Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Original Male Character(s)

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Troy Barrett, Svetlana Vetrova, Eric Bennett, Ryan Price (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Friends to Lovers, Second Chances, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander is Obsessed With Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is a Little Shit, Scott Hunter Knows About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, POV Alternating, Mutual Pining, Shane Hollander is Dating A Nice From Montreal But That Man is Mentioned As Infrequently As Possible, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov Being Idiots, Troy Barrett Has a Crush On Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Has a Crush on Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Has a Crush on Shane Hollander, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Being Assholes (Game Changers), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Supportive Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Coming Out, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hockey Player Shane Hollander, Hockey Player Ilya Rozanov, Barely any hockey in this

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-29 Completed: 2026-08-04 Words: 48,635 Chapters: 9/9

Never Together (Better Together)

Summary

“Is that really why you're single? You're afraid you'd let your partner down?”

Ilya took a sip and tried to battle the urge to be honest, but it was useless. He had developed an Achilles heel, and it came with beautiful brown eyes that were currently piercing straight through his soul.

“I think I am single because I have fun being single,” Ilya started with the easier part of his answer, and he saw Shane nod. That part was expected.

Ilya took a shaky breath before he admitted the rest. “And I have not met anyone that I wanted to be with, enough. One time, maybe. But was not possible.”

***

Shane and Ilya stop hooking up during their rookie season after their secret is almost exposed. Six years later, Scott Hunter comes out and changes everything. Ilya and Shane decide to forge an unlikely friendship as they navigate the league, coming out, and Scott Hunter's annoying queer group chat.

And they accidentally fall in love, obviously.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

2017

Shane felt his mouth drop open as he watched Scott Hunter haul a man onto the ice and kiss him on national television. He felt like laughing hysterically. Scott's expression at that fateful All-Star weekend six years ago surfaced from his memory, thrown into fresh context like a sick joke. He thought back to Hunter's weird, intense assurances during a faceoff afterwards. It felt absurd, years of anxiety and bitterness for nothing.

He pulled his phone out without even thinking. Notifications were filling his screen, messages from different teammate group chats that he didn't have the stomach to open.

Instead, he pulled up the scant thread with Rozanov. With an exception a few months prior, they hadn't been texted since rookie season. Their exchange at all those years ago was a curt agreement to leave each other alone.

Shane stared at his phone for a moment, his thoughts too loud to write out. Finally, he started typing.

Are you seeing this?

Yes, of course Rozanov was seeing it. It was an idiotic thing to ask. Shane shook his head and typed out a new draft.

Wow, pretty crazy, right?

No, that sounded incredibly stupid and not at all appropriate to the magnitude of the situation.

I guess Scott really meant it when he said he wouldn't tell on us.

Obviously. Also a totally unnecessary message to send. Scott had carried their secret for years. They clearly had nothing to worry about, and Shane was beginning to feel anger brewing. He had carried the weight of that fear for years, for no reason.

Shane wondered how the world would react to Scott, if there was a wild chance that things would have worked out, if the timing was different and he and Ilya hadn't had to abandon whatever they teetered on the verge of years ago.

I wish he had done this earlier. I still think about–

No. Shane absolutely could not send that either.

Shane locked his phone without sending anything, and he dutifully ignored it for the rest of the night, telling himself it was because he needed to heed his doctor's advice and limit screentime while he recovered from his concussion.

***

Ilya had slipped away to his backyard after he saw Scott Hunter come out in spectacular, ostentatious fashion. He lit a cigarette, partly out of nerves and partly out of a desire to have an alibi if any of his friends went looking for him.

There was only one person whose reaction he was curious about.

He opened his phone, searching for Shane's name. When their short text thread came up, he felt a fluttering sensation in his chest.

Shane was typing. Shane had also thought of him.

Ilya took a drag and waited, watching the three dots jump on the screen. Shane having the same first instinct as Ilya didn't really mean anything. Shane wanted to talk to the only player who had the same secret he did. Shane might allude to the irony of the situation, that they had mistaken Scott's reaction when he was truly the safest person to have seen them.

Ilya was sure that Shane never got hit with unexpected nostalgia for something they never really had to begin with.

Shane typed and typed, and Ilya wondered if he was drafting a novel. Maybe he had some boring, media trained reaction. Maybe he was afraid Ilya was going to do something reckless, something that could implicate Shane. Maybe he was spinning out, looking at their brief history and their abrupt parting the same way Ilya was. Maybe he....

The typing stopped. Ilya huddled in his yard in the dark and watched, willing a text to come through, but no message ever came.

He locked his phone, finished his cigarette, and went inside. If he wiped some dampness from his eyes, it was only because he was exhausted and his ribs still ached.

***
2011

Ilya checked his hair in the mirror for the dozenth time. Ever since he had hooked up with Hollander after their commercial shoot he had been trying to figure out how to do it again.

Ilya didn't have his number, and Hollander had seemed too shy and skittish for Ilya to just throw out a proposition during a face off. He fantasized about it, when Hollander was avoiding his gaze at center ice and his long lashes were brushing the freckles scattered across his cheekbones.

But at All-Stars, there had been signs. Hollander had jumped in with the press to save Ilya when English failed him. He had returned Ilya’s grateful foot tap with a nudge that said “I've got you.”

When they talked during the skills competition, Ilya had been completely unable to contain himself. Hollander looked at him with delighted charm when he chirped, and it was all too much.

Still, Ilya had no idea if Hollander would follow through on it. He might be wasting an evening that he could be out partying, finding someone else to share a bed with.

But even the possibility of Hollander felt greater than the sure thing of whatever woman he'd pick up at the bar if he went out with his European teammates.

A soft knock jolted him to life. He checked his hair one last time and opened the door. Hollander practically sprinted through it, then slammed the deadlock in place, as if somebody was going to kick open the door behind him.

“Someone is chasing you?” Ilya asked. The glare from Hollander was delicious.

“Scott Hunter is right next door,” Shane hissed.

Ilya had an odd, prickling irritation that Shane knew, that he had talked to Hunter enough to get into room details. He wondered for a wild minute if Hunter had told him where he was staying because he wanted Shane to come to his room.

It was irrational jealousy, a fear that everyone saw what Ilya did. Hollander was beautiful, and heterosexuality was probably the only thing preventing men like Scott Hunter from throwing themselves at his feet.

Before Ilya could analyze why he felt so jealous over these imagined scenarios, Hollander was launching himself across the room and crashing into Ilya's mouth.

Ilya tried desperately to keep up, licking into Shane’s mouth and grabbing at his hips to chase Shane's hardening cock he could feel through his sweatpants. When Shane gasped helplessly into his mouth, Ilya felt like he was going to melt into a puddle. He hitched Shane in his arms and threw him on the bed.

It was like it knocked something loose in Shane, he broke into an easy smile, beaming up at Ilya. Ilya wanted to throw him around every which way if it meant Shane would let go and give him that smile again.

Ilya started yanking off his clothes, and Shane scrambled to rip his own off. Ilya crawled on top of Shane, watching him shudder beneath Ilya. He was all breathless anticipation, gazing up at Ilya with his beautiful brown eyes.

Ilya brushed his lips along Shane’s cheekbones, scattering kisses across his freckles. One day he'd admit to Shane how much he'd obsessed over them, ever since they first met.

Shane squirmed impatiently, tilting his face towards Ilya, and Ilya met his lips. When Shane tugged Ilya’s bottom lip with his teeth, Ilya felt a surge of ravenous hunger.

“I want to fuck you,” Ilya blurted out. He pulled back, nervously watching Shane's expression.

Shane’s eyes were amber pools that Ilya was happy to drown in.

“I don't…I do want to,” Shane squeezed Ilya’s arms and Ilya felt an echo of the movement in his chest. “But not here. Not with Scott Hunter next door.”

Ilya couldn't help rolling his eyes. Fucking Scott Hunter. He'd probably love to hear Shane come, screaming into a pillow. Heterosexuality be damned, because who could resist Shane?

“Can I…” Shane glanced down at Ilya’s cock, pressed against Shane’s stomach.

“Yes, fuck. Yes, come here,” Ilya couldn't flip over fast enough.

Shane kissed his way down Ilya’s chest and left lingering kisses on his thighs before he grasped Ilya’s cock. He was more careful than their first time, aware of his limits. Ilya almost missed the clumsy eagerness of Shane gagging because he needed to stuff Ilya’s cock entirely into his mouth. But that longing was replaced by the heaven of Shane slowly torturing him. His tongue swiped at the head of Ilya’s cock, he licked a slow stripe up the length, and when Ilya was about to whine from frustration, Shane finally wrapped his lips around him.

Ilya’s eyes squeezed closed as Shane began to bob his head, groaning around Ilya's cock. With stabbing clarity, Ilya remembered how often in the past months he had replayed the memories of their last time together. It embarrassingly, shockingly, got him off faster than porn.

He forced his trembling limbs to prop himself up so he could watch Hollander sucking his cock like his life depended on it. Ilya reached to run his fingers through Shane’s hair, watched the way Shane’s eyelashes fluttered as he did. He wrapped his fingers, tugging slightly, and Shane immediately knew what he wanted, glancing up to train his doe eyes on Ilya.

“Fuck, you look so pretty for me,” Ilya gasped. The praise made Shane moan as he wrapped his tongue around Ilya's cock. It was a noise deep noise from the back of Shane's throat that tipped Ilya over the edge without warning. His hips jerked as he came down Shane’s throat, pulsing and tembling. Shane clutched his thighs, gripping him as he rode out Ilya’s release.

Ilya felt like his soul had left his body as he laid there, panting and winded. Shane Hollander had somehow mastered blowjobs on the second try.

Then his mind had a panicked, awful thought. There was no reason to think this was Shane's second time, he could have gone out and blown hundreds of men between their commercial and now. Before Ilya could descend into a jealous tailspin, he reared up and tugged Shane onto the bed.

He was not slow and torturous the way Shane was. Ilya took him to the back of his throat immediately, swallowing around Shane's cock as Shane cried out. Ilya hollowed his cheeks as he dragged off of Shane to admonish him.

“You want Scott Hunter to hear you?” He reminded Shane.

Shane's eyes flashed and he covered his mouth with his hand. Ilya cursed. Shane was so fucking obedient, an instinct that Ilya couldn't wait to test.

He returned, sucking and swirling his tongue around the sensitive head of Shane’s cock. Shane’s muffled gasps and cries only made Ilya feel more desperate, and he moved at a punishing pace. Shane falling apart as Ilya clutched at his hips felt like a complete gift, one Ilya didn't deserve. 

Ilya frantically palmed his way up Shane's chest, squeezing his pec before he brushed a thumb over Shane's nipple. Shane made a delicious whimpering sound into his hand, and Ilya began rolling his nipple between his thumb and forefinger, teasing him as he groaned around the weight of Shane's cock on his tongue.

Shane grasped at Ilya's hair, fisting a handful curls and whispering "Rozanov, I'm going to-"

Ilya had a brief thought to slide off, to stop and tease Shane longer. But his need to chase Shane's orgasm was too strong. When Shane came, gasping and shaking, Ilya swallowed and gently sucked his way off of Shane to watch Shane pant, teeth still digging into his palm.

Ilya stared at him, flushed and completely relaxed, and he was hit with a horrible, awful realization. He needed this, he needed Shane. Two fucking blowjobs and he was incomprehensibly losing it for this man.

“What are you thinking?” Shane finally summoned words as he stared at Ilya. He had a half smile stretching his beautiful lips.

Ilya leaned down to kiss him, summoning courage as Shane happily clutched at his arms to draw Ilya closer.

“I am thinking we need to do this again. Many times. Maybe I quit hockey and make this my full-time job,” Ilya kissed Shane’s neck, too nervous to look at him.

“You're too good to quit. Who else would actually challenge me?” Shane whispered.

Ilya stilled and drew back, looking at Shane. It felt like the best compliment in the world, a surging warmth in his chest.

“I am too good?” Ilya smiled.

Shane nodded seriously. Ilya kissed his chest and wanted to coax more compliments out of him.

“Can you stay?” Ilya asked.

Shane bit his lip, and Ilya prepared himself for disappointment.

“Maybe an hour or two? I can't sleep here, I think it would be too risky sneaking out in the morning.”

Ilya felt a simultaneous twist of happiness and bitterness.

“Ok. I will just have to tie you to my bed when you come to Boston.”

Shane’s eyes gleamed, and Ilya realized he might need to correct his bluff and buy some restraints before Montreal came to town.

Trying to recover a semblance of control, he sat up and walked over to the minibar.

“Drink?” Ilya waved a tiny bottle of vodka.

“Do they have ginger ale?” Shane asked.

It should not have been so endearing. It was deeply charming, and it made Ilya want to race over and kiss him. He was in trouble, Shane Hollander had put a spell on him.

“Ah. No ginger ale,” he apologized, squinting at the fridge. “Sparkling water?”

Shane shrugged and nodded, and Ilya felt a small thrill at correctly finding an acceptable replacement. They sat in the bed, briefs back on, but blessedly nothing else.

Shane turned to Ilya and leveled him with his steady gaze.

“I really like this,” he gestured between them. His frank honesty felt impossibly brave, and it made Ilya brace himself and find the courage to return it.

“I like this too,” Ilya said softly.

Shane exhaled. It seemed to be part relief, part terror.

“Fuck,” Shane said.

Ilya didn't feel any more eloquent. They smiled at each other, shaky and nervous, and then Ilya leaned in for a kiss.

Shane stayed in Ilya’s bed longer than an hour. Ilya coaxed another orgasm out of Shane by jerking him off and whispering phrases in Russian into the hollow of his collarbone.

Shane probably thought they were filthy, but they were really awestruck declarations from a man who was beginning to feel improbable, terrifying affection for him.

When Shane came, gasping in Ilya’s arms, Ilya whispered promises into his skin that he would take care of Shane as long as he'd let him.

When Shane finally got dressed, Ilya resented each item of clothing as it obscured Shane’s body. He was uncomfortably aware that his displeasure at Hollander leaving was not just because he wanted to trap in bed and wring three more orgasms out of the man.

He had a burning desire to tuck Hollander into his arms, fall asleep twisted around each other, and see what his freckles looked like in the early morning sun.

While Ilya plugged Shane’s number into his phone and texted him, Hollander pulled his shoes on.

“So. Boston in two weeks,” Shane said. There was a tiny lilt of excitement to it, and Ilya’s stomach flipped.

“Two weeks,” Ilya promised. He wanted to promise more, to tell Shane every filthy thought on his mind, everything he planned to do two weeks from now. He could save that for texts. He wanted to work Shane up over the coming days until he was begging for it.

Ilya looked through the peephole before sliding the door open just a fraction. Shane slipped out, and Ilya was about to latch it shut, a disconcerting pit of sadness swelling within him. Suddenly, Shane’s shoe darted out, wedging the door open.

Ilya looked up at him, startled, and Shane grabbed at his shirt, twisting the fabric as he pulled him in for a frantic kiss. It was stupid. It was so stupid and reckless and sometimes it would keep Ilya up at night in the coming years. But in that moment, it felt like he needed it like he needed air. As if Shane had known how much Ilya was feeling inexplicably lost at sea, and he needed to reach out and anchor him.

Shane pulled away, a dazed expression on his face, and then turned to leave. He froze, and it all came crashing down. Ilya tasted adrenaline his tongue, pure fear roiling inside of him as he followed Shane’s gaze and saw Scott Hunter, frozen in the hallway. Scott's face was enough, he had seen it all.

“Mr Hunter, I…it's not what you…whatever you think…” Shane tried to find words and Ilya felt himself get protective.

“If you tell anybody what you saw, I will fucking ruin you.” Ilya's words were all bluster. He had no idea how to threaten Scott. Scott seemed completely pure, untouched by scandal. But Ilya wasn't above lying, harassing, and begging, if it meant saving him and Shane.

Scott put his palms up. “I saw nothing. You have nothing to worry about.”

He shuffled awkwardly to his room, the key beeping against the door. When he swung the door open, he paused.

“Just…be more careful,” He ran his hand through his hair, looking completely perturbed by what he had seen. “Some people won't be as understanding.”

He looked at them one last time with pity, and slipped inside his room.

It sent a chill down Ilya’s spine, and when he looked at Shane he saw his terror mirrored.

Scott might be true to his word, and not say anything. Or he might not. But he was correct, they had been incredibly lucky that a coach hadn't found them, or a member of the press that was staying in the hotel.

It all felt so stupid, so rash. Had Ilya really been that unable to keep it in his pants? Shane Hollander staring at him in the gym on draft night, getting hard in the showers, and giving Ilya an enthusiastic blowjob that summer had somehow made Ilya abandon any caution, and drag Hollander along with him.

He loved trouble, but this was something far more self-destructive, and he had a searing moment of clarity.

He would go too far with Hollander. He somehow knew it, an assurance in his bones. They might have thought that they could sneak around and casually fuck, but Ilya would want more, more, more. He could see himself wanting impossible things, like being the only one to have Shane in his bed, like the world knowing that Shane Hollander was his.

Shane stood in front of him, petrified. They spoke at the same time.

“This was…this can't —”

“Yes. Never again.” Ilya nodded.

Shane gave him a sharp nod back and then said something that wrecked Ilya.

“Sorry. We can forget this ever happened.”

***

Shane lay in his room, panting. He had thrown up when he got back there, bile searing his throat as the night replayed in his head over and over. Sublimely happy, then the sickening feeling, like a roller coaster dropping. His entire being lurching as Scott Hunter saw through them and told them off.

Shane rolled to his side, clutching at his core. He felt like he had been cracked open. For a fleeting instant, he thought about Ilya's jokes about Hunter's age. If only Scott was that close to retirement. Instead, he would haunt Shane for years. He would have to face off against him and know the power he held over Shane’s head, the ability to wreck his life at any moment.

The worst memory was of Ilya’s face. Terror, anger. Shane had put him in harm's way, all because he wanted to fucking kiss him goodbye. It was hard to not feel like it was all his fault.

He took out his phone, knowing a text apology wasn't enough. But they would hopefully never speak again, so this was the only method he had.

Shane: I really am sorry. I'll pretend this never happened, I promise.

Ilya: You do not need to say sorry. My fault as much as yours.
Ilya: This never happened.
Ilya: Goodnight.

Shane stared at the last text until his eyelids drooped from exhaustion and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Ilya said goodnight, but they both knew it really meant goodbye.

***
2017

The following months were surreal, like Ilya had been tilted into a parallel dimension.

Scott Hunter had been some kind of homing beacon, and other men in the league bravely came out.

The goalie for the Admirals came out as bi, Ilya’s old teammate Ryan Price revealed that he had a boyfriend. The most shocking was Troy Barrett, Dallas Kent's former lackey.

Troy had seemed to be going scorched-earth in the past few months to begin with. He had been speaking to the media in support of the survivors when Kent was charged with assault. When he came out shortly afterwards he was venerated by many fans, praised as one of the few outspoken, progressive players in the league.

Ilya wanted to throw something at the TV whenever he saw Barrett's face, flashed up alongside Hunter as commentators blustered about the implications this had on the league.

Ilya had hidden himself, denied himself so much, and now Troy, who regularly called Ilya a faggot on the ice, got accolades and the happiness of coming out.

There were days where Ilya considered joining the small ranks of openly queer players. With his father gone, and any obligation to Russia erased, he coveted the ability to sever his connection to Russia forever. The opportunity felt like an escape hatch, one he could slam behind him with total finality.

But it felt presumptuous and formal to stage a press conference or craft a statement on social media. And he didn’t have a boyfriend to impulsively drag onto the ice to kiss, the way Scott Hunter could.

Ilya followed the news closely, wondering if Shane would join the ranks of openly queer players. He wasn't sure why he felt a bubble of hope in his chest every morning when he checked ESPN. As the off-season dragged on, he had to figure that this didn't change anything for Hollander.

Hollander had so many brand deals, he was always trotted out as one of the few flashes of diversity in an overwhelmingly white league. He was under immense pressure, all the time. Sveta had commented on it, once, back when she teased Ilya about how Shane was her favorite player.

