieved that his research paid off. It was pretty calm, music was playing at a tolerable volume. And nobody stared at him. He sat at the bar, and immediately started questioning his plan. He had put all this preparation in to picking a bar, but he hadn't considered what he would actually do when he got inside. What was he going to talk to any of these guys about? He and Ilya talked about baseball. The handful of girls he had hooked up with didn't really seem to care what he talked about. As Shane tried to think about something, anything to talk to one of these guys about, the bartender approached him.

"Hey, what are you having?" He was cute. He looked pretty different from Ilya. Dark curly hair, stubble. Not as lithe as Ilya.

"Uh. Vodka?" Shane really just wanted ginger ale, but he often had a few sips of vodka when he would hook up with Ilya.

The bartender looked a little bemused. "Vodka soda, vodka cranberry...? You don't really like the type to drink it straight up, or did you mean a shot?"

This was already going poorly. "Vodka soda, thanks." The bartender nodded, as if Shane had made a great decision, and he returned with a glass. Shane handed him his card and the bartender shook his head.

"Don't worry about it. Is this your first time? In a gay bar?" Shane must have turned bright red, because he rushed to continue. "It’s ok! Don't be embarrassed. You just seem nervous, and it's very cute."

Shane took a sip of his drink and tried not to spit it back out. He was not a fan. Which did not go unnoticed, because now a grin was slowly growing across the bartenders face.

"Hey. I'm Matt." He reached his hand across to grab the drink. "Let's get you a drink you actually enjoy."

"Shane. And thank you." Shane could feel his shoulders relax.

Shane should have spent the next two hours working up the nerve to talk one of the guys at the bar, but instead he and Matt chatted in between Matt fetching drinks for other patrons. Shane eventually decided his courage for the evening had topped out, and as he shrugged his jacket on to leave, Matt tapped the bartop.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?"

Shane froze. He didn't really want to tell him what he did for a living, and he also hadn't realized their conversation was headed in that direction.

"Oh. I'm working."

"How late?"

Shane did the math. The game would probably end by 9:30. He wasn't pitching, he could leave straight after.

"I'll be free around 10:30, I think."

Matt handed him his phone. "Here, put your number in. I'd love to see you, if you want. No pressure."

***

Shane was putting a lot of pressure on this. Ilya had known how inexperienced he was when they started hooking up. As much as Ilya intimidated him, Shane never felt judged for his inexperience. Maybe Matt, as nice as he was, would be able to tell that Shane had only been with one man, a handful of times. But he was determined to do this. His experience with men couldn't begin and end with Ilya Rozanov, of all people.

Shane took a car across town as soon as the game ended. Matt opened his front door, already grinning. Shane could feel himself relax. He could do this.

***

Lily: too bad Montreal isn't in the playoffs

Jane: fuck off. We were only two games behind you in the wildcard

***

They often awarded Rookie of The Year through a remote telecast. There were many international players who had already gone home, and MLB probably felt it cruel and pointless to have them fly back to lose an award. But Shane and Ilya had been neck and neck in the odds, and it seemed that the media couldn't resist. Ilya wondered if their rivalry would have worked as well if they played the same position. Then people could just compare their stat lines and point to the numbers to decide who was better. For the week leading up to the award, commentators were arguing about whether Ilya's defense was more valuable than Shane's strikeout rate. The only real comparison they could use was footage of every time Shane had struck Ilya out, or Ilya had gotten a hit off of him.

Ilya had a gnawing melancholy building in his stomach. Once the awards ended, he would fly home and spend the next few months with his father. His dad seemed worse on their most recent call.

But tonight, Ilya would get to see Shane for the first time in a month and a half. Maybe he would taunt him with a win, or reward Shane if he beat him. Shane had arrived with his parents, ignoring Ilya's gaze all night.

***

Lily: congratulations. room 1410

***

Ilya was trying to not feel sullen. Shane had an incredible season, he couldn't be mad that he won. And the voting results showed it was neck and neck, Shane had only won by two votes.

Shane had shown up to his room flushed, happy, and proud. Ilya had fucked Shane gently, reverently. The way a winner deserved. With a tenderness that felt too vulnerable and transparent. Ilya hadn't been able to help himself. He couldn't muster bravado, not when he was about to go home.

And now Shane was lying next to him, asking about his plans for the winter as if he was another teammate.

"I do not have big plans." Ilya heard himself snap. "Go home to Moscow. Be with family. Be with my friend Svetlana, train hard enough that Boston wins World Series next year."

Shane frowned, clearly thrown off by Ilya's moodiness.

"You haven't mentioned Svetlana to me before." That was what he picked up on?

Ilya rubbed his nose. "Yes, she is my best friend."

"Is she...more than that?" Shane asked carefully.

Ilya wasn't sure where this was going. "Why? Are you jealous that I sleep with Svetlana?" He regretted it. Jealousy implied feelings, and the two of them had never acknowledged the possibility of feelings. It felt presumptuous.

Shane wrinkled his nose. "No. Of course. I know you sleep with girls. I just...I didn't know if you had anyone serious that you were seeing." Those words did nothing to ease Ilya's mounting dread. He couldn't help himself.

"Are you seeing anyone serious?"

He felt momentary relief when Shane shook his head, but it was short lived. "No, nothing serious. There's a nice guy in LA that I've seen a couple times."

Ilya wished he had never asked Shane to come to his room. This night had been a disaster. He felt himself nod, automatically. A silence lapsed. Maybe Shane was thinking about his nice LA man, who probably held him and said the right things after sex.

"Ok, Hollander. I should sleep." Ilya sighed.

"Oh. Yeah, of course." Shane got up and started putting his neatly folded clothes back on. Ilya wanted to look away, but this was the last glimpse he'd have of him for months. There was an ache growing in him, a desire to drag Shane back to bed and get reassurance that Ilya was better than this nameless nice man Shane had been seeing. Instead, Ilya just nodded at Shane as he awkwardly said goodbye and left the room.

***

Chapter End Notes

Apologies to any Colorado Rockies fans, your team is also pretty bad in this universe. Shane is being harsh, but honest.

Next chapter coming soon, the boys get up to some trouble in spring training and we get a cameo from a Game Changers character.

Chapter 3: Sophomore Slump

Chapter Notes

The off-season felt like it took forever. Shane was eager to get back to playing. He was eager to be in proximity to Ilya again. Something had felt off the last time he had seen him. Maybe he was bitter about losing Rookie of the Year. They had exchanged a few fun, combative texts during the winter, but it wasn't a lot to go off of. Ilya was probably busy sucking on a girl's neck in Moscow. Maybe Svetlana's, Ilya had said her name with so much fondness that it had made Shane's insides curl.

Shane's ambitious goal to match Ilya's hookup roster, to prove to himself that Ilya Rozanov didn't have a singular hold on him...that goal was not achieved yet. Far from it. Shane had been brave enough to see the nice bartender a couple times in LA last season, and he had hooked up with one guy in Miami who was a terrible kisser. Shane did not save his number. He also hadn't tried to hook up with any girls lately. It would be nice, if he could just meet a girl like Hayden had. Hayden and Jackie had met, totally wasted, out dancing. Now Hayden was talking to Shane about ring sizes and diamond shapes.

But there was a nagging feeling that Ilya had set the bar too high for Shane. And in the pit of his stomach, Shane worried that nobody would be able to make him feel like Ilya.

***

Ilya spent the off-season fucking approximately half of Moscow. He just felt like he was going to explode from it all, and sex was a welcome distraction. His father was worse. His brother was useless. Svetlana was happy to party with him, but the longer the hedonism lasted, the more she started turning her sharp eyes on him in a way that made him want to run and hide. She seemed to know there was something deeper buttressing these months of debauchery.

Ilya had started going for his regular runs in the early evening. If Hollander popped into his head as he jogged, he could chase those thoughts away in a few hours by pinning some beautiful girl to a bed.

And Hollander was irritatingly present in his mind when he ran. Their last time seeing each other played loudly in his head. It was foolish to think that Shane was sitting around and waiting for Ilya, but something about the way Shane had delivered the news just dug a knife into Ilya. Casual, off-hand. No reason to think it would have an effect on Ilya. He had described this man as "nice," and Ilya wondered how Shane would describe him. Certainly not nice.

Maybe that was what Shane got from him. A rivalry, and transactional sex. Ilya hated reducing their sex to something so simple. Shane was always so eager with him, willing to be vulnerable, wanting to please. But he never asked for more from Ilya.

So Ilya spent the off-season trying to outrun these thoughts. And he came to the conclusion that he would just have to show up to spring training ready to compete with Shane, and try to completely wreck him the bedroom. Because he wasn't nice.

***

Spring training started well. Shane's command was the best it had ever been, he could fire a pitch exactly where Hayden wanted it, and it allowed him to clip the strike zone. Batters thought he was throwing them a ball outside of the zone, umpires correctly nailed them with a called strike. In their first game back, they played Atlanta. Shane went three innings without a hit before his manager pulled him, his arm was still getting back in throwing condition and he needed to rest it.

As always, Shane's anticipation built as they approached their first game against Boston. The pitching coach only wanted him out there for one inning to workshop a change up pitch that Shane had been experimenting with. Shane wasn't religious, but he felt like his prayers had been answered when it was his turn to throw and Ilya happened to be batting that inning. He put away the first two batters easily. Ilya strode up to the plate, chewing gum. He blew a gigantic bubble as he dug his cleats into the dirt, as if he was telegraphing that he wasn't scared. Hayden called for the change up, and Ilya watched it sail past him. Shane felt a prickle of unease on his neck. Hayden called for another change up, and the instant it left his hands, Shane knew what was happening. Ilya had been watching him throw that pitch at the first two batters. Had taken a final, calculating look when Shane threw it to him, and he had dismantled it and figured out how to crack it. It was that easy for him. Shane watched the home run sail over his head.

***

Hayden and JJ, the Metros second baseman, had dragged Shane to a bar. They had an off-day tomorrow, and Shane had really missed them during the break.

That logic didn't make it any more enjoyable for Shane. He sat, slowly working on a single beer, as his friends argued about which umpire had screwed them over worst so far. Shane was stewing over Ilya's run from earlier. His changeup needed work if Ilya had been able to analyze it that quickly. Every pitch he threw needed to be good enough to deceive Ilya.

Shane was jolted out of it by two hands slapping the table. "Look who it is!" Ilya had a wild gleam in his eye, as if he had been playing hide and seek with Shane for months and just found him. Cliff Marleau was behind him, holding two drinks.

"Ugh, fuck off Rozanov," Hayden made a "shoo" motion with his hand, but it was an empty threat. Before the season started, guys from different teams usually hung out. The animosity hadn't started yet. Ilya shoved himself in next to Shane, wiggling up against him in a way that made Shane clutch his drink.

"Aren't you guys kind of far from home?" JJ griped.

"Off day tomorrow." Cliff shrugged. "And our old teammate, Ryan Price, is with you guys now. He said we could crash with him tonight."

Shane could feel the accusation come out of his mouth too fast. "But why stay here?" His heart thunked, like a gear fell out of place, when Ilya turned his hazel on him.

"Yes, this is another very boring Florida town. But we are more bored of Fort Meyers, so we think why not stay one night?"

Ilya tapped his foot against Shane's, and it sent a jolt of electricity up him.

"Hey, Cliff. What did you think about the strike zone today?" JJ asked, and just like that, all four position players were whining about the umpire. Shane let the conversation wash over him, and his eyes lingered on Ilya's crooked smile as he berated Hayden for his poor plate appearances that day.

It would be nice if they could do this more often. Co-exist outside the bedroom or All-Star Games or awards. Ilya had a laugh that always triggered a smile on Shane's lips, and tonight he was earnestly laughing with Shane's friends. Shane was finally down to the bottom of his beer when he felt Ilya firmly press his thigh against his, under the table.

Like an instinct, the sensation of Ilya's body pressing against his conjured memories that Shane could NOT afford to dwell on. Afraid that he'd get hard if he stayed a moment longer, he abruptly stood.

"Bathroom." He said, and slipped out of the booth. He weaved through the bar and reached the bathroom, taking a moment to clutch the sink and splash water on his face.

The door opened, and he looked up to see Ilya grinning behind him. Ilya softly turned the latch.

"Hollander. Do not tell me that got you hard." Ilya knew exactly what he was doing, and Shane cringed, unable to speak.

"Hm." Ilya ran his eyes over Shane, taking stock of the way his pants were undeniably tight in the crotch now. Just the heat in his eyes made Shane grow harder. "Are you having enough sex? Touching my leg turns you on because you are not getting laid?" He looked at Shane expectantly, and Shane rolled his eyes.

"Fuck off. The off-season was just...a dry spell, ok? I was busy training."

Before Shane could really register it, Ilya was grabbing his face, kissing him with a fervor that knocked the breath out of him. Ilya coaxed his mouth open, slipping his tongue against Shane's. He dragged Shane's bottom lip between his teeth, sighing as Shane moaned. Shane felt his hands twist in Ilya's hair, and for a moment Ilya seemed to relax into it, but then he straightened up and pulled back.

"Do you want to suck my dick?"

Shane blinked at him. "I mean, yeah. Of course. But not here, not on this filthy bathroom floor."

Ilya sighed. "Boring." That word sounded so warm when Ilya used it on Shane. It almost made Shane want to forget that their friends were waiting for them and the floor was probably disgusting. But Shane had a modicum of self control, and he wrenched himself into reality.

"When can I see you?" He asked, his voice breathy. Ilya's hazel eyes were bouncing between his.

"Three days? When you come to us?"

Shane shook his head "I'm not starting. They'll want me here to work with the pitching coach."

Ilya frowned, as if that answer wasn't good enough.

"You could sneak me into your house tonight. I am sure Hayden will not notice, he seems very dim."

Shane rolled his eyes. "That's not realistic, and you know it."

Ilya's frown worsened. They were in a weird position, unlike Boston and Montreal, they had roommates here. And small towns that revolved around baseball this time of year, so it was too risky to try to book a hotel and both get spotted meeting up there.

"I will think of something. Next time." Ilya's eyes were narrowed, and Shane recognized the expression. He was trying to crack this problem the same way he cracked Shane's pitches. Ilya gently clapped the side of Shane's face with his palm. "Come, I need to go give Pike shit for swinging at three balls outside of the zone today."

***

Lily: you will be free tonight? After the game

Jane: sure. Are you staying in town again?

Lily: yes. I will pick you up, tell me where.

***

Shane was waiting, awkwardly, two blocks away from the rental he shared with Hayden. He had given Hayden an excuse about wanting to take advantage of the cooler evening to go for a long run. Hayden had made some gross comment about phone sex with Jackie, so he probably wouldn't care or notice if Shane was out for hours.

A car with tinted windows rolled up, and the driver's side rolled down to reveal Ilya. "Come on."

Shane hurried around and got in, wondering what the plan was from here.

"Is this what you're driving around Fort Meyers?" Shane knew nothing about cars, but it seemed fancy.

Ilya shrugged "No, usually have something nicer. But this made more sense for tonight."

They drove in comfortable silence, Ilya's music playing at a volume that Shane could tolerate. He noticed Ilya's fingertips tapping on the steering wheel as he drove, and for some reason that motion felt endearing. There were so few opportunities he had to see Ilya outside of the context of baseball. Which was a weird thought, because baseball was the thing Shane cared about the most, and Ilya and baseball went hand in hand. He wasn't sure why he had a growing desire to see Ilya separate from that.

"How is your changeup?" Ilya asked, smirking as he took a right turn.

"Fuck off. You'll see for yourself in a few weeks."

Ilya shook his head "If it is anything like before, I think Pike will not have you throw it to me."

Shane groaned. "Whatever. We both know I have other ways to get you out."

Ilya hummed an acknowledgement of that truth, and then said maybe the most thrilling statement Shane had ever heard. "Yes. Your slider haunts me."

It was the best compliment Ilya could have given him, and Shane just basked in it for a moment.

"Come on, Hollander, your turn." Ilya sighed.

"You know you're great!" Shane argued.

"That is the not same as hearing it from you." Ilya's statement felt like it lit a match inside Shane.

"You're so smart." Shane grumped, and to his surprise, Ilya's mouth dropped open a fraction. That wasn't the compliment he had expected. "I feel like you can analyze my pitches better than anybody. And it's very, very annoying."

Ilya grinned as he pulled into a parking lot. Shane looked up. They were at the beach.

"What...we can't hook up on the beach!" He protested. His first thought was that they'd get sand everywhere, and then his second, more rational thought, was that it was completely public and anybody could see. Not that anyone was at the beach at 9pm on a weeknight, the parking lot was empty.

Ilya rolled his eyes. "No, not beach. Parking lot." He gestured towards the car windows, which had been opaque from the outside. Realization dawned on Shane, and he looked around him.

"I've never...I don't think there's enough room to..." Ilya's eyes softened for a moment before another smirk.

"Hollander, I am not asking you to get on all fours in this car."

Shane flipped through possible positions before he realized what Ilya probably had in mind. He had never ridden anybody, and a cramped car was an intimidating place to start.

"I can also just blow you. If you want." Ilya said casually, but Shane cut him off, shaking his head. Ilya grinned, and leaned over to unbutton Shane's pants. Shane wiggled them off, then his underwear, and Ilya yanked his own down.

Shane leaned over to take him into his mouth, Ilya was already half hard. Ilya made a noise like his breath had gotten caught in his throat as Shane swiped his tongue along his length. Tongue swirling, he leaned so he could take Ilya deep, relishing in the sensation of Ilya twisting his fingers in his hair.

"Fuck, Hollander. That feels so good." Ilya's praise emboldened him to try something that he had attempted once, to middling results, with his LA hookup. Shane relaxed his jaw and took Ilya to the back of his throat, slowly. It coaxed a ragged moan out of Ilya, and Shane began gently bobbing his head, feeling Ilya's length slide down his throat. Ilya's hands were fisting in his hair as he cried out. Shane was struck, for the millionth time, with the realization that this felt better than any other sexual encounter Shane had. Wrapping his lips around Ilya's cock turned him on to the point where he felt wobbly, like he wanted Ilya to fuck his throat as long as he needed.

Ilya started speaking in Russian, hurried and breathy, before he suddenly stilled. "Stop."

Shane pulled off of him, wiping a string of spit from his mouth.

"Lube, condom." Ilya gestured to the glove box, something almost scary on his face. Shane retrieved it, and Ilya threw his seat back, gesturing for Shane to get on top of him. It was not graceful, but Ilya didn't seem to care. Shane straddled him and Ilya looked up at him, his eyes glassy and lips swollen, as if he had been biting them. Ilya slicked his finger and traced it lazily around Shane's hole, laughing as Shane bucked into his hand.

"So needy, Hollander. You are always so needy."

There wasn't any point in Shane protesting or denying it. He just sighed into the sensation of Ilya teasing him, until Ilya slid a finger into him and drew a loud groan from his lips.

"Fuck, you are already so hard." Ilya moaned, looking down at Shane's cock. Shane couldn't summon any words, he just braced into Ilya's hand as he spread him with another finger, circling at an infuriatingly lazy pace.

"Do you think you are ready?" Ilya teased, knowing the answer.

Shane nodded roughly, and Ilya placed his hands on his hips. "Help me."

Shane reached down, gripping Ilya gently for a moment in a way that made him gasp, and then slowly positioning him. Shane pushed down, moving at a torturous pace, drawing deliciously frustrated groans out of Ilya. When he was flush, Shane began rolling his hips. Ilya was staring at him with hooded eyes and unbridled lust, and Shane began to pick up pace, wanting to see him fall apart.

"Yes, just like that. God, you're so tight, you're so good for me, so perfect." Words were falling out of Ilya's mouth and Shane lapped up the praise, bracing his thighs as he rose and fell. Ilya's breath began to get uneven, and he dug his hands into Shane's hips, chasing his orgasm. English was abandoned, only Russian escaping his lips now, and he sounded livid. Like Shane fucking him was a problem. Shane couldn't take his eyes off of him. Maybe this was a problem, how much Shane wanted this, how Ilya seemed to turn him on in ways that nobody else could. For a split second, something flashed across Ilya's face like fear, and then his mouth screwed into a determined, lustful grimace, and he took Shane's cock into his hand. Shane tipped over the edge, crying out as he ground down on Ilya, clenching. In seconds, Ilya's moans were mingling with his, and their bodies met in one final, agonizingly deep thrust before they lay there, panting.

Ilya grabbed a fistful of Shane's ass and laughed. "Better than sucking my dick in a dirty bathroom?"

Shane couldn't help laughing with him. "Yeah, you definitely figured out a better solution."

Ilya hummed, and then delivered a playful slap to Shane's thigh.

"Pike will worry about you, I am sure." Shane awkwardly slid off of him, wiping himself down with tissues Ilya had stowed in the glove box. Ilya did the same, and then wiggled back into his clothes.

As he started the engine, Shane was struck with the absurdity of the situation. He really couldn't have waited a few more weeks to fuck Ilya in his home, when the regular season started and the Metros went to Boston. And, a tiny voice in his head celebrated, Ilya hadn't wanted to wait that long either.

***

Ilya woke up the next morning achingly, inconveniently hard. He was sleeping on Ryan Price's couch. Price was the rare player who had not gotten a rental with a fellow teammate, maybe because he had been traded right before spring training started.

Ilya lay there, staring at the ceiling fan above him, moving in lazy loops. He wasn't sure he had properly concealed his desperation last night. He had rented a car with the sole purpose of fucking Shane in it. His soul had escaped his body for a fleeting moment when Shane took him into his throat, and then he had been struck with the horrific thought that this was a new skill, probably one that Shane had practiced on someone else.

He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, but all he could see when he closed them was a vision of Shane riding him, looking at Ilya like he was the most important thing in the world. Feeling seen by Shane was terrifying. Ilya had gotten lots of praise for his skills on the field and in the bedroom. But Shane's admission last night, that Ilya read his pitches better than anybody, carved out a little notch in Ilya's heart.

"Rozanov, you want coffee?" Ryan called from the kitchen. Ilya dragged his hands down his face, trying to think of decidedly un-sexy things so his hard on could behave.

"Yes. Be there in a minute." Ilya took his time getting off the couch, and shuffled into the kitchen.

"Late night?" Ryan asked, handing him a mug. Ilya shrugged. He knew Ryan would leave it at that. They sat at the small table in the kitchen, sunlight streaming through the window in a way that felt rude. Ilya wished he was still asleep, when his thoughts of Shane weren't so complicated.

"How are the Metros treating you?" Ilya asked.

Ryan shrugged. "Fine so far. You know how they are, the hitting coach is kind of useless."

Ilya nodded. Ryan was a designated hitter with a bulky body made for power, but not enough speed or agility to play the field. He had been decent in Boston, better as the season progressed and he worked with their hitting coach. The Metros just could not seem to put together a consistent offense, and that probably put extra pressure on Ryan to perform. His job was all offense.

"I know Fort Meyers is boring, but it's not like Jupiter, Florida has a lot more going on." Ryan observed. Ilya squinted. It wasn't like Price to nudge Ilya this way.

"Needed to get out, clear my head." Ilya waved his hand.

Ryan shrugged, and then to Ilya's chagrin, continued. "I'm here. If you want to talk. You were my favorite teammate, and...we both know this sport can mess with your head."

Ilya knew what he meant. Baseball was a game of failure, in many ways. Batting .300, which was considered an exceptional batting average, meant you were still failing to get a hit for two thirds of your plate appearances. Failure, long seasons of the right mechanics and skills inexplicably not working, it could grind the most positive players down. And Ryan was not the most positive player. Ilya wondered if he was more attuned to that because of his mother. Something in Ryan had called out to Ilya last season, and he had always made sure to rope Ryan into conversation, to distract him with bad jokes during games where Ryan's face would cloud with frustration.

Something seemed a little different about Ryan now, though. He looked calmer. Maybe the change in teams had been good for him. Maybe he was getting laid more regularly. Whatever it was, Ryan was now the one trying to lift Ilya out of his overactive thoughts.

Ilya scowled at his coffee. Ryan couldn't understand what Ilya was going through. These confusing feelings swirling through his core, and thoughts of a man he couldn't have.

***

Shane was sitting with the other starting pitchers in the dugout. Ilya was about to come up to bat, and Shane was nervously chewing on his hoodie string. Mitty had been pitching a good game so far, Ilya had been the only one to get a hit off of him. Ilya was standing in the one-deck circle, watching the batter at the plate struggle. His curls were a little shaggy right now, long enough to peek out from under the batting helmet. Shane had twisted those curls in his hands last night when Ilya had gone down on him. Shane’s eyes travelled over his face. Ilya looked hyper focused right now, a concentration that sent a shiver up Shane’s spine.

Ilya stepped to the plate. Hayden called for the pitch. Mitty sent it, and Ilya swung. Scoreless game broken, Ilya had gotten his first home run of the year. After he stepped on home plate, he looked up for a moment and locked eyes with Shane, beaming. Shane had to suppress a smile.

***

Three Months Later

Ilya was on pace for a 20-20 season. 20 stolen bases, 20 home runs. He wanted to get 30-30. His season so far had been enough to get him selected as the starting shortstop for the All Star Game. Shane had been named to the team again, of course. The Metros were neck and neck with the Raiders this year, hanging on by the sheer grit of their pitching staff.

Shane and Ilya hadn't texted much that season. Ilya was trying to focus on his game, and Shane was beginning to prompt distracting thoughts. Thoughts about things that Ilya wanted, but couldn't have. Thoughts about not being enough.

He had gotten lunch with Ryan the last time the Metros were in town. Shane had come to his the night before, and Ilya woke up the next day feeling hungover. Like spending time with Shane was a drug and he went through withdrawals when Shane left. Ryan had poked and prodded Ilya in his gentle way, but Ilya had waved him off, insisting he was fine.

And now he was going to be around Shane for three days, for the All Star Weekend in Pittsburgh. He didn't see Shane at the hotel bar the first night. He checked his phone about fifty times, but Shane never reached out to him. Ilya was aware that it was bratty and wasteful of the rare time they were around each other, but he refused to text Shane first.

The next morning, he didn't see Shane at media day. A dread started to grow in his stomach. When press appearances started to wind down so the stadium could prepare for the home run derby, he grabbed Carter Vaughn, the Admirals right fielder.

“Have you seen Hollander around?” Ilya hoped his tone was casual. They were all playing for the same All-Star team, it was normal to wonder where their best pitcher was.

“Oh yeah, he can't play.” Vaughn looked crestfallen, and Ilya's stomach sank. “He got in yesterday, but he's got a blister. Training staff told him this morning that it's a no-go.”

Ilya felt an unhinged laugh escape his mouth. He had been preparing for the worst. For UCL surgery, for a broken finger. Hollander only had a blister?

Carter looked at Ilya askance. “It’s a serious thing! He can't grip a baseball right now, come on.”

Ilya waved him off “Yes, sorry. Sorry. Hollander has gentle little hands, I get it.” It wasn't a lie. Shane could be extremely gentle with his hands when he wanted to, when he would cradle Ilya's face to pull him in for a kiss.

Ilya gave up on his bratty, self-imposed rule to not text Shane.

***

Lily: I heard about your finger

Jane: it sucks so much

Lily: which room are you in?

***

Shane felt spent. It had been a month and a half since he had last seen Ilya, and they had fucked like they needed to make up for lost time. Now Ilya was lingering in his bed, damp from their shower.

Ilya was examining Shane's finger, a small frown on his face. “Such a little thing, causing so much sadness.”

Shane sighed. “I know it's silly, but I am sad. I like playing in the All-Star game. It's fun to be on that kind of stage. And I like playing with you.”

Ilya looked up sharply. “I like playing with you, too.” He said softly.

Shane tried to not read into that too much. They were both great athletes, it was fun playing together. However brief their outings on the same side had been. Shane thought about it sometimes when he couldn't sleep, daydreamed about how good a team would be with both of them on it.

Ilya cleared his throat. “So. Where are you going after this?”

Shane groaned. “It’s a long road trip. Dallas, Arizona, San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco.”

Ilya withdrew his hand, nodding.

“What about you guys?” Shane asked.

“In town for almost two weeks.” Ilya said. He was lying on his back now, staring at the ceiling.

“I can't remember, when's the next time we play you guys?”

Ilya was also trying to wrack his brain, but 162 games were blurring together.

“Sometime next month we go to Montreal, I know.” He said. He looked at Shane from the corner of his eyes. “Hollander. I…we should not see each other then.”

Shane's heart stopped. Was Ilya ending this? Had he really been so cheap to end it after he'd fucked Shane one last time? Why was he ending it?

His spin out must have been present on his face because Ilya sat up. “Hollander, it is just…till end of season, ok? I need focus.”

Shane could understand that. He had given Ilya arbitrary excuses about focus and routine, but Ilya was his focus, in many ways. It was like he unlatched another level of concentration and skill when he played against Ilya. And now he didn't know what it would look like to face him, not with this sick feeling in his gut.

“Ok. So we…what? I don't see you again until spring training?” Shane could hear how angry his voice was.

Ilya's voice was rough. “If you want, yes. I thought maybe last game of the season.”

Shane frowned, remembering vaguely that they ended the season in Boston.

“Sure. Whatever.” He sat there, and Ilya took his cue to leave. He tugged his shoes on and slipped through the door without looking at Shane once.

***

Chapter End Notes

A note about spring training logistics: the Metros are on the Atlantic side of Florida, Raiders are on the Gulf Coast. They play each other a handful of times during spring training, but not nearly as much as the Raiders are playing other teams that are closer to them.

Setting this story in baseball means these two are seeing a lot more of each other than they would if they were hockey players! Though they are not playing directly against each other as much, since Shane only pitches every 5-6 days.

Chapter 4: It's a Long Season

Chapter Notes

“Everything is fine, Sveta.” Ilya sighed into his phone. Svetlana hadn't heard from him in a while, and she rang him up to interrogate. 

Ilya propped his chin in his hand, looking out the window of his apartment. It was a gorgeous day, he really should stop feeling sorry for himself. Go out and enjoy it before he had to turn up for batting practice in the afternoon.

Svetlana's tone was pointed. “You know you can't lie to me. What is going on?” 

Ilya rubbed his temple. She was going to give him a headache. 

“Nothing serious. I am having a hard time focusing on baseball.” It was a woefully insufficient description.

Ilya was struggling to work out how he could keep seeing Shane. Just hearing Shane mention a trip to LA, picturing him meeting up with that nice man he probably liked so much…it made Ilya feel sick. He had wanted to leave the room immediately. For a brief moment he had the courage to end things, to tell Shane that they shouldn't see each other. Only Shane had looked so upset by the abrupt news. Ilya's resolve had crumbled within seconds. He told himself he could get a grip with some distance. Hold Shane at arms length and learn how to breathe again. 

“Ilya, do you need me to come see you? You know I will.” Svetlana threatened. 

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut. “I will not stop you.”

In Ilya terms, it probably sounded like a screaming distress signal.

***

Shane leaned his head against the window of the plane as they circled Los Angeles. Matt had a boyfriend now, and Shane wondered absently if he should try to go to a different bar and meet another perfectly fine guy he could hook up with. He had been more motivated to get out there and experience different people when it felt like a way to level the playing field with Ilya. With Ilya out of the equation until the end of the season, Shane felt apathetic. 

The next morning, Hayden dragged Shane to breakfast. 

“Buddy, you're looking worn out.”

Shane could feel himself glaring, and Hayden raised his hands in alarm. 

“I'll back off! Sorry.”

Shane shook his head, he needed to get a grip. “No, I'm sorry. Just feeling the grind, you know?” 

It wasn't a total lie. The season could be brutal, especially by this midpoint. Last year he had been on a strict pitch count. The team didn't want to strain his arm as he adjusted to a major league schedule. But this year, Shane needed to stretch that limit a little further. So he was very tired. He looked for a way to obliquely tell Hayden about what was really bothering him.

“I was seeing somebody. Kind of. I mean, super casual-”

“Lily, right?” Hayden nodded, and Shane dropped his fork. 

“How did you-”

“ My locker is next to yours! I noticed last year, you seemed excited when you looked at your phone. “ Hayden sounded proud of himself for his observational skills. 

Shane slumped in the booth. “Ok, yeah. It was casual with Lily. And I kind of wanted more, but she ended it. For a while.”

Hayden looked extremely confused. “You asked her to make it official and she said no? Is she crazy?”

Shane appreciated the vote of confidence. “I mean, no. I never told her that. And then she ended things anyway.”

Hayden was shaking his head. “Shane, she probably ended it because you weren't making things official.” 

Wrong. He was so wrong. 

“And what does ‘end it for a while’ mean?”

“She doesn't want to hook up again until the season is over.” Shane fidgeted. 

Hayden tipped his head back laughing. “Oh my god, is this a Bull Durham situation? You've got a baseball groupie who thinks you need to get your head in the game?”

Shane bit back a smile picturing Ilya's reaction to hearing Hayden call him a groupie. 

“It’s nothing like that!”

Hayden shook his head sagely, grinning. “Shane, I wouldn't stress. Sounds like she just wants to fuck you after you win the Cy Young award.”

***

Svetlana had arrived to Boston with vodka, appropriately distracting gossip, and gorgeous dresses to wear out. She had been exactly what Ilya needed. When they were growing up together, she always knew how to cheer him up, how to provide distraction during the darkest periods of his life. She had been the only stabilizing presence when his mother died, and he hadn't realized how badly he missed her until she came to visit.

One night, as they watched TV with her splayed across him, she finally broached the topic of why she came to Boston.

“Why are you so moody?” She asked bluntly. Ryan Price probably would have been appalled by that approach. 

Ilya sighed. He could tell her to forget it, that he didn't want to talk. But he felt vodka heavy on his tongue, and a slightly lower inhibition, and he described what he could. 

“I think I was starting to like someone.” Svetlana looked up at him, surprised. She knew better than anybody that Ilya didn't really do feelings. She was the same way. Maybe their respective parents had set terrible examples of what love and partnership looked like. Svetlana's father was a serial cheater, with a secret family that Svetlana had discovered at fifteen. Ilya's father…Ilya shuddered to think about his worst fear, that he might some day hurt the person he loved, the way his father had hurt his mother. 

Svetlana and Ilya were always seeking pleasure and enjoying company, but never liking somebody. 

“Anyway. That made it hard to focus on baseball. And I don't think they like me anyway. Not like that.”

Svetlana remained silent for a moment, waiting to see if Ilya had anything to share, but he had expended his courage for the evening.

“I am sorry. Whoever it is, they are an idiot. I hope you know that.”

Ilya grimaced. The problem was that it was the opposite. Hollander was sharp. Observant, analytical. Never stupid. If anything, Ilya had been the dumb one, catching feelings from a handful of hookups.

Svetlana was looking at him to see if he wanted to share anything else, but he just kissed her forehead and went back to watching TV. 

***

When they got back to Montreal, Shane took advantage of an off-day to visit his parents. 

“How are you feeling? You seem kind of wiped out.” Shane's dad said as they sat for dinner. 

Shane cringed internally. It was bad enough that he was this sad and confused about Ilya. He hated even more that he seemed to be unconsciously broadcasting his unhappiness to everybody. 

“You know. Long season.” Shane supplied the same answer he had given to anybody who asked. 

His mom nodded. “But it's been a great one. Honey, we're so proud.”

Shane knew they would be proud of him no matter what. He was reminded of a particularly terrible game in little league. He had pitched terribly and given up six runs. His parents hugged him and took him out for ice cream afterwards, like they did when he won. 

He had spent the past year wondering how they would react if he told them he liked guys. He couldn't visualize them being mad at him. But what would he tell them?

I think I might be gay, but I really don't want to be. I'm hoping there's still a girl out there for me, so things can be easier. I'm afraid that nobody is going to make me feel as good as Ilya Rozanov? 

But truthfully, nobody made him feel as miserable as Ilya could too. Shane hadn't really felt anything when Matt told him he had a boyfriend and couldn't meet up with Shane. Ilya had told him he didn't want to sleep with him for two and a half months and it felt like he had punched Shane in the gut. 

It was easy for Ilya to cut out Shane, to label him as a distraction. If Shane wanted to keep seeing Ilya, he needed to give up on the idea of it ever being something more. 

***

Ilya had been dreading the Montreal series. It helped, a bit, that he and Ryan had gotten breakfast that morning. It did not help that Ryan had spent ten minutes raving about Hollander's season. 

“He's so much fun to watch, it's like he's unhittable these days.” Ryan enthused as he dug into his scrambled eggs. 

Ilya could feel himself grimacing and rolling his eyes. “Price, I did not come here to talk about Hollander.”

“Hey, you might be the only guy who can consistently hit off him. Anyway, I'm just glad I'm on the same team as him and I don't have to figure out that changeup.”

Ilya's stomach curled at the mention of Shane's changeup. He thought back to teasing Shane about it during spring training, before they'd had sex in a parking lot that had completely fucked with his head 

“Let's talk about something else.” Ilya glared. 

They lapsed into silence. Ryan was quiet by nature, which was a quality Ilya liked. But it didn't make for robust conversation, especially when Ilya had shut down the one thing Ryan seemed to want to talk about. 

“How about Toronto this year?” Ryan offered. 

Ilya shrugged. “I am not scared of them.”

It was true. The Toronto Guardians had been playing well, but Ilya was better than their shortstop, Dallas Kent. 

“I've heard Kent is kind of an asshole.” Ryan mused. 

Ilya nodded. Word got around about which locker rooms were fun, and which ones were miserable. Toronto was the kind of locker room that bent to one player's will, and that player was Dallas Kent. It would be a pleasure to knock Toronto out of the playoffs, if it came to that.

***

Hollander was not pitching this series, thankfully. Ilya wasn't sure he could handle facing him. But as the games progressed, Ilya could feel himself getting more and more irritated. Whenever he looked at the Metros dugout, Shane was staring at the pitcher or the outfield, or talking to his teammates on the railing. Not so much as a glance towards Ilya. When Ilya had gotten another home run, he couldn't resist looking at Shane when he touched home plate, and still. Nothing. 

The final game of the series was a disaster. Montreal's offense woke up in a big way. Boston was getting shelled, and when the score went to 10-1, Wiebe began pulling the starters. Might as well rest the more valuable players. Ilya saw him approach in the dugout, ready to get dismissed, when he thought of something that would get under Shane's skin. 

“Wiebe, let me pitch.”

Wiebe blinked at him. They often put position players in for the last few innings, to conserve their real pitchers when the game was a lost cause. But it was always a secondary player, one who didn't mind being humiliated.

“Roz, I need your arm tomorrow.”

Ilya summoned his most angelic grin possible. “One inning. I promise my arm will be safe.”

***

There had been a slight stir in the crowd when he took the mound, and Ilya had to resist looking at Shane. Hollander had no choice but to look at him now.

Ilya had pitched as a child, when trying out different positions to see what he liked. He hated pitching. Shortstop relied on quick reaction and instinct. Pitchers did boring homework and analytics and then their catcher told them what to throw and they obeyed. Maybe that's why Shane was such a good pitcher. He loved being obedient. 

Ilya came set, hamming it up. He lobbed a ball, copying Shane's bizarrely low armed throw. He could hear guys from both dugouts laughing. The batter had no idea what to do as the ball softly sailed into the strike zone. 

Abandoning Shane's arm slot, Ilya continued throwing gently, slower than he threw as a shortstop. He had promised his arm would be fine for tomorrow, and it would. Besides, the Metros batters were used to real pitching, and their timing was all fucked up by these goofy pitches Ilya was parachuting into the strike zone. The first and second batters had grounded out on the weak contact, and the third struck out looking. 

The inning ended and Ilya tossed a look over his shoulder. Shane was staring directly at him. He had been smiling, his eyes sparkling with something tantalizing. But when he made eye contact with Ilya he buttoned it away. That left a sting in Ilya's stomach. But it had been worth it.

***

Jane: clean inning. very impressive

Lily: I am coming for your Cy Young award

***

For the second year in a row, Boston secured a spot in the playoffs and Montreal did not. Ilya didn't text Shane to gloat. He wondered, absently, if Shane would think that their plan to put their hookups on pause had indeed helped Ilya. His season spoke for itself, he had hit his goal of 30 home runs and had 34 stolen bases. He was in the running for MVP. Shane had performed at the top of his game all season, the clear frontrunner for the Cy Young award in pitching. 

Ilya had a sinking worry that maybe they did both play better when they kept it strictly professional. 

Montreal was coming to Boston for the last series of the season. Montreal had been eliminated from playoff contention, but Shane still had an opportunity to deliver another stellar pitching performance. 

Ilya had spent the week before the series worrying about whether Hollander even wanted to see him. Maybe he had moved on, maybe he had forgotten that Ilya had wistfully suggested one last hookup before they parted for the off-season. Ilya tried to chase those fears away with lots and lots of sex. The women blurred together. They were all beautiful, sexy, and charming. None of them had cute freckles or a shy smile. 

***

Jane: do you want to meet up after the series ends? 

Lily: yes. come to mine after the game is over.

***

Shane closed out the last game of the season. In a result that felt emblematic of this whole terrible year, he only gave up two hits. Both to Ilya. Montreal won a meaningless game, and Boston was going to pack their bags to head to Toronto for the Wild Card series. 

Shane arrived on Ilya's doorstep, freshly showered and determined to be calm and chill and emotionally detached. Ilya answered the door without a shirt and Shane almost forgot his resolve. 

“Good game.” Ilya grinned. 

“Fuck you.” Shane rolled his eyes, stepping inside. Ilya's apartment always smelled good. Something woodsy, a slight spice. Shane followed Ilya to the kitchen, where Ilya was pouring a glass of vodka for himself. He gave Shane a sharp look. 

“You want vodka?”

Shane was confused. Ilya never asked. He always just handed it to Shane. It was part of the routine, the brief dance of anticipation before they would abandon all pretense and hook up. Shane had missed that. 

“Why are you asking?” Shane blurted out. Ilya's eyes narrowed. 

“Is a simple question, Hollander.”

“I liked it better when you would just hand it to me without asking.” Shane wasn't sure how to articulate what he missed. He had a prickling feeling building in his stomach. This was not how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to be like before. Now there was a bizarre tension between the two of them, as if something had broken. Maybe it was because Shane had been too emotional when Ilya asked him to pause for a few months. 

Ilya nodded, taking in what Shane said. Then he poured Shane a splash of vodka and pushed it across the counter to him. “You do not want to make decisions tonight?” He asked carefully, hazel eyes pinned on Shane's. Shane felt a shiver up his spine. 

“No. I don't think I do.” Shane whispered. 

Shane took a gulp of vodka, instantly regretting it because it burned and punched the words out of his throat. Ilya's serious expression faltered for a moment, he looked like he was going to laugh, but then he regained composure. He jerked his head towards the bedroom and walked off, Shane trailing behind him. Ilya sat in the center of his bed and spread his legs, patting between them. Shane started towards him, but Ilya glared and looked him up and down. 

Breathlessly, Shane started removing his clothes, placing them on the chair in Ilya's bedroom as he folded them. The heat in Ilya's eyes made Shane's spine tingle. He sat, awkwardly, in between Ilya's legs, facing him. Shane started to tilt his head for a kiss. Ilya shook his head and motioned for Shane to spin. Shane turned around, facing his back to Ilya. He felt Ilya wrap his arms around him, yanking him roughly, until he was pressed against him. Ilya was already hard. 

“Hollander, I will tell you what to do, if that is what you want.” He said in a low murmur against Shane's ear. Ilya's breath against Shane's neck made him feel like every one of his nerve endings was on fire. 

“I do want that.” Shane sighed. 

“If you tell me to stop, I stop. Ok?” Ilya's right arm was pulling Shane flush to his chest, his left hand running through Shane's hair. Shane just nodded, and Ilya trailed his hand down to Shane's achingly hard cock. The moment he grasped Shane, Shane's hips bucked. Ilya splayed his left hand across Shane's core to hold him in place, laughing in his ear.

“So eager already.”

An embarrassing whine left Shane's mouth as Ilya continued, slowly stroking him as if he had all the time in the world.

“You were very annoying today, Hollander.”

Ilya slicked his hand through the precum on the head of Shane's cock. The movement made Shane gasp. “So frustrating.” Ilya dragged out the word as he gripped Shane, running the length of his shaft. 

“Fuck off.” Shane panted, and Ilya's hand completely stilled. Another needy whine burst from Shane's throat. Ilya yanked his hand off of Shane's stomach, and grabbed his chin. He turned Shane's face to his, and his eyes had gone icy. 

“What did you say?”

Shane swallowed, eyes tracing between Ilya's. “Just…you got hits off of me, ok? Don't pretend like I was annoying you.”

A glimmer of a smile danced across Ilya's lips before he grabbed a fistful of Shane's hair and pulled, so Shane's head was lolling on his shoulders. It felt like Shane was pinned by Ilya from every angle. He began stroking Shane again, and started whispering in Shane's ear. 

“Hollander, we both know you are very frustrating. That stupid slider” He sped up, Shane's breath had gone ragged “You know you are good, don't play dumb.”

Shane tried to let the praise wash over him, but he couldn't focus on anything other than Ilya yanking his hair and caressing his cock. Shane arched his back and tried to angle his head to kiss Ilya's neck, but Ilya released his hair and stuck his thumb in Shane's mouth instead. Shane swirled his tongue around Ilya's thumb, moaning as Ilya stroked him. 

“Fuck, Hollander.” Ilya's composure was starting to fray, and Shane was dangerously close to the edge. It was like Ilya could read his mind. He dropped his hand, laughing at the offended noise Shane made. 

“I do not want you to come yet.” He growled in Shane's ear. Shane bit the pad of Ilya's thumb lightly and ground his ass into Ilya's lap. Ilya gasped, and for a fleeting moment Shane felt triumphant, but then he heard Ilya laugh again.

“You are such a brat.” Ilya sounded equal parts delighted and pissed off. “You want to be told what to do, and I tell you cannot come yet.”

Shane couldn't help groaning. He was aching for Ilya to touch him. 

“Up.” Ilya commanded. He motioned for Shane to move near the edge of the bed, and reached in his bedside table for lube and a condom. He stood, positioning himself behind Shane, pulling his hips towards him. 

“You will not come, yes?” Ilya asked, tracing his finger along Shane's entrance.

“Yes. Fuck.” Shane said through gritted teeth. Ilya was going to completely wreck him. He was doing everything in languid, teasing motions. He slipped a finger inside Shane and was lazily stroking, working him open. It felt like Ilya was punishing and rewarding him at the same time, and Shane felt utterly desperate. Finally, he heard Ilya rip open a condom, felt him pressing against him. Ilya pushed Shane's arms so they were down on the bed, his back arched, and then he pushed into him. Shane gasped at the same moment that Ilya did, their cries intermingling as Ilya began to thrust into him. 

Ilya was murmuring in Russian immediately, words that sounded like praise at first, and then morphed into something tortured that made Shane almost black out from pleasure. He felt used, as Ilya pounded into him, chasing his release. 

Ilya reached around and grasped Shane to stroke him, and Shane let out a desperate groan. Ilya took his hand away, and Shane ground his face into the bed.

“I told you, not until I say.” Ilya chided, slipping his hand back around Shane. 

“Rozanov” Shane gasped “I'm going to…please let me…” 

Ilya removed his hand again and stilled. “I don't know, Hollander.” He dragged himself out of Shane and then thrust, deep

 Shane felt the air punch out of his lungs.

“I don't feel very nice tonight.”

Shane wanted to scream. “I don't want you to be nice! Please, I need-”

Ilya began fucking him again, and when his speed increased, when the sound of skin on skin filled Shane's ears, he reached around and began stroking his achingly hard cock again. 

“There. Are you happy?” Ilya asked.

 Shane moaned in assent. 

“Are you going to come for me?” Shane nodded. “Good. Come for me. Come on my cock, I want to feel you.” It was like every reserve of willpower flooded out of Shane's body, and he bucked his hips, coming with a release that seemed endless. He could feel himself clenching around Ilya. Ilya dug his hands into Shane's hips and slammed into him, crying out “Oh fuck, Hollander.”

They collapsed for a moment, Shane was aware that he was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Then Ilya pulled out of him and stood back up. He left the room without saying anything, came back with a washcloth. He set a can of ginger ale on the end table next to Shane, and set a fresh glass of vodka on his side. 

Shane cleaned himself and gratefully took a sip of ginger ale. Ilya settled in bed next to him. He looked spent. 

“When do you head to Toronto?” Shane asked. 

“Tomorrow morning.”

Shane had just used the only conversation topic he could think of, and now his mind was blank. He had been looking forward to seeing Ilya, but now that they were actually together it felt stiff and awkward. The sex hadn't changed, the sex was still amazing. But now Ilya just sat there quietly, tracing a pattern on Shane's arm, with a detached expression on his face.

“What will you do?” Ilya asked. He started running his hand through his curls, and Shane was a little hypnotized by the movement.

“Spend time with my parents in Ottawa. I'm building a cottage near their home.” Shane sighed. He was excited. His agent had landed him some endorsements that meant he could break ground this summer. 

“Will this cottage also look like hotel?” Ilya raised an eyebrow. 

Shane frowned. He didn't know what Ilya had against his perfectly nice apartment in Montreal. 

“I don't know if I'll use the same decorator. We'll see, I need to build it first.”

They lapsed into silence, and Shane sat there until the awkwardness consumed him and he stood. “I should let you sleep. Good luck against Toronto.” 

Ilya nodded, eyes steady on Shane as he crossed the room to his clothes.“Good luck with Cy Young voting. You deserve it.”

That praise stuck with Shane as he pulled his clothes on, awkwardly waved, and let himself out. It was only when he got into his rideshare that he realized something awful. They had spent that whole night together and they hadn't even kissed. 

***

Chapter End Notes

1. Scrambled to get this up before ao3 crashed again

2. Ilya isn't really doing great aftercare (ginger ale isn't aftercare!) after some bossy sex, but Shane is fine/not wandering off in subspace the same way he was after Vegas in the canon.

3. Baseball notes: there is no way a real life team would put their star shortstop out if they have a position players pitch. Also, it's weird to have the canon Toronto team have the same name as a real MLB team. But that's following the rules I set for myself!

4. Sorry, next chapter is going to a bummer. I promise things will get better for them eventually!

Chapter 5: Internal Brace

Chapter Notes

The off-season dragged for Shane. He had won the Cy Young, like everybody predicted. He was eager to come back and win another. Ilya had not gotten MVP, but he was a close second. Shane had thought for a moment about texting him something encouraging, but he couldn't think of the right thing to say. 

Ilya had texted him about their opening game in spring training, asking if Shane wanted to meet up after. Shane did, badly. He was resigning himself to bruised feelings and incredible sex. Shane wondered how long he could keep doing this. 

He kept hoping he would find someone he could actually be with. Who wasn't hot and cold with him, who wasn't on a rival team. Who didn't have beautiful curly hair and a wicked smile. Maybe there was a girl out there who he could feel the same way about. He'd be able to get married and have kids and never have to admit that he had complicated, messy feelings for a shortstop who tormented him on the field. 

Shane showed up to spring training in a funk. Hayden did not seem to notice at all, because Jackie was pregnant with twins and he spent every waking minute oscillating between worry and excitement. It was a welcome distraction for Shane. He could stop feeling sorry for himself for a couple hours while he and Hayden tossed around baby name ideas. 

"I cannot name one of them Ruth, come on Shane!" Hayden groaned one night as they sat at the kitchen table of their rental. 

"Why not? I always liked that name." Shane protested. 

"I would be such a cliche, a baseball player naming their kid after Babe Ruth?" Hayden rolled his eyes. Shane frowned. He hadn't even considered that the connection was probably why he had that name lodged in his mind. 

For the hundredth time since Hayden had told him the news, Shane wondered if he would ever be able to be a parent one day. He loved kids, the team often did charity events at hospitals or little league games. In some ways, kids were easier than adults. They were more direct, a candor that Shane found comforting. 

"Anyway," Hayden gestured to the notebook and tablet on the table "We should get back to it. This scouting report on Rozanov isn't going to write itself."

The coaching staff always gathered notes and video to develop scouting reports on the hitters. Hayden drew up plans to attack each player's weakness, and he liked to go through them with the pitching staff during spring training while he tinkered. 

Shane had brought up baby names specifically because looking at a video of Ilya was the last thing he wanted to do. He sighed and scooted closer. 

"Ok," Hayden tapped the screen, and Shane watched a clip of Ilya fouling off his slider. "We know he can hit your changeup, we know he can hit your 4-seamer and your 2-seamer. But he's never gotten a hit off of your slider."

Shane knew that. Ilya's words echoed in his head "Your slider haunts me."

"We stopped using it for a while because he would just foul them off and drive up your pitch count. But I think if you can locate it here..." Hayden circled the lower right quadrant of the strike zone "he won't even be able to foul it off. That's his weakest part of the strike zone."

Shane frowned. He had really good command, but trying to locate a slider that precisely would be hard. And he worried a little. A pitch that moved that much, coming in on the side of the strike zone near Ilya's body...it could go wrong, really wrong. 

Hayden read the anxiety on his face. "We've got a week to try before we face him. If the command isn't there, we don't do it. But you just won the Cy Young, Shane. Sky's the limit."

Shane nodded, trying to quell his nerves. 

***

Ilya sat in his rental car in the parking lot of the stadium, raking his hand nervously through his hair until he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He tried combing his curls back into place, and then gave up and tugged his ballcap on. 

He hadn't been able to resist the opportunity to see Shane as soon as possible, and it made him feel pathetic. He had really tried to keep an emotional wall up the last time they hooked up. Told himself that it was just sex, like everyone else he slept with. But Shane had been so trusting, so ready to give himself over to Ilya completely. It felt like an expectation and responsibility that Ilya wasn't equipped to meet. 

Ilya was staring out the windshield, trying to corral his thoughts, when he saw the team bus pull up. He got out, stretching, and hitched his bag over his shoulder. One thing at a time. First he had to face Hollander at the plate. 

***

Ilya watched Shane take the mound to thunderous applause. As always, Ilya resented that the distance from the dugout to the pitchers mound was so far. He wanted to see how dark Shane's freckles had gotten in the Florida sun.

Ilya was batting cleanup today, so he had three chances to analyze Shane before testing him. 

Almost immediately, Ilya felt on edge. Something wasn't right. Shane's velocity was down, and his command wasn't there. Worse, he had a grimace on his face when the ball snapped out of his hands. Ilya stared at Pike, wanting to scream at him to call for a mound visit, to ask Shane what was going on. But the first two batters walked, the third struck out, and Ilya had to step up to bat, stomach in knots. 

"What's up, Roz?" Hayden asked. 

Ilya dug his cleats into the dirt. "Something is wrong with your boy." He jerked his head at Shane. It was completely unprofessional and uncalled for, but he was beginning to feel physically ill with worry. 

"Fuck off. He's just shaking off rust." Pike sounded a little startled by Ilya's statement, and he dropped into position as Ilya twirled his bat. 

Shane came set, the ball left his hands, and Ilya leapt back. Hayden snagged it, laughing, as the umpire called a strike. That slider. That stupid, cursed slider. Shane had located it exactly in the corner of the strike zone. 

Ilya looked up, expecting some kind of triumphant expression on Shane's face, but his heart sank. Shane was calling for a time out, shaking his head. Hayden ripped his mask off and ran up, and Ilya stood there, frozen, 60 feet away from Shane. 

Hayden and Shane had their heads bent, and then Shane made a motion that had Ilya's blood run cold. He pointed at the elbow on his throwing arm. Hayden bolted up, frantically waving at the dugout, and in a flurry of motion, the coaching staff and trainers were rushing across the field. Ilya watched them converge, and they formed a thicket around Shane. He couldn't see anything, and he felt like he was going to throw up. 

Slowly, the scrum parted, and Shane walked off the field with the trainer, clutching his arm. Ilya feared for the worst. 

The rest of the game passed in a haze. Boston won. Ilya didn't really care at all. He got in the stupid rental car and felt like he was going to be sick. This fucking car that he had hoped to have Shane in. Shane was probably in some hospital right now, getting an MRI on his arm, afraid and upset. 

Ilya pulled out his phone and Googled Shane. A couple tweets from people at the game, speculating. No headlines or statement from the team yet. He was desperate. 

Lily: hope you are OK. Call me when you can?

He slumped, his forehead on the steering wheel. Maybe Price would know what was happening. 

*** 

"No clue." Ryan sighed, and Ilya tried to not have a complete meltdown. 

Ilya had asked to stay with Ryan this night a few weeks ago, and he figured maybe he could at least get some team updates on Shane. Ilya sat in the kitchen, watching Ryan make them dinner. 

"I knew it." Ilya couldn't help griping. Price looked at him, confused. "His velo was down. His command was bad. He had this look on his face." Ilya's stomach twisted as he pictured it. "And Pike did nothing." He spat.

"Hey, that's on Shane and the coaching staff as much as it is on Hayden." Ryan reprimanded him. "It’s normal for guys to be kind of off the first few games, getting back into things."

Ilya yanked at his curls absentmindedly. It was normal for other players. It was not normal for Hollander, who was a total headcase, and showed up to spring training in peak condition. 

"I know you like playing against him," Ryan sighed. "But hey. If it's what we're afraid it is..." Ryan trailed off. Baseball jinxes and unspoken superstitions were heavy on the air. Neither wanted to speak the worst into existence. "He'll probably be ok. Most pitchers deal with it at some point in their career. Hell, some guys have it twice."

Ilya scowled. What Ryan said was correct. But what he was most worried about was how this might emotionally wreck Shane. Ilya loved baseball, but he wasn't sure Shane knew how to exist without baseball.

***

Ilya woke early to the sound of his phone buzzing on Ryan's coffee table. He fumbled it to his ear when he saw the caller ID. 

"Hey," he said groggily. It was five in the morning and he could feel an imprint of Ryan's couch on his face. 

"Oh. Hi. I didn't think you'd pick up." Shane sounded surprised.