She had eventually stopped, since Ilya couldn't summon the interest to respond to the jabs, but those words about the pressure Shane faced stuck with him. He would look at Shane before a face-off, all concerted focus, and he'd think about the two times he'd seen Shane completely let go. It was a privilege that few people probably saw, that Ilya would never get to see again, and he thought that scarcity was what made it stand out so strongly in his memory.

***

“What are your thoughts about Shane Hollander's statement?”

Ilya blinked hard, wiping sweat off his forehead. It was the first game of the season, the Raiders had completely trampled Buffalo. He had no idea why the first question was about Hollander.

The team's PR manager stepped in.

“Mr Rozanov just got off the ice, let's keep questions to the game he just won.”

“Ah. No, I do not know what Hollander has to say. Probably something very boring?” Ilya pointedly ignored the glare from their PR manager. He couldn't help himself, that sensation he'd chased all summer when he checked the news was bubbling to the surface again.

“Shane Hollander has come out,” a reporter said breathlessly. Ilya had to focus very hard to keep his expression flat. “His boyfriend attended the Metros season opener.”

If Ilya had worked to keep his face neutral before, it was an exercise in absolute stoicism now. “Ok. Good for him.”

His mind was racing. Hollander had been dating Rose Landry last year, so his relationship with this man couldn't have been going on that long. With a twinge of sadness for Hollander, Ilya corrected himself. Rose could have been a beard. Maybe Shane had been seeing this man for years, and that was part of the reason why he was always so awkward around Ilya.

Ilya realized he had been quiet a beat too long as he processed the news. The reporters were scribbling, the PR manager was glaring, and he smirked.

“Big deal. Hunter is gay, Barrett is gay, Hollander is gay. I am bi. Any questions about the game tonight?”

The room erupted, and PR yanked Ilya away before he could say anything else.

***

Shane squinted at his phone. Scott Hunter had reached out immediately, congratulating and thanking Shane for being brave enough to come out.

Shane didn't really know to explain that it was hardly bravery, his motivation was primarily exhaustion. He had carried the anxiety for years, and he was also beginning to worry that Ben was going to break up with him if he didn't come out. When he'd voiced his concerns to Rose, she was livid.

“He knew that you were closeted when you started dating, I don't think it's fair for him to pressure you to come out,” Rose argued one afternoon on the phone.

Shane rubbed his temple. He had begun to develop a bad habit of clenching his jaw, and it led to terrible headaches.

“I know. I mean, he's not exactly pressuring me. Like he doesn't say he wants me to come out, but he complains a little about not being able to go out in public, or introduce me to his friends. And I don't know. It would all be easier if I could do that. I do feel like I'm having half a relationship, you know?”

After the All-Star weekend in Tampa last season, Shane had finally felt motivated to take Rose up on her offer to set him up. It had seemed like everybody brought their wife or girlfriend that weekend. Shane had stood at the hotel bar, watching a sea of couples in love, and felt a horrific ache inside. Since he had started dating Ben, that ache had abated a bit.

They didn't see each other very much between Shane’s hockey schedule and Ben's long hours as the head writer on a legal drama. But Shane felt a sense of correctness. He was finally experiencing a sliver of what he had missed out on for years. He had thought to himself that he might not be able to bring Ben to team parties or All-Star weekends, but he had somebody. Some evidence that he wasn’t destined to be alone forever, like he had feared when he was younger, when he thought Scott Hunter had the power to ruin his life.

Only now, just a few months after All-Stars, everything had changed. He could give Ben what he wanted, he could bring a partner to events, just like everybody else. It would be terrifying, but Shane felt so ground down, so ready to throw up his hands and quit hiding.

After an almost embarrassingly anti-climatic coming out to his parents, he and his mother had endless calls and meetings with his brand partnerships. Shane privately told the Metros coaching staff, a conversation that had been stilted and ended with an awkward assurance that they didn't need to discuss the matter any further.

By the time the season opener rolled around, Shane had rehearsed his statement so many times, he could have repeated it in his sleep.

Ben had been thrilled to be invited to the game, and Shane once again felt a sense of satisfaction. It was what his straight teammates did, he could have his partner in the stands too.

His mother posted his statement on social media as soon as the game ended, and he opened the post-game media by repeating it. The Metros staff didn't seem happy about the surprise, but Shane hadn't wanted to risk the word spreading before he had a chance to control the narrative.

So now he stared at his phone, which was filling with notifications. He had gotten off a call with Scott Hunter ten minutes ago, an enthusiastic congratulations that Shane awkwardly accepted.

Shane got a notification that Scott had added him to a group chat, and the first message in the thread made his brain feel like it was melting out of his ears.

Scott: Hey guys. Not sure who all has seen the news yet, but I am adding Hollander and Rozanov to the chat. Let's give them a warm welcome, and please say who you are so they can save your numbers.

Shane barely had time to parse out Scott's words. Why was Hunter adding him and Ilya of all people to a group chat?

Ilya: What the fuck is this

Scott: It’s a group chat I started for queer players. Figured it might be nice to have each other to lean on, when we need it.

Shane was reeling. Rozanov came out? He was about to tap out of the chat, to look up Ilya's name and see if there were any details about it, but his phone pinged with a text and he was drawn back in.

Ilya: This is a gay hockey support group?

Ilya Rozanov has changed the chat name to Gays Anonymous

Eric: Hey you two, Eric Bennett here. Just looked up your post-game. Welcome to the club!

Eric: Technically this is a queer hockey support group. I'm bi

Ilya: Me too. If it is important to you, I can change the name.

Ilya Rozanov has changed the chat name to Queers Anonymous

Scott Hunter has changed the chat name to 🏳️‍🌈🏒

Ilya: Boooo 🍅🍅🍅

Ilya: That is the most boring chat name ever.

Ryan: This is Ryan.

Troy: Hi, this is Troy. I'm really impressed by you two, it takes a lot of courage to come out like that.

Ilya: What is that supposed to mean?

Scott: I think he just means in an environment that isn't controlled. I saw Hollander had to answer a ton of questions after his statement, some of them were pretty rude.

Ryan: Yeah, I'm sorry Shane. Some of the questions about how your mom reacted seemed really out of line.

Shane: Thanks.

Shane set his phone down, muting the conversation, but it buzzed with a notification.

His pulse sped up when he realized Ilya had texted him separately.

Ilya: Can't believe Hunter and Barrett are the face of gay hockey

Shane choked back a laugh. He didn't mind Scott taking the lead, but he had to agree about Troy. The man had been awful for years, and Shane still couldn't wrap his mind around Troy Barrett, role model.

Shane: Scott has the face for it, Troy does not

Ilya: You think Hunter is hot?? 🤮
Ilya: Didn't know you had a senior citizen fetish
Ilya: At least Troy came in second in Cosmo list of hottest players
Ilya: You should probably replace Troy then, Mr. #1

Shane had no idea what list Ilya was talking about, so he looked it up.

Shane: Ouch. #5?

Ilya: I don't want to talk about it.

Shane: You brought it up!

Ilya: Does your boyfriend know he is dating #1 hottest hockey player?

Shane stared at his phone. He had come out about an hour ago, he hadn't even known that Ilya had, and yet Ilya knew he had a boyfriend? He had a wild, fleeting thought to ask if Ilya agreed with the assessment, or if he was just quoting the article to make fun of him.

Shane: He's not really into hockey.
Shane: How did you know about Ben?

Ilya: Watched your post-game.

Shane: Oh yeah. I forgot I talked about him. It was all kind of a blur.

Shane finally looked up coverage of Ilya. He watched his post-game first, his stomach clenching with anticipation. That feeling was replaced with something else, something he couldn't place. Ilya had come out after he was asked about Shane, and Shane wasn't sure how to feel about that. Was it going to be framed as yet another way that they were linked together? Shane almost felt like apologizing, as if his news had prompted it.

Ilya’s statement didn't seem planned at all. In fact, some media outlets were speculating it was a joke, something casual tossed out to taunt his longtime rival.

Shane went back to his thread with Ilya, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he tried to think of a response.

Shane: Sorry you got asked about me coming out.
Shane: I'm happy for you.

Ilya: It is OK. Always me and you, right? Media could not resist.
Ilya: I'm happy for you too.

In his wildest dreams, Shane never would have imagined that coming out would prompt the beginnings of a friendship with Ilya Rozanov, but that's what it felt like. A warmth curled in his stomach as he looked at the new, happier texts that had bumped their terse goodbye all those years ago out of view.

Shane was distracted for the rest of the day, and he checked his phone more than he should have.

Ben sighed when he saw Shane reach for his phone for a third time during dinner.

“Are your teammates bothering you since the announcement?”

Shane was startled. The Metros group chat was silent, a fact he hadn't even noticed until Ben mentioned it. JJ and Hayden had both sent words of support in their separate chat.

“Uh, no. I just got added to a chat with the other players who are out,” Shane said.

“Oh, that's great!” Ben perked up. “I'm glad you have some support, like a unified front.”

Shane thought about Ilya's antagonistic chat names, about his sidebar with Shane commiserating about Troy’s past behavior. They might not have a lot in common with the ragtag group Scott was rallying, but they did surprisingly, have each other.

Ilya’s words kept echoing in Shane’s mind.

“Always me and you.”

***

Chapter End Notes

I spent an hour trying out HTML/texting skins and then remembered that coding makes no sense to me and I write and post everything from my phone. So enjoy the italics and bolded words, it's the fanciest we're going to get.

Shane is dating a nice man from Montreal right now, but I am not going to write any explicit scenes between the two of them, and Ben is honestly not going to be in many scenes at all. If Shane/OMC is not really your thing, it's not mine either! So I'm trying to make it as palatable as possible.

Ilya and Shane are slightly more emotionally aware/vulnerable in this version of the rookie All-Star scene. Thank you for suspending your disbelief, I just needed the knife to twist harder when they said goodbye.

Because I cannot stop writing second-chance stories for these two, I wanted to write a story where they had a little history, but have stayed away from each other for years. The two of them bitching and immediately creating a side-chat when Scott tries to assemble the Queer Avengers just feels very in-character to me.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Ilya: We should hang out after the game next week

Shane: And do what?

Ilya: Go to bar, get drunk. Whatever you do with teammates when you are away.

Shane: I don't really go out with my teammates.

Ilya: Boring.
Ilya: We should go to a gay bar.

Shane: …if you really want to, I guess.

Ilya: Really?
Ilya: Coming out has changed you. Not so boring.

Shane: Shut up.

Ilya couldn't believe Hollander had agreed to go to a gay bar; he had thrown the suggestion out as a joke. As the days passed Shane's enthusiasm for the plan adorably grew, so Ilya had no choice. Shane sent Ilya several options, with detailed pros and cons.

Ilya wanted to tell him “I don't give a fuck where we go, I just wanted to see you with my own two eyes to know that this is real.”

But he figured that would be too much for Shane, so he played along. He had spent so long walking on eggshells, barely interacting with Hollander, that he had almost forgotten how fun he was to tease. When Shane asked what he should wear and Ilya offered to buy him a leather harness, Shane stopped replying to his texts for 12 hours.

Their budding friendship was such an unexpected upside to coming out. Truthfully, the upsides were few and far between, which may have been why Ilya harassed Hollander day and night, clinging to something positive.

A few Raiders teammates had been good about the news. Cliff and Connors said some well-intentioned platitudes about how they didn't care how Ilya got his dick wet.

Other teammates seemed to abruptly leave the showers whenever Ilya stepped in, or avoid eye contact on the ice.

Ilya knew in time he'd have no choice but to call them out, but for now he had more pressing concerns. Alexei was calling him day and night, leaving coked out messages about how he'd dishonored their whole family, how he'd never be allowed to step foot in Russia again.

That was entirely the point. Ilya had started the citizenship process years ago, when it became apparent his father did not have many years left. He was happy to have the connection severed.

Ilya had a lot on his mind as he skated out to center ice for the puck drop in Montreal. The Raiders had told him in no uncertain terms that they were not going to have him speak to the media after the game. They'd said something about “letting the media circus die down,” which seemed like a lost cause to Ilya.

Anything involving him and Hollander was a media frenzy. It had been one of the painfully inconvenient consequences of their fleeting hookups. Ilya had to shove down what he felt at the time, watch the tide recede, and face endless questions about Hollander until it didn't hurt anymore.

These days there was nothing he wanted more than to talk about Hollander, but the team had him on a short leash. At least no media after the game tonight meant he could leave earlier to meet Shane.

They met at center ice, and Ilya felt his heart kick for a moment, buoyant with excitement. Shane was smiling, a true, beautiful smile. Ilya stared for a moment, trying to recall if he'd seen this smile since the ill-fated All-Stars weekend.

“Rozanov,” Shane nodded and crouched. Ilya mirrored him, beaming.

“Hollander. Any fun plans after this?”

“Not really. Some asshole convinced me to go to a bar after this.”

“What, worried they will not have ginger ale?”

Something about that tease landed wrong with Shane, his eyebrows furrowed and he looked down.

Ilya realized, with a twinge of dread in his stomach, that maybe he wasn't supposed to remember that. They hadn't acknowledged the brief history between them as they navigated their new friendship. Ilya bringing up anything he'd learned that night was breaking an unwritten rule that Shane clearly needed in place.

Ilya wanted to crouch further, to meet Shane’s gaze and assure him that it was fine, he could keep his promise and pretend nothing had ever happened.

Instead, the ref skated up for puck drop. Ilya won the face off.

***

Shane was terrified. He was a little scared of going to a gay bar for the first time. He worried that he would look so visibly out of place, that being closeted for so long meant he wouldn't seem like he belonged there.

What he was more afraid of was spending time with Rozanov. It had been surprisingly fun to text each other. He was always ready to talk about hockey, and he had sharp, funny insight. At one point, Shane had thought about telling him he should be a broadcaster after he retired. But that felt like it would earn one of Ilya's common refrains of “boring.”

Shane kind of wished he could go back in time and tell his nineteen year old self that the first time he went to a gay bar, it would be with Ilya Rozanov.

It all felt so improbable. When Shane got dressed at his apartment, his memory flashed to the first time he and Ilya had hooked up. Tonight, Shane was not going to try on a suit. Rose had guided him through his wardrobe via facetime, and picked out a comfortable outfit that she said looked "really hot.” Shane hadn't mentioned who he was going to the bar with, and he'd been silent when she said Ben would love it.

He had his Uber drop him off two blocks away, as if getting dropped off at a gay bar was something he still needed to hide. He walked the two blocks overanalyzing that choice. Shane couldn't seem to shake some muscle memory from years of being closeted, and it nagged at him.

His swirling thoughts narrowed into focus as he approached the bar and saw Ilya, smoking and glancing up and down the street.

When he saw Shane, his face split into an enormous grin and he stubbed out his cigarette.

“Hollander! You did not chicken out,” Ilya made a motion like he was going to grab Shane for a hug, but then he seemed to think better of it. He settled for an awkward shoulder punch, which Shane didn't bother returning. It seemed best if they both pretended it hadn't happened.

Ilya looked great. His curls were slicked back a little, he wore a silky top that seemed expensive.

“You shouldn't smoke,” Shane said, eyeing the cigarette butt that Ilya was tossing in the trash. Recognition glinted behind Ilya’s eyes at the same moment that Shane remembered their first meeting.

Ilya had intimidated him so much back then, his first impression had been a confusing mix of attraction and fear. Which, uncomfortably, was still present. There might not be anything between them anymore, but Shane was still attracted to men, and he could admit to himself that Ilya Rozanov was still frustratingly beautiful in a way that made Shane a little nervous. Shane tried to shake it off.

“Want to go in?” Shane gestured, and Ilya followed.

The bar wasn't that big. Shane had been a little surprised that Ilya chose it out of all the ones on the list. There was music and a small dance floor, but plenty of stools ringing the bar, and most of the men there seemed content to have a low-key night.

They ordered their drinks. Shane asked for a beer and ignored the way Ilya’s eyebrows furrowed over his choice.

“So. How is your team?” Ilya asked after he had thrown back a shot.

“I think we've got a good chance at the cup this year, if our defense comes together,” Shane said.

Ilya burst out laughing, and Shane had forgotten how infectious his laugh was. He wanted to laugh along, but he was too confused.

“I am not a reporter, Hollander. I want to know how they are, now that you are out.”

Oh. Oh. Truthfully, they had been lacking. Management seemed to treat Shane like a problem they needed to game plan for. Teammates seemed like they thought they could ignore him, and he'd just go away.

“Uh. Hayden and JJ have been cool,” Shane shrugged.

Ilya’s mouth tightened at the corners. “Marley and Connors are good. Rest of the team, not really.”

Shane exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Yeah, I don't know. It's like the other guys think I want to sleep with them? I wish I could just tell them they're all too ugly.”

Ilya was delighted. “Of course! #1 hottest player would not want to fuck Comeau, he looks like his face was run over by Zamboni.”

Shane snorted into his drink. Comeau's face did have an oddly squished appearance.

Ilya grinned at Shane, and they held like that for a moment. Relief that at least someone else understood what they were experiencing, relief that they got along as well as Shane hoped they would. A bit of relief that they had finally made it here, after all these years. It felt like progress Shane had never allowed himself to imagine.

Ilya propped his chin on his hand and flagged the bartender for another shot.

“Tell me about your boyfriend.”

Shane cleared his throat. “What do you want to know?"

Ilya shrugged. “Everything. Name, how long you date, job. Is he handsome enough for you?”

Shane flushed. Ilya’s teasing about his looks was becoming a distraction.

“Uh, his name is Ben. We haven't been together long. Just since February. He's the head writer on The Scales of Justice.”

Ilya cocked his head in confusion.

“It’s a legal drama. It's pretty popular.” Shane had watched two episodes before he went on a date with Ben, but he hadn't found it interesting enough to watch more. Ben never asked if he kept up with it.

“Let me see a photo,” Ilya stuck out his palm in a grabby gesture, and Shane reluctantly fished out his phone. He and Ben didn't have many photos together, but Rose had asked what they were up to the other week, and Shane had sent a photo of Ben working on his laptop.

Ilya looked at the photo longer than necessary, pinching to zoom in. A slight frown creased his face, and Shane felt oddly self-conscious. Ben was attractive, at least to Shane. Maybe Ilya had different standards.

Shane was struck with an irrational impulse to ask for photos of the people Ilya had probably dated over the years.

Ilya handed back the phone. “He looks very serious.”

Shane looked at the photo again. He supposed Ben did look serious. The evening Shane took that photo Ben had stayed up late writing, and Shane hadn't even noticed when he came to bed.

Now that the show had started filming their new season and hockey had started again, they barely had time together.

Ilya seemed to be watching Shane's face closely.

“Is nice? That you are out, and he can come to games?”

“Sure,” Shane said, nodding. “It’s nice not hiding. I don't know how long we would have lasted if I stayed in the closet. So I'm grateful Hunter started all of this.”

Ilya wrinkled his nose, apparently loathe to compliment Scott Hunter.

“Yes. It was probably hard for this man to keep you a secret. Wants to show you off.”

It sounded like a compliment, but Ilya's expression looked irritated.

“What about you?” Shane realized they were spending too much time on him.

Ilya ordered another shot, and Shane began to faintly worry about the direction the night was headed. He wasn't planning to get drunk, but Ilya seemed to be drinking a quick pace.

“What about me?” Ilya asked.

“Uh. Are you seeing anybody?” Shane wanted to give him an opening to talk about the woman he had brought to Tampa.

To his surprise, Ilya shook his head.

“No. Too much fun being single,” He winked at Shane, but Shane couldn't relate. To him, being single had been a resentment, a reminder of what he couldn't have. He had dated Rose out of desperation, a final attempt to chase the image that he was expected to have. Star of the league, with a glamorous girlfriend.

Instead, it had ended in Rose gently asking if he might be interested in men, and Shane was thrust back into the perpetual bachelor role. This time with a spotlight on him that signaled he couldn't even keep a girlfriend for a few months.