Ilya's forehead creased. "Why would you call if you didn't want me to pick up?" He was whispering, Ryan's bedroom was far enough away that he probably wouldn't hear anything. But Ilya didn't want to risk waking Ryan and come up with a lie about why he was on the phone at the crack of dawn.

"I don't know. This would be easier to just say over a voicemail-" Shane's voice cracked for a heartbreaking second before he collected himself. "But whatever. It's my UCL. I'm going to New York this morning. The team wants me to see a surgeon there."

"Tommy John surgery." Ilya said, as if he needed further confirmation. 

"Yeah." Shane let it hang in the air. He had a torn ligament in his elbow and he would be out for a year. A season of baseball without Shane Hollander. 

"I am sorry." Ilya squeezed his eyes shut. Those words felt horribly insufficient. 

"Me too." Shane said miserably. 

"Are you...will you be in Montreal? While you recover?" Ilya wasn't sure what he was asking. Was he going to fly out there and place ice packs on his arm and dole out pain medicine? 

"Uh." There was a tiny sniffle, and Ilya wished he could jump through the phone and grab Shane, hug him tightly. "Probably not. I already told my parents. They want me to recover at their place in Ottawa for a month or two. Since I'll be in a splint for a while and can't use my dominant hand."

Ilya nodded, as if Shane could see him. Any comforting words felt stuck in his throat. 

"I will..." Ilya swallowed hard. "I will miss playing against you. Will not be as fun this year." It was the closest he could get to admission of his fear and sadness right now. 

Shane sighed, and they sat like that for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. "I should go. Gotta leave for the airport soon."

"Ok. Get well soon, Hollander." 

"Thanks."

Shane hung up, and Ilya laid there staring at the ceiling with his eyes stinging. 

***

Shane tried to not feel like the world was ending. His parents met him in New York and came to his appointments with the surgeon and asked all the questions he couldn't even think of. 

The surgery was quick, and then he was on a plane to Ottawa to recover. No baseball for at least 10 months. The surgeon had installed an internal brace in his arm, a surgical development that shortened the recovery time. 

Shane spent the first few months watching baseball and feeling sorry for himself. The Metros were not having a great season. Their pitching was shaky, and their offense was worse than ever. 

Boston was also doing poorly. Ilya's defense was still there. He'd made some spectacular diving catches, ones that made Shane kind of fearful. He wondered if Ilya had any sense of self-preservation or fear. He leapt without looking, relying on instinct to get his body where he needed it, to stop the ball. 

Where he was struggling was at the plate. He just looked lost. Shane was used to Ilya being razor sharp, two steps ahead of the pitcher. It hurt to see Ilya looking so defeated. Eventually, Shane had to stop watching his games. 

Once the surgeon cleared him for light physical therapy, Shane returned to Montreal. He hated it. Physical therapy frustrated him. Slow, careful movements that reminded him just how far he was from getting back on the mound. Shane avoided going to games. They only depressed him, especially when Montreal was playing so poorly. His one solace was spending time with Hayden, Jackie, and their newborn twins. 

Ruby and Jade were a welcome distraction. Shane couldn't really hold them, his right arm was in a giant, unwieldy brace. But he could crouch down with them when Jackie would lay them on their play mat. Shane loved reading picture books to them while they blinked at the ceiling. 

Montreal had already gone to Boston twice. Shane had been eyeing the schedule with apprehension as the date approached that the Raiders would play in Montreal. He hadn't really talked to Ilya since he told him he was getting surgery. What would he say? 

Hey, I'm depressed and hanging around at home in a brace. Sorry you're having a terrible season. Want to come hang out and be sad together in my apartment that you hate?

A week before the game, Ilya texted him. 

Lily: are you going to be in Montreal?

Jane: yeah. Do you want to come to my place after the first game?

Lily: sure

***

Ilya's palms were clammy. He had been debating for weeks if he wanted to try to see Shane. He wasn't even going to try to have sex with him, he was too worried about Shane fucking up his arm. So what was he even coming to Shane's apartment for? 

The game that night had been ugly. A stoppable force meeting a moveable object. Two teams in free fall seeing who could play worse. Ilya hated it. He hated playing poorly, he hated that Shane had seen him strike out three times that night. 

Ilya knocked on Shane's door, and the second it opened he was flooded with a sense of regret. He shouldn't have come, this was a bad idea. Shane was smiling, in his adorable, shy manner. He looked cozy, about as cozy as you could be with a bionic brace encasing his arm. And he had fucking glasses on. 

Ilya toed off his shoes in the entryway. "You wear glasses?" He hoped he sounded casual. 

"Oh, yeah." Shane touched them as if he forgot. "Just for reading." He took them off and folded them, placing them on the counter in his kitchen. 

Ilya wanted to scream "Put them back on, please." They might have been the cutest thing he'd ever seen. But he didn't scream. He just nodded. 

"What were you reading?"

Shane looked sheepish. "Uh. Scouting reports."

Ilya could feel his eyebrows shoot up. "For what? You aren't playing." It sounded meaner than he intended, and he regretted it as soon as Shane winced. 

"Yeah, I'm aware. I'm just trying to figure out why the game went as badly as it did today." The Metros had lost, at least. It was hardly consolation to Ilya. 

"They don't have you." Ilya shrugged, and a flush crept across Shane's cheeks. 

"We both know that's not enough. I can only help the team once every five days, when I am playing." Shane looked so serious. 

"Hollander, I am tired. Both our teams suck. Can we talk about something else?" Ilya pleaded. 

Shane nodded, chewing on his lip. They stood there, trying to think about anything else they cared about. 

"Do you want to come watch a game?" Shane gestured to his couch, and Ilya nodded. 

Toronto was playing Seattle. They sat in silence for a while, until Dallas Kent hit a home run. 

"I hate that guy." Shane muttered. Ilya looked at him, surprised. 

"I do not think I have ever heard you hate someone." Ilya remarked. 

Shane shrugged. "I hate bullies. He's a bully."

Ilya nodded. That was the reputation. "Price hates him."

Shane frowned. "That's too bad. I heard we might trade him to Toronto." 

Fuck. "Does he know that?" Ilya was planning to see him tomorrow. 

"Yeah, of course. I mean, this season is a sinking ship. Guys on shorter contracts expect to get traded when things go like this." Shane shrugged. 

Silence lapsed, and then Ilya felt himself ask something incredibly stupid.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

Shane fixed his gaze on Ilya, and it was almost too much. His deep brown eyes boring into him, as if he could read his mind. 

"No." Shane's eyes traveled over Ilya's face curiously. Ilya rushed to supply a reason for his question. 

"You just mentioned that man in LA..."

Shane shrugged. "It wasn't anything serious. And he has a boyfriend now."

Ilya felt elated. Wished he could send a case of champagne to this stupid, stupid man in LA who got a boyfriend and stopped sleeping with Shane Hollander.

Shane stared at the TV while he fidgeted with a throw pillow.

"Are you seeing anyone? Svetlana or...some other girl?"

Ilya could feel his forehead scrunch. "I see many women, yes. I do not have a girlfriend." Shane nodded, glancing at him.  

Ilya cleared his throat. "I never hear about you. With girls, you know." Something clouded in Shane's eyes and he glanced away. 

"Well. It's private." 

Ilya wanted to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. Did Shane even like girls? Was there a world where he could have something easier? It was certainly easier for Ilya to hook up with girls. He was resigning himself to the fact that it was not easier for him to develop feelings for girls. For anybody who wasn't Shane Hollander. 

Shane looked tired. Beautiful, but completely sapped. Ilya reached his hand out, combing his fingers through his glossy hair. Shane started a bit at the touch, like a scared kitten, and then leaned into it, closing his eyes. 

"That feels really nice." He said it as if it was an embarrassing admission. 

"I hate not playing against you." Ilya one-upped Shane's confession. Shane's eyes shot open. The heat behind his eyes made Ilya freeze. In an instant, Shane was on top of him, straddling him, using his left hand to grasp Ilya's chin. 

A breathy groan escaped Ilya's lips as he leaned into kiss Shane. It had been eight months since he'd last touched Shane. Shane was rolling his hips into him in a way that was completely undoing his resolve to not have sex. With a gasp, Shane broke from his mouth and moved to plant kisses on Ilya's neck, soft and tender and wet. 

"Fuck, Shane. I cannot stop thinking about you." Ilya sighed, his head in a haze of lust and relief at having Shane on him. Shane stilled. Too late, Ilya tried to recover. 

"I mean-"

"I..." Shane pulled away, his face was contorted, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Ilya couldn't hear it. Whatever Shane was going to say to let him down, he couldn't hear it. 

"I should go." Ilya said. Shane jumped off of him immediately. In an instant, Ilya was crossing to the door and throwing his shoes on. "Um. See you in spring training, Hollander." 

Shane was sitting on his couch with the same confused expression, and he nodded. 

***

Shane got no sleep that night. Part of him had wanted to yank Ilya back onto the couch, to ask him what he meant, what he wanted from Shane. He had talked to Shane about how he was seeing lots of women. Then he had told Shane he couldn't stop thinking about him. Worst of all, he'd sighed Shane's name like it was a prayer. They had always kept each other at arms length, this felt like Ilya ignoring every unwritten rule. And for what? It wasn't like he and Shane could be anything. 

A nagging voice in Shane's head reminded him that he could have had this conversation with Ilya. Ilya said his name and his ears started ringing. When Ilya got up to leave Shane refused to try to stop him. He was a coward, too scared to ask "What do you want from me?"

***

Ilya arrived to breakfast the next day with a scowl and terse one word answers for sweet Ryan Price. Unlike Svetlana, Ryan was never very direct when he tried to get Ilya to open up. And he was far more patient than Svetlana when Ilya was behaving like a petulant child. 

"I can't wait for this season to be over." Ryan sighed. For the first time in his life, Ilya could agree with that statement. He wished he could just flush the whole season away and forget it ever happened. He eyed Ryan, Shane's news lingering in his mind. 

"Do you think you might get traded?" He asked. Ryan looked surprised. "I just..I heard things." Ilya said lamely. 

"Yeah, I mean we all hear stuff like that. I know my contract is a pretty easy one to move." Ryan took a bite of his omelet. "Can I tell you something?"

Ilya nodded. 

"I think I'm going to retire when my contract is up this year." 

Ilya was stunned for a moment. Price wasn't that old. He was a perfectly average player, and some team would no doubt sign him for next season if he wanted to. 

"Will that make you happy?" Ilya's question seemed to catch Ryan by surprise, but he grinned. 

"Yeah. I think it will." 

Ilya wished he could fix his problems with a switch like that. He couldn't cut baseball out of his life. That meant going back to Russia. And he couldn't cut Shane Hollander out of baseball. The best he could do was pretend he never said anything mortifying to Shane, pretend nothing happened between them at all, and just ignore him for the rest of their very long careers. 

Ilya could feel his scowl worsening. "What made you decide to do this?"

Ryan smiled a little, knowing Ilya wouldn't like the answer. "Lots of therapy."

***

Shane didn't bother going to the next two games against the Raiders. Ilya had completely fucked with his head, and he couldn't stomach being 90 feet away from him, pretending nothing had happened. 

Physical therapy progressed. His biggest recovery milestone was being able to hold Ruby or Jade whenever Hayden and Jackie needed a free hand. 

The trade deadline was approaching. Shane wondered, absently, what the team might look like when he would join them next year. 

One night, Shane was sitting at home, watching San Francisco beat LA when his phone rang. 

"Hey JJ." Shane answered warily, already knowing what JJ would ask.

"Shane, you have to meet up with us." JJ sounded breathless. 

Shane was ready shaking his head, as if JJ could see him. "No, I'm not up for it. Sorry."

"You haven't heard what I'm about to say! They're shooting a big movie in Montreal, and the actors are at my friend's restaurant, and Rose Landry is here."

Chapter End Notes

Next chapter is going to go up soon. I wrote the second half of this season all as one mega chapter, but it just felt too long and needed to be split up. Checkov's Rose Landry seemed like a good place to end this one.

Chapter 6: Trade Deadline

Chapter Notes

The restaurant was packed. Shane was immediately overwhelmed. JJ waved him over to his table, and Shane sat, listening to his teammates joke and laugh about their recent victory against the Admirals. 

Shane loved playing against the Admirals. Scott Hunter was one of his favorite pitchers to watch. In college, he'd studied videos about Scott's pitch grips and off-season conditioning. He was analytical in that quiet pitcher way that made sense to Shane. They had never really talked, aside from a brief hello at the All Star Game. This season, Scott was also struggling. He was extremely inconsistent, and Shane wondered, with a pang, if Scott Hunter was aging out of his prime. 

After a while, Shane excused himself to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror before he went back out, summoning the energy to socialize. He promised himself in half an hour, he could make an excuse and leave. Shane took a deep breath and strode out of the bathroom, slamming straight into a woman who spilled her drink 

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" Shane was mortified. His embarrassment tripled when she looked up at him. 

"It’s ok, really. You can get me a new drink as an apology." Rose Landry was shorter than he would have thought. She had pretty auburn hair and a smile that made Shane relax a fraction. 

***

"So there I am, covered head to toe in fake blood, and it's only then that I go...'is this going to be a bad movie?" 

Rose's giggle was charming, and Shane couldn't help laughing with her as she told him about her most recent film. 

"How do you feel about the one you're filming right now?" Shane asked. 

Rose pursed her lips. "There's so much CGI. I have no idea what the finished product is going to look like." She leaned her chin in her hand. "Ok, I'm done talking about me. How much does it suck to not be playing right now?"

Shane was startled. Everyone had been treating him with sympathy, like he was a fragile bird being nursed back to health. "It really sucks. I'm miserable." 

Her eyes softened. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine. What's the longest you've gone without playing?"

Shane sat back in his seat, trying to recall. "Maybe when I got mono in high school?"

"Kissing too many people?" Rose smirked. 

"I'm pretty sure that's not actually how you get mono." He laughed. And besides, Shane had kissed only two girls in high school, it wasn't likely that he got mono from either of them. "But yeah, I was out for two months. Even on the off-season I train almost every day. I just feel useless right now."

Rose was frowning now. "What about it makes you feel useless?"

Shane considered. "I just always have a goal, or a routine to work towards that goal. And right now my goal is to like...squeeze a stress ball."

Rose laughed at that, and Shane had to smile a little. 

"And I know, I know that squeezing this stress ball is a step that gets me closer to pitching. But I don't think I've ever felt this far from a goal." Shane confessed. 

Rose tucked her hair behind her ears. "Knowing how you should feel is a totally different thing than experiencing your true reaction to something."

Shane was a little stunned. Maybe that was common knowledge. For Shane, who spent much of his life wondering why he couldn't seem to react to things the way he wanted to, the way he logically should...it felt like he had been a turtle flailing on his back and Rose had come around and flipped him right side up.

***

Shane walked Rose to her car, his mind spinning. She was nice. She was so nice, and funny. He really liked talking to her. She was pretty. Maybe this was what it felt like, to like a girl? It was certainly the closest he had gotten to feeling something like attraction to a girl. 

They stopped at her car. 

Rose got her keys out, smiling up at Shane. "Ok, you have my number. Let's meet up later this week, we can do brunch or something."

 Rose went in for a hug right as Shane went in for a kiss. She made a squeak of surprise, and then kissed him back. Shane realized he wasn't really sure where to put his hands. He settled on her shoulders, and they kissed silently for a moment before she broke away. She gave him an inscrutable look and then hugged him. "See you at brunch. Call me, I mean it!" 

***

"Roz, you've gotta see this." Connors and Marleau were hunched over Connors' phone. Ilya rolled his eyes. 

"Not really interested in another video of man getting punched in the dick." He huffed. 

"No, trust me." Cliff beckoned him. Curiosity piqued, Ilya walked over. His stomach plummeted. 

It was a picture of Shane, kissing a girl. Hands on her shoulders, drawing her close to him. Ilya's heart was stuttering in disbelief. 

"What is this?" Ilya wanted to grab the phone. 

"Shane Hollander bagged Rose Landry!" Cliff sounded way too excited. 

The name vaguely rang a bell, but Ilya must have looked lost. 

"She's like a huge movie star." Connors said helpfully. Ilya felt even worse. Hollander had gotten a beautiful movie star girlfriend. The perfect baseball player with the perfect girlfriend. 

Connors flipped through photos and Ilya barely glanced at the woman, too distracted by Shane's expression. He looked calm. Happy. Miles away from the angry and confused expression he had when Ilya slammed the door to his apartment. 

***

Ilya couldn't stop lurking on Rose Landry fan accounts. Shane only had one fan account, and it was about as boring as Shane. Rose Landry had countless ones, and they all breathlessly posted paparazzi shots of Rose and Shane getting brunch. Rose and Shane shopping. Rose and Shane walking down the street, laughing.

All of the comments were about how cute they looked, how Shane must be the best boyfriend. Ilya had to admit that Shane probably was the perfect boyfriend. The kind who would show up with flowers and book dinner at a nice restaurant because he knew those were the things boyfriends were supposed to do, and Shane didn't ever do anything half-assed.

Ilya wanted to bang his head against a brick wall. He had ruined it. He hadn't been able to hide how he felt, and he had freaked Shane out. And now Shane had run straight into Rose's arms. 

***

Shane and Rose hadn't kissed again. She hadn't initiated and Shane thought maybe she just wasn't interested in him like that. As they spent more time together, he was feeling pretty certain that he didn't like her like that. Still, he was surprised when they went out for dinner one night and she said something that leveled him to the ground. 

"Shane... I'm sorry to ask this so bluntly. But I really like you. And I think in another world, I'd love to date you." Shane's mind was racing. She looked so serious. 

"I just have a feeling about these things. And I'm wondering if maybe... I'm not your type?" She studied his face. Shane was horrified to feel tears welling in his eyes. 

"No. I mean. You should be my type." Shane knew it was a terrible answer, and she smiled at how bad it was. 

"Should be is not good enough, honey." She laughed sweetly.

Shane didn't really know what to say. He hadn't told anyone this before, but it seemed like Rose already knew somehow. And her soft smile felt so safe. 

"Yeah. I mean. I'm pretty sure I'm gay." He whispered, and a tear escaped, rolling down his cheek. 

Rose nodded seriously. "Have you told anyone before?"

Shane shook his head. 

"Have you ever...been with a guy before?"

Shane nodded. Rose grabbed his hand. 

"Thank you for telling me. I mean, I guess I forced you to tell me. But you're not the first gay man I've kissed, it was a little obvious."

Shane covered his face in his hands, but he was laughing with her now. 

"Why have you kissed so many gay men?"

"Shane, I went to theater school! And, shit. I guess I have a type." Rose sighed dramatically, pleased that she had gotten Shane to laugh. 

"Thank you. For not being upset." Shane wiped the tears off his face. 

Rose shook her head. "Never." Then she propped her chin in her hand with a wicked gleam in her eye.

"So. Tell me about who you've been seeing."

Shane shook his head. "I love you, but that is not happening. He isn't out. And I mean, it's over anyway. It's so over." His voice must have sounded as devastated as he felt, because Rose looked upset. 

"I'm so sorry. Shane, he dumped you while you were going through surgery and rehab?" She looked ready to stab someone. 

Shane shook his head. "Wasn't dumped. We were never a real thing. But he was so confusing, I'd think he had feelings and then he'd say stuff that made me think it was casual. And then he said something kind of serious and he ran away." It all came tumbling out of his mouth too fast. He hadn't realized how much he was bottling everything up. 

"Whoever he is, I will murder him. Just tell me who he is, whenever you've had enough, and I'll commit a homicide, I promise." Rose looked deadly serious, and Shane had a split second of wishing Ilya could see the expression on her face. He decided Ilya would probably be scared of her. 

***

"Price, I'm so sorry you got traded to stupid Dallas Kent's team." Ilya sighed. Ryan had taken to calling him lately. Ilya had a nagging feeling that it was because Ryan was worried about him. Gone were the days where Ilya was bolstering his mood. Ryan was the well-adjusted one now, and Ilya was constantly mad or sad. Or both at the same time. 

"It sucks." Ryan didn't mince words about the trade. "But it's just a few months. And then I'm done for good." 

"You will tell me if it gets terrible?" Ilya wasn't sure what he would do if it did. But Ryan sounded appreciative. 

"I will, I promise. And hey, I just heard Kent's henchman is getting traded somewhere, maybe he won't be as bad with Barrett gone." 

Ilya wrinkled his nose. "Why the fuck would Toronto get rid of Troy?" Their center fielder was very good. He was fast, he had some incredible home run robberies this season. Dallas Kent got all the attention, but Toronto's defense hinged just as much on Troy as it did Dallas.

*** 

A few hours later, Ilya found out why Toronto was trading Troy. And worse, where Troy was headed to. The Raiders groups chat was going insane, just text after text about how excited they were to get such a good center fielder, and they hadn't given up a lot. Some prospects and a bullpen pitcher. 

Then Connors, who apparently had all the gossip, sent a video. It had leaked online, taken from inside the Toronto clubhouse. Troy and Dallas, swinging punches at each other. 

Ilya had felt like every nerve he had was frayed, and this revelation was the nail in the coffin. He was playing poorly, his team was bad, he'd never talk to Shane again if he could help it, and now he had to deal with an asshole center fielder who got into brawls with his best friend. 

*** 

"Roz, can you show Barrett the ropes?" Wiebe sprung it on Ilya immediately as he ushered Troy into the locker room. The players froze, and Troy looked appropriately terrified. Ilya couldn't say no, no matter how much he wanted to. Wiebe treated him fairly and with a lot of respect. If he asked Ilya to jump, Ilya would only ask him how high.

"Sure. Barrett, come." Ilya jerked his head, and Troy followed. 

Ilya showed Troy which locker was his (tucked away by the relief pitchers, practically in another time zone). He showed him the weight room, the cafeteria. He pointed out the soft serve machine, which Troy seemed confused by. 

"Team nutritionist tried to get rid of it last year. Players threatened to burn down the clubhouse." Ilya shrugged. 

He led Troy out to the dugout, which was just like any other dugout. They started to walk onto the field so Ilya could talk to him about the dimensions and sightlines, the quirks of the park that Troy might not have taken stock of when he was playing on a visiting team. Troy cut him off.

"You don't have to be nice to me." He muttered. 

Ilya could feel his eyebrows raising. "I am not. I do not think I like you." Troy winced. "But I will be polite. Because Wiebe asked."

Troy nodded sheepishly. His cheeks flushed in a way that reminded Ilya of Shane, and he looked away. He wondered if he'd ever stop thinking about Shane. Probably never if he kept looking at Rose Landry fan accounts when he laid awake in bed at night, unable to sleep. Ryan's words rang in his head. Maybe he needed to see a therapist. 

"Anyway, let me show you spot where sometimes you can lose the ball in the sun during day games." Ilya snapped to Troy.

***

Ilya found the only therapist in Boston who spoke Russian. Their first session had been very businesslike. Like filling out a questionnaire. The worst parts of his life neatly fitting into boxes that he would have to open and examine in the coming weeks. He had omitted the reason why he'd sought out a therapist to begin with. Maybe when he broke down his mother's death, his father's dementia, his brother's cruelty, he would stop fixating on Shane. It felt like a tall order. 

In the meantime, Ilya was distracting himself a bit by turning his focus on how much he hated Troy. Troy was not playing well. This whole fucking season was a waste of time, it seemed. Troy looked lost off the field too. Nobody really talked to him. Ilya would have felt bad for him if he wasn't getting occasional reports from Ryan that Dallas Kent was as much of a dick as they'd expected. And regardless of a fight between friends, Troy had been happy to be friends with him for years. 

A few weeks in, Connors, at this point the town crier of the Boston Raiders, sent Ilya a link. The article was horrific. Multiple women accusing Dallas Kent of assault. The comments on the article were ghastly. Dozens and dozens of men arguing that it was all hearsay. "He said, she said," they defended. Ilya thought, grimly, that no woman would willingly open herself up to this harassment online. Dallas had to be guilty. He was suspended, but Ilya had seen this happen before. If you were a good enough player on the field, the league always seemed to find a way to turn a blind eye and let a player back in, and hope the public forgot. 

The next day, Ilya marched into the clubhouse and pointed to Troy. Troy looked at Ilya and then looked behind him, as if Ilya was pointing to somebody hiding in his locker. Ilya jerked his head, and Troy followed him. They marched up to the field and Ilya sat on the railing of the dugout. 

"Is it true?" He asked. Troy needed no further introduction. 

"I think so. I mean, the details were so specific." He leaned against the railing, and for the first time, Ilya recognized the expression in Troy's face. He was tired. He was so tired, he had dark circles under his eyes. Ilya looked like that these days, he was still only getting a few hours of sleep a night. He thought, ruefully, that he and Troy must make an interesting pair. Discomfort radiating off them, looking like hell. 

"This is why you fought." Ilya wasn't really asking a question, but Troy nodded.

"I couldn't stand the sight of him when I saw. And he's the better player, so Toronto traded me."

"He is not better." Ilya shook his head. Troy looked skeptical. "His teammates don't trust him. He is not as fast as you. And I think you will be better next year." These were all true. Ilya did, begrudgingly believe that Troy had the tools. 

Troy needed some convincing, though. He looked so defeated. Ilya wasn't ready to completely cave on his opinion of Troy, but he recognized something broken in him. Maybe because he felt the same hurt. 

"Are you only sad about this? The trade, Kent." Ilya gestured at the field. It wasn't like the team was a happy distraction right now. 

Troy opened and closed his mouth. He looked at Ilya from the corner of his eyes, and then fixed his gaze straight ahead. "I got dumped recently. For a different guy. And now they're getting married."

Ilya kind if felt like laughing. Not at Troy's expense, but at his own. Here he was acting like the world ended because he was an idiot and ran away from Shane Hollander. Troy's girlfriend had probably cheated on him and was getting married. He didn't know how Troy was getting out of bed in the morning. 

"You have had a very bad year." Ilya hummed sympathetically, and Troy's eyes shot to his. Ilya had been nice to him for about five minutes straight, and it clearly disconcerted Troy. 

"Come on, another game to get ready for." Ilya hopped off the railing and went inside. Next week in therapy he would try to unpack why he felt the need to adopt wounded baseball players.

***

The season ended without fanfare. The Metros had the worst record in their division. Shane hoped ownership could go after some better hitters in free agency. In the meantime, he focused his rehab efforts. He was finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Rose's movie wrapped, but they were keeping in touch through FaceTime and texts. As much as Shane loved Hayden and Jackie, it was a relief to have someone to talk to who knew he was gay. These days, she was determined to set him up with any number of discrete men she knew. She was positive that his not-breakup depression would lift if he just got back out there. 

Shane didn't think it was that simple. He told himself he needed to focus everything he had on his recovery, on returning the next season as good as ever. But deep down, he fantasized about talking to Ilya next time he saw him. Maybe he could work up the courage to say "What the fuck was that?" And he hoped he could deal with the emotional fallout of Ilya's answer. Whatever it would be. 

***

Ilya continued therapy remotely when he went to Moscow for the winter. Sometimes he had to wake up at odd hours to talk about his worst thoughts and memories, and then he'd have the whole day ahead of him to feel agitated and miserable. 

He had hoped therapy would make him feel better, but so far that wasn't happening. He had confessed to Ryan that he was seeing a therapist, and Ryan had been so thrilled. Whenever Ilya thought about canceling his next session, he thought about Ryan. Price was happier. Maybe if Ilya gave it a little more time, he could be well-adjusted like him. 

One afternoon, on one of Ryan's regular wellness checks masquerading as a friendly phone call, Price dropped a bomb on Ilya. 

"I'm seeing someone." Ryan sounded giddy. 

"That is great. Easier to settle down without all the travel, hm?" Ilya asked. 

"Definitely. I mean, we knew each other ages ago. His parents hosted me when I was in the minors." Ryan said casually, but Ilya bolted up at the pronoun. 

"Oh? Very sexy." Ilya teased. "Did you have crush on him back then?"

Ryan breathed an unmistakable sigh of relief. Ilya faintly wondered if he was the first person he had told. 

"Yeah, I thought it was so obvious too. Anyway, he's in Toronto. So the trade kind of worked out. Let me know when your schedule is out. I'd love for you to meet him next time you're in town."

Ilya nodded vigorously. "I would be happy to."

***

Spring training began as a balm for Shane's anxiety. Shane would probably miss the first few weeks of the regular season as he continued to rehab, but his pitches were all there. His irrational fear that his career was over had proven to be false.

The Metros roster looked about the same as last season, to Shane's dismay. He felt awful for resenting guys on his team, but the truth of it was that they didn't have a lot of depth in their lineup. He couldn't win them a game just by pitching his ass off, he needed the team to score runs. 

Like clockwork, Shane's stomach began twisting in knots as their first game against Boston approached. He had typed out countless drafts of messages to Ilya. Casual versions like, "Hey, want to meet up after the game?" to serious confrontations like "We need to talk."