Ilya seemed, uncannily, to be reading Shane’s thoughts.

“Why did you date Rose Landry?”

Shane shouldn't have been surprised that Ilya knew. It had been tabloid fodder for their entire brief relationship.

“Um. I liked her,” Shane said. Ilya’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Not like that. I mean, I tried. It just would have been a lot easier.”

Something flitted across Ilya’s face, a pinched expression that came and went too fast to catalouge.

“Anyway. Now we're friends, she introduced me to Ben,” Shane continued.

Ilya heaved a sigh, and Shane wondered if he was being boring again. He thought, defensively, that Ilya had asked him to talk about Rose in the first place.

“Did you see Hunter's new commercial?” Ilya rolled his eyes.

They moved to the easier waters of laughing about Scott's awkward and stilted anti-homophobia PSA, which Ilya said made him feel homophobic towards Scott.

The evening wound up being fun, more fun and relaxing than Shane could have imagined. By the time they left, his limbs felt a little warm from the two beers he had, and his cheeks felt a little sore from smiling so much.

“I will see you in Boston in three weeks?” Ilya asked as they stood on the curb.

Shane nodded. “Sure. What do you want to do in Boston?”

Ilya crossed his arms and glanced behind them. Shane wasn’t sure he had really gotten a quintessential experience going to his first gay bar. He and Ilya probably could have gotten buzzed and talked about hockey anywhere. Maybe Ilya wanted to take Shane somewhere loud next, with dancing, where Ilya could revel in being single and openly queer.

Shane’s stomach twisted at the thought.

“Hm. Will probably be tired after the game, maybe you just come to my place. We can watch Hunter's PSA and play drinking game every time he does that smile where he looks like he is being stabbed.”

Somehow going to Ilya’s place felt even more bizarre than going to a gay bar, but Shane nodded.

“Sounds good,” his car drew up. “Have a good night. Uh…this was really nice.”

Ilya’s face softened, and his hand reached out for a moment. Shane could tell he was about to go in for a hug again, probably an automatic goodbye he gave to all his friends. But Ilya changed his approach, and instead just gently clapped him on the shoulder.

“Get home safe, Hollander.”

***

“Why are you watching this?” Svetlana popped her head into the living room. She had a habit of taking forever to get ready, and Ilya had thrown on season two of The Scales of Justice while he waited. It wasn't a great pregame before they went to the club. Season one had been very melodramatic and involved a lot of courtroom monolouges set to rousing music that felt indulgent.

“Just something boring to watch when I don't want to think. Are you ready yet?” Ilya asked hopefully. He had been partying even more than usual. Coming out had felt freeing, but there was some new, unsettled hunger within him that he was trying to chase out with long nights at the club. He had felt it when he went to the bar with Hollander and listened to him talk about his boyfriend.

Ilya had never had interest in being somebody's boyfriend, but it had stirred something uneasy inside of him.

If Ilya was being truly, baldly honest with himself, he could admit that he felt a small slice of petulant envy. That night all those years ago at All-Stars, Ilya had a glimpse of something more with Hollander. He'd never really felt that same aching desire with anybody since then. It was impossible to not wonder if things had been different, if it might be a photo of Ilya on Shane's phone, if it would be Ilya that Shane spoke about breathlessly when he came out.

Their friendship was quickly becoming something Ilya treasured, and in time Ilya knew it would fill in the edges of the gap he felt, the lingering curiosity he had for a universe where their paths didn't diverge six years ago.

Svetlana flopped on the couch, snapping Ilya from his moody spiral.

“We could stay in, if you want,” she said as she snapped on an earring.

Ilya shook his head and clicked the TV off. “And waste that outfit?” He gestured to the slinky dress she was wearing.

Svetlana tipped her head back and laughed, and within an hour they were several drinks deep at the club. All thoughts of Shane Hollander were momentarily shoved out of Ilya's mind.

***

“I'm sorry, you're going to do what?” Hayden gaped at Shane as he unpacked his suitcase in their Boston hotel.

“I'm going to hang out with Rozanov after the game. So, you know. I'll be back a little late.” Shane grimaced. He was trying to be considerate and let Hayden know he could freely have phone sex, unlike the other nights on the road where Hayden would ask Shane to leave the room so he could call Jackie for twenty minutes.

“Since when are you hanging out with Rozanov? You know just because you're both gay, that doesn't mean you have to be friends,” Hayden shot back.

“He's bi, not gay,” Shane automatically corrected. “And I know that. It's not like I'm suddenly becoming friends with Barrett, or anything. But Rozanov can be kind of funny, and he's not as much of an asshole to me, at least.”

Hayden squinted suspiciously at that. “Does he know you have a boyfriend?”

Shane shoved his underwear in the drawer and slammed it shut. “Just because we're both queer, that doesn't mean he automatically wants to sleep with me.”

Shane could feel his cheeks flush a little as he avoided the truth. At one point Ilya had actually wanted to sleep with Shane. But it felt like a lifetime ago, and Shane was happy to have Ilya back in his life, in the new shape of their friendship.

Hayden looked appropriately chastised.

“Sorry, I know that. I just…it's really hard to picture him befriending you out of the goodness of his heart. It's Rozanov.”

Ilya had a reputation for being an asshole and a menace. Shane had seen that side of him when they faced off as teenagers, but the facade slipped after their commercial. After that All-Stars game, Ilya had been completely detached whenever he and Shane interacted. In some ways, Shane would have liked to be chirped and harassed the way Hayden had. It would have felt less lonely. Shane had hated how disorienting it was to look up before a face-off and see absolutely nothing behind Ilya’s hazel eyes.

Shane shrugged off Hayden's irritation and went to the bathroom to unpack his toiletries.

***

Ilya decided that next time they played in Montreal, he was going to ask to see Shane’s place.

The man had arrived at Ilya’s home and spent the first half hour walking around, appraising it as if he was a real estate agent.

“Do you want to buy my home, Hollander?” Ilya sighed, trying to restrain a smirk after Shane asked him if he had ever considered putting heated tile in the primary bathroom.

“Why would I buy a home in Boston?” Shane asked, poking his head into the shower.

There was something deeply charming about the way he wandered around Ilya's home as if he lived there. Ilya wondered if the ease of their friendship stemmed from the fact that they had once hooked up. Ilya corrected himself quickly, watching Shane make his way down the hall to stare up at the skylight. It wasn't easy because they had a brief history, their friendship probably felt so easy because there was no risk of them fucking.

It had taken immense restraint on Ilya’s part to stay away from Shane after that All-Stars weekend. The first few years were an exercise in self-control and painful daydreams. Now it was practically muscle memory to ignore Shane's freckles and gorgeous eyes.

Ilya watched Shane pad into the kitchen to inspect the countertop, and wondered if he would have been this responsible if Shane had been single when he came out. Ilya probably would have tried to fuck him for old times sake, to fulfill fantasies he had years ago, and then he would have missed out on moments like this.

Shane looked like he was about to pry up the floorboards and inspect the foundation of the house next, so Ilya redirected him.

“Drink?” He asked, moving to the fridge.

“Um. What do you have?” Shane asked.

Ilya beckoned him over. He had studiously marched past the ginger ale when he was at the grocery store, and instead got the beer Shane had when they went to the bar the other week. Shane took a bottle, and Ilya pulled his freezer open to pour himself some vodka.

Ilya turned on the TV so they could watch Los Angeles play Seattle.

“Do you think there are other players like us? Who haven't come out yet?” Shane asked.

Ilya contemplated. “Probably, yes. It is not easy.”

“Did you…did you ever guess that about Hunter, Barrett, any of them?” Shane was fidgeting with the label on his beer, and Ilya found himself having to wrench his eyes away from Shane’s fingers.

“Hm,” Ilya took a sip as he sifted through his memories. “Price, maybe? He was very quiet when he played with the Raiders, did not know him well. But I wondered, once or twice. Did not spend much time around the others.”

Ilya trained his gaze forward before he said the next part, he wasn’t sure how Shane would respond.

“One time I wondered if Barrett had a crush on you.”

Shane choked on his beer and Ilya had no choice but to look at him. He was flushed red, sputtering, and Ilya couldn't help laughing.

“Fuck off,” Shane gasped. “That’s not even a good joke.”

“Not a joke!” Ilya said, enjoying himself now. “Tampa, last year. Remember? Our team dinner. He turns pink every time you look at him. Which was not much, poor man.”

Ilya remembered watching from further down the table, almost pitying Troy as much as he hated him.

Shane looked like he was going to be ill. “The last thing I want is Troy Barrett having a crush on me,” he declared, and then he crossed his arms like a grumpy cartoon.

“I do not think you have to worry. You have given him nothing to work with,” Ilya laughed. Anytime Troy said something complimentary towards Shane in their group chat, Shane refused to respond. Ilya would usually swoop in with a chirp for Troy afterwards, for good measure.

Shane watched Seattle's goalie block a terrible shot from the Los Angeles center.

“How did you know, with me?”

Shane asked it so quietly that Ilya almost convinced himself he was hearing things. But Shane turned those magnetic brown eyes to his, and Ilya felt pinned, his heart picking up pace.

“Ah. Easy, you got hard in the shower,” Ilya lied.

Shane’s cheeks pinked again, not as flushed as when he was processing that Barrett probably had a crush on him. Ilya had intended to go easy on Shane, but something about seeing him blush made Ilya nudge towards the ledge.

“And that day we met, you looked like you wanted to be between my lips, instead of my cigarette.” Ilya didn't break eye contact this time, daring Shane to be the one to look away.

Shane chewed his lip for a moment and Ilya felt anxiety course through his veins. He had probably taken it too far, it was close to the friendly flirting he did with Svetlana. Only that never felt dangerous, and something about the air between him and Shane felt dangerous right now.

“I guess you weren't wrong,” Shane finally smiled, and Ilya could feel the tension in his shoulders ease a bit.

Almost as if to firmly screw himself in place, he asked a question he didn't really care about.

“How is Ben?”

“Uh, fine. Busy with the new season,” Shane said.

“What happens this season?” Ilya asked. He had now watched three mind-numbing seasons of this stupid show, looking for any glimpses of brilliance, something that would make him feel admiration or approval of Shane’s boyfriend.

Shane finished his beer. “I don't know. I've only seen an episode or two from the first season, I couldn't tell you what happens.”

Ilya stared at him. He wanted to flail accusingly, as if Shane had been forcing him to watch hours of this bad TV show.

Shane mistook his expression.

“Is that bad? I don't know, he never really watches my games.”

Ilya struggled to collect himself. “Never? Why?”

Shane yawned. “He's just not very into hockey.”

Ilya turned to face the TV again, and he wondered if his silence was too obvious. Shane was the most hockey obsessed person he knew, and that was truly saying something, because Svetlana Vetrova was Ilya’s best friend. He struggled to imagine someone loving Shane and not wanting to watch him play.

They watched the rest of the game in silence. Ilya’s mind was occupied with bitter appraisals of Ben, and he worried that his judgement would be too apparent if he looked in Shane’s direction.

When the game concluded, he finally turned towards Shane and was faced a new, worse problem.

Shane had fallen asleep, head tipped slightly onto the back of the couch. He looked so peaceful and cozy that Ilya almost wanted to let him stay there. Begrudgingly, he knew Shane’s neck would be stiff if he slept with his head tipped back all night, so he gently nudged him.

Shane’s eyelashes fluttered open and Ilya forgot what he was going to say for a moment.

“You can stay, if you want. In the guest room with the north-facing window you liked,” Ilya cleared his throat, slapping on a smirk.

Shane didn't seem to register the humor of his thorough assessment of Ilya’s guest room from his earlier self-guided tour. He blinked at Ilya, confused and sleepy, and his eyes slowly focused.

“No, I should get back to the hotel. We leave early.”

He stood, stretching, and Ilya busied himself taking the remains of their drinks to the kitchen.

By the time he got back to the living room, Shane was sliding his shoes on.

“My ride's almost here,” Shane glanced up at Ilya and gave him a soft smile. “Thanks for offering your guest room. Maybe another time.”

Ilya nodded. He suddenly felt very tired, the day catching up with him.

Shane started down the hall towards the door and then doubled back.

“Do you hug goodbye? Usually?” Shane asked. His face was so serious, Ilya didn't have time to think of a snarky reply.

“Sometimes. Depends on the person.”

Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya, giving a quick squeeze. Ilya barely had time to return the gesture and smell the scent of Shane’s laundry detergent on his hoodie before Shane slipped free, whispered a sleepy “good night,” and left.

When the door closed behind him, Ilya was struck with the sensation that his home felt profoundly empty in Shane’s absence.

Chapter End Notes

Troy is going to get his moment later, but it was important to me at this point in the story to have Shane and Ilya pissed off that Troy is suddenly getting an image rehab after being terrible for years. And unfortunately, in every universe Troy has a moment of thinking Shane is a hottie, and Shane doesn't think about Troy at all.

I love writing down-bad, fake IDAGFer Ilya, so I needed to have him watch like 40 episodes of a bad legal drama because he resents Shane's boyfriend (but cannot really admit to himself that he resents him)

idk why I ever act like I'm ever going to have a regular posting schedule, but here I am, trying again! I think this will have weekly updates? It all really depends on how insane work is (it's insane right now) and how well the Mariners are playing (they're playing terribly)

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Shane: Scott Hunter asked if I want to meet up with him and Bennett when we play them next week

Ilya: Do you think Hunter is going to ask you to be in a throuple with his boyfriend?

Shane: No
Shane: Gross

Ilya: Yes, gross.
Ilya: But not impossible.
Ilya: Please tell me what he says. Tell him I say hi.

Shane: I'm not telling him you say hi. I don't think he'd believe me.

***

Shane stood at the door of The Kingfisher and was struck for the dozenth time with the sense that the world was now upside down. He was about to have a drink in a gay bar with his childhood idol.

Shane had almost pathologically avoided Scott Hunter after his rookie All-Star game, too afraid that Scott could change his mind at any minute or let something slip that would expose Shane and Ilya. Shane knew he shouldn't feel lingering resentment, but he did. Scott had been twisted up in Shane’s fear and shame for so long, and it was hard to unlearn.

When Shane pushed through the door, his nerves settled a fraction. Scott was in a booth with Bennett, and gave him a warm smile as he waved Shane over.

Shane slid across from the two men and then glanced around the bar, still feeling awkward.

“I didn't really think. Uh, is this your first gay bar?” Scott asked.

Shane shook his head. “Rozanov and I went to one, when the Raiders came to Montreal a month ago.”

He felt a frigid chill shoot up his spine as he watched Scott glance at him. Scott was the only other person who knew there was any history between him and Ilya, and he wondered what he thought of their newfound friendship.

Scott sighed and looked at Bennett. “Guess we should do the polite thing and invite him for a drink next time he's in town.”

Shane wanted to tell him he didn't have to be a welcoming committee, that Ilya wouldn't want an stuffy invite that was extended out of obligation. As the words formed in his head, he realized they sounded a bit like something Ilya would say, and he paused. 

Bennett leaned in a bit. “I have to ask, is he always like that?”

“Like what?”

“Always on. I never really got shit from him personally, but he just seems like he's in the persona of a cocky asshole 24/7.”

Shane shook his head. “He's not. He'll hate that I said this, but, uh…he can be alright.”

It was an understatement. Ilya did enjoy chirping and teasing, but he also had a softer side to him that Shane suspected many people didn't get to see. He spoke about his friend Svetlana with a fondness that made Shane's chest constrict. When Shane complained about having a brutal day of commercial shoots, Ilya spammed him with photos of his neighbor's dogs to cheer Shane up.

Scott gave Shane a sharp look again before forging ahead, trying to stab at a common interest.

“So. You've got a boyfriend, right? He's probably excited you're out.”

Shane eagerly grasped at the more neutral topic, and they all devolved into conversation about their respective boyfriends.

Scott and Eric talked about their boyfriends with lovesick tenderness. Shane wondered if time would eventually forge that bond between him and Ben, if he'd get a gross, syrupy lovestruck expression when he talked about him.

When Shane got back to the hotel that night, he texted Ben goodnight, thinking to himself that he should probably make the effort to be a more attentive boyfriend, like Scott and Eric. The distance and Ben's schedule had made it hard to connect when Shane was on the road.

He was about to lock his phone and get ready for bed when a message from Ilya came in.

Ilya: Are you alive? Hunter did not trap you in his apartment and try to have a threesome?

Shane: What is up with your fascination with Hunter and his boyfriend?
Shane: Sounds like you're the one with a senior citizen fetish

Ilya: Take it back
Ilya: I think I will be sick. This is your fault for saying lies about me 🤢

Shane: You're so dramatic
Shane: It was fine. Scott and Eric are kind of old, we didn't have a ton in common.
Shane: Mainly talked about our boyfriends.

Ilya: Hm. I am not convinced that was not foreplay.

Shane: Whatever. Hunter said he's going to see about meeting up with you when you play them next.
Shane: Let me know if you get roped into a threesome with them

Ilya: No chance. He will be in a nursing home by then anyway

***

On a rare off-day that overlapped with a break in Ben's schedule, Shane found himself covered in flour.

“I don't think this looks right,” Shane glanced over at Ben, who was whisking egg yolk into a pile of flour with ease.

Cooking together was an activity they had done when Shane had the summer off. It felt like the closest approximation they could get to a date, and Shane had spent many summer nights toiling over a recipe and thinking to himself that it would be nice to just go to a restaurant instead.

Ben looked over at Shane and frowned. Shane had already knocked the flour everywhere, it wasn't coming together into a rough dough at all.

“Here, like this,” Ben stepped in and brought Shane’s dough into working condition, and then backed off so they could get to kneading.

“You know, we could go out now. This is nice, but we haven't really had a chance to go somewhere since I came out,” Shane stared at the dough, somehow nervous to ask for a public date from his own boyfriend.

“I know. Next time,” Ben smiled at Shane. “In a couple weeks, maybe? We could go to trivia with a few of my friends at Pony.”

Shane bravely nodded. Meeting Ben's friends and going to a gay bar felt like terrifying exposure therapy for his insecurities. He tried to steady himself by recalling his night out with Ilya. That had seemed so daunting when Ilya proposed the idea, but it had wound up being comfortable and not at all as intimidating as he feared.

Ben seemed to read the tension on Shane's face though.

“Unless it's too much. You haven't really been in any queer spaces, right? We can just have them over for dinner at my place, if that's easier.”

“No, uh. I'll be fine,” Shane scrambled to prove that he could do this. “I've actually gone to two gay bars, since I came out.”

Ben raised an eyebrow and stopped kneading.

“By yourself?” Ben knew Hayden, JJ, and Rose were Shane’s primary friends. Rose was the most likely one to tag along to a queer bar, and she had been filming in LA for the past two months.

“No, some of the other hockey players who came out,” Shane said. Ben brightened again, the way he always did when Shane mentioned an aside about the group chat.

“You didn't tell me you were meeting up. That's great. What are they like off the ice?”

Shane’s mind stalled out for a moment, trying to think of a neutral way to describe each of them. He couldn't exactly say “Two of them act like old married men, and the other guy gave me a few mind-blowing orgasms when I was a rookie, and now he might be becoming one of my best friends?”

“Uh, two of them I don't have a lot in common with. We're at different stages in our careers. One of them is from my draft class. I think we're becoming friends.”

Ben started rolling out his dough, smiling encouragingly at Shane.

“One out of three isn't so bad. Maybe we can have him over the next time he's in town.”

***

Shane had prepared Ilya for Scott's invitation to meet up in New York. Ilya still dreaded it.

For the hundredth time, Ilya was grateful that he and Shane had begun to forge a friendship. The group chat that Scott presided over felt stuffy and formal, and when Troy chimed it in felt downright claustrophobic. If Ilya wasn't able to sidebar with Shane and complain about it all, he would have left the chat weeks ago.

Shane had often drawn comparisons to Hunter when he was coming up in the league, comparisons that made Ilya roll his eyes. It was all surface-level, assumptions that because Hollander was media trained and quiet in public, he was stiff and boring like Hunter.

Ilya loved to call Shane boring, but the truth was that he found the man endlessly fascinating. Shane had a strong opinion about everything, Shane sent Ilya detailed and unprompted critique about his games, Shane had something enthusiastic to say about the photos of dogs that Ilya encountered, and best of all, Shane seemed to be on Ilya’s side every time he complained about Scott or Troy.

Maybe they were supposed to feel queer solidarity towards the group. But Ilya really only felt that with Shane, and they both had lingering resentments towards Scott and Troy.

When Ilya got in a cab to head to meet Scott, he had several texts from Shane chirping Scott's performance that night. He resolved to call Shane afterwards to give him a full debrief, if he wasn't out too late.

Bennett didn't make it out that night, Hunter said something about his back being stiff, and Ilya politely bit back a comment about his age. So Ilya sat across from Scott, nursing a beer and refusing to help Hunter make conversation.

“Ok, what is your problem with me?” Scott finally said, after the fifth monosyllabic reply from Ilya.

“No problem. Maybe we just have nothing in common,” Ilya said.

“What, and you and Hollander have so much in common?” Scott raised an eyebrow. It didn't seem lost on Scott that Shane and Ilya were in sync on most topics brought up in the chat.

Ilya felt himself scowling, unable to answer. To his horror, Scott seemed to realize the can of worms he had stumbled upon.

“Is this about that All-Star weekend in Nashville?” Scott's voice was hushed, and it made the hair on the back of Ilya’s neck prickle.

“No,” Ilya lied, straightening his shoulders.

Scott clearly did not believe him. “I never told anyone. I never will.”

Ilya didn't know how to articulate his anger. It was irrational to be mad at Scott for choices he made out of self-preservation, but Ilya couldn't help feeling frustrated. If Scott had said something, anything that awful night that better indicated how safe he was, he could have spared Ilya a lot of fear and pain.

“I tried to…I saw how much it shook up Hollander. I tried to reassure him, back then. You never seemed bothered,” Scott said.

Ilya glared. Whatever Scott had tried with Shane, it clearly hadn't worked. He was desperately curious, but he wasn't going to ask Scott what he meant.

“Would have helped. If you said ‘I will keep your big gay secret because I am also super gay,” Ilya huffed.

To his distaste, Scott laughed a little at that before he looked mournful.

“It probably would have helped. I'm sorry. I really am,” Scott sighed. “I get it. We don't have to be friends. I just…I want to make it easier for the guys who come after us, you know?”

“Is it going to be easier?” Ilya asked. He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Scott looked concerned.

“I hope so. I mean, I know not everyone in the league is accepting, but so far—”

“Your team does not mind?” Ilya squinted at Scott. “Coaches say nothing, press does not ask weird questions?”

Scott started to slowly shake his head. “Not really. I mean, our team PR might be weeding out reporters who'd do that. And the team has been supportive. Really supportive, honestly.”

Ilya debated getting up and leaving right then. It was awful how consumed with jealousy he was. Scott Hunter didn't have to deal with a locker room that was teetering on the verge of mutiny, didn't have to navigate a press room that blindsided him with tense questions about whether or not he'd ever be able to set foot in Russia again. And worst of all, Scott got to live his charmed life with his boyfriend at his side.

“Are the Raiders treating you badly?” Scott asked. “This is exactly why I wanted us to all connect, because if—”

Ilya stood abruptly. “I am fine. Worry about your backhand instead.”

He shrugged his coat on and left before Scott could reply.

When he stepped outside he lit a cigarette and yanked out his phone.

Shane answered on the first ring.

“How was Hunter?” He sounded sleepy, and Ilya felt a twinge of guilt as he checked the time.

“Exactly like I thought. Talks like he is president of the gays,” Ilya took a drag and started walking. He was far from his hotel, but he had too much restless energy to sit in a cab right now.

“He kind of does,” Shane laughed. “And I don't remember us ever getting a vote.”

“Is Montreal bad?” Ilya blurted out.

“What do you mean?” Shane asked.

“Scott says Admirals are great. One happy family.”

“Oh. Good for him,” Shane's tone sounded hollow, and it spoke volumes to Ilya. He squeezed his eyes shut. A few moments ago, he had wanted to not feel so alone. He hadn't considered the price, that Shane experiencing the same coldness and isolation would amplify Ilya’s pain.

“Boston is not good,” Ilya admitted. “I fucking hate it right now.”

“I'm so sorry,” Shane said softly. “Yeah, I mean things haven't gotten better with the Metros. It sucks.”

They were both silent, and Ilya considered letting Shane sleep, calling him again tomorrow to make fun of Scott and ask the questions on his mind.

But he felt too restless, that itch had returned. Ilya crossed the street and stared at the city blocks stretching ahead of him, and he thought about the nagging curiosity of how things could have turned out differently.

“Hunter said something strange,” Ilya finally said. He half-wondered if Shane had drifted off to sleep.

“What did he say?” Shane's voice was so soft. Ilya thought to himself that he really shouldn't have this conversation right now.

“He said he tried to make you feel better. When we thought he might tell.”

They'd never really talked about what either experienced in those months immediately after. Ilya had some very low days back then, days that he sunk into his couch and slept for hours. He had imagined word spreading, getting kicked out of the league, sent back to Russia, untold consequences waiting for him. He had fitful nightmares of what might happen to Shane if he couldn't play hockey anymore, all because Ilya hadn't been able to resist pursuing him.

“Oh. Huh,” Shane sounded more awake now. “Yeah, I remembered that when he came out in the spring. I hadn't really thought about it in years.”

Ilya felt wildly impatient, waiting for Shane to get to the point.

“Um. It was the first game against New York, after. I was really scared. I threw up in the bathroom before the game, and I remember just sweating and shaking when we skated up for the puck drop. I guess I can see now that Hunter was trying to be nice. But he was so fucking intense and everything felt scary.”

Ilya took a long drag as he pictured it. Shane, young and terrified. Scott, guilt ridden and hiding.

“He was just whispering really intensely. Stuff about how everything would be fine, I would be fine, I didn't have anything to worry about. But it all just felt like…him bringing that up on the ice was my worst fucking nightmare. I played so badly that night.”

“I am sorry,” Ilya said. He hoped Shane realized he was apologizing for all of it.

Every stupid decision Ilya had made that led up to Scott catching them. The years of worrying after, maybe even an apology for the fact that they had been shoved apart all this time. Ilya had been devastated when they had to cut things off, but he hadn't even known Shane the way he knew him now. Ilya wondered if the past few years might have been gentler to him if Shane had been his friend then.

“I'm sorry too,” Shane yawned, a cue Ilya couldn't ignore.

“I will let you sleep,” Ilya said.

“Ok,” Shane sounded halfway there already. “Goodnight, Ilya.”

“Goodnight, Shane.”

Ilya was pulling the phone away from his ear, about to end the call, when he heard Shane mutter something.

“What was that?”

“I said I'm glad we can talk again. I missed you,” Shane told him.

Ilya felt a lump in his throat, and was barely able to choke out his reply.

“I missed you too. Sleep well.”

***

Cliff flopped next to Ilya on the plane too quickly for him to hide his tablet.

“Are you watching The Scales of Justice? Dude, my mom watches that show,” Cliff squinted at the screen that Ilya was now flipping facedown on the tray table.

“It is good for my English, I am learning many new words,” Ilya sniffed. It was true, he had a running list of legal terms on his phone that he would search after watching an episode. Not that he had any reason to use the terms “subpoena” or “tort claim”.

Cliff immediately called him on his bullshit. “Your English is better than half the team's, and I've seen episodes, they're barely speaking English, it's all legal shit.”

Cliff didn't seem like he was going to press the topic, but Ilya felt the words tumble out of his mouth anyway.

“Hollander’s boyfriend writes the show. I am meeting him next week, wanted to be polite and tell him I have seen his boring show.”

Ilya actually wasn't sure if he could talk to Ben about the show without betraying the fact that he was now five seasons deep, with no signs of stopping.

Cliff cocked his head. “Man, am I getting replaced as your best friend? Last time I had you meet a girlfriend you didn't even bother to learn her name.”

Ilya rolled his eyes dramatically. “This is because you never have girlfriend longer than three months. When you are serious, I will learn her name.”

“Fair enough,” Cliff sighed. “Hollander is serious about everything huh, even his boyfriend?”

Ilya shrugged. It was a topic that Shane never seemed to bring up, and Ilya found himself clawing scraps of information out of him. Shane and Ben seemed serious, serious enough for homemade pasta nights and frequent sleepovers. Not serious enough to move in, not serious enough to have him meet Yuna and David Hollander yet.

When Ilya had been unable to hide his surprise at that last fact, Shane had gotten defensive.

“It’s not a big deal. They live in Ottawa, and we never have free time together for more than 24 hours. It just hasn't happened yet.”

Ilya had backed off and refrained from asking about Ben for three days after that exchange. So he vowed to be on his best behavior when he met Ben next week, even if he wanted to corner Ben and ask him about glaring plot holes in the second season of his show.

***

This time, Shane had been the one to initiate what Ilya deemed “the gay hockey convention.”

Ryan Price usually chimed in sparingly in the chat, but Ilya had spoken positively about him the few times he came up in conversation.

It felt like the polite thing to do, reaching out when Shane landed in Toronto. Scott Hunter had no doubt invited Ryan to meet over drinks when Toronto played in New York, just like he had with Shane and Ilya.

Shane was grateful that Troy had just been unceremoniously traded to Ottawa, so he didn't have to come up with an excuse to avoid him when he arrived in Toronto.

The instant he met up with Ryan in a quiet bar in The Village, Shane worried he had made a grave mistake.

“Uh. How's the season going for you?” Ryan forced the words out while staring at the sticky bartop. Small talk was clearly not his thing.

Shane thought about Ilya laughing at him when he talked about the Metros season the first time they hung out. It felt like a lifetime ago, and he was somehow already nostalgic for that night.

“It’s ok. Rozanov is ahead of me in goals, I have more assists,” Shane said.

Ryan nodded, his eyes glancing at the clock above the bar.

“My boyfriend has a show in an hour, he said it's ok for me to skip it so I could do this,” Ryan waved his hand between them. “But I'd really like to go support him.”

“Yeah, that's fine. Uh…are you inviting me?” Shane could not get a read on the situation at all. Judging by Ryan's surprise, he had not intended to invite Shane.

“You want to come?”

“Do you want me to come?”

Ryan started beaming, and his intimidating countenance totally melted. It was the warmest Shane had felt all night.

In forty minutes, they were at a small music venue, watching Ryan's boyfriend tune his instruments.

Fabian was not at all what Shane had expected, although he supposed he hadn't ever given much thought to who Ryan Price might date.

When the music started, it all clicked into place. Fabian completely bewitched the audience, commanding the stage with dreamy authority. Ryan stood there with a smile so proud, so awestruck, that it made Shane’s stomach clench. It felt like a moment too private for Shane to witness.

Shane lingered with Ryan after the show as Fabian packed up and chatted with fans.

“He's really talented,” Shane said. “How did you guys meet?”

Ryan's lips twisted, the most amusement that Shane had seen all night flitted across his face.

“I billeted with his family.”

Shane felt his mouth drop open just as Fabian walked up.

“I know, I am just that good,” Fabian shook his head in mock humility.

“Fabian, this is Shane Hollander. He plays for Montreal.”

“Sorry,” Shane tried to shut his mouth. “ I mean, you are that good! I'm just a little surprised, Price just told me how you met.”

Fabian's eyes lit up with a devilish sparkle, and when Shane glanced at Ryan he was wearing the same expression.

“I know, so romantic. What can I say? Not many of us get a second chance to reconnect with our gay awakening,” Fabian looped his arm through Ryan's and kissed his cheek.

Shane momentarily choked on his own spit, coughing into the crook of his arm as his cheeks flamed red, grateful that Ryan and Fabian were too lost in their own world to notice. They might not be in a relationship, but he had absolutely been given a chance to reconnect with his own gay awakening.

Fabian's words were still wrapped around Shane's thoughts when he got ready for bed, and he found himself texting Ilya.

Shane: I met Price's boyfriend tonight

Ilya: Hunter could not get you to agree to a threesome, but Price did??

Shane: Why do you think everyone wants to have a threesome?

Shane: I think Ryan would rather die than share Fabian.

Ilya: This makes sense. His boyfriend does look pretty.

Shane: Did you know they met when they were teenagers? Ryan billeted with Fabian's family.

Ilya: Very hot. There is probably porn with this story.

Shane chewed on his thumbnail, almost as if to keep it away from his phone screen. He had a reckless, irresponsible urge to ask Ilya what he had thought of Shane when they were teenagers. Shane had known by the time he met Ilya that he was attracted to men. But Ilya had been proof that Shane couldn't deny it, couldn't shove his attraction into a box and ignore it in the hopes it would go away.

Shane found his mind drifting, imagining what might have happened if Ilya had billeted with Shane's family. It was somehow too easy to picture him staying in the Hollander's guest room and sneaking into Shane’s bed at night.

Almost unconsciously, Shane palmed his hardening cock through his sweatpants. Memories began filtering through his mind from six years ago. Ilya staring down at Shane, breathless with anticipation. Ilya gasping and clutching at Shane’s hair as he came down Shane’s throat.

Shane squirmed as he tried to remember the heat of Ilya’s mouth on his neck, the weight of Ilya’s muscle pinning him to the bed as Ilya’s strong hand stroked his cock—

He almost jumped a foot into the air when his phone buzzed.

Ilya: Why did you stop texting
Ilya: Are you looking up billet porn??

***

Chapter End Notes

Ilya's threesome talk is just Ilya crashing out, it is not foreshadowing/Checkov's threesome. Apologies if anybody was hoping to read an Ilya/Shane/writer of a bad legal drama threesome.

Next chapter they are going to plumb new depths of denial/obliviousness, and Ilya is going to have totally normal thoughts and feelings when he finally meets the head writer of his least favorite show.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Ilya was irrationally annoyed when Shane texted him the address for dinner and said they would be eating at Ben's place. He hadn’t seen Shane’s apartment in Montreal, and for some reason he was desperately curious.

He had pictured himself wandering through its rooms, knocking on the floorboards and pretending to be as fascinated in real estate as Shane was. Shane might not even notice he was teasing, which was sometimes more fun than getting a rise out of him. His earnest reception to everything Ilya did was endlessly charming.

With Ilya’s planned real estate jokes on hold, he vowed to impress Ben with his good manners. He showed up at his doorstep precisely on time, with a nice bottle of wine. He had spent too long at the hotel taming his curls and fretting about the cashmere sweater he had decided to wear.

When Shane flung the door open, Ilya’s nerves spiked.

“Hey,” Shane's tone was a little stilted, and when Ilya hugged him hello he only gave a perfunctory squeeze.

Ilya handed him his coat, mind racing. Maybe Shane preferred to only hug goodbye. Even though he had been the one to make this plan, maybe Shane was in a bad mood about his routine getting messed with the night before a game.

Shane walked down the hallway, Ilya desperately trailing him. Shane hadn't been as chatty in the past few days, ever since he went to Toronto. Ilya had chalked that up to busy schedules, but as they rounded the corner Ilya decided that something was definitely off.

“Ben, this is Ilya Rozanov,” Shane waved. “We, uh...we were drafted the same year. And he came out the same day I came out.”

Ilya almost winced. It was such a clinical and insufficient summation of who they were to each other.

Ilya hadn't been brave enough to ask if Ben knew they'd briefly hooked up years ago, and it was clear now that Shane didn't think that was important enough to share.

He turned his attention to giving Ben a firm handshake. Ben had curly dark hair and broad shoulders, and he was better looking than his photos.

“I'm so glad I get to meet one of Shane’s hockey friends. You were really brave, coming out. I know Shane agonized about whether or not to do it for months,” Ben said.

“Yes. I wondered if I would, after Hunter came out. Uh…I did not plan as much as Hollander did, I am sure,” Ilya stuffed his hands in his pockets and eyed the wine.

Ben picked up on the hard gaze and asked Shane to fetch glasses while he turned back to the stove top.

Ilya gratefully took a gulp of the wine that Shane handed him, and his eyes followed Shane as he sat at the kitchen island, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“Are your DMs as crazy as Shane’s now?” Ben asked casually.

Ilya almost choked on his wine.

“What is this?” Ilya asked.

Shane’s face was turning bright red.

“I don't even really look at social media, my manager mainly posts for me. But uh, a lot of guys were trying to ask me out in my DMs when I first came out.”

Ilya opened his mouth to demand to see them, to huddle over Shane’s phone together and laugh at the thirsty messages from men who didn't have a shot in hell with Shane Hollander.

“It must be the same for you, right?” Ben asked. “Not every day a hot single athlete comes out.”

It was Shane's turn to choke on his drink for a moment.

“What? We're adults, I can't say your friend is hot?” Ben looked confused, gesturing towards Ilya.

Ilya was torn between wanting to puff his chest out to hear Shane admit it, and wanting to sink into the floor and escape this entire awkward evening.

“Sorry, Ilya. You're fine, I guess,” Shane muttered.

“Oh, just fine?” Ilya forgot for a moment that Ben was there, stirring some kind of sauce on the stove. It was the kind of thing he'd tease Shane about it normally.

“You don't need more motivation to post thirst traps,” Shane grumbled. His dismissive comment only made Ilya's ego inflate more, and he decided he'd post a shirtless gym selfie tomorrow just to annoy Shane.

“Ok, food's ready!” Ben declared.

***

Shane had felt awkward ever since his weird, brief fantasy about Ilya. He had tried to overcompensate by practically launching himself at Ben when he got to his place that afternoon, only to be gently rebuffed because Ben still had edits to work on before dinner. Shane worried that his pent-up frustration was coming off of him in waves. Seeing Ilya in the flesh wasn't helping with the swirl of guilt and confusion, especially when Shane’s boyfriend was sitting next to him, peppering Ilya with questions.

“Do you want to stay in Boston, if they're so bad?” Ben asked.

Ilya's eyes shot to Shane, silently pleading. Ben had already asked a lot of questions about the reaction after Ilya came out, and Shane had watched him grow more and more uncomfortable as Ben pried at the ugly atmosphere of the Raiders locker room. It was something that he and Ilya had talked about with each other, but Ben didn't seem to realize that Ilya wasn't the type to open up to a virtual stranger.

“Maybe we talk about something different?” Shane asked. He felt a stab of gratification when he saw Ilya smile at him in relief.

“Yes, Hollander and I talk about hockey enough,” Ilya said. “Tell me about your job. How is the new season?”

Ben straightened up, thrilled to move off the topic of hockey. Shane settled back, shoveling Thai curry into his mouth while he half-listened as Ben detailed the plot points of the new season.

“But what will Christine's husband do when he finds out she interviewed at the other firm?” Ilya asked.

Shane was jolted out of his reverie by the question. Ilya looked deadly serious.

“Oh, you're not caught up!” Ben exclaimed. “They divorced last season.”

Ilya practically pouted. “No, have not watched that far yet. Do not tell me anything else.”

“I didn't know you were watching,” Shane said. He must have sounded too happy, because Ilya shrugged as if to downplay it.

“Have lots of long flights. You say your boyfriend writes a show, I wanted to see it.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Ben gently touched Shane’s elbow and shot him an approving smile. “Ok, tell me what season you're on, and I'll let you know the drama from set.”

Shane felt like an outsider for a moment as he watched his boyfriend and his friend gossip about a show he hadn't seen.

Was he a terrible boyfriend? Ilya wasn't even friends with Ben, and he'd watched his show because he knew they'd meet and he wanted to be able to talk to him about it.

Meanwhile, Shane had been moments away from impulsively jerking off for no discernable reason while texting Ilya the other night. Shane had hoped that a relationship would come easily to him once he started dating men. He was beginning to feel woefully inadequate, as if he was incapable of being a competent boyfriend.

Ben was using the salt and pepper shakers to demonstrate the blocking on a courtroom scene, and Ilya was following the movement with furrowed eyebrows. He glanced up at Shane and his warm hazel eyes went wide for a moment. Shane’s anxiety must have been written all over his face.