In the end, he figured Ilya needed to take the lead. He was the one who said anything, and he was the one who ran away. If he regretted something he said in the heat of the moment, what was the point of Shane harassing him to talk about it? Deep down, Shane knew he was being a coward. 

***

Shane wasn't pitching in games yet, so he could have skipped this. He'd done some training in the morning and he could have used the afternoon to lounge by the pool in his and Hayden's rental. But there was a gravitational pull, or maybe just a streak of masochism that drew him to the game. 

Shane sat in the dugout with the other starters and scanned across the diamond. He could see Ilya moving in the visiting team dugout, patting guys on the back and laughing with his teammates. He made his way down to the far end and slung an arm around Troy Barrett. Shane could feel his eyebrows furrow. Everyone in the league had been surprised by the trade last season. Even more surprised when the dots connected as to why Troy got traded. Shane hadn't expected Ilya to get so close to Troy, but Ilya looked like he was encouraging him, gently shaking him to get a weak smile out of him.

The game began, and Shane immediately saw the flaws he had worried about. Mitty was pitching well, but Boston had a good offense that could string together walks and hits, and Montreal's batters just couldn't put anything together. Ilya looked incredible, like his old self. Last season seemed to be an anomaly, an inexplicable slump. 

Shane couldn't take his eyes off of him, but infuriatingly, Ilya never looked his way. As the game came to a close, Shane felt his throat tighten. Please just look at me, he wished. But Ilya returned to his dugout, high fived his teammates, and left for the team bus without a glance in his direction. The message was clear. Ilya wanted nothing to do with him. 

***

The team had wanted to go out for drinks to celebrate their win and enjoy the day off tomorrow. Ilya sat, eyeing Troy. He was drinking heavily. He had seemed out of it this morning before the game. In a sick way, it was a welcome distraction. Ilya had tried to train his thoughts on Troy, cheering him up and getting his head in the game. Anything to avoid looking in the Metros dugout and seeing Shane. Ilya knew he would have to face Shane eventually, but for now he could be stubborn and avoidant. 

Troy returned to the table with another drink, and Ilya had enough. He snatched it away from Troy and put a hand on his shoulder. "I need a cigarette. Come with me."

"I don't smoke!" Troy protested, but he trailed after Ilya. They had gotten close, Troy was living with Ilya and Cliff in their rental this spring training. Ilya could have sworn he heard Troy crying in the shower this morning, and he felt it was time to stop babying him. 

"So." Ilya said when they got outside. He flicked his lighter and took a drag. "Tell me. Why are you extra sad today?"

Troy blinked, swaying a bit. Ilya could see the lie rising to the surface, the impulse to deny it. But Troy took stock of Ilya's expression and changed his mind. 

"My ex got married today." Troy muttered. Once again, the juxtaposition was comical. Ilya had considered hurling in a trash can before the game because he would be 90 feet away from Shane. Troy had cried in the shower and then hit a home run when his ex girlfriend got married. 

"I am sorry." Ilya sighed. "She sounds very shitty."

Troy frowned, and then an odd expression crossed his face. He looked at Ilya, his gaze piercing him. "I can trust you, right?"

Ilya blew smoke out of the side of his mouth. "Of course. Barrett, we are friends now. Do not tell anyone I said that, though."

Troy cracked a tiny smile and nodded. He took a huge breath. "It’s my ex boyfriend. Adrian. Not a girlfriend."

Ilya was frozen. First Ryan came out to him, now Troy. Two men who were braver than Ilya. What was it that made him collect damaged, gay baseball players as friends? Maybe subconsciously he knew, recognized the same qualities in them that he tried so hard to hide from the world. Troy's face looked so nervous, and Ilya realized in that moment what he needed to do. 

"I am sorry. That is very hard, to go through such a thing when you cannot be honest with everyone." Troy's shoulders were slumping a little in relief. 

"I understand. I am bi." Troy's eyebrows shot up. Ilya realized it was the first time he'd vocalized it in those words. Svetlana knew he liked men. Shane obviously knew. But he had never labeled himself, given an identity to his attraction. 

"Wow. I...did not expect that to be your response to me coming out." Troy laughed a little, clearly stunned. 

Ilya shrugged. "Me neither. I have not told anyone else, really."

Troy nodded.

"So." Ilya was done with the attention turned on him. "Tell me about this Adrian, I need to know more about this man I hate."

***

The Raiders first came to Montreal when Shane was still rehabbing. Ilya was grateful. He still wasn't sure how he would fare the first time he faced Shane. When he would be unable to ignore him. 

He followed Shane's rehab progress, telling himself it was purely so he could prepare for their first matchup. But it was partly out of a desire to inoculate himself, as if looking at crappy pixelated footage of Shane would desensitize him. And a small part of him knew he was watching Shane's rehab starts with worry. The last time he had faced him, Shane had injured himself. And Ilya wasn't really sure he could stomach seeing that happen again.

After what felt like an eternity and no time at all, the Metros arrived for their first series in Boston. Shane was due to pitch the last game of the series. Ilya found himself wondering drily which night Shane would have selected to come over, if they had still been doing that. Ilya had never found a rhyme or reason for it, and had resented the stupid rule. He had wanted to spend every opportunity with Shane, and Shane had limited their time together. It was just as well that they had ended whatever this was, they had never been on the same page to begin with.

The first game was fine. Ilya managed to still avoid looking at Shane. Boston won, handily. The second game was troublesome. Ilya woke to dark cloudy skies and a notice on his phone that a storm was due an hour before the game. He showed up to the park to see tarp on the grass. 

"Forecast says the storm will pass in an hour or so, we're in a rain delay for now." Wiebe announced an hour before the game was due to begin.

There were groans in the clubhouse. A rain delay could drag for untold hours. Wyatt Hayes, their catcher, decided to fire up some nerdy video game. Ilya watched the team crowd in to play, and decided to get some air instead. Troy followed him up the steps to the dugout, always eager to escape the loud scrum of the clubhouse. Ilya stopped in his tracks when he got outside. Shane was standing in the opposing team dugout with Hayden, hood pulled up, chatting and looking at the sky. 

"Do you think we should go say hi?" Ilya whipped around to look at Troy in surprise. Troy was hardly a social person. Troy flushed. 

"Why would we do that?" 

"I don't know. We don't have anything better to do. And I've never had a chance to talk to Hollander. He's always been one of my favorite players to watch." Troy's tone was casual, but a vivid streak of jealousy cut through Ilya. 

He found himself glancing between Troy, who had an eager expression on his face, and Shane, whose eyes were trained on the sky as if his life depended on it. He didn't want to talk to Shane. Ever again, really. But he really didn't want Troy to talk to Shane, not with that hopeful expression he had on his face. 

"Sure. Let's go."

Chapter End Notes

1. RIP to Scott catching strays about his age even from Shane

2. Troy is finally here! I wasn't able to work him into my last fic, and I missed writing him.

3. The ice cream machine is based on a real thing that happened with my favorite team

Chapter 7: Rain Delay

Chapter Notes

Shane's eyes went wide as Ilya and Troy crossed the field, and Ilya immediately regretted indulging Troy in this idea.

"Hey, sucks about this rain, right?" Hayden offered the most banal observation as Troy and Ilya ducked into the dugout. 

"Yeah, what are you guys doing to kill the time?" Troy asked. 

"Shane and I are spitballing baby names." Ilya's heart lurched for a second, mind whirring through recent photos of Rose Landry. Was Shane about to be a father?

Shane shrugged. "Hayden never likes my suggestions. But he and Jackie better decide on something soon." 

Ilya felt his breath flooding back into his chest. Troy fell into easy conversation with them, riffing on the list of names Hayden had approved of so far. Shane caught Ilya staring at him, and his face briefly arranged into that awful, haunting, confused expression. This was such a terrible idea. 

"Pike, got a minute?" The Metros pitching coach poked his head out. Hayden collected his things and retreated to the visiting clubhouse. 

Ilya couldn't think of a good excuse to leave. And he really didn't want to leave Troy and Shane alone. 

"How are you liking Boston?" Shane asked Troy, apparently just as determined as Ilya to avoid each other. 

"It’s good. Way better than Toronto, really. Ilya's part of that." Troy said, and Shane's eyes flicked to Ilya. He almost looked proud. Ilya's gaze lingered on Shane's bottom lip, which was trapped between his teeth. He wanted so badly to suck on it. 

"Ilya, Troy! Come on, we need another guy to play! Someone has to be able to beat Wyatt" Bood had emerged from the Boston clubhouse, yelling across the field. 

"You go on." Ilya nudged Troy. It was like Bood handed him a gift, one he shouldn't be so thrilled to get. Troy sighed and trudged off. 

Shane adjusted awkwardly, leaning against the railing. "You're having a good season so far." 

Ilya wanted to roll his eyes. Shane making stilted, polite conversation felt like an insult.

"You had a busy off-season." He felt like cutting to the chase. Shane looked perplexed. 

"Not really. Lots of rehab, and time with Hayden's baby twins."

Ilya was momentarily distracted. 

"He already had twins? What the fuck is wrong with Pike? He cannot keep it in his pants?"

Ilya couldn't imagine three children under the age of three. Shane cracked a smile at that, and it made Ilya want to keep ragging on Hayden for the rest of his life, it meant getting Shane to grin. 

"Yeah, I know. He's going to have his own little baseball team someday." 

"Do you want that? Little kids you can turn into the next Cy Young winner?" Why the fuck was Ilya asking Shane this? His resolve to maintain distance had crumbled immediately. 

Shane looked appropriately surprised. "Yeah, I do. I really like kids."

Ilya tried to course correct. "I'm sure Rose Landry will be a great mother."

Shane frowned, processing. Maybe he didn't think Ilya paid attention to celebrity gossip. Embarrassingly, Ilya didn't all that much. Just Shane Hollander gossip. 

"I mean, she might. I don't know if she wants to be a mom, she's never mentioned it."

Ah. Hollander was taking things slowly. Probably progressing his relationship at a responsible and calm pace. 

"Do you want kids someday?" Shane asked, and Ilya stiffened, surprised that the question had been flipped on him. 

He was even more surprised by how honest he was. "I do. I love kids. I am good with them." Shane nodded as if he somehow already knew this. "I am...I worry about being a father. My own is not so nice." 

Shane looked so sad, devastatingly sad at that simple admission. "I'm sorry." 

They stood in silence, the rain was really coming down now. It fell on the tarp, a percussive rhythm that soothed Ilya. As much as his head was spinning, he felt cozy, standing here in the dugout in the empty stadium, talking with Shane. 

Shane surprised Ilya by breaking the silence. "How did you get into baseball?" Ilya squinted at him. "No offense, but I always wondered. I didn't know they really played it in Russia."

"Wow. You have really never read anything about me, have you?" Ilya tried to not be offended. He had read a lot of Shane Hollander interviews over the years. 

Shane looked surprised. "I never thought about that. I just spent so much time watching your game tape and reading scouting reports."

Ilya felt his insides go soft, imagining Shane poring over video of him. Which was a stupid thing to think fondly of. He had a movie star girlfriend, any thoughts of Ilya were strictly professional now.

He sighed and leaned his arms on the railing.

"I started playing because of my mother. She liked baseball because of her father. Do not ask me how an old Soviet man started liking baseball, he died when I was young."

Ilya stared out at the raindrops cascading onto the field.

 "She loved it. She found a small league for me to play in as a child. I was good. She paid for private coach, coach helped me get recruited by college in US." 

Ilya skipped what happened between his mother securing that coach and Ilya leaving for the US. He didn't know if he'd ever tell Shane about that period of his life. But the sport had been a salvation for him, an escape hatch. He put everything he had into it once he realized how badly he needed to leave Russia. 

There was a heavy silence between them, Shane seemed to be carefully processing what Ilya shared with him. 

"Your turn." Ilya prompted. Shane looked confused. "Nice Canadian boy, why do you play baseball and not hockey?" 

Shane laughed. "Honestly, the same reason as you. My mom is Japanese. Her family moved here when she was twelve. And you know, baseball is huge in Japan. Her favorite team is the Hanshin Tigers. Fans thought the team was cursed for decades because they threw a statue of Colonel Sanders into a river in the 80s."

Ilya didn't know who that was, and Shane realized, before waving his hand apologetically. "Sorry, the mascot for KFC? The chicken place?"

Ilya grinned. Of all the baseball curses and jinxes, this was an especially stupid one. 

"Anyway. My mom loves baseball. My grandparents loved baseball. I was always going to play baseball."

Ilya nodded. "She must be very proud."

Shane smiled. "She is." He toed the dirt a little. "I still worry. About not being enough." Ilya could feel how incredulous his expression was. Shane won Rookie of the Year and Cy Young back to back. He knew Shane was a perfectionist, but how much more could one expect from him?

"It’s a lot of pressure, being Japanese. There are so many great players from Japan, and sometimes I feel like...it's my responsibility to be part of that legacy?" The words were coming quickly from Shane now, as if he was in a hurry. 

"But then I'm also not Japanese enough. I haven't been asked to be on their World Baseball Classic team. And even if I did, I don't speak the language very well. I just don't always know where I'm supposed to be." 

Ilya hummed in agreement. "I understand that last part a little. I am mean looking Russian here." He gestured around him. "But Russia is not really home. It is not safe for me."

Shane squinted, confused. 

Ilya glanced over his shoulder, checking the coast was clear. Apparently he had to spell it out. "Russia is not safe for bi people, gay, lesbian, trans." He pointed at himself when he said bi, as if Shane needed it printed on a label to understand. But Ilya was starting to grasp that sometimes Shane did need that. 

Shane looked thoughtful. This was clearly news to him.

"Do you still go back? In the offseason?"

Ilya sighed. "Yes. My father is sick." He didn't want to talk about it anymore. "Let's talk about something else."

He realized that sounded presumptuous. At any moment, Shane might decide to go back to the clubhouse and hang out with his teammates. Talking to Shane had made the time fly, but he was aware that they had probably lingered too long. He needed to get answers before Shane left. 

"Tell me about Rose Landry." If it drove a knife through Ilya's heart, so be it. 

Shane's nose wrinkled, an adorable and confusing reaction to Ilya's question. 

"Uh. I don't know. She's great, I'm really happy we became friends."

Ilya felt like grabbing Shane by his shoulders and shaking him, he could not believe how hard it was to get the information he wanted. 

"She is your friend only?" Ilya forced out. "I thought she was your girlfriend."

Shane looked shocked, and Ilya immediately felt stupid. 

"No. We never went on a date or anything. Uh..." it was Shane's turn to look around, and then he leaned in and whispered. "We kissed one time and she could immediately tell I was gay."

It was the first time Ilya had heard that admission from Shane. He had wondered, often. He felt happy, a sense of pride that Shane felt comfortable declaring that. More than anything, he felt an overwhelming urge to laugh, one that he couldn't suppress. 

"Oh my god, fuck off. I can't believe you're laughing at me!"

Shane was chuckling too, and he shoved Ilya. It was the first time they'd touched since that awful moment on Shane's couch, and when he moved his hand away Ilya's arm felt like it was going to burst into flames. 

"Sorry." Ilya tried to contain his smile, but he was so happy. So fucking happy that Shane wasn't going to marry Rose and have adorable babies with her. 

They looked at each other for a moment. Shane's smile faltered, his eyes were darting between Ilya's. Ilya cleared his throat. "I should go. Do some stretches, rain looks like it will clear up soon."

Shane looked at the overcast sky and shrugged. "Sounds good."

Ilya left the dugout, and had made it a few feet before Shane called to him.

"Hey, Rozanov. " Ilya turned. "Let's see if you can hit my slider tomorrow." Shane's grin was so cocky, so playful. Ilya felt the tension in his shoulders ease. 

"Tell Pike to call for a changeup instead."

***

Shane felt about ten pounds lighter going into the last game of the series. He hadn't forced Ilya to explain himself for that night at Shane's apartment. Maybe Shane would never ask him to. He had accepted that their hookups were over. A very stupid, irresponsible thing that they had moved past. It felt like things had thawed between them, like Ilya wanted to be friends. Shane thought he could manage that.

Boston's lineup was not easy, but every pitch was working for Shane today. He had struck Ilya out in the first inning on a slider, and he had seen Ilya biting back a grin as he headed back to the dugout. Shane was hitless into the 4th inning, but Ilya snapped that with solid contact on Shane's 4-seamer. He was only able to make it to first base, and Shane felt the prickling sensation of Ilya watching him. Shane whipped around to throw to first and Ilya dove back, laughing. He was an obnoxious base stealer, the kind that made every pitcher nervous.

As Shane fired the next pitch, he heard the scramble behind him, dodged out of the way, and saw Hayden's throw to second base glance off JJ's glove. In a flash, Ilya tagged up and sprinted to third. He stood there, panting, smiling, staring straight at Shane. 

Shane was livid, but he also felt a sliver of happiness. They were finally back. Shane trying to figure out how to beat Ilya, Ilya tormenting Shane. He could live with this. 

***

Ilya was feeling like himself again. He was playing like an MVP again, he went out and partied and had fun. His therapy sessions did seem to be helping, or at least he didn't dread them as badly anymore. 

Having Troy on the team was a welcome change too. It seemed that he was truly ready to move on from Adrian, and Ilya had coaxed him to a gay bar when they had a series in Los Angeles. Troy had looked hilariously uncomfortable and barely talked to any of the men who hit on him, but he smiled the whole car ride back to the hotel.

When they played in Toronto, Ilya was able to meet with Ryan and his boyfriend. They were disgustingly in love, in a way that made Ilya's heart ache. Fabian had told Ilya all about his new album and upcoming tour, and Ryan had just watched him the whole time with an adoring and proud smile. 

"You are very lucky." Ilya murmured when Fabian excused himself to go to the restroom.

"I know, right?" Ryan sighed dreamily. He cleared his throat and gestured towards Ilya as if being madly in love was rude to his perennially single friend. "What about you, any girl that's caught your eye?"

Ilya fidgeted, and Ryan noticed, raising his eyebrows. 

"I am bi. I should have told you." Ilya confessed. 

Ryan looked bewildered. "Told me when? It's ok Ilya, it took me years to tell anybody."

Ilya nodded, crumpling the wrapper for his straw. 

"So..are you seeing anyone?" Ryan asked curiously. He knew Ilya didn't really date, and he no doubt wondered if this confession was because he had someone worth coming out to Ryan for. 

"No." Ilya grimaced. The expression seemed to be enough for Ryan. It was apparent that maybe there once had been someone, but it had passed. 

"Are you looking forward to the All Star Game?" Ryan asked, trying to change the subject. He had no idea that he had segued into the exact reason for Ilya's frustration. Of course he was looking forward to it. He would play with Shane for the first time in years.

***

"Oh hey, Hollander just got here!" Troy nodded over his drink. He and Ilya were the two Raiders representatives at the All-Star Game in Miami.Troy had done well this season, just like Ilya said he would. Last year he had failed to mesh with the outfield and he and Ilya had some ugly errors when the ball dropped into no-man's land between the shortstop's territory and the outfield's. 

This year, Troy was more calm, level headed. Right now, however, he had an eager gleam in his eyes that betrayed an excitement. It made Ilya's nerves feel like they were screaming. 

He stole a look over at Shane, who was shaking hands with Scott Hunter. Shane looked so serious, as if he was meeting the president. Not an aging relic of a pitcher that Shane had played against numerous times. 

"He's really cute, isn't he?" Troy nudged Ilya.

Ilya clutched his drink as he took the excuse to stare at Shane. Shane wasn't cute. He was beautiful. He looked like he had gotten a haircut, and Ilya desperately wanted to run his fingers through it, plant kisses at the nape of his neck. Ilya had grown to hate the sensation of anyone's hands in his hair. It just reminded him of the way Hollander would grasp his curls, and that memory would make him distractingly sad. 

Ilya swung his gaze back on Troy. "What makes you think he would be interested?" He wanted to take the words back as soon as he said them. They were cruel and unfair to Troy. Troy was objectively attractive, and his quiet and sincere personality was probably exactly what Shane wanted. Besides,Troy hadn't even implied that he was going to hit on Shane. 

Ilya tried to convince himself that he was protecting Shane's identity. Shane wasn't out yet, he wouldn't appreciate Troy sniffing around and causing problems.

"Oh, he wouldn't be." Troy looked sheepish. "He's just nice, and nice to look at. And besides, he's straight. I'd never be brave enough to make a move."

Ilya felt like laughing. He had been something when he first hit on Shane, but "brave" didn't feel quite right. 

Shane noticed them staring and smiled, walking over. He seemed more relaxed these days. Ilya used to feel like Shane was a tightly coiled spring, that he might leap ten feet into the air if Ilya poked at him. 

"Hey, it's good to see you guys." Shane took a seat at the bar next to Troy.

"What were you talking to Hunter about?" Ilya interjected before Troy could say anything. 

Shane glanced back at Scott. "I was telling him how excited I am to be on the same team as him. It's never worked out before, one of us has always been injured."

Ilya thought back to the last time Shane was at an All-Star Game. They had laid in bed, Ilya cradling his hand while he pretended to be fascinated by Shane's blister. Ilya realized with a pathetic lurch that it was the closest he had ever come to holding Shane's hand. 

"He's having a good season so far. Not as good as you." Troy told Shane. It was the truth, but Troy said it sweetly in a way that made Ilya's stomach flip. Shane's cheeks flushed a little. 

Ilya found himself staring at Shane again. Was he just embarrassed by the praise? Or was he flattered by Troy? Cute, well-meaning Troy, who would be a much better fit for Shane.

"We'll see, there's a lot of season left." Shane shrugged. The statement hung in the air for Ilya. There was a lot of season left to pretend that he didn't want Shane, badly. And then another season, and another. Shane was probably one of those lunatic pitchers who kept his body well-conditioned so he could play into his mid-thirties. He could haunt Ilya for his entire career.

The only shred of hope that Ilya could cling to was the fantasy that one day Shane Hollander wouldn't consume his thoughts. 

***

Shane was having the time of his life. He had been so nervous to attend All-Star weekend for the first time since he and Ilya had stopped hooking up. But things weren't as weird as he thought they'd be, and it was nice to spend so much time together. Shane enjoyed getting to know Troy. It seemed like every time Troy popped up, Ilya was not far behind. The two were practically inseparable. 

Scott Hunter had patiently shown Shane his pitch grips for his splitter and changeup, and had sheepishly admitted some of his game day routines and superstitions. It felt like the beginnings of friendship, and Shane couldn't be happier about it. 

Shane got to pitch the first inning, and he caught Ilya's gaze as he walked to the mound. Ilya's smile was playful. It reminded Shane of their handful of mound visits, and how much fun Ilya had messing with him. Shane pitched a clean inning, and as they moved to the dugout he felt a tiny stab of sadness that there had been no reason for a mound visit, no reason for Ilya to stand close to him and flash those mischievous hazel eyes at him. 

After the game, most of the players converged at a club in South Beach. Shane would have rather stayed in, but it was his last chance to spend time around Ilya before the season started back up and their interactions were limited to their on-field rivalry. 

The moment he stepped foot in the club, Shane regretted it. The music was too loud for him to really talk to anyone. The strobe lighting was overwhelming, and Shane didn't dance. The players had broken off, as they often did, by position. Shane found himself with a cluster of pitchers, Ilya and Troy were at a separate table full of infielders where Troy the lone outfielder. 

As he often did when he was overwhelmed in a social setting, Shane promised himself that he could do a half-hour. In 30 minutes, if he was still miserable, he would give himself permission to leave. Scott Hunter glanced at his phone and excused himself, leaving the spot next to Shane open. 

Shane was checking the time when Troy slid next to him. Shane's eyes automatically scanned for Ilya, but he didn't see him. 

"Where do the Metros head to next?" Troy asked, half-yelling. 

"Tampa."

Troy nodded. "We're headed to Toronto."

"How is that, going back there?" Shane hadn't talked to Troy about the circumstances of his trade, the state of things left in Toronto. Dallas Kent had been reinstated from suspension, but he was performing terribly. 

Troy said something that Shane couldn't make out. Shane shook his head and cupped his ear. 

Troy leaned in. "It’s terrible," he confessed. 

Shane had to laugh at his honesty. There were so many shitty things in baseball that they were supposed to be fine with. He had expected Troy to say something about how he didn't let it get to him, water off a duck's back, all kinds of canned responses he had heard in post-game interviews.

Troy laughed too, relieved that Shane found the humor in it. There was a movement behind Troy, and Shane saw Ilya striding past them. His eyes followed his path through the crowd as Troy talked about the next few stops in their schedule. Shane's stomach started to sink when he saw Ilya move to the dance floor and immediately latch onto a woman with long blonde hair. 

In an instant, the two were making out. Shane couldn't tear his eyes away. Ilya had a thin glisten of sweat on him, and the club lights danced off it, making him luminous. Shane felt like a knife was twisting in his core when the woman reached her hands up to run them through Ilya's curls. He grabbed her hands and turned her around so she was grinding on him. 

Shane realized Troy had asked him a question. "Uh. I'm sorry. I'm not feeling great, I gotta go." Troy looked concerned, but he nodded. 

Shane moved through the crowd to the exit, but he couldn't resist taking one last glance towards Ilya. As if burning this image in his mind would be helpful for him. 

His gaze found him easily, and he was horrified when his stare met Ilya's. Ilya's eyes were glassy, he looked like his thoughts had transcended a sweaty dance floor. Shane wheeled around and left before he could see whatever this hazy, lustful version of Ilya did next.

***

Dancing with this girl was not distracting enough. Ilya leaned down to murmer in her ear.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

She turned to him, smiling, and shook her head. "Only if we bring my boyfriend." She pointed to a booth where a man sat, watching them with an amused expression. 

"You have a boyfriend?" Ilya squinted.

"Don't worry, he's fine. As long as he and I can share." She shrugged. The invitation was tempting. But Ilya didn't want to risk being seen leaving with a man, and the time spent making that decision broke the spell for him. 

"No, thanks," Ilya squeezed her shoulder and walked away.

He had an uncomfortable suspicion that even a threesome wouldn't erase the image of Shane from his mind. Shane, cozied up to Troy, laughing at something Troy said. Shane, standing on the dance floor, brown eyes fixed on his. He had looked lost, unmoored. Ilya had an urge to find him, to seek reassurance that he was alright. 

Instead, Ilya found Troy. "I'm leaving," he snapped. Troy hopped up, visibly grateful for an excuse to get out of there. 

Their ride back to the hotel was silent. Troy enjoyed silence, it was something Ilya appreciated about him. But right now Ilya's thoughts were screaming at him, filling the void. 

It was stupid to be so jealous about Shane laughing at something Troy said. For all he knew, Shane had a boyfriend, and he was oblivious to the way Troy looked at him. Shane hadn't told him if he was seeing anybody.

 Ilya realized with a pang that he might never know. He and Shane would face each other on the field and see each other socially once or twice a year at things like the All-Star Game. Shane could fall in love and commit to someone, and Ilya would never even know. Their lives would run in parallel lines for the rest of their careers, and once they retired they might never see each other again. Ilya leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the car window and squeezed his eyes shut.

Chapter End Notes

1. I was happy I got to squeeze in a reference to one of my favorite pieces of baseball lore: The Curse of the Colonel

2. Who is everyone rooting for in the WBC? For me it's Japan or the DR.
*edit, I am also rooting for the Czech team because I love seeing pitchers who have day jobs as electricians

Chapter 8: Arbitration

Chapter Notes

Shane was tired of losing. He was tired of pitching seven scoreless innings while the Metros failed to get any offense together, only for the bullpen to let a run through that would lose them the game. Try as he might, Shane could not drag a team to the playoffs himself. 

So Shane found himself sitting on his couch again, watching Ilya in the playoffs. Ilya and Troy were both electric in the post-season. Clutch when it mattered most, playing with an intensity that shone through the TV. 

Shane had been embarrassingly turned on when Ilya hit a walk-off to win game 5 of the division series. Ilya had flipped his bat and screamed, and when he reached home plate he was beaming. It was more emotion than Shane had ever seen from him. 

Well, almost. That moment on the couch in Shane's apartment two years ago had felt like a glimpse. Terror, vulnerability. Feelings that Ilya probably regretted and buried deep. Shane would certainly never see them again. 

The Raiders fell to Houston in the American league championship, and Shane watched the World Series from his cottage. He had a brief fantasy about watching the World Series with Ilya there, before he corrected it. His true fantasy was winning a World Series, obviously. 

Shane was determined to get back out there and date this next season. He was just hung up on Ilya, fantasizing about watching TV with him because he hadn't experienced enough. There had to be some guy out there who could help him move on.

***

Ilya's MVP award couldn't have come at a better time. He was in his arbitration years now, and Boston had to pay up. To celebrate, he bought a house. When his realtor first walked him around, Ilya had a fleeting thought that Hollander would probably like it. Not that he'd ever see it. 

He spent less time in Moscow this off-season. His father was worse than ever, needing a full-time caretaker that Ilya had to arrange. His brother kept squeezing money out of him. And his former routines of partying and mindless sex weren't fixing anything.

Svetlana could tell, and one evening when they'd finished hooking up, she slapped his chest. 

"Where were you, just now?"