Ilya tipped his head to the side, silently asking if Shane was alright.

Shane shook him off and took another bite of curry, leaving Ilya and Ben to their conversation.

***

After dinner, Ben practically shoved Ilya out of the kitchen when he attempted to do the dishes.

“Go, you two hang out, Shane and I see each other all the time. Clean up won't take me long anyway.”

Shane led Ilya to the living room, where they settled into a hideous burnt orange couch.

“Do you have orange furniture?” Ilya asked, poking at the cushions.

Shane’s nose wrinkled, unable to hide his distaste at the idea.

“Uh, no. I worked with a designer. My furniture has a cool-toned color palette.”

Ilya had to work hard to hide his smirk. He loved how predictable Shane was, how completely transparent he could be sometimes. He wondered if Ben had ever noticed how much Shane seemed to hate his couch.

“I want to see your apartment. Maybe next time?” Ilya asked hopefully. There was some small fear that Shane would move in with Ben before then, and Ilya would miss out on the chance to see a space Shane had made his own.

Shane just chewed on his lip and nodded. Ilya wanted to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and ask him what happened to make things so weird all of a sudden. He had been absent all dinner, stiff in a way that made Ilya feel like a stranger. It hurt, an unsettled ache in Ilya’s stomach that had deepened every second since he'd entered Ben's home.

“Are you ok? Did something happen?” Ilya asked quietly.

Shane opened his mouth, but Ben entered, carrying a new bottle of wine and fresh glasses. Ilya felt his eyebrows raise judgmentally before he could stop it.

“Oh, I should have asked. Ilya, do you need to leave soon?” Ben set a glass in front of him, hesitating.

“Ah, no. I mean yes, soon. Just surprised. Did not think Hollander drank much before games.” Ilya tried to keep the tone teasing, but his eyes flicked to Shane with concern. He had already been a little surprised to watch Shane nurse a glass of wine through dinner that he didn’t particularly seem to enjoy.

“Don’t remind me,” Ben groaned. “It was so bad when we first got together. All he would eat was salmon and brown rice, and I don’t think he had a drop of alcohol until playoffs were over. It was like dating a monk or something.”

“The end of the season is really hard on your body,” Shane said quietly. “I’ll probably be the same this season, if the Metros make it to the playoffs.”

“Shane is right,” Ilya crossed his arms defensively. “He is the second-best player in the league, he knows what he is doing.”

Ben didn’t seem to catch the disapproval dripping from Ilya’s words. “Oh. Who’s the best player?”

Shane was really dating a fucking idiot. Ilya had been joking, but Ben’s response was genuine. He didn’t seem to know that his boyfriend was a generational talent.

“Him, he is best,” Ilya scowled. From the corner of his eye he could see Shane whip his head to him in surprise. “Or it is basically a tie, between us,” Ilya quickly corrected, returning to the familiarity of their bickering. “It is always me and him, people argue for years who is better.”

“Oh!” Ben sounded too surprised by the news. Ilya thought about Shane’s blank expression when Ben talked about his show. Did these men not care at all about what either one did? What was even bonding them to each other?

Something thudded into place in Ilya’s chest when he pondered that question. Sex. The foundation of their relationship had to be great sex, the kind that made someone overlook the fact that they had nothing in common with their partner.

Ilya drank a few gulps of wine as he tried to stop thinking about his friend’s sex life with his mildly annoying boyfriend.

“I forgot to say. Can I give you my mom’s number?” Shane asked.

“Yuna wants to go on a date? Your dad will not mind?” Ilya teased. Ben looked repulsed, but Shane only rolled his eyes,

“She wants to talk about a commercial, you moron. I told her we’re friendly, and she wanted to tell you about some idea she had.”

“She can talk to my manager, no?” Ilya wasn’t sure why he said that. He kind of liked the idea of getting to know Shane’s mother. She had terrified him when he was a teenager.

Shane shrugged. “Yeah, she just said something about you maybe being more receptive than your management.”

“Ok. Give her my number,” Ilya said.

They made small talk for another hour. When Ilya talked to Ben about his show, Shane would go quiet. When Shane talked to Ilya about hockey, Ben would absently scroll on his phone.

It was not lost on Ilya that Shane barely touched the glass of wine Ben had placed in front of him. Ilya wasn’t sure why he felt so smug about it, but when he got ready to leave, he gave it one final, triumphant glance.

“Have a good game tomorrow,” Ben said. “It was really nice meeting you.”

“You too. I will see you soon?” Ilya was searching for the boyfriend stamp of approval. With Shane being weird, Ilya didn’t want any additional obstacles between them.

Ben nodded, and a prickling relief washed over Ilya.

“Ok, I’ll walk you out,” Shane ushered Ilya down the hall.

“He likes me,” Ilya said to Shane, feeling the need to hear Shane confirm it, to get reassurance that Ilya fit into Shane’s life.

“Yeah, he likes you because you’re a kiss-ass who watched like 100 episodes of his show,” Shane muttered, grabbing Ilya’s coat out of the closet.

“Whatever,” Ilya slid his coat on, taking a while to fasten the buttons so he could drag out the moment. Shane was almost back to his normal self, it was possible the distance earlier was just nerves. “You are just jealous your boyfriend likes me so much.”

“You’re not going to make another threesome joke, are you?” Shane looked genuinely horrified at the thought, and Ilya realized he felt the same. The idea of a threesome with lackluster Ben was disgusting. The idea of watching Shane get fucked was completely repulsive, sending a chill down Ilya’s spine. Ilya pretended to retch at the idea.

“You’re a fucking child,” Shane shook his head.

“Only two months younger,” Ilya teased. “Ok, goodnight. Do not drink more wine when I leave, I want to beat you fairly tomorrow.”

He hesitated for a moment. An agonizing, embarrassing moment where he waited to see if Shane wanted to hug goodbye. Shane stood there, stiffly, and Ilya took it as an answer.

“Goodnight, Shane.”

“Goodnight, Ilya.”

Ilya slipped out the door, wondering why it felt like they were taking two steps backwards.

***
🏳️‍🌈🏒

Scott: Did you guys read this? First baseball player to come out.

Eric: I wonder if any other players will follow.

Troy: Should we say something to him?

Ilya: Why do you need permission, Troy?
Ilya: I already messaged him, it is not hard

Scott: That’s really nice of you, Rozanov
Scott: Reaching out to him, I mean. I think Troy’s question was a valid one. There’s something to be said for getting collective support from a group of players.

Ilya: Do you want us to send him a fruit basket? Can have a card that says “Congratulations on being gay. Love, the gay hockey bratva?”

Scott: Ok, now I’m questioning what you said to this guy.

Eric: You weren’t trying to shoot your shot, were you?

Ilya: I do not need to use DMs to get laid

Shane: I just messaged him. Glad to see other athletes are coming out.

***

Shane: What did you say to Mike?

Ilya: Just congratulations. Told him he can come to a Raiders game whenever he wants.

Shane: It kind of does sound like you hit on him.

Ilya: Gross
Ilya: Not even a little. Do not need to offer hockey tickets to get laid
Ilya: Besides, he is not hot. You really think I want to fuck a man who looks like a thumb?

Shane: Ok, fine! Just don’t be surprised when he tries to flirt back.

***

Shane didn’t invite Troy to meet up when the Centaurs came to town, and Troy didn’t reach out. He was markedly different on the ice, no longer chirping offense shit. It was a low bar to clear, but Shane supposed it was at least a sign of improvement.

The Metros won decisively, despite a valiant showing from the Centaurs goalie. Shane swore he could feel Troy’s eyes on him as he skated off the ice.

The media scrum was draining, the same way it was when he’d played Boston, New York, or Toronto. Endless questions about representation and inclusivity. It all made Shane want to scream. He had nothing in common with the other gay player on the ice. The two of them being out didn’t seem to be moving the league in a positive direction, if the Metros locker room was any indication. Hayden and JJ were trying their best to be vocally, aggressively supportive, but most of Shane’s teammates didn’t even look at him these days.

When Shane finally got out of the showers he checked his phone. Ilya had sent a string of texts, real-time reactions as the game had progressed. Shane found himself smiling a little, tension seeping out of him as he read Ilya’s scathing condemnation of Troy’s performance. His phone buzzed with a new message, Ilya must have correctly estimated the time it would take Shane to be available post-game.

Ilya: Are you seeing Troy after game?

Shane: You know I’m not.

Ilya: Did he ask?

Shane: No, thank god.
Shane: Are you going to see him when you go to Ottawa?

Ilya: Of course not.
Ilya: I have important business lunch in Ottawa anyway. Your mother is very formal, I see where you get it from.

Shane: My mom is taking you out to lunch??
Shane: This is so embarrassing, I’m sorry. She can be kind of intense.

Ilya: Do not be sorry. She scares me, but I like that.

Shane: Gross

Ilya: Not like that, I promise. No more jokes about your nice mother.
Ilya: Will I see you next week?

Shane: Maybe. I’m not sure what time we get in, and our flight the next day is really early.

Ilya: Ok

***

For years, Shane would get nervous in the days leading up to a game against the Raiders. The rivalry between the teams, the media attention on him and Ilya, it all felt like background noise. He’d spend nights tossing and turning, trying to mentally prepare himself to skate out to center ice and crouch across from Ilya. Back then, Ilya rarely met his gaze, and if he did, his eyes were steely, face walled off.

Shane was sure it was just their new friendship poking and prodding at the loose ends of unresolved feelings. He and Ilya weren’t going to date, but Shane could admit to himself that their friendship made him a little sad sometimes, for the years that he didn’t get to have Ilya in his life.

So it made sense that in the nights leading up to the game, Shane had a few fitful dreams about Ilya. He didn’t remember most of them, just mortifying flashes of a vision of Shane sucking Ilya’s cock, or of Ilya petting his hair.

The night before they flew to Boston was the worst yet. Shane dreamt that he had agreed to stay the night in Ilya’s hotel room in Nashville. In his dream, Ilya wasn’t like his rookie self. It was present-day Ilya, the slightly gentler one that he could talk to for hours. They laid in Ilya’s hotel bed, limbs tangled, talking until the sun rose.

When Shane woke up, he immediately texted Ben ‘good morning’, as if he needed to confirm to himself that it was all a dream, and he did indeed have a boyfriend. Then he spent an hour scrolling Reddit to see if dreaming about another person was something he should disclose to his boyfriend. The feedback online was too conflicting and overwhelming, and he vowed to call Rose that weekend for her opinion.

What he did know was that he felt completely unprepared to see Ilya that day. It felt like they had just had a one-night stand in his subconscious, and he needed space, both physical and mental.

Ilya texted as Shane was boarding his flight, checking if he would still be too crunched for time to meet up. Shane felt viciously guilty when he said sorry, he wouldn’t be able to see Ilya before or after the game. He knew he would have made it work if he hadn’t spent the past three nights dreaming about his friend, just like he knew he would be far too tense and awkward if they did meet up. Ilya would have coaxed the reason for his nerves out of him, and the last thing Shane wanted was to fuck up their friendship because his subconscious hadn’t caught up to the realities of present day.

***

Ilya felt petty. He felt bitchy and petty, and he had drank a little too much when he went out with Marley after the game to chase away the sting of their loss. Shane had been fucking weird, back to awkward eye contact and polite words when they faced off. It made Ilya feel like Shane was slipping through his fingers, and he was frantically trying to scoop their friendship back up.

When he got home, he poured himself an ill-advised final shot of vodka, and then he called Shane.

“Hey, what’s up?” Shane didn’t sound like he was even beginning to go to bed. The fucking liar probably could have met up with Ilya.

“What are you doing?” Ilya asked. He flopped on his couch and glared at the ceiling.

“Just reading. Hayden’s out with some of the guys. I, uh… obviously thought that was a bad idea since our flight leaves early.”

“What is going on?” Ilya snapped.

“What do you mean?” Shane asked.

“I mean you are not talking to me that much. You seemed weird when I had dinner with you and Ben. You do not want to see me. It feels—” Ilya had to pinch the bridge of his nose to calm himself for a moment as he felt a lump form in his throat. “It feels like we are going back to before. When we were not friends. And I do not want that.”

“I don't want that either,” Shane protested. “I just…I'm feeling awkward, it's my own shit to deal with. I'm sorry.”

“What shit? What is it that you cannot tell me?” Ilya straightened up. He'd thought there was virtually no topic off-limits between them.

Shane was quiet for so long that Ilya had to check the call was still running.

“Shane, whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I…uh. I had a dream. About that time we hooked up. And it made me feel awkward seeing you, and I'm really embarrassed, and—”

Ilya started laughing. It was completely inappropriate and unhelpful, but he couldn't stop himself. He felt relieved. Of all the wedges to come between him and Shane, this was one they had surmounted before.

“Shut up! It's not fucking funny,” Shane barked.

“Sorry. Is a little funny. Shane, I do not think one sex dream means anything, we are fine,” Ilya assured him.

“Yeah?” Shane's voice was so hopeful, it made something flutter in Ilya's chest.

“Yes. We sucked each other's dicks when we were teenagers, now we are friends,” Ilya settled back into his bed. “It is like me and Svetlana, no big deal.”

“You have sex dreams about Svetlana?” Shane asked crankily. He rushed to correct himself. “Fuck, sorry. Do not answer that, that’s not what I meant to say. I'm just…it's all still kind of weird. I'll get over it.”

“You will,” Ilya assured him. He tried to think about a time he'd had a sex dream about Svetlana, but no memory surfaced. He knew he'd dreamt about Shane over the past six years. Often in the days leading up to a game against the Metros, when he was mentally preparing to face off against Shane. It was natural, his subconscious surfacing memories he had tried hard to neatly box up.

“Ok. Well I'm really embarrassed still, so I'm going to go to bed now,” Shane said. His tone was familiar and wry, so Ilya wasn't that worried anymore.

“Goodnight, Shane,” Ilya said cheerfully. The air had been cleared, he was confident they would be OK.

“Goodnight, Ilya.”

Ilya took his time getting ready for bed, and when he finally slipped under his covers he found he couldn't fall asleep.

He tossed and turned, and eventually threw back the covers to jerk off, hoping that it might help him sleep.

He rolled over to grab lube from his bedside table. Feeling too lazy to pull up porn, he started absently stroking himself, casting his mind around for hot fantasies he could use instead.

His grip tightened on his cock when he remembered Shane’s embarrassed admission from their phone call. If Shane wasn't completely off-limits, Ilya would have teased him until Shane told him every graphic detail of his dream.

Ilya pictured himself coaxing the words out of Shane by dragging kisses along his neck, nipping and sucking at his soft skin. He wondered if Shane was still as responsive as he had been six years ago, if he'd still gasp and arch his back when Ilya grabbed his cock.

He wanted to hear Shane list every filthy thing he'd dreamed of, tell Ilya if he'd woken up sticky from coming in his sleep. Ilya was achingly hard now, and all he could picture was Shane when he swiped his thumb through the precome beading up at the head of his cock.

Ilya imagined himself pushing Shane to his knees, stroking his soft hair as Shane obediently stretched his rosy lips around Ilya’s cock.

Ilya's hand sped up, slicking the length of his cock as he started tensing, every nerve reacting as if Shane was taking Ilya deep to the back of his throat. Ilya wanted to fuck into his wet mouth, feel the blissful groans that Shane couldn't contain when he was stuffed full of Ilya’s cock.

In a split second, the fantasy shifted to Shane spread out underneath him, crying out as Ilya slowly opened him with his fingers. He pictured Shane digging his nails into Ilya’s back as he slowly pushed into Shane’s tight hole. Ilya dreamed about staring into Shane’s eyes as he whined and begged for Ilya to fuck him harder.

Fuck stupid fucking Scott Hunter. It was all his fault that Ilya didn't even know what it felt like to fuck Shane, to pound into him and feel Shane clench and shudder, coming on Ilya’s cock.

Ilya’s orgasm crested suddenly, stripes of come coating his chest as he gasped for air. His limbs felt weightless for a moment afterwards as he rode out the high, staring at his ceiling.

Finally, he dragged himself out of bed to clean up. When he crawled back under the covers, he found that he was more awake than ever.

***

Chapter End Notes

Is there a tag for fast-burn idiocy? Because I do think it's very funny that these two are friends for like two months and now Shane has to google "is it cheating if you dream about lying awake all night in the arms of another man?"

Ilya is over here rehearsing a tight five of real estate jokes, only to find out he has to go to Ben's house. Hopefully he has a reason to use them later!

I promise we'll get a little more context on why Shane even got a boyfriend who doesn't like hockey. Ilya's assumption that crazy sex is the foundation of their relationship is not accurate.

Btw in my mind, Ilya and Shane have notifications on for the group chat, only so they can immediately bitch to each other. Ryan has notifications off and almost never looks at it.

Next chapter we'll get Ilya trying to impress yet another person in Shane's life, and now that they have talked, the boys are going to be super normal and not awkward about the fact that they have some small unresolved feelings.

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

Ilya had met Yuna Hollander once, years ago when he was in an elevator on the way to suck her son's dick. He was trying very hard to not think about that as he got dressed for their lunch.

Ilya thought he was getting pretty skilled these days at avoiding unwanted thoughts. Memories had begun to bubble to the surface in recent weeks, echoes of feelings he once had that had gotten knocked loose as his friendship with Shane deepened.

Sometimes it felt like he had to leap on top of a memory and smother it before it could engulf their entire friendship in flames. He'd be lying in bed, drifting to sleep, and he'd remember Shane falling asleep on his couch, or Shane whispering that he had missed Ilya, and Ilya would briefly feel like he needed to rip his heart out to stop from aching so much.

The confusion would fade in time, just like his longing had before. Their proximity and newfound intimacy was just taking some time to adjust to.

Ilya knew there was also some irrational sting of jealousy. He didn't want a relationship like Shane and Ben’s, a perplexing partnership with nothing in common. But it did make Ilya wonder if he ever had it in him to be a good boyfriend. If he'd attentively listen to someone's interests, if he'd find their quirks charming. If there would ever be somebody he couldn't take his eyes off of, that he could sleep next to every night, and wake up holding every morning.

To calm his nerves, he texted Shane on the way to lunch.

Ilya: Promise me your mother is not luring me to lunch to murder me?

Shane: No promises
Shane: Call me when you're done with lunch?

Ilya: 🫡❤️

Yuna was already seated, waiting for him, despite the fact that Ilya had shown up ten minutes early. Ilya planned to berate Shane for not warning him about this.

“Hello,” Yuna stood to shake his hand. As Ilya grasped her hand, he was struck with a sense of deja vu, the contact hurtling him back to when he was 18, breathless and terrified in an elevator.

“Hi Mrs. Hollander, thank you for inviting me to lunch.”

“You can call me Yuna,” Shane's mom rolled her eyes at the formality.

“Ok, Yuna,” Ilya pretended to be very interested in the menu for a moment, suddenly feeling shy.

“Shane always gets the salmon salad,” Yuna said absently, as she looked at hers.

“Oh, big surprise,” Ilya said before he realized who he was talking to.

Yuna looked irritated, and Ilya stumbled over his words.

“He is just very…consistent, yes? It is something I like,” Ilya had been trying to think of better words than boring. When he tried to compliment Shane on being boring, it never came out right.

“Has he always been like that?” Ilya asked.

Something in Yuna’s steely expression relented a bit. “Yes, always. Shane likes his routines, ever since he was young. He's like his father, in that way.”

“David?” Ilya pretended like he wasn't confident about the answer.

Yuna nodded. “When I met Shane’s father, he had one outfit he thought he looked good in. So he bought seven of the same shirt, and seven of the same pants, and he wore that same damn outfit almost every day.”

Ilya snorted, and Yuna cracked a tiny smile.

“But was it a good outfit? Because this is probably better than wearing Adidas sweatshirt with Nike joggers and New Balance sneakers.”

Yuna laughed, a full-throated, surprised laugh at the accurate description of Shane’s brand-clashing uniform off the ice.

“God, I had hoped better when he hired a stylist last year,” Yuna shook her head.

The server came for their orders and dropped off their drinks, and then Yuna got to business.

“Alright, I wanted to meet with you because I think you should join Shane in this campaign he was approached for. They want both of you, that's part of their selling point,” Yuna’s tone immediately switched from wry and warm to something familiar. Ilya watched the expression on her face and realized it was the same that Shane got when he talked about hockey. Yuna was lit up, passionate and utterly confident. It made Ilya feel like he could trust her.

“Ok,” Ilya said.

Yuna blinked. Ilya froze as he reached for his Coke. He wasn't sure why this seemed to be the wrong answer.

“You don't even know what it is, is this how you agree to all your brand deals?” Yuna sounded scandalized.

“Ah, no. But you are Hollander's mother. You would not let him do something stupid, so it must be good idea.”

Yuna tried her best to keep her steely facade, but Ilya saw her soften for a moment. It made him want to punch the air, pure victory.

“It’s for a jewelry brand. Not many men would want to model jewelry, I think. But they have some elegant, understated items that read more masculine, and frankly the money is so good, you would be an idiot to pass it up.”

Ilya waved his hand. “I will wear a diamond crown, I do not care.”

It was true. He wore ostentatious designer clothes, he was sure he could pull off whatever jewelry they wanted to put him in.

“So what, we are queer and they want to market expensive jewelry to other gays?”

The server arrived right as Ilya asked the question, and demurely kept his face expressionless as he dropped off their orders.

“Something like that. They have some subtle pride slogans they're leaning into, and you wouldn't be the only ones in this campaign.” Yuna ate a bite of her salad.

“Who else? Hunter and Barrett?” Ilya couldn't help rolling his eyes.

“Oh God, no. You've seen the PSAs, those men have no screen presence,” Yuna scoffed.

Ilya decided he loved Shane’s mother. The lunch was simple from there. Yuna explained the campaign more, how queer athletes from other sports would be involved. Some women who played professional basketball on the same team, a tennis player who had recently come out.

Ilya successfully diverted the conversation to more interesting topics. He learned how Shane’s parents met, what Shane was like as a child, and what Yuna thought about the Raiders season so far.

“What do you think of Shane’s boyfriend?” Ilya found himself blurting out. Yuna had spent five minutes giving Ilya detailed, begrudging, and precise praise about his performance in the playoffs last year. It felt too uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of so many compliments, so naturally he had turned for a blunt object, a topic that was a live rail.

“We haven't had a chance to meet Ben yet,” Yuna said airily. Her eyes were pinned to Ilya’s face, betraying her interest. “Why, have you met him?”

Ilya almost gulped. There was something about Hollanders that made Ilya feel like he had to tell the truth, but Shane would hate him if he told Yuna too much about Ben, about what Ilya really thought of their relationship.

“Yes, dinner a few weeks ago. Did not get too much time with him,” Ilya shrugged.

“And what did you think?” Yuna asked.

Ilya spent too long choosing his words. He watched Yuna watch him, and it felt like he was an animal who had wandered into a hunter's snare.

“I think he is a very busy person, and Shane is a very busy person. I do not know how much time they get to spend together,” Ilya picked his most neutral sounding qualm. Only recently, on one of their near-daily phone calls, had Ilya wondered if Shane should be using their phone time to connect with his boyfriend instead.

Yuna smiled tightly and nodded, and Ilya felt a chill run up his spine. He hadn't fooled her for a second.

“I love Shane,” Yuna said.

She paused, and Ilya experienced a series of fleeting and disconcerting thoughts. He wanted to respond, to assure her that he loved Shane too. But it felt inappropriate to tell Yuna that before Shane, and when he tried to picture telling Shane he loved him, he felt dizzy. He told his friends he loved them all the time, but he couldn't picture the words just easily slipping out in front of Shane.

“I love Shane more than anything,” Yuna continued. “And I am trusting you to be a good friend to him. He says you are, so I trust him.”

She gave Ilya an appraising look before she finished her statement.

“I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm glad you're in his life. You'll look out for him, won't you?”

Ilya felt starstruck. He never would have dreamed he'd leave lunch with the Yuna Hollander seal of approval. He would have to figure out how to brag to Shane without mentioning what exactly brought this up.

All he could do was nod. He didn't have eloquent words to affirm that the second Shane broke up with his lame boyfriend, Ilya would be at his side. He wasn't above faking the flu to get out of a game and drive to Montreal, if he had to.

After lunch, Ilya sat in the Uber back to his hotel. He already had a text from Shane, impatient as ever.

Shane: How did it go?
Shane: I should have told you, she likes people to show up early. I hope you weren't late.

Ilya: Relax, Hollander. She loves me. Says she is replacing you, I am her new favorite son.

Shane: Not funny
Shane: I don't need a brother

Ilya wanted to angrily point out that nowhere in his text did he imply that he wanted to be Shane’s brother, but the Uber arrived at his hotel and he decided to let it go.

***

Shane breathed a sigh of relief when JJ entered the bar. Ben had been the one to suggest Shane bring a friend to trivia, hoping it would lessen his nerves. So far Ben’s friends had been nice, but Shane was quickly running out of things to talk about.

“Everyone, this is my friend JJ. JJ, you’ve met Ben. This is Marc, Carlos, and Pete,” Shane said as JJ slid into the booth next to him.

Marc was a Metros fan who had clearly been instructed to keep the hockey talk to a minimum, but Shane was relieved that he was unable to hold back now that he was sitting across from two players on his favorite team.

Shane and JJ gladly answered his questions until it was time for trivia to start. This was the part that had stressed Shane out, more than the nerves of impressing Ben’s friends. It was a happy hour routine that Ben had spoken of fondly, but he was clearly competitive about it. Being competitive was Shane's second nature, he wanted to help Ben win, but he had no idea where to begin studying. By the time their trivia date had rolled around, Shane had begun to stress about being dead weight on the team.

Those fears came to fruition as the first round progressed. All of the questions were about pop culture, and the rest of the table jumped on answers before Shane could even think.

“Oh my god, obviously,” Pete rolled his eyes at an especially bewildering question about an album that was released on 9/11.

“She was my first crush,” JJ said, nodding at the singer’s name Pete was writing. Shane had invited him because he suspected he’d be an asset. By Hayden’s own omission, he and Jackie were completely out of the loop on pop culture, their references these days revolving around a cartoon about Australian dogs. So far, JJ had acquitted himself better than Shane.

“Honestly, same,” Carlos shook his head appreciatively.

“Wait, sexual awakening, go,” Ben pointed at Marc. Pete stood to drop off their answer sheet and collect the one for the second round.

“Teenage Simba in The Lion King,” Marc answered immediately.

“Nala in The Lion King,” JJ offered Marc a toast. “What about you?” JJ turned to Ben.

Ben thought it over for a moment. “Leo in Romeo + Juliet.”

Shane had a budding sense of dread as the table all nodded appreciatively and then looked at him. He only had one, inconvenient answer in his head. By the time he met Ilya he had known he found men attractive, but there was a difference between vague attraction and an all-consuming lust.

“Uh…I don’t remember when I first noticed guys in movies. I think I realized I was probably into guys when I saw this hot man at the grocery store in middle school,” Shane confessed.

The table laughed, and Shane relaxed a little as the conversation turned to the competing teams in trivia. Shane hadn’t lied, he remembered being a teenager, seeing a guy in the grocery store reach for a box of cereal. His shirt rode up, exposing a trail of navel hair, and Shane had gone home and immediately taken a dozen “Am I Gay?” quizzes.

But shaking Ilya Rozanov’s hand as a teenager had felt like a life-changing experience. He’d looked into those warm hazel eyes and felt like he was hooked in a tractor beam, inescapably yanked into Ilya’s orbit. In some ways, Shane had felt an echo of that pull ever since they had become friends. Like there was a soothing sense of inevitability now that Ilya was back in his life. Maybe they should have just tried to be friends from the start, and spare the years of stress and hurt.

Shane shook the thoughts from his head as the second round started, but he didn’t prove to be more useful. As the round drew to a close, he betrayed just how lost he was.

“They really invented Google images for Jennifer Lopez?” Shane asked in a whisper, when the table wrote the answer down.

Ben snorted a little. “Shane couldn’t pick JLo out of a lineup.”

He seemed to recognize the words stung when he saw Shane’s frustrated expression, and he rubbed Shane’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s fine. I didn’t expect you to be the team’s pop culture buff. Your media consumption is just a little on the boring side, you know? It's all hockey games and hockey history books.”

Marc unfortunately didn’t seem to pick up on the insecurity reeling off of Shane, and started laughing.

“Oh this is too good. I’ve seen these videos people do where they have their parents guess celebrities. We might need to do that with you, Shane.”

Ben stifled a laugh, delighted at the idea.

“Shane is a celebrity,” JJ waved the idea off. “He has probably met half the people you would have him guess.”

Shane shot him an appreciative smile, even if JJ was completely incorrect. He had met a few actors when he dated Rose, but he couldn’t name a single film or TV show they were in.

When trivia ended and he was waiting for Ben to come out of the bathroom, he texted Ilya.

Shane: Am I boring?
Shane: Don’t answer that. Never mind.

Ilya: What do you want me to say?
Ilya: I do not want this to go to your head, but I like boring.

Shane: You know what Jennifer Lopez looks like, right?

Ilya started calling him, clearly too confused by Shane’s line of questioning to keep texting. Shane saw Ben step out of the bathroom and rejected the call.

Shane: I’ll call you back later. Driving home with Ben.

***

Ilya had been out with Svetlana for drinks at a pretentious cocktail bar when Shane started texting him. Now he was chewing on the inside of his cheek as he stared at his phone.

“You are so rude,” Svetlana clicked her tongue and craned her neck to try to peek at his screen. He slapped his phone facedown.

“And you should learn to mind your business,” Ilya sniffed.

She rolled her eyes. “You are welcome to leave, if you have a hot date.”

“No date,” Ilya said.

To his surprise, coming out had not exactly ratcheted up his sex life. If anything, his pace had slowed down. He could pick up men without fear anymore, but he was still struggling to keep his inappropriate memories of Shane locked away, and it was much harder to ignore when he had his mouth on another man, and a tiny voice in the back of his head comparing the stranger to Shane.

Svetlana sensed the sour tone in his voice.

“Who are you texting then?”

Ilya’s phone started buzzing, and he leapt up, waving Svetlana off as he exited to smoke and answer Shane’s call.

“What is wrong?” Ilya asked.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. Nothing’s wrong,” Shane protested. “I didn’t mean to be dramatic.”

Ilya wanted to laugh and point out that nobody would call Shane’s confusing texts dramatic, at least, not if they didn’t know Shane as well as Ilya did.

“You have a nice night with Ben?” Ilya clicked his lighter, struggling to get it to catch.

“Yeah, fine,” Shane’s voice got quieter, as if he was moving away from his phone. When he returned he was speaking in a hushed tone. “He’s taking a shower right now. He always takes forever. Uh, tonight was fine. We went to trivia with his friends. JJ came. It was nice.”

Ilya felt his lips curving into a smile at everything unsaid in those sentences.

“I think you would hate trivia, yes?”

“I don’t hate it, I just…it was all about singers and actors and reality TV, and I’ve never paid a lot of attention to that. You would probably love it.”

“Yes, Sveta and I just watched the new Real Housewives episode tonight before drinks. Text me at trivia next time, I will help you cheat,” Ilya offered.

Shane sighed. “Is it shitty if I say I hope there isn’t a next time? I mean trivia, not seeing his friends. They were all nice. I was so nervous they’d hate me.”

“But trivia was that bad?” Ilya wasn’t sure where the insecurity stemmed from. Shane had a quiet self-assuredness that Ilya had always been drawn to. The man was idiosyncratic and particular, but he didn’t seem to ever feel self-conscious about it.

“Ben kind of made me feel dumb, he was joking and he said he didn’t think I knew what Jennifer Lopez looked like,” Shane sighed.

“Who the fuck cares?” Ilya couldn’t keep the disdain out of his mouth. “JLo has not been relevant for years.”

“Ok, Jesus. This isn’t supposed to be a conversation about Jennifer Lopez’s career,” Shane sounded irritated, and Ilya realized he was obscuring his point.

“Sorry. Does it bother you that you do not know what JLo looks like?” Ilya took a drag as he waited for Shane’s answer.

“Of course not,” Shane scoffed. “I just…I felt out of place. I don’t make fun of Ben for not knowing about hockey.”

“He really knows nothing about hockey,” Ilya agreed.

“Right, and I don’t say anything. He just seems to think it’s really funny that I don’t follow the same things he does.”

Ilya felt torn. On the one hand, it was objectively funny that Shane kept referring to JLo by her full name. On the other hand, Shane’s disinterest in pop culture was something Ilya found charming and perfectly Shane, not funny, and certainly not something he wanted Shane to feel self-conscious about.

“Maybe you show him your calendar. Ask him where you are supposed to watch The Wedding Planner between all your commercials and training and practice.”

It was terrible advice, confrontational and bound to provoke an argument that Ilya would have been responsible for. Ilya felt a modicum of relief that Shane seemed to completely ignore it.

“Whatever. I was feeling weird, thanks for talking to me. It did help. Somehow.” Shane said.

The begrudging compliment made Ilya grin like an idiot.

“Anytime. Goodnight, Shane.”

***

Shane knew it was fucking stupid to hold a grudge about an off-hand comment, but he felt himself getting terse and cranky with Ben. The worst part was that Ben didn’t even seem to notice. They only saw each other one or two nights a week if Shane wasn’t on the road, and Ben didn’t seem to register that anything was different when he did see Shane.

Which was why it was a relief when Toronto came to town and Shane declined Ben’s invitation to come over after the game, claiming he had to socialize with one of his queer hockey friends.

Ryan had not reached out about meeting up, but Shane sent him his address and invite to come over, and was pleasantly surprised when Ryan took him up on the offer.

Ryan was as quiet as ever, but they watched hockey on Shane's couch, sitting in what Shane thought was a companionable silence.

“Did Scott put you up to this?” Ryan finally asked during a commercial break.

“No, you think Scott Hunter is telling me what to do?” Shane asked. He wished Ilya was there, he would have loved to see Ilya’s reaction.

Ryan shrugged. “He's very persistent about meeting up when we play each other. I'm not totally sure what he expects us all to do.”

Shane snorted. “Yeah, me either. Ilya said he thinks Hunter is trying to assemble a gay mafia.”

Ryan smiled a little at that. “How is he?”

“Ilya?” Shane asked. “He's good, I think. It's been nice getting to…uh…know him.”

Shane had almost admitted that it was nice to reconnect. The safety of being out had lured him into a momentary sense of security, forgetting that nobody, apart from Scott fucking Hunter, knew that he and Ilya had history together.

“I always liked him. He was a good teammate,” Ryan said.

“Yeah. He was fun to play with at All Stars last year,” Shane nodded.

“He never put up with anyone throwing slurs around. I don't have to tell you how rare that is,” Ryan said. He glanced at Shane out of the corner eye, and Shane realized he was being evaluated.

The Metros locker room didn't have a reputation as bad as Toronto or Vegas, but it wasn't great either. Shane hadn't done much to abate that in his time as captain. He had convinced himself that it was because he was focused on playing hockey, but the truth had exposed itself. He had been scared, worried that he'd face the cold and passive aggressive bigotry that he was experiencing now with his team.

“Toronto is awful,” Ryan said.

“I'm sorry. Dallas is as shitty as he seems?” Shane asked.

“Worse,” Ryan grimaced.

“Was Troy as bad, when they played together?” Shane knew Ryan had overlapped with Troy before he got traded.

“Pretty much. I was surprised when everything came out.”

Shane crossed his arms protectively over his chest.

“I don't want to be nice to him,” he admitted.

Ryan laughed. It was soft and surprised, and it made Shane smile back at him.

“So don't. I mean, I'm not going out of my way to be rude to him. But I'm not interested in being friends.”

It was reassuring to hear that from someone else, someone who wasn't Ilya, and the common ground seemed to chip away a bit at Ryan's exterior.

Shane asked about Fabian, and Ryan lit up as he described a song his boyfriend was working on.

“Sorry, I could talk about him forever,” Ryan sighed. It should have been disgustingly sweet, but Shane found he couldn't summon any eye-rolling, he only felt unadulterated joy for Ryan.

“What's your boyfriend like? How did you meet?” Ryan asked.

“Oh. Uh…” Shane struggled to summarize Ben into a neat description. “He's a TV writer. He's really driven, he loves what he does. My friend Rose introduced us, after she and I broke up. I was kind of in denial until she and I dated. I thought maybe I could be bi or something. And when we broke up, I decided I was tired of missing out. Like, relationships with girls never felt like they really counted. So I wanted to try to date a guy. And I met Ben.”

None of it sounded romantic, Shane was painfully aware of that. Ryan, Scott, Eric. They all had passionate love stories of men they couldn't resist.

It made sense to Shane that his relationship would be more pragmatic, a slow build of respect and common values. The last time he'd been really, truly impulsive was when he'd kissed Ilya in the hallway six years ago and gotten caught. He had been completely burnt by that decision, and he worked so hard to move through life methodically after that.

Ryan didn't seem to judge his more tempered description of his boyfriend, and the rest of the evening was pleasant.

When Ryan started yawning, Shane offered his guest room automatically, manners trained into him by his parents. He was relieved when Ryan refused and rallied to go back to his hotel. As much as he was beginning to feel a kinship to Ryan and his quiet warmth, he had a sneaking suspicion that Ilya would be jealous if Ryan stayed over before he could. Shane was already prepared for the snark about Ryan getting to see his apartment before Ilya, as if that was some important milestone in a friendship.

As Shane settled into bed he checked his schedule and texted Ilya.

***

Shane: Still want to see my apartment?

Ilya: Yes. Need to see your cool-toned furniture for myself, whatever that meant.

Shane: I'm not sure if you have curfew? But you can spend the night if you want, after the game next week. I just got a new mattress for my guest bedroom.

Ilya: Marley will cover for me. Do not worry, I will leave you with detailed review of your new mattress 😴❤️

Chapter End Notes

OK first off: I'm sorry JLo, it's not personal! One of my friends watched Hustlers and when the credits rolled he said "Oh, JLo was in this?" So I stole that for Shane.

Idk if the Mariah Carey/Glitter/September 11th lore is common knowledge?

I went back and forth on it, but I decided that Ilya and Svetlana do enjoy trashy reality shows. Idk which Housewives franchise they're watching, maybe Salt Lake.

It's also important to me that Ilya overuses emojis and has progressed to ending every convo with heart emojis like any platonic pal would.

They're going to have a friendly and platonic sleepover soon with zero angst at all! Right?

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

The day was off to a terrible start. Shane had left Ben’s that morning almost shaking with anger. He had tried everything to clear his mind before the game, the only thing that had momentarily helped was getting a text from Ilya, confirming their plans for him to come over afterwards.

Shane had asked his cleaning service to do a deep clean yesterday, and he had stocked the kitchen with the gross food and drinks Ilya liked. He knew however cloudy his mood was right now, it would improve when they met up that night.

But first, they had a game to get through. It was a brutal slog. The Metros defense was sloppy, Boston's offense was flailing. When Shane was on the ice with Ilya, he could tell something was off. Ilya always played with an intensity that set something aflame in Shane, but tonight he was reckless. He was playing distracted, with no sense of self-preservation, and when Comeau checked him in the second period he went flying across the ice.

Shane’s heart was in his throat as he watched Ilya shakily get to his feet. The trainers assessed him, and deemed him capable to keep playing, which only worsened Shane’s nerves. Shane tried so hard to block it out, to pretend that Ilya was any other player, but the nerves and concern rattled in the back of his mind for the rest of the game.

The post-game was what Shane had come to expect. Questions about Ilya and queer representation, and Shane had to grit his teeth and keep trying to turn the topic back around to his performance on the ice, to the Metros season as a whole.