Ilya squinted at her, feigning ignorance. 

"Ilyusha, do not play dumb. You can just tell me if you weren't really in the mood." She was exasperated. 

Ilya dragged his hand down his face, feeling like shit. It wasn't that he wasn't in the mood. It was that sex wasn't filling the void it used to. It distracted him for shorter and shorter periods of time, and in the clarity after he came, he was flooded with thoughts of Hollander. 

"I am sorry. I did want to. I am a bad friend." 

Svetlana's eyes softened. "Is this the same person?"

Ilya didn't say anything, and he didn't need to. 

"Have you tried anything? Reaching out, trying again?"

Ilya shook his head firmly. He knew if he didn't explain, she would push. "It is a man." Her eyes flashed with understanding. "And he is not out. And I cannot be out. I think..." He struggled to explain it. "He could really hurt me."

It was true. If Shane twisted Ilya's insides this badly from a distance, he couldn't imagine actually trying to confess his feelings to Shane. The rejection would crush Ilya. 

Svetlana kissed his temple, and they laid there. Ilya had finally told the truth, a fraction of it. The admission didn't make him feel any better. 

***

"The Metros are lowballing you. Two Cy Youngs, you should be making twice what they offered." Shane's agent was ranting on the phone to him. Arbitration was not going well. Montreal was known for being cheap, but it had been a little insulting what they offered. If they couldn't budge, it would go to an arbitration board to determine how much Shane was worth, and he felt confident that they would side with him. 

Which is exactly what happened. Grateful that arbitration was over, Shane went up to his cottage to enjoy some of the final weeks before spring training. One afternoon, when he was prepping dinner, his agent called.

"Shane, they're trading you." 

Shane almost dropped his phone. "Can they even do that? Is this because they can't afford me? Because fuck them, they can afford me, they're just cheap."

"I know, I know. They're claiming it's to rebuild. Which is bullshit, who wouldn't focus a rebuild around a young ace who is under club control." His agent sighed, sounding like he was ready to burn Montreal's stadium to the ground.

Shane could feel a tear escape his eyes. He had frustrations with the team, but they were like family. And leaving meant he wouldn't see Hayden and Jackie as much, he'd miss so much of the kids growing up. He'd probably be far from his parents. Shane could feel panic rise in his chest. 

"Do we know where they're sending me?"

***

"No." Ilya was positive that Wiebe was wrong. He had called Ilya, jubilant, to share the news as soon as possible. 

"I know, I can't believe it either. The front office really pulled a fast one on Montreal. Roz, this is the missing piece we needed." Wiebe didn't seem to register the panic in Ilya's initial response. "Can you imagine how great we'll be with Hollander in the post-season?"

"Is it...are we sure it is happening?" Ilya had a wild hope that some wrench would be thrown, that there was a saving grace coming. 

"100% sure. He's working with the team right now to get an apartment."

Ilya felt an unexpected pang. Vacating Ilya's old apartment had meant saying goodbye to the last place they had sex. It was foolish to feel sentimental about it. And now he'd never set foot in Shane's Montreal apartment again. The one where he had laid himself bare for a moment, and then run away. 

Maybe that was for the best. This could be a fresh start for the two of them, free of unwanted memories.

***

"Should we ask Shane if he wants to rent with us?" 

Ilya almost dropped his beer. He had gone back to Boston for a few weeks before spring training, and Troy had met up with him for drinks. Troy, who apparently had soup where his brain should be. 

"No. Why would we want that?" Ilya spat out.

Troy frowned. "I don't know. He doesn't really know the other guys on the team, right? And we got a three-bedroom."

Ilya wanted to scream. They had picked a three-bedroom home for spring training because it was the last rental available with a pool. He would never have dreamed that choice would come back to bite him. 

"He probably wants to stay with Hazy." Ilya wasn't sure if Wyatt had room in his house, but it was common for pitchers to stay with catchers. They could be data nerds together and go over scouting reports to their hearts content. 

Ilya had barely wrapped his mind around playing on the same team as Shane. Sharing a home with him for a month was unthinkable. Troy sharing a home with Shane was completely out of the question. 

Ilya showed up to Florida a complete wreck. Shane had already been there for a few weeks. The team had crowded together in the training facility for a meeting to kick off spring training, and Wiebe had introduced Shane to cheers and yells. It was the one time that day Ilya allowed himself to look at Shane. His freckles were dark, his cheeks flushed from all the attention. And as everyone cheered and clapped, his eyes briefly found Ilya's. Ilya tried to plaster on a casual smile. He could be normal. 

A few days later Ilya was watching their new infield prospect, Luca Haas, run drills with the coach. They hadn't decided where to put him yet. He had good range and speed. His batting was decent for his age. Not excellent yet, but Ilya could tell he'd get there with a little more time. 

Troy jogged up to Ilya. His blue eyes were gleaming with an excitement that immediately put Ilya on edge. 

"Shane's staying at a hotel. Wyatt's place is all full up." Troy delivered the news with the pleading tone of a child asking their parent for a sleepover. 

Ilya could feel his jaw clenching as he tried to think of excuses. "Maybe Hollander likes to be alone, in hotel."

That was the best excuse he could come up with? Ilya cast around desperately for some reason, any reason that didn't make him look like a total asshole to his friend.

Troy shook his head, and the dread settled in even further. "No, he said he'd be happy to leave. He just wanted me to check with you first. He said no pressure, though."

Ilya wasn't sure which of them he was more mad at. Troy, for his breathless hospitality and possible ulterior motives? Or Shane, for not having a second thought about moving in with Ilya for a month. If it didn't mean anything to Shane, Ilya thought petulantly, then why would it mean anything to Ilya?

"Sure. Fine." Ilya turned around before he could see how happy the news made Troy. 

***

Shane had agreed to Troy's polite offer because he was certain it was a hollow invitation, that Ilya would come up with some reason to say no. Shane would have done that, if he was in Ilya's position.

They hadn't really spoken since the All-Star Game, when Shane watched Ilya passionately kissing a girl on the dance floor. There had been some awkward waves or nods to each other in passing around games in the second half of last season. Shane had steeled himself in the weeks between the trade and the lead up to spring training, pictured over and over how he would be fine and normal around Ilya. 

There hadn't been many opportunities to prove it to himself. Ilya was steering clear of him, and Shane had wound up following his lead. It was easy to envelop himself in the pitching staff and not interact as much with the other position players. Which is why Shane had been caught by surprise when Troy found him in the back fields. Shane had been watching Wyatt work with the relief pitchers, gratefully eyeing the fact that their bullpen had more depth than Montreal's. 

Troy had been thoughtful and friendly, and Shane had assumed Ilya would be on the same page as Shane, and would shoot down the idea. Why had he assumed that? They were never on the same page. 

So Shane packed up his admittedly depressing hotel room and drove to Ilya and Troy's place. Ilya was nowhere to be found. Troy showed Shane to his room and then left to go do physical therapy at the training complex. 

Shane supposed there were worse roommates to have than Troy. He was always friendly, but he was quiet in a way that Shane felt a kinship towards. 

Shane unpacked, stowing clothes in his closet and dresser. He had a true off-day today, no throwing or weights allowed while his arm built up stamina. Shane eyed the pool. He could get some cardio in that would be easy on his joints. He turned back to his room to dig around for his swimsuit. 

***

Ilya pulled up to the house and sat in the driveway for a beat. Shane's ugly Jeep was there, Troy's car was not. For a moment, Ilya considered turning around and finding a way to kill time. It felt too challenging, too soon to be around Shane by himself. But he was being stupid and scared. He needed to just get over himself sooner or later. 

Ilya slipped in, kicking off his shoes and latching the door behind him. It was quiet, maybe Shane was napping. Ilya moved towards the kitchen to grab some water when he froze. 

Shane Hollander was swimming laps in the pool. 

***

"You are supposed to just enjoy the pool, not train for Olympics."

Shane whipped around. He had been catching his breath, arms resting on the warm tile lining the edge of the pool. 

Ilya was settling into one of the lounge chairs with a beer and cigarette. His golden curls caught the sunlight in a way that almost made Shane forget how to speak. 

"How are you stealing 30 bases a season as a smoker?" Shane's question was dripping with judgement. 

Ilya seemed amused. "I am just that good, I guess."

Infuriatingly, he was right. Shane had routines and health plans and scientifically backed data. Ilya had cigarettes and beer, and they both achieved the same result. Two of the best players in the game. 

"I am sorry," Ilya said. Shane could feel his eyebrows raise at the apology. 

"We only have beer and vodka in this house, no ginger ale. Troy did not tell me about my new roommate in time to go shopping."

Shane rolled his eyes. Ilya seemed to be having fun teasing him. Maybe they could really be normal with each other. They'd jumped so quickly from young rivals to…hookups? Rivals with benefits? Then they'd stopped speaking to each other, and eventually they had gotten to a tentative professional friendliness. Maybe now they could become actual friends? 

Shane hated the cold distance that had been driven between them before. Hooking up with Ilya fucked with his head. Ilya avoiding him fucked with his head. Being friends with Ilya would probably also fuck with his head, but he felt like he was out of options, and this was the only path that they hadn't tried. Shane had a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that it wasn't possible to just be friends with someone that he desperately wanted to fuck.

Shane hoisted himself out of the pool and toweled off. As he sat down he noticed that Ilya seemed fascinated with the label on his beer. 

"Thanks for having me. I know it probably wasn't your idea, but I appreciate it." Shane meant it. The hotel was lonely. He missed living with Hayden. 

Ilya nodded, still not looking at Shane.

"Troy is very...considerate." He seemed to choose his words carefully. 

They sat in silence, the only noise coming from a neighbor behind the tall hedge running their lawn mower. 

"Sorry you got traded." Ilya muttered. 

"Don't be," and Shane found he really meant it. "Boston's a better team. I'm tired of losing."

Ilya's eyes snapped up to meet Shane's, and for a moment Shane felt winded by the intensity of his gaze. A smile was curving across Ilya's mouth, that familiar sense of Ilya recognizing a hunger in Shane that he shared. They both wanted to win. 

"Yes, Montreal was a very sad team," Ilya smirked. "It will be even easier to beat them with you gone."

Then Ilya said something that made Shane doubt if he'd ever be able to move on from Ilya. 

“I am so glad I don't ever have to face your slider again.”

***

Ilya had stayed outside when Shane went in to shower. The last thing he wanted was to run into Shane, emerging from a cloud of steam, wrapped only in a towel. Watching him get out of the pool was torture enough. 

Ilya was startled out of his miserable contemplation by Troy coming home. He heard Troy and Shane greet each other, and hauled himself to his feet. 

Troy was in the kitchen, unloading groceries. Ilya hovered in the doorway for a moment, an uncomfortable feeling squeezing his chest. Shane and Troy were comparing salmon preparation techniques. Ilya was struck with a thought, not for the first time, that Troy and Shane were probably well-suited for each other. 

They could be quiet baseball nerds together and eat brown rice, salmon, and unseasoned vegetables. Ilya had come inside with the petty goal of running interference, ensuring Troy didn't somehow sweep Shane off his feet. But here, watching a moment of comfortable domesticity, Ilya felt like an outsider. 

"I am going out to eat. Enjoy your boring dinner." He announced. Troy nodded, unsurprised. Shane shot him a confused look, one that almost seemed upset. Ilya grabbed his keys and left before he could change his mind. 

***

Shane left early the next morning. He had heard Ilya get back late, after midnight. He hated to think about where he had been, who he had been with. Shane ruefully wondered if he had been fucking someone in his car, the way he had fucked Shane years ago. 

Training was going well at least. They had their first game tomorrow. Shane missed Hayden, but Wyatt was an incredible catcher. He had good instincts, and his enthusiasm about Shane's talent was flattering. 

In the afternoon, Shane entered the clubhouse dining room. Troy waved him over to where he was sitting with Ilya. Shane sat and stole a glance across the table. Ilya looked like he hadn't slept well, his curls were a little rumpled and he had dark circles under his eyes. 

"Ready to face New York tomorrow?" Troy asked. 

Shane nodded, he was genuinely looking forward to it. "Yeah, I'm excited to see what Scott Hunter has been working on."

Ilya snorted. "I am surprised he is not retired yet."

Shane wasn't, really. Scott was like him, neurotic about conditioning and routines. "I like him. I hope I can catch him after the game, it's been a while since we've talked."

Ilya rolled his eyes, as if the thought of talking to Scott Hunter bored him to tears. 

Ilya had been friendly and teasing when Shane first got to the house, and then cold and distant. He was something in-between right now. Making jokes, but the humor wasn't reaching his eyes. Shane was tired of trying to figure out which version of Ilya he'd get in a given moment. It was hard to not worry that Shane was the determining factor. They had never addressed this thing between them, and were awkwardly forging ahead like it had never existed. 

Something needed to change, they needed a reset.

***

Ilya had barely slept. He'd gone out the night before, found a girl to hook up with, and left her place as soon as he could. It hadn't helped take his mind off of Shane at all. When he'd slipped into his bed, he was consumed with thoughts of Shane, sleeping just down the hallway from him. He and Shane had never slept together, not in the true meaning of the word. Did Shane snore? Did he talk in his sleep? What would it feel like to hold him while he dreamed?

Ilya had been in a lousy mood all day as a result. It was a funk he needed to shake out of before they played tomorrow. As evening approached he watched from the pool as Troy grilled chicken and Shane set out a salad he had prepared. Like they were two responsible parents and Ilya was a surly teenager waiting for dinner to be served. 

Ilya was quiet while they all ate, Troy and Shane chattering about the Admirals off-season improvements. As he cleaned up, he watched Troy and Shane sit in easy comfort as the sky dimmed to dusk. Part of Ilya wanted to just leave it at that. Stop lurking like a jealous spectre. But he couldn't bring himself to leave, so he found his way back outside with a bowl of ice cream. 

Shane was lighting a citronella candle and he looked at Ilya's dessert with amusement. 

"Troy was just telling me about your favorite breakfast spot in Boston." Shane smiled. 

Ilya wasn't sure how that came up as a topic of conversation. He loved this dingy diner where the wait staff gave him an extra pancake in his order. The coffee was terrible, and the bacon was always burnt. Troy hated it. Shane would probably hate it. 

"I will take you, if you want." Ilya shrugged. Shane nodded at him, his smile broadening. 

Troy stretched. "I should wind down. Read a little before bed."

Ilya suppressed an eye roll. Troy was reading a book about gentrification and the construction of the baseball stadium in Los Angeles. He had described it to Ilya breathlessly, and Ilya had been unsurprised that Troy could get so excited about such a boring sounding book. 

"Goodnight. You'll have to loan that book to me when you're done." Shane waved at Troy. 

Troy went inside, and neither Shane or Ilya spoke for a while. There was the whirring, comforting sound of bugs and frogs, nighttime symphonies that Ilya had grown accustomed to in Florida. Ilya tried to focus very hard on his cookies and cream ice cream, but he had eaten it quickly out of nerves, and he found himself scraping the last bite out of the bowl sooner than he'd planned. 

He looked up and was startled that Shane was staring at him. Ilya wondered just how long he had been doing so. 

"What?" He asked, his tone sharp. 

"Why did you say it was OK for me to live here? I don't think you want me here." 

Ilya blinked, he had not expected Shane to be this direct. He tried to cast around for the right words, but he didn't have a suitable excuse. 

"I do want you here. I am sorry." It was the truth, and Ilya cringed at how vulnerable it felt. He was sorry for driving Shane away. He wanted Shane as close to him as possible. Even the few feet separating them now felt like too great a distance. 

Shane's lips parted, he looked taken aback. His brown eyes bored into Ilya's, sending a shiver up his spine. 

Shane's eyes traced Ilya's face before he said something incredibly simple. "I want to be here. With you."

It was like he had lit a match. Ilya leaned across the table and grabbed his face, pressing his lips to Shane's. Shane groaned, an involuntary sigh that coaxed his mouth open. Ilya slipped his tongue through his parted lips, tasting him for the first time in years. It felt familiar and thrilling and terrifying. When Shane's hands threaded in his hair, Ilya felt like his eyes were going to roll into the back of his head. The action was possessive, as if Shane couldn't get enough of him, as if he needed to yank him as close to him as possible. 

Ilya's mind was racing five steps ahead, trying to think of how they could fuck without waking Troy up, when Shane broke apart from him. Shane's lips were swollen, eyes hazy. 

"Ilya, I..." Ilya started at the sound of his first name. It sounded beautiful coming from Shane's lips. 

"I don't think I can do this." Shane's words sent Ilya reeling. 

"What do you mean?" Ilya asked, desperation tinting every syllable. His stomach was lurching, a sense of dread stamping out the bliss and lust that had clouded his thoughts moments ago. 

"I mean...you fuck with my head. You fuck with my head so badly. I don't think you know that." Shane spoke quickly, as if he would lose all his nerve in a moment.

He was correct. Ilya had never considered that he had any real effect on Shane. 

"And I want us to be good. Like, on the field and off. I hated not talking to you." Shane sounded so fucking sad, and Ilya wanted to shrink away from the shame it made him feel. 

"I don't think I know how to do this thing with you and not get totally fucked up again." Shane's eyes were bright, as if tears were forming. 

Ilya wanted to get up and run away. He wanted to cradle Shane's face and apologize. He felt consuming, overwhelming guilt as Shane blinked at him. 

"Can we just try to be friends? We never got be friends." Shane whispered. 

Ilya's heart was crumbling into pieces. He had no idea how he could just be friends with Shane. He also had no idea how he could say no to Shane when he sat there with pleading sadness in his eyes. 

"Sure, Hollander. We can be friends." 

Chapter End Notes

1. Shane's circumstances only partly inspired by Tarik Skubal's arbitration the other month

2. The book Troy is reading is really good and not boring! It’s called Stealing Home by Eric Nusbaum.

3. Time to update the tags to include "forced proximity"

4. Sorry! Shane just doesn't want Ilya to run away again, and he thinks the most stable option is being friends.

Chapter 9: Away Game

Chapter Notes

Shane laid awake in bed. He and Ilya had just awkwardly stared at each other for a minute after Shane had begged him to stop kissing him. Ilya had cleared his throat after a moment and excused himself. When Shane went inside to go to bed, Ilya was occupied in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.

Ilya still wanted him. He had looked so hungry, pure desire in his expression. And Shane had thrown cold water on it because Shane was pretty sure he couldn't take another round.

If he hadn't stopped it, Ilya would have fucked him, and it would feel like there was nobody else in the world but the two of them. And then Ilya would leave, pretend Shane didn't exist, and Shane would fall apart.

The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

Shane finally fell asleep, fitfully, and when his alarm went off he was buried in a vivid dream about Ilya. Ilya staying in his apartment in Montreal instead of running away. Ilya telling Shane that this mattered, it was real, and he wouldn't leave.

Shane showered and got dressed and walked downstairs to Ilya cooking. Troy was sitting at the table and he smiled, evidently well-rested.

Ilya set out breakfast. Troy and Shane had identical plates. Egg white omelet, avocado, whole grain toast. His own plate was a breakfast sandwich with bacon.

"I didn't know you could cook." Shane regretted how how harsh that sounded.

"It’s kind of a tradition on game days in spring training." Troy interjected. "And he's nice enough to make stuff he knows I'll eat." Troy wrinkled his nose at Ilya's breakfast.

Ilya looked at Shane with a level, even-keeled smile. "I am just a nice friend like that."

He stressed the word so hard. Shane wanted to roll his eyes, but there was an unexpectedly earnest look on Ilya's face. As if he was trying to prove it.

See, I can be friends. I meant it, Ilya's eyes seemed to say.

***

Ilya had dreamed about this. Daydreams, when he'd watch the Metros waste another great start from Shane. Literal dreams, in the throes of sleep, where he and Shane played together and it felt perfect.

As they took the field, it felt incredible. But not perfect. Ilya was committed to Shane's request. If Shane needed him to be his friend, Ilya would try his hardest.

Shane was tossing a few warmup pitches from the mound, and Ilya felt a surge of excitement. A spring training game was even more meaningless than an All Star Game. But it was the first time that he and Shane were really, truly, on the same team.

They only played two innings together, the coaching staff eager to preserve Shane's arm. But as Shane walked through the dugout at the end of the inning, he caught Ilya's eye and smiled. He smiled so wide that Ilya thought his face might split in half.

Ilya was confident that Shane was feeling the same thing he did: playing together was going to be life-changing.

***

Shane's apartment in Boston was fine. He had to admit that the pre-furnished place did look a little like a hotel.

For a moment, as Shane moved into his apartment, he felt an ache of homesickness. Not for Montreal, but for his cottage.

When Shane built his cottage he hadn't used an interior decorator. At first he had worried about whether the blankets and throw pillows he bought matched. As he spent more time there, he found he didn't care. It was a cozy sanctuary, a place where he could curl up in the winter with a fire roaring in the hearth and snow flurrying past the windows. For a wild moment, Shane pictured Ilya there. Sitting on the couch with him, like they had all the time in the world.

***

The Raiders were opening the season at home, and the excitement from the stands was palpable. Shane tossed in the bullpen with Wyatt before the game, a sense of calm settling over any nerves. For the first time in a very long time, Shane knew his team could provide some runs. Ilya and Troy were consistent anchors in the batting order, but everyone up and down the roster could string together some walks and hits to be a truly pesky lineup.

As Shane walked to the mound, he couldn't resist glancing at Ilya. Ilya was staring directly at him with an eager intensity. There was an unspoken understanding between them. Playing on the same team in spring training had been everything Shane had dreamed of, and he knew Ilya was just as excited for the season to start.

***

Lily: do you want to come to breakfast with me and Troy?
Lily: it is a friend tradition

***

Ilya was kind of lying. It was hardly a tradition for him and Troy to get breakfast in Boston, but he felt an urge to prove to himself and Shane that they could truly spend time together off the field.

Shane was already waiting in a booth when Ilya arrived, and Ilya had arrived ten minutes early.

"What's good here?" Shane asked as Ilya slid into the seat across from him. He had a mug of black coffee in front of him that he had barely touched.

"Oh, almost nothing on the menu." Ilya grinned.

Shane narrowed his eyes. "Why did you suggest this place, then?"

As if summoned, Donna appeared at Ilya's shoulder.

"Ilyusha, happy to have you back in town."

The old woman beamed at him with a warmth that he had dearly missed.

"It is good to be back. Donna, you must know our newest starter, Mr. Hollander." Ilya nodded across the table, smirking at Shane's perplexed face.

Donna's smile only broadened. "Can't tell you enough how happy we are to have a real ace on the Raiders."

Shane blushed, and Ilya couldn't take his eyes off him for a moment. When he finally wrenched them away, Donna was already scribbling on her pad.

"Coffee and syrniki, Ilya?" She asked. Ilya nodded.

"Make that two orders. Hollander has never had any, I think."

Donna nodded and bustled off. Shane looked accusingly at Ilya.

"Why didn't you just say you like this place because it's Russian?"

Ilya shook his head. "It is not. Donna's husband is Russian. I used to live near here," he saw a flash of recognition in Shane's eyes that he tried to ignore. Maybe Shane recognized the neighborhood. He could tell there was an interest behind Shane's eyes at the knowledge Ilya had moved.

"I would come here because it was convenient. Started talking to Donna, turns out she has big soft spot for handsome Russian men. Now she makes me Russian breakfast."

Troy entered, and Shane waved at him.

"Barrett, I ordered for Hollander, but I do not think you want pancakes, yes?" Ilya asked as if he didn't know what Troy was going to order. Across the table he could see Shane's brows furrow a little, Ilya had knowingly ordered him something that Shane probably didn't want either.

Donna bustled up with Ilya and Shane's plates. The syrniki were piled high with powdered sugar and berries and a dollop of sour cream. She took Troy's predictable order of eggs and whole wheat toast, and hurried off.

To Ilya's surprise, Shane started eating without any protest. When Ilya had first brought Troy, Troy had refused more than a bite of the fluffy pancakes.

Ilya watched Shane, who seemed to be begrudgingly enjoying his breakfast, and was reminded of how happy Shane had been that the evening that he'd told Ilya he didn't want to make any decisions. How pliant, needy, and sexy Shane had been when he was obedient.

In an instant, Ilya tried to throw that memory out of the window. They were friends. Being friends would be good for their game, and good for Shane.

"Troy, are you ready for our first game in Toronto?" Shane was smiling a little as he asked that, as if he and Troy had a private joke.

Ilya felt his stomach curl as Troy laughed.

"No, it'll probably be shitty. It does get a little easier each time. And we've got you now, I'm looking forward to seeing you strike out Dallas."

***

Ilya boarded the plane planning to sit by Troy or Cliff. But he noticed Shane sitting by himself, and told himself that he should sit with Shane, as if he were any other friend.

If it also prevented Troy from sitting next to Shane for a two-hour flight, that was just an added benefit

Shane only seemed mildly surprised when Ilya sat next to him. Ilya registered that Shane even looked a little happy.

"What do you usually get up to in Toronto?" Shane asked after the plane took off.

"I will see Ryan Price. He lives there now."

Shane's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't realize he would have wanted to stay. He only played there for a few months."

Ilya shrugged. "His boyfriend lives there."

Ryan was out now, Fabian often posted adorable photos of the two of them on his Instagram. It hadn't really gotten any media attention because Ryan wasn't a particularly notable player, and he was retired.

Shane's eyebrows climbed even higher.

"You are shocked Price is gay?" Ilya was enjoying the expression on Shane's face.

"A little, yeah. I've never really had great gaydar though." Shane shrugged.

Ilya had to contain his smirk. Truthfully, Price and Troy had both caught him by surprise, but Ilya had been able to tell immediately that Shane was attracted to men, specifically him.

"Do you want to come to lunch with us?" He wondered if Shane would get tired of Ilya inviting him everywhere. Ryan had told Ilya to bring Troy several times, but Troy always abstained. He had heard how Dallas Kent had been an asshole to Ryan for the final months of Ryan's career, and Ilya knew Troy felt an inordinate amount of guilt that someone he had been so close to had been cruel to one of Ilya's closest friends.

Shane smiled, "I'd love to. Just don't order for me this time."

***

Ryan seemed genuinely happy to see Shane. They hadn't spoken since Ryan was traded from the Metros, but Ryan was still a breathless fan of Shane's. They caught up on baseball gossip while Ilya sat and watched. Ryan was so much happier these days, and it made Ilya hopeful.

Therapy had been helping Ilya. He still hadn't brought up Shane, but he was able to talk about his mother now without completely shutting down, and that was a milestone he never thought he'd reach.

"So, Shane. Tell me what it's like pitching with a competent offense." Ryan grinned as he dug into his lunch. Ryan had suffered through that Metros lineup and knew Shane's pain better than anyone.

Shane flushed a little. "I won't lie, it's amazing."

He shot Ilya a sincere, grateful glance, and Ilya could feel his insides twisting. Pride, happiness. An irrational streak of possessiveness, that he was able to help give Shane something he had deserved for years.

Shane cleared his throat and turned back to his plate, and Ilya noticed Ryan giving him a hard stare.

Unfortunately, lunch became a series of moments just like that. Shane saying or doing something that made Ilya involuntarily gaze at him with a sappy devotion, only to be snapped out of the moment by the sight of Ryan Price's eyebrows furrowing more and more.

The instant Shane got up to use the restroom, Ilya sunk in his seat, knowing what was coming.

"There is no way. Please tell me I'm reading this wrong,” Ryan said, leveling Ilya with a grim expression. "You and Hollander?"

Ilya groaned. "No. Not anymore."

Ryan's mouth dropped open a bit. "What do you mean, not anymore? You're looking at him like you have cartoon hearts coming out of your eyes."

Ilya covered his face with his hands as if he could force these heart eyes to retreat forever.

"Not for years. He wants to be friends."

"Years?" Ryan's voice went up an octave. "How long ago was this a thing?"

Ilya peeked through his fingers. "Started when we were in the minors. And we stopped the year he had Tommy John."

Ryan seemed to be mentally cataloging details that Ilya cringed at. His unexplained stays with Ryan during spring training. His foul moods. It probably laid out an embarrassingly clear picture.

"Ilya, what's the plan here? I don't want you to get hur-" Ryan was mercifully cut off by Shane returning, and he sent a glare towards Ilya that told him they would revisit this topic later.

Ilya picked at the remains of his lunch and preemptively dreaded Ryan's next wellness check masquerading as a phone call.

***

"Ok, Shane. I'm going to ask you some questions, don't worry about making them long answers. We're going to cut it together with a lot of guys on the team."

Harris, the new social media manager for the Raiders was busy setting up the shot of Shane in front of his locker. Shane liked Harris, he was also from Ottawa. Harris also wore about a million pride pins, and Shane had been happy to see that nobody on the team or staff cared.

"Ok, ready?"

Shane nodded. He hated these kinds of things, but they were part of the job.

"Favorite breakfast food."

"Egg white omelet." An unbidden memory of Ilya making breakfast over and over during spring training sprang into Shane's mind.

"Favorite city to play in?”

"Can I say Boston?"

Harris winked. "The fans will love that one. Ok next question, favorite memory from your career so far."

A vision flooded Shane's mind. Ilya throwing his arm over Shane's shoulder, asking him to come to his hotel room. Ilya turning a double play, the first time they were able to take the field together.

"Playing in the Futures Game when I was just a prospect."

Shane could tell the answer surprised Harris.

"That, or winning two Cy Youngs" Shane grinned, and Harris nodded.

"What are you reading right now?"

"Stealing Home."

For some reason, this made Harris frown. He glanced up at Shane.

"You're not the first person to mention that book today."

Shane nodded. "Troy loaned it to me. I kind of only read books about baseball, so it's up my alley."

Harris' cheeks were a little pink now, and he asked the last question.

"If you could play with anybody, living or dead, who would it be?"

Shane bit his lip. He was already playing with the only person he'd dreamed about taking the field with. He'd never played better, never looked forward to games more. Ilya seemed to be matching his intensity, his defensive plays were absurdly good this season. Last week he had practically rolled into a somersault as he snagged a ball out of the air and flipped to fire it to second base.

"Uh. I don't know. Babe Ruth, I guess?"

***

Ilya could feel himself scowling. Shane and Troy were walking together, barefoot, through the outfield grass. Players called it "grounding," and Ilya found it to be an incredibly stupid practice. Putting his bare feet on earth didn't do anything to center him before a game. He shouldn't have been surprised that Troy and Shane both liked it.

The two had grown close, just as Ilya had feared. Shane often tagged along with the two of them for meals when they were on the road. Predictably, he and Troy would always order the same boring, healthy option.

If Ilya was a truly good friend, he'd be trying to set them up. Two hot guys with everything in common, it made sense.

It wasn't that Ilya had lied to Shane when he said they could be friends. He was really trying. He had hoped that seeing Shane every day would finally numb his desire. That hadn't happened even the slightest. Instead, Ilya had noticed a thousand new things about Shane that he found irresistible.

The fact that he had learned Spanish, enough to speak with some of the players that usually needed translators. The way his nose wrinkled when someone spat sunflower seeds near him. How he always studiously watched the flight attendant as they went over the emergency information.

Ilya squinted across the field now, as if he could pick up on anything Troy and Shane were saying to each other. They seemed more focused than usual, their bodies hunched towards each other. Troy said something that made Shane crane his neck toward the dugout, past Ilya where he was stretching in the grass near first base.

Ilya snuck a peek, but it was just staff and players milling about behind him. Harris was filming Bood for some social media video while Cliff and Connors stretched. His stomach un-clenched a fraction when Wyatt ran up to them, pulling Shane towards the bullpen for warm ups.

He was struck with an incredibly stupid, painful idea. One that might force him finally move on.

***

"I need to tell you something." Ilya could see that Galina immediately gripped her pen. He was finally ready to talk about Shane in therapy.

"I think I..." He couldn't bring himself to say those words out loud. He swallowed and searched for something more neutral.

"There is a man that I care about. Very much. But he does not want me." Ilya felt like had just run a marathon, adrenaline was coursing his body as he slumped in relief, finally able to surface something that had tortured him for so long.

"I see. Can you tell me more about him?" Galina's voice was soft.

"I don't know if I am ready." It was the truth. Ilya felt like if he started talking about Shane he would never stop.

She considered this for a moment. "Has he told you he doesn't want to be with you?"

Ilya thought back to Shane, begging him to be friends.

"Yes. I hurt him before, I think." Ilya was twisting his curls, a nervous habit that usually soothed him. Lately it just made him ache for Shane's hands to be in his hair.

"Hurt him how?"

Ilya thought about Shane's face when he ran out of his apartment in Montreal. Avoiding him after, frigid distance.

"I pushed him away." It was the truth, in simple terms.

Galina pursed her lips. "Would you consider asking him if he wants you?"

She knew how Ilya would answer. He shook his head emphatically.

"I couldn't stand it." He whispered. "If he said no again...I can't do that."

Galina looked at Ilya carefully. "Are you alright with things as they are now?"

Of course not. Ilya was distractingly, upsettingly consumed with Shane right now. But the alternative was opening himself up for further heartbreak and hurt.

This is why he had developed a plan. A foolish, hurtful plan that he had no intention of sharing with Galina.

***

Shane was eager to get to LA for their next road game. Rose would be in town, and he needed to unpack whatever was going on with him and Ilya.

He had told himself that keeping Ilya at a distance, just being friends, would be the most stable option. If he wanted a clear head and Ilya in his life, this was the best way to do it.

What Shane had not prepared for was how intensely impossible it was to shut off his feelings for Ilya. He kept having the same recurring dream where Ilya didn't leave his apartment in Montreal. When he'd wake, emotionally strung out and longing to fall back into the fantasy, Shane would stare at the ceiling and wonder if it would have changed anything.

Being the first to come out in baseball felt impossible. Coming out because you were infatuated with your teammate seemed even harder. The Raiders might be accepting of Harris, but they'd probably trade Shane or Ilya if it ever came out. And Shane cringed to think about the possibility that he could sever Ilya from a team he loved dearly.

The Raiders didn't do team captains, but Ilya was as good as one. He encouraged the younger players, charmed the hardened veterans, and roped the shy players into conversation, made them feel included. He was the beating heart of the team.

Shane showed up to the airport moody and exhausted. He hoped to get some sleep so he would be rested for dinner with Rose when they landed.

Instead, Ilya parked himself in the seat next to Shane. Shane had to resist groaning. He was too exhausted to spend the next six and a half hours with frayed nerves and butterflies in his stomach.

"We should go out tonight." Ilya said quietly. "Go to a bar."

Shane looked at him, confused. Their hangouts had been limited to breakfasts and lunches. Ilya probably knew that even if Shane agreed to go to a bar, he wouldn't drink.

"Why?" Shane asked

"We go to a bar where you can find someone to hook up with." Ilya shot him a loaded look, and Shane felt like throwing up. He had not asked Ilya to be his friend so he could play wingman.

"I don't know about that. Rose and I are getting dinner." Shane tried to come up with an excuse.

Ilya's jaw tightened. "Bring her. More friends to help you get laid."

Shane winced. It was like Ilya was broadcasting "move on, you said you want to be friends. This is what friends do."

"I'll ask her. Ask Troy if he wants to come, too." Shane sighed, pulling out his eye mask. Ilya was staring at him with a stunned expression.

"Why would Troy want to come?" He hissed. Shane realized Troy must not have told him.

"He...uh...told me? About the thing he and I have in common?" Shane felt incredibly awkward trying to speak in code on a plane surrounded by his teammates.

Ilya didn't look any less stunned.

"He said you knew, he said he told you ages ago." Shane was terrified that he was wrong.

Ilya nodded. "He did. Just surprised he told you. Tonight is not really his kind of thing, you can invite him if you want."

The air was frigid between them again, and Shane couldn't stand it anymore. He reclined his seat and put his mask on, and turned away from Ilya.

***

Ilya woke to Shane's head tipped onto his shoulder and Shane's hand on Ilya's thigh. For a brief moment, it felt like a dream. Then Ilya's hard on jolted him to reality.

They were on the team plane, and Shane's hand inches from his crotch was creating a problem that Ilya desperately needed to conceal.

Internally groaning, he gently slid Shane's hand away and yanked his blanket up in his lap. His focus tonight was to seal Hollander well and truly away from him. Remove the possibility and longing by pushing towards someone. The only problem was that Ilya felt like it might actually kill him if that person was Troy.

***

"Shane, this sounds incredibly stupid." Rose sighed.

Shane frowned, it was not a particularly sympathetic response to him pouring his heart out. Rose could tell she had been harsh, and she reached across the table to squeeze his hand.

"It sounds like you've never stopped liking him. And he's clearly not over you. Why are you circling each other like this?"

Shane shook his head. "It’s not that easy. I'm not sure he even wants me like that, like a relationship," he saw Rose raise her eyebrows. "And even if he did. Then what? We come out as the first gay players, who are also on the same team and are in a relationship? It would be a disaster."

Rose frowned. "Don't women's sports have that all the time? Wives and girlfriends and exes playing on the same team or playing against each other?"

Rose was wonderfully, charmingly, not a huge sports person.

"It’s a very different fan base. Baseball is...so old fashioned." Shane struggled to think of an example that was easy to explain.

"Ok, like bat flips. Every other country, a guy hits a no-doubter home run, he'll flip his bat. In some countries like Korea they're like, really theatrical about it. And US fans complained and whined about how it was an 'unwritten rule' that players shouldn't do it."Rose was vaguely following his example, nodding.

"And it's just like, millions of fans like that. People who want us to shut up and play, and not look like we're having fun, let alone falling in love."

Shane wanted to clap his hand over his mouth as the words tumbled out. Rose's lips parted in shock. They sat for a moment.

"Ok. I hear you." She had a determined smile. "But we are absolutely going to meet this man in whatever bar he picks tonight."

***

Ilya was the most nervous he'd ever been. At one point those first hookups with Shane held the top spots, but tonight they had been dethroned. He was petrified for Shane to walk through the door and test Ilya's idiotic, last ditch effort to preserve his heart.

The nerves had begun to scream at him when Shane had given him unexpected pushback. He had sent Shane a gay bar they could meet at, somewhere that looked quieter. He thought Shane might prefer that. Shane had rapidly replied, rejecting the idea.

Jane: not that one. let's find somewhere else.

So Ilya had to settle for something a little louder, with dancing. Shane and Troy would hate it, and they'd probably bond over that and leave together.

Ilya sipped his drink, forcing himself to recenter.

"Anyone catch your eye?" Ilya asked Troy, nodding towards the dance floor. As expected, multiple men were admiring Troy.

Troy shook his head, flushing a little under the dim bar lights. "Nobody here."

Before Ilya had time to unpack that chilling statement, his attention flitted over Troy's shoulder to the doorway. Shane entered with Rose on his arm. Ilya hadn't imagined he'd ever meet her, this woman who he had resented for months.

They walked up, Rose beaming with a glint in her eye.

"Ilya, Troy, this is Rose." Shane gestured. "I'll get us drinks."

Ilya watched his back retreat before he felt Rose's eyes drilling into him.

"Thanks for letting me tag along. I really needed to see this for myself." Rose was smiling that disconcerting smile again.

"Of course. Shane flirting will be funny." Ilya knew it sounded leaden as he said the words.

Rose pursed her lips, looking at Troy. "Yeah, not exactly what I meant. But that too."

Ilya didn't have time to dwell and analyze that, because Shane materialized with a drink in his hand, and a glass of champagne he passed to Rose. Ilya wasn't sure champagne behind this bar would be up to Rose's standards, but she tossed back half a glass and grabbed Shane's hand.

"Come on, dance with me."

Ilya was shocked to see Shane walk with her. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, but his patient smile showed that he'd probably follow Rose to the ends of the earth.

"You too." Ilya steered Troy to the opposite side of the dance floor as Troy blanched. It was a sweaty, packed mess, no real room for Troy's body to betray that he had no rhythm and definitely didn't recognize any of the songs.

They stayed on the dance floor for several songs, Ilya allowing himself to steal glances at Shane twice. Both times he was only with Rose.

Ilya was distracted for a moment by a cute, confident man leaning into his ear and asking if he wanted to go somewhere more quiet. Ilya smiled and said no, he was here with friends. When he turned around, Troy was gone.

He scanned the room and was horrified to see Troy talking with Shane, Shane nodding vigorously. He gave Troy a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, a tender touch that made Ilya feel winded. Then Troy turned around and left the bar. He had lasted maybe 40 minutes.

Ilya took a moment to collect himself and then strolled up to Shane.

"Where did Troy go?" He hoped he sounded casual. Shane's face showed him he did not.

"It’s not his thing. You were right." Shane shrugged.

Ilya ran his hand through his hair. "If you wanted to leave with him, you could." It pained him, it pained him so much. But he was at the end of his rope, no line left to cast.

Shane shook his head. "Rose is having fun." He nodded towards the dance floor.

Rose Landry was indeed having the time of her life, dancing to a Robyn song. In another world, Ilya would have loved to party with her. But now he just stood on the edge of the dance floor sulking with a polite Canadian.

"I meant...if you want to be with Troy. That would make sense." Ilya tried to not clench his teeth as he said it.

Shane's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Why would I want that?"

He sounded upset, almost mad. Ilya couldn't place the emotion bubbling inside of him.

"Is true! You two make sense. You like the same boring books, boring food. You are both very nice." Ilya knew what he was naming was insufficient.

Troy was one of the best people Ilya knew. If it had to be anyone, it would hurt so badly, but at least Shane would be happy.

Shane's mouth was screwed in a scowl. "Well I don't want to hook up with Troy. And for what it's worth, he's completely obsessed with Harris."

Ilya's ears were ringing. Two sentences that gave him a hope he hadn't dreamed of.

"You do not want him?" He needed to clarify that first.

"God, no. He does nothing for me." Shane sounded harsh, Ilya had to stifle a laugh.

"Harris? Social media Harris?" Ilya could now process Shane's second statement.

"Yeah. I shouldn't have told you, he's so stressed about it. He was worried you'd do something like this," He waved at the bar. "If he told you."

Ilya squinted. "Something like what?"

Shane sighed, and he suddenly looked so tired. "Force him to do something he isn't ready for yet!"

The guilt, a familiar guilt crept in.

"I am forcing you?"

Shane rubbed his forehead between his eyebrows.

"No, I mean I know I could have just said no. Rose just wanted to meet you, and I wanted to see what the fuck this was supposed to be about. And then I see you talking with some random guy on the dance floor and all I can think is that you dragged me here because you want me to get used to seeing you with someone else."

Ilya's heart clenched. He couldn't do this anymore.

"I don't want to be with someone else," he said. Shane's eyes snapped to his. "I...I was trying to be your friend. Hollander, I am an awful friend, I tried."

It was true. He had tried to desensitize himself, to think about Shane platonically, but it was impossible.

"Yeah, you're a terrible friend." Shane was smiling for some reason. It distracted Ilya for a moment, before he narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"I'm a bad friend. Ilya, I can't be friends with you." Shane continued.

His gaze was heavy now, and he was staring at Ilya's mouth. A shiver ran up Ilya's spine, it reminded him of that night after the draft, when Shane couldn't tear his eyes away from Ilya's lips. Ilya should have just kissed him back then. He realized with a jolt that Shane wanted to kiss him now.

"If you are bad friend, and I am a bad friend, what do we do?" Ilya had meant to sound flirty and cocky. Instead, it came out like a whisper.

Shane bit his lip, testing Ilya's resolve, and then he looked out at the dance floor.

"Let me go see if Rose is ok with me leaving."

Ilya's heart jumped to his throat as Shane made his way through the crowd to find Rose. He watched Rose's eyes widen as Shane crouched to speak in her ear, and she hugged him with an enthusiasm that made Ilya's limbs feel warm.

By the time Shane walked back up to him, Ilya had called a car for them. Shane grabbed his hand, leading Ilya outside. The touch was like playing with fire. The instant they were outside, on the empty street, Shane crowded Ilya against the brick wall of the building. His lips were on Ilya's, and all Ilya could do was keep up. Shane gasped as Ilya ran his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Their kiss turned messy and sweet. Ilya tugged Shane's bottom lip with his teeth, drawing a groan out of Shane.

"We should stop." Shane gasped. Ilya felt like he was sinking for a moment, but then he saw Shane's expression.

"The car. The car is going to be here any second." Shane was breathless, his eyes sparkling. He looked so beautiful. He grabbed Ilya's hand and kissed his palm, like a promise.

The car ride to the hotel was complete agony. Ilya traced his hand up Shane's thigh a few times, Shane wrenching it away when it would get too close to his crotch. Ilya could see the curve of Shane's smile, knew his face echoed Shane's. They practically sprinted out of the car when they reached the hotel. In the elevator, Ilya positioned himself behind Shane, whispering in his ear.

"Your room, or my room?"

Shane looked like his brain went offline at the sensation of Ilya's breath on his ear.

"Mine."

The word shouldn't have twisted so firmly in Ilya's core. But Ilya felt a resonance he couldn't ignore.

Mine. Please be mine.

Shane's room was, thankfully, near the elevator. Because Ilya was about a moment away from ripping off Shane's clothes.

Shane fumbled with the key card and the moment the door closed behind them, he was yanking Ilya towards the bed. Ilya threw him down happily, pinning Shane and taking a moment to look at him. He had spent years imagining this, and for a moment he worried that this dream would pop, like a shiny soap bubble. Shane reached up to grab his face and pull him closer, and Ilya could barely think. He began fumbling at Shane's clothes, rougher than he had intended, but he was desperate. Shane's breathing had already gone ragged.

"Do you..I want to fuck you, but I did not bring..." Ilya hadn't dreamed that he'd have any reason for condoms or lube. It would be fine if they couldn't fuck tonight, but he was absolutely going to a drugstore first thing tomorrow.

Shane turned pink. "I brought some."

Ilya didn't know how to feel. Shane had packed for a road trip planning to hook up with someone.

Shane ran his fingers through Ilya's curls, tugging. "It’s stupid. But I...I've done it every time we've traveled together. I don't know. In case."

Ilya's eyebrows shot up. "In case of me?" He could feel a smirk twisting his mouth.

Shane grinned at him. "I told you, I'm a bad friend. Ilya, I have no idea how to be your friend."

Ilya was incredibly grateful that they were both terrible at Shane's stupid proposal to be friends. He leaned down and began kissing Shane's neck. Scraped his teeth along sensitive skin and began whispering in Shane's ear.

"I never stopped wanting this," Ilya murmured against Shane's skin.

Shane gasped, grinding his hips up to meet Ilya.

"It was such a bad idea, trying to be friends." Ilya couldn't resist teasing Shane, laughing at the way he whined against Ilya.

"I know." Shane gritted his teeth. "Please just...please don't fuck with my head again."

Ilya stilled. The last thing he wanted to do was stop, but he needed to.

"I do not want to." Ilya lifted a lock of hair off of Shane's forehead. "I am sorry. I did not mean to."

It was true. Ilya had run away before out of a sense of self-preservation and overwhelming fear. Now, in front of Shane, that fear was clawing at the back of his throat.

Shane cupped his chin. "I'm scared." He admitted. Ilya nodded in agreement, mortified to feel a wetness form in the corner of his eyes.

"I think..." Shane hesitated. "I know I hurt you too. I don't know how we're supposed to do this."

Ilya knew what he meant. Shane, thinking ten steps ahead always, couldn't see a path forward for them. Ilya had spent too much time focusing on all their roadblocks. Even tonight, he had tried to throw another in their path. Right now he felt an unstoppable inertia, a desperate sensation that he'd plow through any hurdle if it meant being with Shane.

Shane pulled him in to kiss him, and the anxiety and over thinking shut off. The only thing Ilya could focus on was Shane's soft lips, his tongue stroking against Ilya's, his hands twisting in Ilya's curls.

Ilya began gently stripping Shane, throwing his own clothes on the floor. He laid back down on the bed, pulling Shane on top of him. Ilya had a momentary desire to stretch this moment out, to tease Shane as long as possible, as if the delayed pleasure would make up for lost time. But Shane grasped Ilya's cock and all self control flew out of the window.

"Fuck, Shane." Ilya moaned, and for an instant he was reminded of the fear he had felt in Shane's apartment, using his first name like it betrayed every feeling he had.

Shane crushed his mouth with his. "Ilya, I want you so bad, you have no idea."

Ilya had some idea, Shane was incredibly hard. Panting against Ilya's neck as he began kissing his way down his body.

Ilya watched in awe as Shane grasped him and licked the length of his cock while keeping his eyes trained on Ilya's.

Shane wrapped his lips around him, swirling his tongue and teasing the slit on the head of his cock. A moan ripped out of Ilya's mouth that made Shane sigh around him and take him deeper.

Ilya was reminded, for a moment, about the first messy and eager blowjob Shane had given him. How Ilya had been so taken aback by Shane's raw desire that he had almost come in thirty seconds. Shane was lavishing the same adoration on him now, humming as his eyebrows furrowed. It looked like his total concentration was on Ilya's pleasure, on worshipping Ilya's body. Ilya grabbed his hair and hissed.

"Shane, you are too good at that. Please come here."

Shane was grinning at the praise, and he obeyed, crawling back to Ilya's mouth. Ilya kissed him and then rolled him over, traveling his mouth down Shane's torso.

"I want to fuck you." He growled against Shane's stomach, nipping at his hip. Shane jumped and laughed.

"I want you," Shane sighed.

"I want to fuck you now. I want to fuck you in an hour. I want to fuck you in the morning. I want to fuck you tomorrow night, after we win." Ilya couldn't look at Shane as he made these admissions, trailing kisses down to Shane's thighs.

"Yes, please." Shane sounded like he was a million miles away, transported with neediness and lust.

"Yes?" Ilya had to lock eyes with him now, seeking assurance. "It will not mess with your routine, fucking me two nights in a row?"

He was only half-teasing, seeking reassurance that this could be different now.

Shane groaned. "Yes, I promise. Wiill you please shut up and fuck me?"

Ilya smiled against Shane's thigh and lowered to take Shane into his mouth, trailing a finger along his entrance. He dragged his tongue along the underside of Shane's cock, coaxing a needy gasp from Shane before he slid his mouth off entirely. Shane whined.

"Lube" Ilya explained as Shane looked down at him in protest. Shane gestured limply to his bedside table. Ilya had to fight off a smile. Of course Shane thoroughly unpacked for a three day stay in a hotel, he wouldn't leave his clothes in a suitcase like Ilya did. Of course Shane tucked lube and condoms in the bedside table, because that's where they were supposed to go.

He eagerly grabbed what he needed, slicking his fingers before resuming. Shane's moan pierced the air when Ilya slipped a finger inside of him, gently coaxing him open. As Ilya worked him, teasing and stroking and stretching, he was struck again with a sensation that this could all be a dream. Hearing Shane like this again felt like a dream.

When Shane's back arched off the bed and his hands fisted in Ilya's hair, Ilya pulled back. Grabbing a condom, he locked eyes with Shane. There was an adorable, shy smile dancing across Shane's lips. It was like they had some kind of inside joke, a shared understanding that this thing between them was unlike anything else they had experienced. It flooded Ilya with assurance.

Positioning himself, he looked at Shane for a moment as Shane nodded, and then he slowly pushed into him. Shane bit his lip so hard that Ilya worried he might draw blood.

"Oh my god, Ilya."

At the sound of his name, Ilya rocked into Shane, driving himself deeper. A breathy gasp escaped his lips, complete lust and admiration. Shane felt incredible.

For a moment, Ilya was in control. Reveling in it as he tortured Shane with slow, deep thrusts that made his eyelids go heavy. Then Shane started to speak.

"Ilya, please."

"Please what?" Ilya began running his tongue along Shane's neck, tasting the glisten of sweat that had formed.

"Please don't be mean." Shane whimpered. "I want you, I want you to fuck me hard. Please."

Ilya had no self control left. He growled into Shane's throat, hips snapping as he obeyed Shane. With every thrust, he felt Shane falling apart, giving himself over completely. Shane was moaning his name as if he had forgotten all other words.

Ilya couldn't think, and concealed his words in Russian.

"You're so perfect. You're so fucking perfect, and I don't ever want to let you go."

Shane was crying out as if he could understand.

"I'm yours. I'm so completely yours, it scares me so much."

Shane gasped. "Ilya, I'm going to-"

Ilya switched back to English. "Come for me, please come for me, Shane. I want you to come on my cock."

As if he had been waiting for permission, Shane's orgasm wracked through him, shuddering and clenching around Ilya, breaking any resolve Ilya had left. He pounded into Shane as Shane's fingernails dragged across his back, and he came with a ragged groan

"Fuck, Shane!"

Ilya brought his head to Shane's chest, slight aftershocks rippling through him. He was faintly aware of Shane stroking his hair, planting soft kisses on the crown of his head.

Ilya thought about the soap bubble again, how desperately he wanted to exist in this moment forever. He buried his face into the crook of Shane's neck, and tried to ignore the fear that their bubble could burst.

Chapter End Notes

I was researching Russian breakfast items and it seemed like porridge is the most common thing to eat for breakfast. But I figured sweet tooth Ilya would probably want these cottage cheese pancakes.

Chapter 10: All-Stars

Chapter Notes

Shane woke early. A glance at the clock by his bed showed 5:30. He peered down. Ilya was wrapped around him like his life depended on it, face completely tranquil as he dreamed. 

They hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other last night. Too giddy about being in bed together again, too thrilled that one of them didn't have to leave to go back to a hotel or catch a flight.

When they were curled up together last night, Ilya had asked in a careful whisper if he could spend the night. Shane had been unable to resist. 

Lying there, first rays of sun peeking through the hotel curtains, Shane's mind raced. Not the same way it had lately, when he had been anxious and sad and trying to figure out how to not get hurt again.

He believed Ilya when Ilya apologized and said he didn't want to hurt Shane. Could see, painted on Ilya's face, that he had been carrying hurt from Shane too. 

So now Shane lay there and tried to think of a plan. Could they do this indefinitely? They had hooked up for years without anyone suspecting, but they didn't play on the same team at that point, and sneaking off for one hookup per series was an entirely different thing than being around each other and their team for 162 games.

Coming out was not an option. For all of the reasons they used to keep Shane up at night, and because Ilya needed to be able to go home in the off-season, and that wasn't going to be possible if he came out. 

Running away from this wasn't an option either. They had tried that and had failed. Last night had felt like a promise. Neither of them could go back to pretending. 

Shane tried to picture the future. Say they played for ten more years. Ten years of hiding. It felt impossible, but Shane had laid out every plan, and this was the only one that made sense. The only one that allowed him and Ilya to be together. 

He resolved to talk about this with Ilya. Later, maybe tonight, if he could get a word in before instinct took over and he ripped Ilya's clothes off. 

Ilya stirred for a moment. He nuzzled his head into Shane's neck and murmured something.

"What was that?" Shane asked, straining his ears. 

"I like you." Ilya sighed. Then he mumbled something in Russian that Shane couldn't make out. Something with "blue" in it? Ilya rolled over, in deep sleep, and Shane turned on his side to spoon him, burying his face in Ilya's golden curls. 

***

Ilya finally had exactly what he had dreamed of. Shane was starting, Ilya was positioned behind him at short, and he was going to be in Shane's bed tonight. 

He had asked Shane twice already if he was sure, if he hadn't reconsidered and wanted to go back to his rule that had prevented them from ever spending consecutive nights together. 

Sleeping in the same room was a little risky. Shane had woken him at 6 am so he could sneak out before any other players were up and milling about the hall. But Ilya would absolutely haul himself out of bed at the crack of dawn, limbs heavy, if it meant he could fall asleep holding Shane. 

Ilya forced himself out of that reverie as Shane came set. The batter made contact, and in a flash Ilya leapt for the ball. He caught it, landing on stomach, and popped up to fire it to first base for the first out of the game. He met Shane's gaze as he returned to position. Shane was smiling. It wasn't the soft, eager smile he had seen in Shane's bed. It was satisfied, proud. A confirmation that their chemistry on the field wasn't impaired by this thing between them. If anything, it might be better for it. 

***

Ilya snuck into Shane's at 10:30 pm on the dot. He had protested when Shane told him to come over at 11, so Shane had compromised. It wasn't likely that anybody would be strolling the halls tonight, especially with a day game tomorrow. But the last thing they needed was anybody spotting Ilya slipping into Shane's room.

The second he was inside, Ilya's lips were on Shane. It took a moment for Shane to regain focus, he felt completely drunk at the idea that he was about to have Ilya two nights in a row. 

"Wait." Shane gasped as Ilya started kissing his neck.

Ilya stilled, his body going dramatically limp as he buried his face in Shane's shoulder. 

"What, Shane?" Ilya's tone indicated that he had expected this. 

"I want to talk. First. About us." Shane's stomach was twisting with anxiety. He was pretty sure he and Ilya were finally on the same page, but he had read things incorrectly before. And he desperately wanted this time to be different. 

"Fine." Ilya straightened up. "We can talk." He smirked and tugged his shirt off before flopping on the bed, teasing Shane for daring to ask him to have a conversation. It took everything Shane had to not crawl on top of him. 

"I mean, we should talk about us, rules, whatever."

Ilya looked confused by the choice of words. "Rules?"

"Yeah, like...I don't really want you to see other people." Shane peeked at Ilya as he laid next to him. He'd always been jealous of the women Ilya slept with, he couldn't even stomach asking how many it had been. He hoped desperately that Ilya would be on the same page, that he wouldn't miss those hookups too much.

Ilya was scowling. "Good. I do not want you to see anyone either."

Shane sighed, and then Ilya brought up his idiotic idea from the other night. 

"Maybe we tell Troy. I do not want him thinking you are single." Ilya sniffed. 

"Ilya, I told you. He's got a huge crush on Harris, he is definitely not interested in me." Ilya's frown deepened, and Shane was struck by a realization.

"Are you jealous because you think he likes me, or are you jealous because he told me about Harris and not you?"