It was everything he’d dreaded when he considered coming out. He led the league in assists, second in goals, and none of it seemed to matter. Shane felt like he had stepped back in time, back to his rookie season when every one of his achievements was framed in the context of being the first Asian player to accomplish it. It didn’t matter that he and Ilya were neck and neck all of their rookie season, Ilya’s stats got to stand on their own. Shane’s had to pave the way for some hypothetical monolith of Asian kids who might play professional hockey if he set a good enough example.

When he got home, he took a second shower to scrub out the scent of cheap locker room body wash. Ilya texted that he was a few minutes away as Shane toweled off, and Shane felt a leap of excitement. He had so much to complain about tonight, and he knew Ilya would be a receptive audience.

Shane buzzed Ilya up a few minutes later, and when he opened the door his heart plummeted. Ilya’s eyes were dark, mouth drawn in a tight, sullen frown.

“Sorry,” Ilya said immediately. “Bad night. Bad fucking day. I am not good company.”

He didn’t enter, hesitating at the door as if Shane was going to turn him away.

“Same. Come on,” Shane ushered him in. Ilya’s shoulders slumped a little in relief, and he stepped inside, dropping his bag unceremoniously in the entryway.

“I want the tour. But not yet,” Ilya said. “I want to drink.”

“Sure,” Shane turned and strolled to the kitchen. Ilya followed and watched in interest as Shane started poking around his bar cart.

“No vodka,” Ilya tutted with disappointment.

“Shit, I meant to get some. I have that beer you like?” Shane gestured to the fridge. Ilya opened it and his mouth finally twisted into a slight smile.

“Thank you. But no, something stronger right now,” Ilya said.

Shane pulled out a bottle of nice Japanese whiskey and tilted the label to Ilya, who raised his eyebrows.

“You drink this?”

Shane shook his head. “I keep it for when my mom visits. She loves it.”

Ilya’s smile widened. “Yes, if Yuna approves it must be good. Where are your cups?”

He turned to the cabinets before Shane could answer, flinging them open as if he owned the place. He found two tumblers and brought them to the kitchen island. Shane poured careful portions and then capped the bottle.

“Whatever you said to my mom at that lunch really impressed her. I never thought I’d hear her say something nice about someone on the Raiders,” Shane said.

Ilya stood a little straighter and flashed Shane a dazzling grin before he took a sip of whiskey and nodded approvingly.

“Yuna has good taste,” Ilya said. His smirk softened. “She is wonderful. I see where you get your…” Ilya gestured at Shane, trying to come up with the words. For some inscrutable reason, Shane found himself holding his breath as Ilya cast around.

“I see where you get your passion,” Ilya finally decided.

Shane blinked. “Oh. I don’t know if anyone’s described me that way before.”

It was true, his teammates joked that he was a hockey robot. Ben complimented him on being steady, even-keeled. His friends used words like “dependable, reliable.” The surprise of Ilya’s assessment made Shane’s chest throb for a moment, a swell of appreciation for a compliment he’d never imagined.

For his part, Ilya looked incredulous. “Never? You are all passion on ice, even worse off the ice when you are telling me about lung cancer or sleep schedule or protein shakes.”

Shane laughed, and for a moment he felt lighter. The bullshit of the day had evaporated for a bit, just as he knew it would. Everything felt easier with Ilya, their innate understanding of each other creating a bubble where Shane didn’t feel the need to explain himself.

Somehow that warmth twisted back on itself, and Shane was reminded of the frustrating, miserable conversation he had with Ben that morning. That had felt like the polar opposite of being seen, he’d left Ben’s feeling completely upended and lost.

“Shane?” Ilya snapped him out of it. He looked concerned, and Shane tried to shake it off. Ilya had come in with his own terrible mood, Shane shouldn’t make it all about himself.

“Come on, let’s go to the living room, it’s more comfortable,” Shane led the way.

***

Shane’s home was everything Ilya had expected. Sleek lines, expensive finishes and furniture that looked like it came in a set. It was deliciously boring, in the way that Shane was. Ilya still wanted a tour, wanted to muster the snarky jokes he had planned, but for now he was content to settle in Shane’s showroom of a living room and wallow. Neither of them seemed up for real estate quips right now.

Ilya threw himself on Shane’s navy blue couch and drank a sip of whiskey. Shane sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. His shoulders pushed against Ilya’s knees.

“Sorry, I will move,” Ilya started to scoot up so he wasn’t sprawled across the sofa.

“No, you don’t have to. I want to sit here right now.” Shane had poured a more modest glass of whiskey for himself, and Ilya watched with interest as he swallowed and winced.

Shane was clearly in a terrible mood, and in a small, ugly way it felt great. Ilya wanted to sulk and be crabby, and drink, and Shane seemed to be in lockstep with that plan for tonight.

“Whiskey goes with ginger ale,” Ilya said. He was too tired to pretend that he didn’t know Shane's favorite drink. He probably would have learned it by now anyway, just like he knew the ingredients to Shane’s breakfast smoothie, or the jogging route that Shane favored in Montreal.

Shane didn’t flinch the same way he had when Ilya mentioned it before, and Ilya registered that progress with an outsized bloom of warmth in his chest. Shane got up and shuffled off to the kitchen, returning with a can of ginger ale. He poured some in his glass and offered it to Ilya. Ilya almost said no, but then a fit of sentimentality came over him, and he accepted Shane’s offer.

Shane returned to the floor and they stretched out in silence. Ilya drank and alternated between staring at the ceiling and staring at the side of Shane’s face. He could see a light spray of freckles on his cheekbones and the edges of his eyes. Ilya wondered absently how many were new, how many freckles had been added since the last time Ilya had kissed them.

When that line of thinking became too troublesome, Ilya stared at the ceiling and thought about Alexei.

“So why are you pissed off tonight?” Shane finally asked, as if he read Ilya’s mind.

“My brother. He called me this morning. He wants money. Always. Threatens me, begs. Today he cries and tells me our mama would be disappointed in me.”

It had been a bitter, brutal call. Svetlana had said months ago to block him, maybe this would be the final push to heed her advice.

Shane sucked in a surprised breath and turned to look at Ilya. His eyes were wide and the concern etched on his face made Ilya’s throat tighten.

“I hope you don’t believe that,” Shane said.

Ilya shrugged and glanced away.

“I do not know. She died when I was young. Maybe she would not recognize me now.”

It was a recurring nightmare he had. Ilya would dream that he was walking down the street, and his mother would brush past him. He’d whirl around, yanking at her hand, crying out for her, but she’d only stare at him with a blank, unrecognizing expression.

Shane nudged at Ilya’s legs. “I don’t think that’s possible, Ilya. You’re hard to forget.”

Ilya smiled down at him for a moment, and he almost returned the sentiment. Shane Hollander was impossible to forget. Ilya had spent six years trying to forget him, and he could finally accept that he had been unsuccessful.

“You’ve never talked about her,” Shane said.

“I know. It makes me sad, and when I am with you I am happy, don’t want to get sad,” Ilya explained.

Shane gestured to the two of them, slumped and miserable. “I think we can handle sad. Please, I’d like to know.”

Ilya exhaled heavily and finished his drink, letting the gentle warmth of Yuna Hollander’s favorite whiskey envelop his tongue..

“My mama’s name was Irina. She was so beautiful and funny. She made best medovik every year for my birthday. She taught me to skate. But she was very sad. Some days she could not get out of bed. And one day I came home and she had swallowed a bottle of pills.”

Shane twisted his hand around Ilya’s. For a moment, it helped. Ilya squeezed his hand appreciatively as he found the courage to keep going.

“I never thanked you properly, when you call last season. You did not have to do that.”

Shane blinked at him, and Ilya worried for an irrational moment that Shane needed to be reminded, that the gesture had been insignificant to him.

“Of course I called.”

Ilya closed his eyes for a moment, the simplicity of Shane’s conviction felt like too much in that moment.

He thought back to the spring, not long after he and Shane had awkwardly coexisted at All-Stars. His father’s health had been declining, and his death was not a shock, but it still cratered Ilya. The days after his father's passing were a blur of paperwork and funeral arrangements, jet lag, a refusal to grieve, and large quantities of vodka.

When he woke up one morning to a voicemail from Shane, he worried he had taken his bender too far and was hallucinating. Shane’s steady voice offering condolences sounded so concerned. The worry washed over Ilya in a way that finally made him break down and cry for the first time since his father died. He saved the message and listened to it often during those hazy days of complicated grief, the worry from a virtual stranger fortifying him in some sick way.

When he was finally in the Moscow airport heading back to Boston, he had texted Shane a thank you, Shane immediately replying with a simple “you’re welcome,” having no idea that his gesture meant that much to Ilya.

“I wanted to see you in person, when you got back,” Shane said. Ilya twisted his hand out of Shane’s grasp to prop himself up, staring hard at his friend.

“What do you mean?”

Shane didn’t seem to register that his words had kicked Ilya’s heart into a frantic pace.

“I had a whole plan to ask you to come over, after the game. When you played in Montreal. But then…”

Ilya felt his stomach curdle at the memory. Shane, knocked unconscious on the ice. Ilya’s stomach had been in knots as he refreshed ESPN all night, his nerves only settling a bit when the news broke in the morning that Shane was injured and out for the season, but he would be alright.

“I was so afraid when you got hit,” Ilya admitted. It felt like crossing an invisible line, acknowledging that he cared about Shane before he had been allowed to, but Shane didn’t seem alarmed by the admission.

“I know. I was a little freaked out when Comeau checked you tonight,” Shane said. “It felt like it took forever for you to get up.”

“I am fine,” Ilya nudged Shane with his knee. “Big strong Russian, you do not have to worry about me.”

Shane looked at Ilya, and his expression was so serious and transparent that Ilya had to glance away quickly. It was written all over Shane’s face that Ilya worried him, that he was concerned about him right now. It was too much.

Ilya clapped his hands on his thighs and stood, walking into the kitchen to snag the bottle of whiskey. He came back and refilled his glass, and he suppressed the urge to raise an eyebrow when Shane refilled his.

“Your turn. Why are you in a bad mood?”

Shane sighed. Ilya leaned back onto the couch, feeling the whiskey warming his limbs as he settled back in. Shane tipped his head back, resting it on Ilya’s legs.

“Ben said we should be in an open relationship,” Shane said.

Ilya almost dropped his glass. “Is he fucking stupid?”

It clearly wasn’t the response Shane had expected. His mouth dropped open and his eyes glinted for a moment as if he was about to laugh.

“Sorry,” Ilya gulped down some whiskey and his eyes traced Shane’s throat as he swallowed some as well. “Why does your idiot boyfriend want to share you?”

“I basically asked him that. He said he thinks it just makes sense, because I'm on the road so much.”

Shane sounded so frustrated and confused. It made no sense to Ilya either. He had to bite his lip to stop the words from hurtling out, words that were completely inappropriate and wrong to say to his friend.

He wanted to tell Shane that if things had gone differently, if they had wound up together, there was no way Ilya would want to share Shane. He'd take outrageous flights just to see him for half a day, call him at odd hours like they did right now. Anything to ease the sting of their schedules keeping them apart. Ilya was greedy, and he couldn't fathom being content, knowing Shane might be out there in another man's arms.

Shane was staring into the distance, deep in thought, a frown creasing his face. Ilya reached out and threaded his fingers through his hair. Shane’s hair was soft and a little fluffy from his post-game shower. As Ilya combed across his scalp, Shane sighed and leaned into the touch, nuzzling his head against Ilya's hand like a cat.

“What did you tell him, when he asked this stupid question?” Ilya asked.

“That I thought he was just asking because he wants to sleep with someone else,” Shane said. “And then he didn't deny it. He just said he thought it made sense for both of us. So I said fine, and then I left. It wasn’t a very mature way to handle it.”

Ilya kept petting Shane’s hair, bewildered by his idiot boyfriend.

Shane topped his drink off, and Ilya stretched his glass out for a refill. Shane’s cheeks were turning rosy, pink from the buzz of too much whiskey, and Ilya traced a finger over his cheekbone without thinking. Shane’s cheek was so warm and soft.

“Am I flushed?” Shane asked. “It happens sometimes when I drink.”

“Yes. Is cute, Russians do not do this,” Ilya withdrew his hand.

“If you had a partner, would you want an open relationship?” Shane asked. His expression was funny, as if there was a specific answer he was waiting for.

“Probably not,” Ilya said slowly. “I am selfish.”

Shane nodded. Ilya’s logic was beginning to get fuzzy from the alcohol and he wondered if he should be a better friend, support Shane’s terrible, but consistent decision to be in this relationship.

“Our schedules are not easy. He may be right. Could be part of why I am always single, nobody to let down.”

Shane turned those brown eyes on him, and Ilya had the now-familiar sensation of being trapped by a Hollander.

“Is that really why you're single? You're afraid you'd let your partner down?”

Ilya took a sip and tried to battle the urge to be honest, but it was useless. He had developed an Achilles heel, and it came with beautiful brown eyes that were currently piercing straight through his soul.

“I think I am single because I have fun being single,” Ilya started with the easier part of his answer, and he saw Shane nod. That part was expected.

Ilya took a shaky breath before he admitted the rest. “And I have not met anyone that I wanted to be with, enough. One time, maybe. But was not possible.”

Ilya almost winced as Shane stared at him, the gears clearly turning in his head. What conceivable excuse did Ilya have to dredge up their past? It was only so Ilya could hurt himself, remind himself of yet another painful memory, in this marathon of moping they had embarked on.

Shane stared at Ilya, and Ilya allowed himself to truly look back at him. Admire the slope of his cheekbones, the warmth of his brown eyes, the soft cupid bow of his lips. Lips he had been distracted by for years, dreamt about countless nights.

“I wanted it to work with Rose,” Shane said, turning away so his head was leaned back against Ilya's legs again.

The mention of Rose Landry broke the fantasy. That had been an interminable period of time last season. Shane and Rose on tabloids and gossip pages, it seemed like photos of them greeted Ilya every time he opened his phone. At the time, Ilya had been incredibly irritated. As if Shane wasn’t content to keep their competition limited to hockey, he had needed to best him off the ice, locking down a famous, beautiful girlfriend.

Ilya could understand it for what it was now. A scared man and a last-ditch attempt. It shouldn't have made Ilya feel better, but when Shane told him the whole story on one of their phone calls, it had been soothing. It sounded profoundly un-romantic, and even though Shane refused to give details, Ilya got a vicious glee out of hearing that sex with Rose had been limited to two “complete disasters.”

Maybe his competitive streak hadn't laid with Shane, but with Rose. They had each had sex with Shane Hollander twice. Ilya could now be satisfied by the knowledge that he was clearly better, because both of his times with Shane had been the furthest thing from a disaster.

“When she and I broke up, and I started dating Ben, I thought it would be a lot easier. I didn't have to force myself to kiss him, you know?” Shane was tracing the lip of his glass with his forefinger, and Ilya couldn’t keep his eyes off the movement.

“But I think it’s harder, in some ways,” Shane continued. Ilya felt like he was holding his breath.

“Harder how?” Ilya asked.

“Like…I knew the problem was me, when I was dating Rose. But now things are off with Ben, and I don’t know how to fix it because I can’t just blame it on being gay.”

Ilya snorted. He knew better than to talk too much shit about his friend’s boyfriend if a breakup wasn’t imminent. He’d trashed one of Cliff’s girlfriends once when she cheated on him, and then the two had made up and Cliff was mad at Ilya for weeks about the things he’d said. But it was becoming almost impossible to restrain himself, he hated seeing Shane like this.

“I do not think you are a problem, Shane,” Ilya said softly.

Shane shrugged, like he didn’t believe Ilya.

“Will you fuck other men now?” Ilya asked. He wasn't sure if the words came out shaky, or if it sounded like that because there was a roar of anxiety in his ears. Why did he need to ask Shane this? What good could possibly come of it?

Shane didn't look at him, just stared at his nearly empty glass and chewed on his beautiful rosy lip.

“Maybe. He's going to. Maybe I should.”

The silence felt thick and ominous, and Ilya finally broke it by sitting up.

“I want the tour now.”

***

Shane felt a little unsteady when he got to his feet, and he wasn’t sure it was the alcohol. He started to walk across the living room, but stumbled on the corner of the rug.

“ Oh shit,” Ilya’s arms flew out to grab him, and Shane was suddenly enveloped in the warmth of Ilya’s body pressed behind him, holding him steady.

“Maybe we drank too much. You are a lightweight,” Ilya mused. Shane could feel the rumble of his voice against his back, and for a fraction of a second, he relaxed into the contact.

He straightened up and turned around. Ilya’s cheeks were a little pink, despite his protests that Russians didn’t blush.

Ilya's arms hovered, outstretched for a moment as if he was prepared to catch Shane again, but he quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets. Shane was struck with the sentimental but honest realization that he'd do the same for Ilya.

He was prepared to catch him over and over again, if Ilya would let him. Shane had felt sick when Ilya brought up his voicemail from last season. It felt pathetically inadequate, now that he knew how it felt to really support Ilya.

“I’m fine. I should have gotten these rug corners anchored ages ago.” Shane nudged the offending rug with his foot to make the point, and then beckoned for Ilya to follow him.

“Ok, this is my study,” Shane slid the dimmer up a bit so the room was awash in soft, golden light. He had been a stickler on the design of the room, going back and forth with the decorator for ages.

Ilya moved to the wall of bookshelves, his eyebrows furrowed. “What do you need this many books for?”

“I don't know. It’s meant to be like a library,” Shane watched Ilya pull a book out and thumb through it absently.

“Can I check out books from your library?” Ilya asked.

“You can borrow books if you want, yeah. Take whatever you want.”

Ilya glanced up at him sharply. “You don’t look like librarian. Need some glasses.”

Shane nodded to the small end table next to the loveseat under the window. Ilya followed his gaze and his lips parted when he saw Shane’s reading glasses.

“No. Hollander, I need to see you wear these.”

“Fuck off, don’t make fun of me.”

“Not making fun, please,” Ilya promised.

Shane sighed and reached out, slipping them onto his face. He turned to Ilya self-consciously, ready for a teasing insult about how dorky they looked. Instead, Ilya seemed to be at a loss for words. His eyelids looked heavy, and his gaze felt hot. Shane could feel his cheeks start to prickle and flush, so he yanked his glasses off.

“Happy?”

Ilya didn’t say anything, just turned back and carefully replaced the book.

They toured the remaining rooms. Ilya made some quips about construction materials and architecture styles that seemed completely out of character. The further they traveled through Shane’s home, the smaller the space between them got. At one point Shane pointed out the view from his office and Ilya thunked his chin down on Shane’s shoulder to see what he was talking about. Shane could have sworn he felt Ilya’s heart beating against his back as they stood like that, and he began to feel completely, utterly consumed with one possibility.

***

“And this is my guest bedroom,” Shane said, swinging the door open.

Ilya begrudgingly entered. It was tasteful, just like all the other rooms. There were framed black and white photographs of a wooded landscape.

“Where is this?” Ilya asked.

“They’re from my cottage. I built it a few years ago, it’s not far from my parent’s. You’d like it there, I think.”

It wasn’t exactly an invitation, but Ilya decided to treat it as one. “Yes, we should go this summer.”

Shane grinned and nodded, and Ilya turned to the photos with renewed interest as he envisioned vacationing with Shane.

Ilya sat on the bed. He had a whole plan to joke about it and send Shane a review with a letter grade tomorrow.

But now Shane was hovering in the doorway, with an expression that made inconvenient excitement bloom in Ilya’s chest, and he realized he really didn't want to spend the night sleeping in this bed. Somewhere along the way, the tenor of the evening had shifted, and Ilya was almost certain it wasn’t just him.

He had stupid, impulsive thoughts, and it felt like the bad ideas were in the room, screaming at the two of them.

“That’s the tour. Unless you want to see my bedroom?” Shane asked.

Ilya could have sworn he fluttered his lashes. Ilya also could have sworn this was a fucking dream and it was not happening.

He swallowed his nerves and nodded, and followed Shane as he led the way to his room.