Ilya stalled out for a moment, he clearly hadn't considered it. Then he shrugged. "Maybe both. Harris is very nice, but Troy is stupid if he does not have crush on you."

There was a compliment in there, somewhere, but Shane pushed past it. "Do you want to tell Troy for real reasons?"

Ilya looked hesitant. They were getting to the harder part of the conversation. 

"Maybe. Not now. But maybe." Ilya was tugging at his curls a little. "I think he would be safe."

Shane nodded. He trusted Troy. His stomach flipped at the possibility of telling someone. Fear and excitement twisted inside him. 

"So we...I know we need to keep this secret." Shane promised. Something made him tug Ilya's hand into his, and Ilya's eyes went soft at the movement. "Do you think we can do that?"

Ilya nodded.

"I'm scared." Shane admitted. Ilya squeezed his hand. 

"What are you scared of?" Ilya asked. 

Shane wasn't sure how many things to rattle off. The deeper fears, that this wouldn't work out, that Ilya might decide to leave, and that Shane would fall apart...those fears he couldn't voice. 

"I'm afraid that we wouldn't be able to hide it. And that we'll get caught and we'll get outed and then one of us gets traded, or DFA'd so we aren't a distraction, or nobody signs us when we're free agents."

The words fell out of Shane's mouth so quickly, it was obvious he had been thinking these thoughts for too long. 

Ilya couldn't make eye contact, he was preoccupied with staring at Shane's hand as he squeezed it. 

"Do you...are you too scared?" Ilya seemed too nervous to speak more than that half sentence, but Shane knew what he was asking. 

Was it all too scary, too risky? It was, but Shane had accepted that his need to be with Ilya outmatched his fear. 

"I'm terrified." Shane sighed. Ilya's jaw tightened. "But I'm more afraid of you and I going back to what we were before."

Ilya's eyes snapped to his. A tiny smile was playing across his lips. 

"Before was not terrible," he teased. "One hookup a month, you kicking me out after an hour."

Shane groaned, lying back on the bed. "Fuck off. I never kicked you out. I never wanted you to leave."

Ilya pounced on top of him, evidently relieved that the hard part of their conversation was over. He began kissing Shane's neck again, softly this time. He leaned up to nip Shane's earlobe, and then he whispered something that made Shane feel like he was on fire. 

"I never wanted to leave. I always want to stay with you."

Shane decided they had talked enough that night. 

***

The team went on a win streak, leaving destruction in their wake as they criss-crossed the country on their road trip. 

Ilya had gotten a hit in every game and turned a particularly flashy double play that aired about a hundred times on SportsCenter that evening. Troy teed off a terrible pitcher in Chicago and got three home runs in one game. Shane had been lights out, pitching three scoreless starts. Shane's fears were not unfounded, Ilya had to admit. It was hard to resist pulling Shane in for a kiss when he'd get out of a jam or when he'd strike out the side. 

Harder still were the long flights between cities, when Shane would inevitably fall asleep with his head tipping onto Ilya's shoulder. All Ilya wanted to do was hold Shane when he slept, and on the plane he'd have to clench his hands to stop himself. Sometimes Shane would snore, soft little exhales that soothed Ilya. Reassurance that this was real, that Shane was within reach. 

Aside from airplane naps, they were getting little sleep. They were equally insatiable, and kept each other up most nights. When Shane would wake Ilya to sneak out, they'd have to go for another round, and then Ilya would slip back to his room and be wide awake at six in the morning, wishing he was still in bed with Shane. 

Which was why Ilya was in especially high spirits when they finally boarded the flight home. 

"Come over." He whispered to Shane. 

Shane bit back a smile. "Tonight? After we land at 1am?"

Ilya nodded. "Do you have something better to do?"

Shane shook his head. Even better, they didn't have a game tomorrow. They could stay up as late as they wanted tonight. 

***

Lily: 2886 Beacon St

Lily: hurry

Jane: hurry? Is everything OK?

Lily: no

Lily: it has been almost 24 hours since you sucked my dick, this is an emergency

***

Ilya's home was gorgeous. Shane dropped his bag in the entryway. For all of Ilya's texts about it being an urgent emergency, he patiently watched Shane wander and take in his home.

"When did you buy this?"

"After arbitration." Ilya said. Shane nodded. He had planned to buy a place in Montreal as an investment, but he had been traded too quickly. 

"You like?" Ilya was tugging at his hair, which made Shane's forehead wrinkle in confusion. He had no idea why Ilya would be nervous right now. 

"I love it. It's a beautiful house." 

Ilya's shoulders sagged in relief.

"Ilya, why wouldn't I like your house?" Shane was confused about how stressed out Ilya had been. 

Ilya shrugged. "Just want you to be comfortable here. Come, I have ginger ale."

Shane followed him to the kitchen, where Ilya poured vodka for himself and pushed a can of ginger ale across the island. 

Shane knew he should feel tired. That a nap on the plane was not replacement for real sleep, and he and Ilya should just go to bed. But Ilya was smiling at him with a heat behind his eyes, and Shane felt like he could stay up all night.

“Come,” Ilya gestured to the living room. He sat on his couch, and without thinking, Shane climbed on top to straddle him. 

Ilya grasped his thighs, slid his hands to Shane's ass to pull him closer. Shane rolled his hips, and Ilya tipped his head back with a groan. Shane began nipping and kissing at the sensitive skin along Ilya's neck, coaxing more broken gasps from Ilya as he rocked against him. 

“You don't have to be so quiet, we're not in a hotel anymore,” Shane teased. He loved how loud Ilya was being, but his comment had the opposite effect. 

Ilya immediately closed his mouth, eyes flashing. 

“Maybe I want to be quiet,” Ilya raised an eyebrow. “I do not know if you can make me be loud.”

Shane almost rolled his eyes at the blatant manipulation, but he was too turned on and competitive. He pulled Ilya towards him, kissing him as he ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Ilya shivered, staying silent. Shane moved to suck on his earlobe, something that always coaxed a sigh out of Ilya, but failed this time. He could feel Ilya thrusting up with every roll of Shane's hips, so he paused to yank Ilya's sweatpants down, freeing his cock. 

He stroked slowly, Ilya's breathing had gone completely erratic, but Ilya was biting his lips now to keep quiet. 

Shane needed to feel him, needed to find a way to make him come undone. He paused, and the moment he moved his band away from Ilya there was the tiniest whimper. He pretended not to notice, because Ilya looked immediately furious at himself for his lack of restraint. 

Shane pulled his pants down and grasped himself. The head of Shane's cock was already slick with precum, and he stoked himself for a moment while Ilya watched, his mouth hanging open like he was a vision. Shane leaned in to kiss him, roughly, as he grasped his cock and Ilya's. Ilya's back immediately arched off the couch, hissing as Shane stroked him and tugged his bottom lip with his teeth. 

“You still think you can be quiet?” Shane panted. Ilya looked both livid and enraptured as he nodded. 

Shane's hand sped up, squeezing gently as he lost himself in the sensation of Ilya against him, Ilya's hips bucking as his control frayed, and suddenly Ilya's resolve dissolving. 

“Fuck, Shane! Oh fuck you, that feels so good.” Ilya almost screamed it, as if holding in any sound had amplified his desire. He gasped raggedly and then moaned, a delicious, loud, window-rattling moan as he arched into Shane and came on his stomach. In seconds, Shane was coming, forehead to Ilya's, gasping for air.

They sat there breath intermingled for a moment, staring at each other. Ilya smiled and leaned up to kiss Shane. It was lazy, messy, and perfect. 

“I wanted to do that when you came to my apartment.” Shane confessed. Ilya's hand had been running across Shane's cheekbones and it stilled. 

“I am sorry,” Ilya whispered. They both knew which night Shane was talking about. “I was too scared.”

Shane nodded, forehead still pressed to his. “I was terrified. I'm still kind of terrified, you know? In a good way.”

Ilya smiled as he kissed him. “Yes. Me too.”

***

Ilya woke to Shane running his fingers through his curls. It felt so nice, he almost drifted back to sleep. 

"I love when you do that." He admitted, burying his face into Shane's chest. 

"Yeah?" He could hear Shane smiling. 

For a moment, Ilya wanted to give Shane a list of all the things he did that Ilya loved. But it was too early for that. Both literally too early in the morning, and in the scope of this tender, new thing between them. 

Ilya squinted at Shane. Ilya thought he had learned all of Shane's expressions. Focused and fiery on the mound. Thoughtful and warm when he's with friends. Passionate and blissed out when he's in bed. With a sting, Ilya thought of Shane's expression in his Montreal apartment, or his face when Ilya kissed him in spring training. That was pain, confusion. Ilya could tell in hindsight that it was also a little longing. 

Ilya studied this new expression and decided it looked like peace. Shane Hollander's brain had stopped overthinking for a moment. Ilya was overjoyed at the thought that he can quiet Shane like this, and he planted a gigantic kiss on Shane. 

"Oh my god, gross. We haven't brushed our teeth," Shane protested.

Ilya could not have cared less, but he rolled his eyes and got out of bed, because he had been through this routine enough times now in hotels to know that Shane would not kiss him any more until their breath was minty fresh. Ilya had learned to take his toothbrush with him when he snuck into Shane's room, like a kid going to a sleepover. 

Shane got out of bed and started rustling in the bag he had brought with him. Ilya chewed the inside of his cheek as Shane brought out a travel toothbrush. 

"You do not need that." Ilya said abruptly. 

Shane frowned. 

"I have a toothbrush for you, come." Ilya jerked his head to his bathroom and Shane followed, still clutching his toothbrush as if he didn't believe Ilya. Ilya reached into the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a fresh pack of toothbrushes, cracking it open and handing one to Shane. 

They brushed their teeth together, a routine that shouldn't have brought Ilya so much joy, but he had begun to associate it with morning sex, and morning sex with Shane was something he'd never dreamed he could experience. 

Shane finished brushing his teeth and clutched the toothbrush awkwardly. Ilya gestured to the toothbrush holder on the counter. 

"Shane, you have never used one of these?"

Shane flushed pink. "Are you sure?"

Ilya was both charmed and aggravated. Of course he needed to keep a toothbrush at Ilya's, Ilya wanted him there every evening and every morning. He'd been so happy that Shane loved the house when he'd arrived. All he could think when Shane walked around admiring it was "I knew you'd love it. When I bought it, I thought of you, and now you're in here and it feels like home."

Instead, Ilya pulled the toothbrush out of Shane's hand and stowed it in the holder. "Shane, I am sure. Now can we please go back to bed?"

***

"Hey Troy! Hey Ilya. Have you guys seen Shane and Wyatt?" Harris wandered up to them in the clubhouse. 

Ilya took a moment to watch Troy turn crimson. He still couldn't believe it, but Shane seemed to be correct. Troy had a huge crush on Harris. From the way Harris' eyes were pinned on Troy, it seemed that the feeling was mutual. 

"I think they are in the bullpen." Ilya offered, because Troy seemed unable to speak. 

Harris looked disappointed that he now had a reason to leave, and Ilya had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

"Troy, walk Harris over," he nudged Troy, who looked like he might combust at the idea. 

"That's fine, I know where the bullpen is," Harris waved Ilya off. 

Ilya thought about how much time he and Shane had wasted, pretending they didn't want each other. He really didn't want to watch it happen with Troy and Harris. 

"No, Troy will take you. Bullpen staff might not recognize you, Troy will make sure you get let in." Ilya's excuse was transparently fake, but Troy and Harris didn't seem to mind, and they departed together. 

In all honesty, Ilya would have loved to go with them so he could watch Harris force Shane to do another video for the Raiders Instagram. 

Shane had more endorsement deals than the average ballplayer. Ilya knew with a tinge of pride that Shane's marketability was in part because of how hot he was. But hours filming commercials and posing in photoshoots had not made Shane any more natural when Harris trained a phone camera on him and asked him to list his favorite movies. 

Before they had gotten together, Ilya had watched Shane's awkward clips countless times. Now he just watched new videos a few times with his head in Shane's lap, shaking with laughter. 

***

For the first time in his career, Shane wasn't particularly excited for the All-Star Game. It would be fun, but he would have rather spent the time holed up in Ilya's house in Boston, not pretending to be platonic teammates in Tampa. 

The Raiders seemed completely unaware of anything between the two of them. Even Troy hadn't noticed a difference when Ilya and Shane would go out to breakfast with him, but that might have been because Troy was completely absorbed with Harris. He had finally admitted to Ilya that he had a crush, and Ilya had reacted with theatrical surprise. 

So Shane went into the All-Star weekend confident that he and Ilya could fly under the radar. That resolve almost crumbled immediately when he walked down to the hotel bar and saw Ilya in a Hawaiian print shirt. It should have looked ugly, but he was annoyingly pulling it off. Shane wanted to yank him upstairs that instant. 

Instead, Shane walked slowly to the bar and tried to ignore the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

"Hello." He said, sliding next to Ilya. Ilya looked like he was going to burst out laughing. This felt like some kind of weird role play, revisiting their prior All-Star weekends when they couldn't figure out how to articulate the intensity of their desire for each other. 

"What's up?!" Carter Vaughn slung his arms around Shane and Ilya, beer on his breath.

"Hi Vaughn," Ilya rolled his eyes. "Where is your babysitter?"

The insult rolled off of Carter because he immediately knew who Ilya meant. "I don't know where Scott went off to. Excited to play with you guys. Truce for the next two days, right?"

Shane nodded. "Truce."

Carter spotted a player from Baltimore and ran off to give him the same spiel. 

Ilya was staring at Shane with an intensity that felt dangerous. 

"Do you want to take a walk on the beach?" He asked, tipping his head. 

Shane hesitated for a moment. They were teammates, it wouldn't look too bizarre for them to hang out all weekend, but a moonlit walk on the beach felt decidedly romantic.

Shane could see Ilya's eyes cloud as Shane took longer to respond, and that disappointment spurred him to make up his mind. 

"Sure," Shane's stomach swirled with anxiety, but Ilya's smile almost made it go away. 

***

Ilya couldn't believe how far they had come. A few years ago they were hiding in a car to hook up, and now they were walking on the beach in the moonlight. Shane looked so beautiful, and Ilya needed to tell him. 

"You look very pretty," Ilya nudged him. He knew Shane well enough to know that he was blushing, but it was too dark to see for sure. The further they got from the hotel, the darker it had gotten. The only illumination was the moonlight dancing off the surface of the water. 

"You look so good in that stupid shirt," Shane sighed as if it were a problem. 

"Not stupid! I like to get in the spirit," Ilya protested happily. 

Shane laughed, and Ilya realized he'd probably do anything to make Shane laugh. 

"I wanted to drag you upstairs when I saw you at the bar," Shane admitted.

Ilya grinned. "There is still plenty of time tonight."

"I don't know if I'll ever get over that," Shane said.

 Ilya's brow furrowed, he wasn't sure what Shane meant. 

Shane spoke quickly. "I just wanted you so badly for so long, and I'm happy that I don't have to pretend anymore. And I don't have to guess and wonder if you want me."

Ilya's heart ached. He could picture all too clearly, Shane lying awake in his bed, wondering if Ilya thought about him. He could picture it because he spent countless nights doing the same. 

Suddenly, Ilya was completely tired of holding anything in. "I love you."

Shane looked stunned, and for a moment Ilya considered the horrific possibility that he had read everything wrong. He wasn't sure what he'd do if Shane didn't feel the same way. Crawl into a hole and disappear forever?

"I love you too," Shane said it with a whisper.

Ilya knew it was foolish, that they were too close to the hotel, but the beach was dark and empty and Shane looked too beautiful in that moment. He caught Shane's wrist and beamed at him. They stood for a moment, and then Shane closed the space between them, kissing Ilya urgently. His hands twisting in Ilya's hair as Ilya moaned into his mouth.

"I love you. I love you so much," Shane gasped it as if the words took all of the air out of him. 

"I love you. I've wanted to tell you that for so long," Ilya whispered into his ear. 

Ilya couldn't get enough of him. He reached down, grabbing Shane's ass, pulling him closer. Shane groaned, a broken gasp as he ground into Ilya. Ilya had a wild urge to take Shane right there, right now, when he heard a voice. His insides froze and he leapt away from Shane. 

They stood there, Ilya's hair sticking up, Shane's lips swollen, as Scott Hunter strolled out of the dark. He was on his phone and came to a halt, staring. Ilya was uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had started to get hard from the kiss, and Scott's blush showed that he registered this fact as his eyes swept between Ilya and Shane. 

"Uh. Kip, I gotta call you back." Scott muttered into his phone. He hung up, and the three of them lingered in the awkward silence. 

"Um...you two..." Scott began. 

"You didn't see anything." Shane spat, and Ilya almost laughed. If Scott hadn't actually seen them, then Shane's response certainly confirmed why they looked so disheveled. 

Scott raised his hands as if Shane had a gun trained on him. "I didn't, I promise."

"Good. Hollander, we have nothing to worry about, right? Hunter is a nice guy, he doesn't gossip." Ilya's words were so aggressively sweet that Scott looked unsettled, but Ilya could feel a desperate, pleading expression on his face.

It was not lost on him that Ilya playing good cop while Shane did bad cop was probably not the most effective use of their skillsets. 

"Trust me. I'm so serious, there's nothing to worry about." Scott looked like he was going to laugh for some reason. 

Ilya noticed with horror that a tear escaped Shane's eye, and he patted it dry without thinking, before he froze again. It wasn't like their pretense was fooling Scott, but they must have looked terrified. 

Scott sighed heavily, and a mournful expression crossed his face. He opened his mouth, then closed it, mulling over his words. 

"Good luck, you two," he said, brushing past them. The words could have sounded dismissive, but from Scott they sounded honest. Almost pained. Maybe pitying.

Ilya turned to Shane, whose face reflected the same fear that was beating an uneven rhythm in Ilya's chest. 

Chapter End Notes

Not *that* much of a cliffhanger for us because we know Scott isn't going to out the boys, but I did find it hilarious in the show that Shane was so sure he was onto them. Had to raise the stakes that way.

WBC thoughts: I need the US team to lose. Their vibe is boring at best.

Team DR seems like a nonstop party, I'm so happy for them.

Cried over the Czech electrician getting a standing ovation in Tokyo.

Chapter 11: Post-Season

Chapter Notes

"Ilya, this is bad. This is so bad," Shane was pacing while Ilya sat on the edge of the bed, eyes following Shane like he was a tennis ball, pinging back and forth as Shane rapidly walked the length of the hotel room.

"Maybe not," Ilya was infuriatingly, improbably calm.

"What do you mean? Someone knows! Not just someone, Scott Hunter knows," Shane covered his face with his hands, mortified.

"He said he would not tell. I believe him." Ilya's voice was so steady, it began to soothe Shane.

Shane came to sit next to Ilya, breathing heavily. Ilya laid down, pulling Shane on top of him. He cupped Shane's face between his hands.

"Scott Hunter said he will not tell. He is an ancient man, but he seems honest. You and me, we are good. I will not let anything bad happen to my pretty, worried boyfriend."

Shane knew there was no way for Ilya to actually ensure that, but the words made his mind go blank for a moment.

"Boyfriend?"

Ilya wanted to laugh, Shane could see it on his face.

"What? I tell you I love you and think we are...casual?" Ilya's tone was teasing, but Shane could understand by now that Ilya's jokes sometimes shrouded reassurance he needed.

"I never felt casual about you. You know that." Shane brushed a curl from Ilya's forehead, biting his lip.

Ilya grinned. "Good. I did not either. I rented car just to fuck you because I could not wait a few weeks."

Shane knew that one. He grinned.

"I went to the All-Star Game with a blister, knowing I couldn't play, just because I wanted to see you."

Ilya's mouth dropped open a bit, eyes lit up with a competitive edge.

"I waited in the hotel lobby for you."

Shane's forehead wrinkled, and Ilya was grinning, enjoying his confusion.

"The night of the draft. I waited."

It was Shane's turn for his mouth to fall open.

"When we went for a run?"

Ilya nodded, looking smug.

"No, you weren't in the lobby. I would have noticed." Shane tried to visualize it, but all he could recall was Ilya surprising him when he was stretching outside.

"You did not. I thought you seemed...predictable." Ilya was smirking now. "So I waited in lobby. You went hurrying out, I followed you. We run, you look like you want to tear my sweaty clothes off with your teeth."

Shane buried his face in Ilya's chest. He was so embarrassingly predictable, especially when it came to Ilya.

***

Ilya was folding and unfolding his hands, hyper aware that Galina was watching his nervous movement.

"I have something new to talk about." He admitted. "I am seeing someone."

Galina looked a little surprised, before schooling her expression to something neutral.

"That's great news. Can you tell me about them?"

"It is the same man we spoke about before," Ilya's stomach flipped a little when he saw how Galina smiled at that.

She scribbled something down. "You said that you didn't think you could tell him how you felt. What changed?"

Ilya struggled with that question.

"I think I was too tired of pretending I was not in love. And so was he."

Galina nodded as if it made all the sense in the world.

"That's a big admission, have you ever been in love before?"

Ilya shook his head firmly. Nobody before Shane had consumed his thoughts. And he had come to realize that the second he had met Shane, there wasn't room for anybody else. Just this overanalyzing pitcher with gorgeous freckles, that he'd never been able to stop thinking about.

"We've spoken before about how your sexuality could affect your safety going back home," Galina looked at Ilya over her glasses and his stomach knotted. "Have you two discussed this?"

"A little. Not really. We cannot do anything." Ilya's words were failing him. The truth of it engulfed the room. What could they do? He loved Shane, he was impossibly happy, and he couldn't tell anybody. Not if he ever wanted to go back to Russia.

***

Troy: want to get breakfast? Not at Donna's, please

Ilya: why do you hate small local business :(
Ilya: Donna misses you

Troy: please
Troy: just you and me, no Shane

***

Ilya's interest was piqued. Troy had been an unwitting third wheel for weeks now, and it felt a little funny to see him without Shane. Across from him, Troy was fidgeting with his salad. Ilya didn't know they even served salads at breakfast spots.

"So. Anything new?" Ilya had a guess where this was headed.

"Yeah. I...Harris and I hooked up last night." Troy whispered.

Ilya wanted to scoop Troy into a hug, but Troy didn't look happy at all.

"Troy, this makes me very happy. Are you happy?" Ilya prodded.

Troy looked like he was going to be sick. "I am happy. But I also don't know what I'm going to do next. Harris is such a good person, and I spent a long time being such an asshole like Dallas Kent. And Harris deserves someone who's going to be out in the open with him. He won't say it, but I know he's not interested in having a closeted relationship. I just...I don't know what I can do."

Ilya sighed. Maybe one day in therapy he could analyze why one of his best friends and his boyfriend were so similar. Neurotic messes that worked themselves into oblivion, spinning out about the worst case scenarios.

"Troy. You like Harris?" Troy nodded. "Harris likes you?" Another nod.

Ilya shrugged, "Is a rare thing, finding someone who makes you happy. Do not stop yourself before you can even start."

The concerned divot between Troy's brows smoothened out a bit. Ilya knew it wasn't enough. He and Shane were in a similar stalemate, that all he wanted was to love Shane openly. But it was true. He and Shane had spent years trying to stop themselves before they could even begin, it felt like the only advice he could pass on was to learn from their mistake, and at least try.

***

It was the top of the 9th inning against the Admirals. Boston and New York were neck and neck for the lead in the division. Nobody on the team had spoken to Shane for three innings now, nobody but Wyatt would even make eye contact. The crowd was silent between pitches. Shane had one batter left.

He scuffed his foot on the mound, rubbed a wrinkle into the ball, and took a deep breath. Wyatt called for his 2-seamer, and he fired.

There was a gasp. A horrifying, ugly gasp from the crowd as the batter made contact. Shane whirled around to track it, only to see Ilya leap, a blur of motion. Ilya snagged the ball in his glove as he crashed to the earth, and the game was over.

The team mobbed the pitcher's mound, screaming and jostling Shane. He'd just thrown a no-hitter.

Ilya entered the fray, covered in dirt. He peeled Wyatt off of Shane, grabbed Shane and lifted him into the air before planting a kiss on his cheek. The team was so swept up in the moment, nobody batted an eye. Shane allowed himself a moment to lock eyes with Ilya, who was luminous with happiness. Shane thought his heart might burst in that moment.

***

The team scuttled into the clubhouse, yelling and cheering. Ilya had a wild, desperate wish to grab Shane and give him more than a kiss on the cheek. The sooner they could get to his house, the better. But the press wanted to talk to Shane and they'd want to talk to Ilya and Wyatt. Ilya showered while Hayes gave the first interview, Shane was likely in the training room getting his arm iced.

Illya emerged from the shower, thinking about all the things he wished he could say in the post-game. "Yes, I dove for the ball like my life depended on it. Because I want to win, and I want to give my boyfriend what he deserves. And later tonight he can give me a reward for helping him close out a no-hitter."

Instead, Ilya gave boring answers about how excited he was, how well the team played together. How Shane was a special talent.

There was a break in the interviews as the post-game show ran the highlights. Ilya started packing his bag, excited to see Shane at his place in an hour. His phone started buzzing. He looked at the caller ID and rolled his eyes. Absolutely not what he wanted to deal with today. He declined the call, but Alexei called again immediately.

"What do you want?" Ilya barked, swiping to answer the call.

***

Shane walked out of the post-game to a missed call from Ilya. He waited till he had gotten to his car to call him back. Maybe Ilya had some flirty, filthy thing to say to him before he came over tonight.

"Shane, it's my father " Ilya answered the phone. The sounds of drawers opening and clothes being thrown into a suitcase were unmistakable.

"Oh my god. OK, I'll come help you pack." Shane gripped the steering wheel, trying to calculate how fast he could get there.

"No, moy pomidor, I leave for the airport now. Cab will be here in ten minutes."

Shane's insides were growing cold. "Is he...?"

The background noise stilled for a moment, and he heard a sigh. "Not yet. But soon, my brother thinks."

"I...I wish I could come." Shane felt helpless.

The silence stretched between them, the worst of their situation laid bare. In any other world, Shane would go. He would drop everything in a heartbeat, book some overpriced last minute flight to Russia, and be there for his boyfriend. But he couldn't go be Ilya's boyfriend in Russia, and he couldn't disappear from his team without explanation. Shane had never felt more lost or more useless.

"I love you, Shane," Ilya's voice cracked.

"I love you," Shane whispered. For the first time since they'd said it, it didn't feel like enough.

***

Svetlana met Ilya at the airport and wrapped him in a hug. He had landed to a message from his brother that his father had passed. Sometime during the long flight to Moscow, his father had not been able to hang on any longer, and Ilya wouldn't ever get to say goodbye.

As Svetlana drove to his Moscow condo, he rolled that idea around in his head. It wasn't as if a goodbye would have gotten through to his father, with the state his health had been in. What did Ilya even want from a goodbye? He had known for years that there would be no closure. His father had been horrible to him, horrible to his mother. And then he was the only parent Ilya had, he got sick and became a responsibility, and now he was dead.

Ilya knew the numbness he felt was probably shock. But he wasn't sure how much sadness would break through, when his defense went down. In some ways he felt relief.

Svetlana parked and ushered him upstairs. When they got inside, she rubbed his shoulder and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Ilya blinked at the flat, exhausted. It had never felt like home.

The word home made his bones ache, reminded him of watching Shane walk around his house for the first time. He checked the time. It was four in the morning in Boston. He thought, with a rueful smile, that he probably only needed to wait an hour and a half to call Shane. That man woke so early.

Svetlana was bustling in the kitchen, pouring them drinks. Ilya sank into the couch. 11am vodka felt appropriate. Sveta sat next to him, handing him a glass.

"I never liked your father," she sighed. She knew it would get a smile out of Ilya.

"The feeling was mutual, " Ilya nodded. Truthfully, his father hadn't liked anybody. Not his family, not his new wife Polina, who would be cornering Ilya any minute now for money.

"How long will you be here?" Sveta adjusted to face him, her mind already calculating the next few days.

"Papa's funeral will be in three days," Ilya rubbed his forehead. His father had never been particularly religious, but he would have wanted to be buried the right way. Ilya would not be present for the 9th or 40th day after his father's passing to gather with the family and memorialize. For the best, because he didn't even feel equipped for one day of scraping decent things together to say about his father.

"I will leave right after. Three days is already so much." Ilya knew the fans and the media would gripe about him missing so much time with playoffs looming and a division lead that they were battling for.

"Do you want me to come back with you? I worry, you are alone in the US" Svetlana offered. Ilya's heart leapt, it was so kind of her to offer.

"I do want you to visit. But I am not alone," Ilya smiled. "Not anymore."

***

Shane woke to his phone ringing, he answered without looking. He had stayed up until 2am, tracking Ilya's flight, before his body betrayed him and he passed out.

Ilya was FaceTiming him, and his expression went soft when he saw Shane in bed.

"Did I wake you?"

Shane squinted at the time. It was six, the hour that Shane usually woke Ilya to sneak out of hotel rooms on the road.

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep," he rubbed his eyes.

Ilya dragged a hand across his chin. "I am not looking forward to sleeping without you," he admitted.

They hadn't spent a night apart since they had gotten together. In fact, this was the first time in weeks that Shane had slept at his own apartment. He had gotten Ilya to sleep there once, almost to prove a point to himself that he could get Ilya to follow him home. But Shane didn't really want to after that. Ilya's felt like an actual home. Slight mess, furniture that had been carefully chosen, cups and plates that didn't all come from the same set.

"Is your father..?"

"Yes, he is dead." Ilya looked so tired as he said it.

"Ilya, I'm so sorry," Shane felt useless, thousands of miles away.

"Can we talk about something else?" Ilya asked quietly.

Shane wanted Ilya to tell him every single thought in his head, but Ilya looked so fatigued and spent. Maybe he didn't have the mental space to translate the thoughts swirling in his mind. Shane tried to think of an easy topic.

"What does your place in Moscow look like?" Shane asked.

Ilya shrugged and then flipped the camera. Shane blinked. It looked...bland. None of Ilya's personality.

"This is living room, this is kitchen." Ilya stepped over to the sliding doors of his balcony. "This is view."

Moscow looked gray and intimidating.

Ilya walked down a hallway. "This is bedroom. That is it."

The camera jostled as Ilya threw himself down on the bed.

"Are you tired?" Ily asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Shane felt a surge in his chest. He'd never done this before. Maybe it would be good practice for the off-season. He thought with a pang that he didn't want Ilya to go anywhere for the off-season, he wanted him at his cottage.

"I'm awake now," Shane yanked his shirt off.

Ilya started laughing. "You are so fun. Nobody knows this about you." Ilya took his shirt off, Shane could hear him slipping off his pants.

"I miss you," Shane admitted as he grasped himself. Ilya's face twisted with a sadness that made Shane apologize.

"That's probably not very sexy."

Ilya shook his head. "It is. I miss you." His voice was so quiet. "I wish this was your hand on my cock," his teeth were gritted already.

Shane's strokes sped up, watching Ilya's eyes glaze in pleasure. Before he knew it, Shane was gasping for air. Ilya's eyes snapped.

"Shane, you can't come yet. Way too soon. You come when I tell you to."

Shane immediately released his cock, whining. "Ilya, I swear..."

"No," Ilya crooned "You like it. You like being good for me." Ilya moaned in harmony with Shane, who was incredibly turned on for someone who was completely untouched right now.

"You can touch yourself again," Ily sighed, pumping his fist. He looked beautiful, and so close to the edge already.

Shane's eyes rolled into the back of his head when he gripped his cock again. "Fuck. I wish you were here."

"What would I be doing if I was?" Ilya's head was thrown back in the pillow now as he groaned.

"I want your mouth on me. Want you to take all of me," Shane could feel himself teetering on the edge, and he released his cock, Ilya's command in his ears.

"Look at you, being so good for me," Ilya's eyes had a white hot heat behind them as his strokes slowed. Shane followed Ilya's hands with his eyes, mouth watering at the sight of his hard cock.

Ilya continued. "I spent so many nights in this bed, doing this, thinking about you," he sighed, eyes squeezing shut.

Shane's breath stuttered. As many times as he heard it, he was still awestruck when Ilya admitted how much he had wanted him, even back when Shane had thought it was a one-sided infatuation.

"You should have called me, back then," Shane started to move his hand again, slowly, slicking himself with precum. "I was doing the same thing."

Ilya laughed, a short, sweet laugh before his back arched off the bed, hips bucking, biting his bottom lip. The sight of him punched the air out of Shane's lungs.

"Fuck. Shane, I need you," Ilya's voice was so desperate, and the admission might have been the most vulnerable thing he'd ever said. The intimacy of it all made Shane lose his mind.

He was fucking his fist, wishing it was Ilya's mouth, wishing he had Ilya in bed with him.

"Ilya, please. I'm so close," Shane's plea was punctured with a filthy moan that made Ilya's eyes snap open.

"Come for me, Shane. I want to see you," Ilya's voice was raspy and low, commanding. His pupils were blown wide, lips wet where he had been biting them.

It was all Shane needed to tip over the edge, his release coating his stomach as he shuddered, eyes locked with Ilya on the screen. Ilya's orgasm wracked his body, shaking and cursing. They laid there, panting and staring at each other.

"Fuck," Shane's words weren't sufficient. He felt a physical ache, a knife twisting in his stomach as he stared at Ilya. He was so far away. He needed Shane. And there wasn't anything either of them could do about it.

"I love you," Ilya ran a hand through his hair, and the self-soothing motion broke Shane's heart. "I will be back in four days. Do not let Haas get too comfortable at shortstop."

Shane nodded, as if his biggest concern was the minor leaguer they had called up to fill in for Ilya.

Once he and Ilya hung up, Shane lay there, mind going into overdrive. He needed advice.

***

Jane: I think I'm going to tell my parents
Jane: if that's ok

Lily: about you, or about me?

Jane: about us

Lily: ok

***

Shane had pictured this differently. He had pictured it a million times in recent years, even more frequently once he and Ilya had gotten together. He wanted to sit in his parent's dining room with the man he loved and explain why he hadn't been able to be straight, why he couldn't help falling in love with such a complicated man.

Instead, he had FaceTime and tears. Because he felt sick with worry about Ilya, and his parents might help him feel better.

His dad answered the call and immediately looked panicked.

"I'm ok, I'm ok," Shane really should have led with a text saying that before he called.

"Yuna, it's Shane," Shane's dad placed his phone on the table, and the panic in his voice made Yuna whip around the corner.

"Is everything OK? You're not injured, are you?" Yuna's mind was immediately jumping to the last time that Shane called them in tears, when his UCL tore.

"I'm ok, I'm sorry. I should have told you that first," Shane wiped his eyes, embarrassed. He took a steadying breath.

"I'm gay," his parents exchanged a look.

"And I'm in love with someone, and he needs me right now, and I can't help him."

"Oh, sweetie," Yuna looked heartbroken. "It'll be ok."

"You're in love?" David looked elated, as if his brain had shut off at that part of the confession. Yuna elbowed him.

"Yeah, I am." Shane was miserable. This would all be easier if Ilya was with him. "You know him. Kind of."

Now his parents looked completely bewildered.

Shane buried his face in his hands. "It’s Ilya. Ilya Rozanov."

Yuna gasped, loud enough that David elbowed her now.

"I...I don't think we knew you and Rozanov were so close," David coughed.

"I thought we hated him, right? First draft pick, only player who can consistently hit off of you," Yuna winced at that admission as if it pained her.

"No, I never hated him," Shane sighed. "I've been in love with him for a long time."

His parents didn't seem to care at all that he had come out. Maybe they had guessed for a while. But their reaction to Ilya was about what Shane had imagined.

"Is he...can we meet him?" David looked like he wanted to peek over Shane's shoulder.

"He's in Russia. That's part of the problem," Shane's tone made his parents' concerned expressions worsen. "His dad died, he's there for a few days right now for the funeral."

"Shane, I'm so sorry. Please tell him we're thinking of him," it sounded natural coming out of David's mouth. Like they already cared about him.

"I'm sure it's very hard that you can't be there with him." Yuna murmured softly.

Shane felt his eyes watering again.

"It’s not just that I'm not there in Russia. It's everything, I don't see how we can be public while we're still playing. But it hurts so much right now. What if he gets injured while he's playing, and I can't go see him in the hospital because he can't have me as his emergency contact? What if someone finds out about us, and it wrecks our careers?"

His parents' faces were twisted with worry.

"Shane, one thing at a time. How about you back up a little and tell us how this all happened?"

***

Ilya was lying on his couch feeling sorry for himself when his phone rang. He had been hoping Shane would call him, but he was terrified to hear how it went.

"How did it go?"

Shane exhaled on the other end of the line. "Not bad. Good, I think? Probably?"

Ilya let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

Shane continued. "They want to meet you."

Oh.

"Maybe the next time we play in Montreal?”

Ilya tried to think of when that would be. He didn't track Montreal's schedule now that Shane didn't play there.

"But that won't be till next season. Maybe if we make the playoffs, they'll come to Boston." Shane sounded hopeful.

"Of course. I'd love to meet them," it was true, although Ilya felt paralyzed with fear at the thought.

"Um," Shane was still nervous for some reason. The hair on Ilya's neck stood up. "My mom wants to help us make a plan. If anything happens, if we get outed."

Ilya bolted upright. That wasn't going to happen, he and Shane would make sure it never happened.

"She just thinks we should be prepared for the worst," Shane continued.

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut. They had spent weeks dancing around the issue and pretending it would be ok. They both knew it already wasn't. Ilya was in Russia and he needed his boyfriend, and his boyfriend had to pitch tomorrow and pretend he wasn't worried and sad.

"Ok. I see where you get it from, all these plans," Ilya's tease sounded wooden and hollow.

"Ilya..." Shane's pause squeezed Ilya's heart. He wasn't ready to have this conversation, to dwell on the impossibility of their circumstance and their blind assurance that their love could withstand it.

"Shane, I have to go. I will call after the funeral, ok?"

Ilya hung up, and tried to ignore the tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

***

The memorial dinner was stiff and awkward. His stepmother cornered him for money, his brother cornered him for money. At some point between his father dying and his body going into the tomb, Ilya had decided he never needed to come back to Moscow. Svetlana could visit him in the US. He made peace with it. He would try to see if the Raiders could help him with citizenship. He'd figure something out.

Eventually, he had enough. He excused himself from the dour dinner table and texted Shane.

Lily: can you talk?

Jane: of course

***

Shane had a pit in his stomach when he answered the phone.

“How are you?”

Ilya sighed, static filling the phone. “Bad.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shane didn't want to push, but he had to assume this was why Ilya called.

“Mm. I think this is the last time I will ever be here.” Ilya's statement made Shane sit up.

“In Moscow?”

“Yes, Shane. I do not need to come back.”

Shane didn't know how to feel. He knew it was better for Ilya's safety, but he worried that Ilya would miss it, that this decision was being made out of anger and grief.

“Ok. How does that make you feel?”

Ilya laughed. “You sound like Galina, my therapist.”

Shane had no idea Ilya was seeing a therapist.

Ilya seemed to realize that as well, and continued. “I feel…happy. I hate this place. I hate that it hates me. I…it is the last place I saw my mother. And I am sad to give that up. But that is not enough reason anymore, to come back.”

Shane wondered if talking on the phone was allowing Ilya a freedom to loosen up, this was the first time since the rain delay that Ilya had mentioned his mother.

“Your mother is…”

“Dead, yes. When I was twelve.”

“Ilya, I'm so sorry. How did she die?”

“She swallowed a whole bottle of pills.” Ilya's voice sounded pinched, and Shane felt the ache of the thousands of miles between them.

“I'm so sorry.” Shane whispered.

“I…I wish…English is too hard right now.” Ilya choked out.

Shane bit his lip, straining to think of a solution. “Maybe you could tell me in Russian? I won't understand, but maybe it would help to get it all out?”

***

Ilya took a steadying breath. Shane's suggestion was a good one, in part because some of the thoughts swirling in Ilya's head had to do with Shane, and he wasn't brave enough to share them.

He began to speak, aware that his Russian probably sounded like an onslaught.

“I feel like a failure. That I couldn't be what my father wanted. That I wasn't enough for my mother to stay.

I wish she had met you. I think she would have loved you. I worry that I am like her, sometimes. And I worry that you will feel like you are not enough, when I am depressed.

I think you are all I ever really wanted. Maybe since the moment we met. And I want to believe that our love is enough, but I don't know how we are supposed to do this. It feels too hard and too painful already, and it will only get worse.

But I feel like I will completely fall apart without you. So I'm a miserable coward, and I love you too much.”

Ilya was sitting on a park bench now, his legs weak. He cleared his throat and switched to English.

“Ok. All done.”

***

Ilya came back from Moscow a little quieter. Shane had been waiting in his house and Ilya practically attacked him when he got home from the airport. But afterwards, when they were lying in bed, he just curled his head on Shane's chest and didn't speak for a long time.

The following weeks had many moments like that. Not just between the two of them. Troy would tell a funny story over breakfast, and Ilya would have a delayed response. Wyatt would say something nerdy and Ilya would completely forget to make fun of him.

The only place where he seemed the same was on the field. Shane would stand on the railing, pretending to watch the game, and his eyes were only ever on Ilya.

Luca Haas had done an admirable job filling in for four days, but Ilya's speed, agility, and leadership with the infield made all of the pitchers breathe easier.

Ilya was on track for another 30-30 season, he was already at 32 stolen bases.

Shane thought for the millionth time that he was glad he didn't have to face Ilya anymore. It had been fun and challenging, but it was so much better pitching with Ilya behind him, backing him up.

The team hung onto the division lead, securing home field advantage for the division series against the Admirals. It was Shane's first post-season, and the night before the first game Ilya alternated between teasing Shane about it, or just beaming at him excitedly, like he was waiting for Shane to open a present Ilya had carefully chosen and wrapped.

***

The series was electric. The first game was a pitchers duel between Shane and ancient Scott Hunter. Ilya scored the lone run of the game, a hit off of Scott, a stolen base, and a timely double from Troy.

Shane held the Admirals scoreless through eight innings, and the Raiders bullpen slammed the door. Ilya was once again consumed with a wild, nearly unstoppable urge to kiss Shane when they celebrated their first win.

Shane's parents were in town, and the day after Shane's start they came over to Ilya's for breakfast.

“Shane, are you living here?” Yuna's tone was scandalized, and Ilya almost choked on his coffee as he watched her assess the number of Shane's shoes on the rack in the entryway.

“Mom!” Shane was bright pink “No, I still have my apartment. You can see it tomorrow if you want.”

“It is probably covered with dust and cobwebs.” Ilya commented, enjoying the glare it got from Shane. It was true, Shane hadn't been to his apartment in days. Every once in a while he would go fetch clothes, and Ilya would set aside a little more room in the closet.

“Ilya, it's a very beautiful place you've gotten. Have you thought about putting a garden in?” David rescued Ilya from Shane and Yuna's stare down.

Ilya loved them. He loved seeing that Shane got his tenderness from his father, his drive and determination from his mother.

Yuna had briefly mentioned their backup plan if they were outed, but Shane shut it down. They had never revisited the conversation, probably because Shane and Ilya were both too afraid of it. Ilya's fear wasn't going away.

He loved Shane. He wanted to kiss Shane in front of everyone when they won the division series. Both of those facts were incompatible.

***

Shane was hanging on the railing of the dugout, every nerve in his body screaming. He had started the final game of the series and he rushed back out to the dugout as soon as the trainers gave him the all-clear. It was hang-on time, with Boston up by one in the top of the ninth, two outs already.

Carter Vaughn swung, and for a sick moment Shane's thoughts cycled through the outcomes. The Admirals were going to tie the game. They'd go to the bottom of the 9th tied, and Ilya would work that bizarre magic he always could in high leverage situations, and they'd manage to win.

What Shane wasn't prepared for was Troy climbing up the center field wall and snagging the ball out of the air.

The game was over, the Raiders were through to the championship.

Shane found Ilya in the scrum that was flooding across the field to mob Troy. Ilya picked him up and spun him in the air, and for a fleeting moment, Shane wanted to abandon any caution and kiss him right there.

The team popped champagne. Shane was riding the high of it all, he even drank a terrible tasting beer. The media kept pulling them aside for interviews, or taking photos, so Shane and Ilya didn't have a moment to speak. At one point Shane was getting interviewed and Ilya walked past, dumping a beer on his head.

When things started to wind down in the clubhouse, the team moved the party to Cliff's. Shane entered the party, already calculating the amount of time he would spend there before he left. What he wanted more than anything was to finally kiss Ilya, after this beautiful, exciting night.

Shane entered Cliff's. Some players were huddled around Wyatt's phone. Ilya was scowling, Troy looked like his head was about to explode. When Shane walked up, Ilya wouldn't even look at him.

“What's up?” Shane started to feel pure dread in his stomach.

“Scott Hunter is gay,” Bood told him.

Shane's stomach plummeted before his brain switched into overdrive. Bood had delivered the news with a neutral tone of voice, like he was giving a weather report. None of the men huddled looked disgusted, they weren't laughing.

Ilya still refused to meet Shane's eyes, but he thrust Wyatt's phone in Shane's hand.

Shane tapped to restart the video. Scott looked exhausted in his post-game.

“Scott, it's a hard loss. Anything you're looking forward to in the off-season?”

It was an easy, banal question. Scott should have answered it by talking about how he and the boys were going to train hard, put in the work, and show up to spring training ready to win the next World Series.

Instead, Scott stared at the reporter for the moment and then smiled.

“I'm looking forward to spending time with my boyfriend, Kip. This series didn't end the way we wanted to, but I pitched a hell of a season because of Kip. He's my biggest supporter, I couldn't do it without him.”

The reporters erupted into questions and Scott just stood and walked off.

***

Ilya had left the party first, even before Shane. It was a bizarre turn of events that the team was too wasted to even register.

He waited in his kitchen, sipping on vodka while already drunk. His head was spinning. A baseball player had come out, and the world didn't stop spinning on its axis. His teammates were surprised, but nobody had said anything shitty.

Ilya had been frantically checking social media. There were the expected shitty responses in the comment sections, but the coverage was overwhelmingly positive. Maybe this could change things for him and Shane.

Ilya heard Shane punching in the code for the door, and he refocused.

“What the fuck was that?” Shane rounded the corner, his eyes wide.

Ilya's shock and bewilderment evaporated as he looked at him. He started laughing. A manic, drunk, completely unhinged laugh.

Shane joined him. They stood there, doubled over, gasping for air. Ilya didn't know if he'd ever felt lighter.

“You think Scott Hunter cares that we're gay?” Shane laughed, wiping away a tear.

Ilya thought about Scott's stricken expression on the beach in Tampa, and then he started laughing even harder.

***

Ilya: hello dinosaur, I wanted to thank you for coming out. Very helpful for me and my lover.

Scott: I'm not that old.
Scott: And I didn't do it for you.

Shane: Sorry Mr. Hunter. What Ilya means is that you were very brave and we really appreciate it.
Shane: We're boyfriends, not lovers.

Scott: Thanks, Shane. That's very kind.

Ilya: it is ok, we know you feel responsibility as a queer elder

Scott: You do understand I didn't do this for you, right??
Scott: And again, I am not that old!

***

Shane sat in Ilya's bed, combing his fingers through Ilya's curls. Ilya's eyes were closed and he was smiling softly. They had a few hours before they had to head to the field for warmups.

“What are you thinking?” Shane asked.

Ilya slowly blinked his eyes open. “I am thinking you should not re-sign your lease this winter.”

Shane's hand froze. “Are you…”

Ilya smiled, “I would like you to live here, please.”

Shane could feel the smile on his face growing. “You're sure?”

“Yes, I am tired of pretending you have reasons to go to your boring apartment. I want you here,” Ilya grabbed his arm, “always.”

“Ok,” Shane could tell there was something else on Ilya's lips.

“And I want…” Ilya's eyes were darting between Shane's, hazel irises flickering.

“I want to tell people, I think.”

Shane felt his lips part. He and Ilya had excitedly followed the news around Scott Hunter. They had talked, in an abstract sense, of how this could help them some day. Shane hadn't wrapped his head around coming out so soon. He wanted to run all the possible scenarios like a scouting report, project the worst case scenarios and select the lowest risk option.

“Like…now?” Shane whispered.

Ilya frowned, evaluating Shane's expression.

“Not this morning. But maybe…” He grinned one of his wolfish, competitive grins. “Maybe when we win World Series?”

***

The ALCS was easier than their division series against the Admirals. Toronto had weaker pitching, and some of the games were complete bloodbaths

It was not lost on Ilya that he was playing with an added edge. Shane had said “maybe,” when Ilya half-jokingly suggested a coming out scenario that hinged on winning a World Series. Ilya wanted to turn that “maybe” into a full throated “yes.”

***

“Shane, that sounds really romantic,” Rose laughed over her coffee. She had gotten into town for the second stretch of home games in the World Series. The Raiders had pummeled Toronto in the ALCS, and were facing a stacked Los Angeles team in the World Series. The games had been close so far, Shane wouldn't have been surprised if it went to a game seven.

Shane was almost too wound up about the series to see Rose, but Ilya had practically shoved him out the door, telling him it would help Shane clear his head to go be normal with a friend for an hour.

As always, Ilya was right. Rose had interrogated Shane about Ilya, and for ten minutes Shane had gotten dreamily lost in describing their relationship. But the haze had come crashing down when she asked if they had considered coming out.

“Scott Hunter came out, even I saw that,” Rose raised her eyebrows. “Doesn't that mean you guys might be able to?”

Shane bit his lip. “I mean, that's what we're hoping. But I also think maybe we should give it more time. It's a totally different thing with us playing on the same team, and I just…I don't know if I can handle a bunch of fans or media saying our relationship would be bad for the team.”

Rose grinned. “I mean, it sounds like there's one way you can shut that conversation down.”

***

Shane was pacing in the bullpen. At the beginning of the season, he never could have dreamed that he would be here. The playoffs had felt out of reach when he was with Montreal. Ilya had felt even further from his grasp. Now he had a key to Ilya's house-their house-and he was up in the bullpen for the World Series.

Shane had pitched games one and five, but Los Angeles had taken them to a game seven. On short rest, the team could only ask Shane to try to get three outs in the ninth inning. They had a one-run lead, another beautiful run manufactured by Ilya's pesky base stealing and Troy's clutch hitting.

“Shane, you're up,” the bullpen coach nodded. Shane had never entered a game this way. As he crossed the field, there was a moment where he considered training his eyes down. Staying locked in, thinking of nothing else but the three outs he had to secure. The second his feet hit infield dirt, he looked up.

Ilya was gazing at him, a proud smile on his face. Shane felt an immediate sense of calm. They had done it. From the first time they had played together, they knew they could be something great. And now they had the best chance to prove it.

Shane took the mound, butterflies in his stomach evaporating as he imagined winning the game with Ilya.

***

Ilya's brain was almost completely blank. In high leverage moments, it was like a silence blanketed his mind and he only acted on instinct. Shane was down to the final out, he had pitched savagely so far, with an intensity that made Ilya want to rip his clothes off.

That could wait until they got home. Maybe tomorrow Ilya could nudge him about putting out a statement or holding a press conference, because Ilya could feel in his bones that they were about to win this, and he was going to ask Shane for permission to tell the whole world that he loved him.

Shane came set. Ilya took an inhale at the same Shane did. Shane fired his slider, that evil, devious slider, and the batter struck out.

The stadium erupted, it felt like the earth was shaking. Everyone was rushing towards Shane, but Ilya got there first, spinning him around. When Shane landed back on the ground, he grabbed Ilya's face. His cheeks were pink, his eyes wet with emotion. He'd never looked more beautiful.

“Is now ok?” He asked, and Ilya's heart felt like it was going to explode.

Shane crushed Ilya's mouth with his. It was messy and frantic. Before Ilya could grab him closer, before he could even think, Shane was ripped away.

Wyatt was lifting Shane in the air, Troy was tackling Ilya, it was complete chaos. Ilya locked eyes with Shane over the melee and knew with certainty that he'd never felt happier

***

“Shane, we're going to be late,” Ilya gasped. Shane shook his head, unbuttoning Ilya's pants.

“We don't have to leave for 20 minutes,” he said, pushing Ilya on the bed. Ilya's eyes flashed, the way they always did when Shane got pushy.

“Ah, you think 20 minutes is enough?” Ilya teased, but the cockiness evaporated when Shane took him in his mouth.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya threw his head back. Shane flattened his tongue, reveling in the groan he coaxed out of Ilya as he dragged along Ilya's length.

He slid his mouth off of Ilya with a wet pop, and Ilya whimpered. A desperate, pleading kind of sound that he rarely allowed to escape. In an instant, he had recovered, kicking his pants off, grabbing at Shane's.

“Come on, let me fuck you.”

Shane mentally calculated the time they had left. Maybe 18 minutes. He stripped as quickly as possible while Ilya grabbed lube. Ilya pulled him towards him, positioning his hips so he could stroke his hole.

Ilya looked up at him, eyes hazy with lust, mouth open. He looked completely wrecked already.

“This is very irresponsible,” he breathed as he slipped a finger inside Shane. The sensation made Shane cry out in pleasure.

“I do not know if you can come in only 15 minutes,” Ilya smirked, knowing it was a complete lie.

“Fuck you,” was all Shane could gasp out as Ilya worked him open lazily, as if they had all the time in the world.

“I think maybe we do not have time. And I stop now,” Ilya pulled his fingers out, the threat made Shane's thighs clench. “You will spend whole night wanting it, we come home and you are begging for it.”

“Please,” Shane's voice cracked, and Ilya's lips parted, pure hunger on his face.

“Come here,” Ilya pulled Shane's face to his. He kissed Shane deeply, hand threading in his hair, tongue stroking Shane's, before he pulled Shane away. He lined his cock up and Shane sunk onto him.

Shane could feel his eyes roll to the back of his head as he eased his way down, grinding against Ilya's cock.

“Yes, sweetheart, just like that,” Ilya was staring reverently at the place where his body met Shane's, and then his eyes flicked up to meet Shane's.

“God, you feel so good,” Shane gasped, rolling his hips as he leaned forward to kiss Ilya. Ilya grabbed Shane's hips as his own bucked off the bed.

“I really should tease you,” Ilya's teeth were gritted, the threat empty as Shane began riding him. A thin sheen of sweat was on Ilya's brow. “Make you desperate all fucking night for my cock.”

Shane moaned into his ear, back arching as Ilya slammed his hips towards him. Ilya pushed Shane up to grab his cock, his eyes completely glazed.

Shane felt like every nerve in his body was singing when Ilya wrapped his hand around him, stroking him as Ilya's breath went ragged.

“Shane, I'm going to-fuck” Ilya gasped, words escaping him as he pounded into Shane.

“Come for me. I want to see you come, please,” Shane pleaded, and his begging brought Ilya to the edge, back bowing as he pulled Shane to his own release.

Their gasps and cries intermingled as Shane felt himself clenching on Ilya's cock, Ilya's thighs trembling beneath his. Shane collapsed on top of Ilya, panting.

They laid there for a moment, breathing heavily, before Ilya smacked Shane's ass.

“Come. I said we will be late, look at what you made me do.” Ilya was grinning as he eased out of Shane and headed to the shower.

“They won't care!” Shane yelled after him.

“Yes, but I will!”

Shane joined Ilya in the shower, Ilya wrenching his hands away with a grin when Shane reached down to grasp him.

They threw clothes on, Shane thankful that they had already loaded the car.

***

Ilya was going to celebrate the holidays with family for the first time since he was eleven. When Shane found out Russians didn't really do traditional Christmas on December 25th, that Ilya had never had a tree or stocking, he had acted like it was an emergency. They had retreated to Shane's cottage for the holidays, and Shane had busied himself decorating and wrapping presents all week.

That morning, Ilya had woken up to a fire in the fireplace, and a stocking with his name on it. It made him happier than he could have imagined, even more so because Shane's face was glowing as they tore into gifts while snow piled up outside the windows.

“And you are sure they will like my presents?” Ilya asked for the millionth time.

He had selected a puzzle for David, a new one that would take them days to complete. For Yuna, a framed photo of Shane and Ilya at the parade celebrating their World Series win. Harris had taken it, urging Ilya to kiss Shane's cheek.

Shane and Ilya's kiss on the field had almost gone unnoticed in the chaos. Neither of them were asked about it in the locker room after the game, and Yuna had to help their agents draft a statement for the next day.

Harris had phoned Ilya to half-jokingly yell at him for stealing his and Troy's thunder. He had carefully planned a statement and social media post for Troy to release after playoffs ended, and it wound up hardly being a blip.

Some people had been awful, local reporters ranting about how this could be bad for the team. But the results spoke for themselves, they had won a World Series. The team didn't care.

Ryan had called to congratulate Ilya. “I can't believe you guys one-upped Scott Hunter,” he had laughed.

Scott had texted them a congratulations, and Shane had grabbed Ilya's phone out of his hands to prevent Ilya from asking Scott when he was going to retire already.

Shane glanced at Ilya. His freckles had faded a bit in the winter, but Ilya had them memorized, knew exactly where they would re-appear when spring training rolled around. Shane's smile was luminous.

“They're going to love them, just like they love you.”

His words settled in Ilya's core, an easy sense of peace enveloping him.

“I love you,” Ilya said, grabbing Shane's hand.

Shane smiled at him before he said something that he'd whispered to Ilya before. Something that made Ilya's heart stutter every time.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Chapter End Notes

First of all, apologies to Scott and Kip! I knew I wanted Shane and Ilya to win the World Series the first year they played together, so there wasn't a way to give Scott and Kip the on-field kiss.

There is a lot of kissing in baseball (see Team Italy's home run celly in the WBC) so I thought it would be funny to have their on-field kiss not even immediately register as them coming out.

I had so much fun writing this one. If you haven't read them, I have two more Hollanov fics: a college au and a second-chance romance.

Thank you to everyone who's read and left comments/kudos, I love talking baseball and Heated Rivalry with you ❤️