***

Shane’s heart was beating out of his chest. He could still feel Ilya’s warm hand running through his hair when they had sat in the living room, slipping Shane into a dreamy haze that soothed away his frustration and confusion.

Every moment that they had brushed hands or bumped shoulders that night now felt significant. They had to be significant, because why else was Ilya staring at him like he wanted to devour Shane?

They slowly walked into Shane’s room, and Ilya peered around, but he had no commentary.

Shane threw himself on the bed and patted next to himself. Ilya looked at him, and for a brief second, Shane worried he would decline.

But Ilya sighed and crawled onto the bed, laying next to Shane. His fingers tangled with Shane's, holding his hand.

Shane closed his eyes and focused on the sensation. Ilya’s thumb was rubbing soft circles against his own, and it felt like a question. When Shane’s eyes popped open, Ilya was already looking at him.

His golden curls were framing his face in a soft halo, eyes searching and tentative.

Shane felt a surge of what he felt six years ago. Reckless, careless abandon.

He leaned over to kiss Ilya, and Ilya gasped into his mouth as if he had been waiting all night.

Ilya’s hands were in his hair again, rougher as he pulled Shane closer. They faced each other on their sides, Shane hooking a leg around Ilya’s to grind against him, every nerve on fire as he began to remember Ilya’s body.

Ilya’s tongue slipped between Shane’s lips, licking into his mouth as he twisted his fingers around Shane’s hair. Shane started clutching at his ass, his waist, his bicep, running his hand along any part of Ilya that he could grab at.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya's voice sounded tiny and pleading as Shane sucked on his lower lip.

The agony in his tone made Shane pull back. They were both panting, Ilya’s eyes were wide as he caught his breath.

“What?” Shane asked. He was terrified that Ilya was going to reject him, tell him this was a stupid idea, that he didn’t want this.

Ilya traced a thumb across Shane's lip, and Shane sucked on it without thinking, throwing Ilya’s concentration out the window. His eyes went bright and he pressed down on Shane's tongue, mouth falling open as Shane hummed against him.

“Shane, stop distracting,” Ilya muttered, summoning self-control. He propped himself up, and Shane felt the loss of contact immediately.

“Shane, I do not think you want this,” Ilya continued. Shane’s expression must have been so incredulous, his hardening cock against Ilya's thigh so obvious, that Ilya immediately clarified. “I think we are both a little drunk and sad, and your stupid boyfriend says he wants to fuck other people so you think you have to as well.”

Shane’s thoughts were now unfortunately fixated on one part of that sentence. He had been so desperate to touch Ilya in any way that he hadn’t even gotten far enough to consider that he could fuck Ilya tonight, that it was a possibility.

“I’m not trying to do this out of revenge,” Shane said. It was true, his argument with Ben was the furthest thing from his mind right now. “I just…want to. If you do.”

“I don’t want to fuck things up here,” Ilya gestured between them, his tone tight and rigid. “I do not want us to go back to before.”

Shane felt his stomach constrict. The last thing he wanted was to lose Ilya. He couldn’t imagine weathering that loss again.

They laid there, staring at each other, breathless and conflicted. Logic was very hard to grasp onto, and Shane found himself casting it aside completely.

“I don’t want to go back to that either,” Shane cupped Ilya’s cheek with one hand, and Ilya tilted his face into it. “I want you right now, but if you don’t want-”

Ilya’s eyes flashed, and Shane lost his train of thought.

“I want,” Ilya said slowly. It felt like they were slowly circling each other, playing some bizarre stand-off to see who would cave first. Shane decided he was happy to.

“I want you to fuck me,” Shane tugged at the collar of Ilya’s shirt, and tried to think of something he could say to convince Ilya. “Please, I need you right now.”

“Fuck!” Ilya buried his face in the bed and grumbled something in Russian, angry and frustrated. When he re-emerged his expression sent a shiver down Shane’s spine.

“Say it again,” Ilya demanded.

“I need you. Please, I need you,” Shane begged.

Ilya moved quickly, pinning Shane beneath him as he trailed kisses down his neck.

“Promise we will be fine,” Ilya said between kisses.

“We’ll be fine, oh my god, I promise. Just fuck me,” Shane dug his fingernails into Ilya’s back out of frustration, and he felt Ilya laugh against him.

“Mmm. Not so easy,” Ilya scolded before he got up to take off his shirt. Shane had seen him shirtless before, countless times. It was almost like Ilya was allergic to giving a post-game interview in a shirt, and Shane could have sworn he was desensitized. But watching Ilya’s muscles ripple in front of him completely fried his brain, and he stared with open-mouthed awe.

Ilya smirked briefly, before he seemed to remember he was trying to torture Shane. He yanked Shane’s shirt off roughly, and began mouthing his way down his chest.

“If I fuck you, you will still call me when you cannot choose what to have for dinner?” Ilya asked, his voice riding the edge between sweet and downright evil.

“I promise,” Shane pleaded. Ilya ran his tongue over Shane’s nipple and when Shane gasped, he circled his lips and sucked.Shane’s breath was ragged, choppy exhales betraying his desperation.

“And you will complain to me when your hotel room has bad lighting and scratchy sheets?” Ilya continued.

“Yes, I promise,” Shane gasped.

Ilya moved to tug Shane’s other nipple between his teeth,and the sting made Shane cry out.

“Shhh,” Ilya licked and kissed and sucked the pain away before he lifted his face. He sat for a moment, palming Shane through his pants. Ilya’s expression wavered between total control and something soft. He settled firmly into control when his hand tightened around Shane’s achingly hard cock.

“Fuck, stop being so fucking mean,” Shane begged.

Ilya pretended to frown. “I am very nice, Shane. This is why you like me.”

“Yes, fine, fuck you! You’re fucking amazing, you know it. Please!” Shane practically yelled. Ilya grinned, having taunted out the reaction he was looking for, and he finally moved to strip Shane’s pants and briefs off. When Ilya slid off the bed and stood to take his own off, Shane felt like he was possessed.

He pushed himself up and crawled to Ilya, only registering for a moment that Ilya’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He grabbed Ilya’s cock, hesitating for a second as he looked up. Ilya ran a hand through Shane’s hair, nudging him forward, and Shane opened his mouth.

It was both familiar and unlike anything Shane had ever experienced. He had been so eager and inexperienced with Ilya all those years ago, and he felt a thrill of pride as he stroked his tongue along Ilya’s cock and heard Ilya groan.

He nudged deeper, taking Ilya to the back of his throat before sliding off, hollowing his cheeks. When he glanced up at Ilya through his eyelashes, he saw Ilya staring at him with complete awe coloring his features.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya gasped as Shane took him deep, swallowing around him.

Shane began bobbing his head, obscene sounds filling the room as he swirled his tongue and moaned around Ilya’s cock.

“Here, come here,” Ilya grabbed at Shane’s hair and he looked like he was in physical pain when Shane slid off of him with a wet pop.

“What’s wrong?” Shane’s mind was scrambled, wondering if Ilya needed to stop, if he needed more validation that they would be fine after this.

“I will not last if you do that, and you say you want me to fuck you,” Ilya said. Shane felt anticipation start to build in his core, and he nodded eagerly.

“Lube, condom?” Ilya asked. Shane scrambled up the bed, retrieving it and a condom from his bedside drawer.

Ilya seemed to be losing his semblance of control, his hands unsteady for a moment as he uncapped the bottle and slicked his fingers. Then he was back, kissing Shane with an intensity that knocked the breath out of him.

Shane sucked on Ilya’s tongue and moaned into his mouth when he felt Ilya’s fingers circling his entrance. Ilya teased him, rubbing and stroking, lifting his hand away when Shane tried to press against him. When Shane was writhing with need, Ilya finally pushed his index finger into him, and they groaned in unison as he began to stretch Shane.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Ilya gritted out, licking a band of sweat from Shane’s neck. Shane rocked against his finger and gasped when Ilya slid another in.

Ilya straightened up, slowly fucking Shane open. His eyes were fixed to the spot where his fingers disappeared inside Shane, sweat beading on his brow, curls tangled from Shane clutching at them.

“You’re so needy,” Ilya smiled when Shane tried to tilt his hips. “You think I do not know how to give you what you want?”

To prove his point, he brushed his fingers against the spot that made Shane’s vision blur.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane moaned. Ilya let out a soft gasp and began curling his fingers, hitting Shane’s prostate over and over.

“Do you want to come like this?” Ilya asked, slipping a third finger into Shane.

“No,” Shane was shocked that he even found the words.

Ilya paused. “Say what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me, please,” Shane said. He felt like it was the hundredth time he’d asked for it, and judging from the awestruck expression on Ilya’s face, it didn’t seem like it had been enough. Shane was willing to beg a hundred more times, but when he opened his mouth Ilya enveloped him with a kiss. It wasn’t like the frantic, intense kisses they had shared that night. Ilya’s lips brushed softly against Shane’s, lingering for a moment with a tenderness that made Shane feel dizzy.

When Ilya drew back, he tore open the condom, rolling it on. He stared at Shane for a moment, and they had a silent conversation.Something about fucking face to face felt terrifying. But as much as Shane really wanted to get on his hands and knees and feel Ilya fuck him into the mattress, it somehow felt like he needed the comfort of seeing Ilya’s expression, of being able to kiss him.

Ilya nodded and leaned in to quickly kiss Shane before Shane drew his knees up.

“Ok?” Ilya asked, positioning himself.

“Yes. Please,” Shane begged one final time.

Ilya groaned as he pushed into him, and Shane felt his eyes roll to the back of his head. He knew Ilya was big, he had just been gagging on his cock, but he felt stretched and impossibly full as Ilya slowly fucked into him.

“Ok?” Ilya checked, pausing for a moment to brush hair off of Shane’s forehead. Shane could only nod, fed up with begging, too hazy to find words. Ilya cursed and began to move.

His hips circled, thrusting deeper into Shane as his hands grabbed at Shane’s waist, angling him up. In moments, he had found a position where his cock dragged against Shane’s prostate, and Shane felt his mouth drop open in shock.

“Oh my god, right there,” Shane cried out. He half-expected Ilya to do something mean, to draw it out and tease him, but Ilya nodded and began fucking him harder, hips snapping.

“That feels good?” Ilya asked. His tone had returned to cocky, assured, as he watched Shane fall apart in his arms. “You need me to give you what you want?”

“Please don’t stop,” Shane pleaded. Ilya was fucking him so hard that the headboard was slamming against the wall, and Shane only wanted more.

“Why would I stop? You look so pretty for me,” Ilya crooned. He reached up and brushed a tear off Shane’s cheek that he hadn’t even noticed. “So pretty, stuffed with my cock. You were meant for this, Shane.”

Shane gasped, the air punching out of him as the statement hit him. For a wild second, it felt correct.

Ilya spoke rapidly, cutting off the possessive urge that began to form in Shane’s mind. “You were meant to be fucked, you’re so perfect. So good,” Ilya gritted his teeth. “ So good at taking it.”

Ilya began gasping in Russian, words that sounded angry, and Shane lost himself in it. He arched his back, begging as Ilya pounded into him. When Ilya wrapped his hand around Shane’s hard cock, it only took two strokes for him to come. He felt like he had been lovingly punched, his orgasm wrung out of him with shudders and waves. He was only faintly aware of Ilya crying out, stilling inside of him.

Ilya’s weight crashed on top of him, and Shane laid there blissfully. He had no idea how long they laid there, Shane’s hand lazily running along Ilya’s back. Finally Ilya grunted and got up. When he returned, he had a washcloth, and he helped clean Shane.

“I can…um,” Ilya looked painfully uncertain, and it made Shane’s chest clench for a moment. “I can go sleep in guest room now.”

“Please don’t,” Shane stretched his hand out, patting the bed next to him. “Unless you really want to. Next time, maybe. Just sleep here tonight. Please.”

Ilya nodded and slid under the covers. He turned on his side to face Shane, and Shane tapped his foot with his own. Ilya nudged back, which only soothed Shane a fraction. He was filled with terror that despite what they’d promised, they’d just completely ruined the one thing that consistently made him happy these days.

“I cannot give you review of your new guest mattress,” Ilya finally sighed, sounding genuinely disappointed.

Shane laughed, and Ilya shot him a relieved, full smile.

“Next time, I promise. I expect a full report.” Shane tugged the blanket up and sat up to turn off the lamp.

When he laid back down, Ilya’s hand fumbled in the dark for his. Shane squeezed his hand, trying his best to reassure Ilya and himself. They lay there, hand in hand, until Shane felt sleep tug him under.

***

Ilya awoke hours later. It was still dark out, and as his eyes adjusted he realized he was nestled against Shane, arm wrapped over his waist to tug him against Ilya's chest. Shane's soft hair was tickling Ilya's nose, and he breathed in the scent of his shampoo.

Through a sleepy haze, Ilya tucked his face into the back of Shane's neck. In the morning, he would wake and realize fully how fucked he was. Shane was free to fuck other people, he hadn't ruined his relationship for Ilya. But it did feel like another thing entirely that Ilya was clutching him, breathing in his scent like it could sustain him for the rest of his life.

It had been a terrible, impulsive idea. Old memories and resurfaced fantasies, and Ilya had dropped every sense of reason the second Shane was available to fuck. This wasn’t like fucking Svetlana, a comfortable extension of their friendship. This felt completely dangerous, like Ilya was teetering on the edge of a cliff.

Ilya knew something had irrevocably changed. A gnawing hunger was forming, and Ilya found himself wondering if it had always been there, lying in wait for Shane Hollander to walk back into his life. It felt so cruel that he had just gotten Shane back, and Ilya was foolishly, utterly incapable of keeping him. Despite their pleas and promises, Ilya worried that their friendship was probably fucked. He couldn't keep it simple, his misgivings all those years ago in Nashville were still true. He was ravenous for more, and Shane couldn’t give it to him.

But right now, Ilya decided to live in the stolen moment. Suck every bit of marrow from the feeling of Shane’s warmth against his body, feel the reassuring steadiness of Shane’s breath rise and fall. It felt bracing, a reminder that Shane was tangible and real and for that night, Ilya could pretend he had him wholly.

He squeezed his eyes shut and drifted back to sleep, clutching Shane to his chest.

Chapter End Notes

Shane said "take whatever you want," and Ilya ran with that.

Surprise, surprise. These two can't stay platonic very long. But they can have incredible sex and convince themselves they're hooking up as friends. All before they fall asleep holding hands.

Who among us hasn't had sex with a friend and then immediately realized it was colossal mistake? All I'll say is that you could not pay me to relive my early 20s.

Next chapter I'm going to indulge in my favorite narrative device. We're going to the All-Star game, and we're going to get some flashbacks to the All-Star game the prior season, because there may or may not have been some feelings that were going unacknowledged at that game.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

🏳️‍🌈🏒⭐️

Scott: Hey, looking forward to seeing you guys at the All-Star Game. I'd like the four of us to get dinner, maybe the first night we get to LA?

Shane: Ilya and I have a photoshoot that day, I don't think we'll be free in time for dinner.

Troy: Thanks for the invitation, I'd love to meet up if everyone is up for it. I can make any night work.

Scott: Same, let's meet up the second night then.

Shane: Fine.

Scott: Rozanov are you in?

Shane: I think he's sleeping.
Shane: I mean, he usually sleeps in. And we had a game last night. So he's probably still asleep.

***

Ilya never spent the night at a hookup’s house. Sometimes he would let people sleep over at his, but he hated when people lingered in the morning.

Now he could sympathize. He had a few hours before he had to be back at his hotel, and all he wanted was to linger, to burrow into Shane’s home and act like he belonged there.

Waking up in Shane’s bed by himself was disorienting, and the memories of the night before began returning to him in sharp flashes.

Shane crawling across the bed with pure hunger in his eyes. Shane begging while Ilya fucked him open with his fingers. Shane, impossibly tight, clenching around him as he came. Worst of all, Shane’s expression when Ilya almost slipped up. When he was lost in the moment and he nearly said that Shane was made for him.

Ilya dragged his hands down his face as he tried to shove that particular memory into a neat box. Shane’s shock and hazy confusion had dissipated when Ilya hurried to cover his tracks, but Ilya was left feeling untethered.

Ilya sat up and checked his phone, feeling simultaneous irritation and relief when he saw Scott's message. At least he had a neutral talking point he could lead with when he faced Shane.

He got out of bed, tugging on his pants. He knew he had thrown them on the floor the night before, but Shane must have neatly folded them and set them on the armchair this morning. Ilya stared at his shirt for a moment, remembering how incredible it felt when he'd stripped it off and seen Shane’s awestruck expression.

With a heavy sigh, he unfolded the shirt and pulled it on.

He walked out of the bedroom just as Shane was approaching down the hall with a mug in hand.

“Oh! I was just bringing you coffee,” Shane thrust the mug towards Ilya, and Ilya took it warily.

He peered into the cup and realized with a lurch that Shane, who rarely drank coffee, must have gotten creamer specifically for Ilya. He had ranted at Ilya about artificial sweeteners one memorable afternoon when Ilya showed him the contents of his fridge on Facetime specifically to antagonize him.

“Thank you,” Ilya took a sip. “So. We have to have dinner with Hunter and Barrett?”

He watched the relief settle over Shane’s face. Ilya was affirming that they could be like they were before, bitching about Scott Hunter, and they didn't have to act like anything had changed. Ilya watched Shane's posture relax and he tried to ignore the bizarre sensation of being punched in the gut.

Shane turned and led the way to the kitchen.

“Can we come up with a code word or something to get out of there if it gets awful?” Shane asked.

Ilya was watching him pull out his smoothie ingredients with great interest, and he most forgot to respond when Shane bent over to pull something out of his freezer drawer.

“Ah. You want a safe word?” Ilya teased. He had been up for all of five minutes and he was already breaking their tentative truce to remain neutral and act like they hadn't fucked and fallen asleep holding hands. It was worth it, because Shane's cheeks turned pink immediately.

“Whatever. Do you want a smoothie?” Shane gestured to the spread of powders and vegetables he had assembled on the countertop.

“Sure.”

Ilya’s answer seemed to surprise Shane, but Ilya was morbidly curious. He had learned the ins and outs of Shane’s pleasantly consistent routines. There were mornings that Ilya would leave the drive-through, shoving a breakfast sandwich in his face, and he'd think about Shane, placidly drinking a healthy smoothie.

The blender was awful. Ilya only had a twinge of a hangover, but the grinding sound of metal exacerbated it.

Ilya's stomach was churning, and he couldn't decide if it was a delayed hangover or squeamish nerves at the realization that he loved every mundane detail of this morning with Shane. His nausea wasn't helped when Shane set a glass of vaguely green slop in front of him.

It was as gross as it looked, and Shane laughed as Ilya screwed his mouth up in distaste.

“You didn't have to say yes when I asked if you wanted one! I knew you wouldn't like it,” Shane said.

Ilya shrugged and they lapsed into silence as he battled through half the smoothie. Finally, he summoned the courage to address the elephant in the room. When Ilya opened his mouth, Shane spoke.

“Last night—” Shane started.

“We can forget—” Ilya began.

They both stopped. Ilya felt his heart pounding in his chest.

“You first,” he directed.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For last night,” Shane said. He was staring at the countertop, and Ilya wished he could look into his eyes.

“You are thanking me for fucking you? Oh my god, Hollander, you are so Canadian,” Ilya groaned.

Shane’s eyes darted up, a smile dancing across his lips. Ilya was seized with an irrational urge to throw himself across the kitchen island and kiss him.

“No, I wanted to thank you for being there for me. I had a shitty day before I saw you. You were a good friend,” Shane said. The words twisted like a knife.

“You too,” Ilya said. Then, out of pure masochism, he pushed on. “Will your boyfriend hate me when you tell him we fucked?”

Shane turned bright red, but he didn’t look away.

“I kind of already told him,” Shane scratched the back of his neck. Ilya could feel his eyes bug out, wondering if Ben was racing to Shane’s apartment now to kick Ilya to the curb.

“I mean, I didn't specify you. I just texted him this morning and asked if he wanted to know details, if I hook up with someone. And he said he didn’t care either way, if I didn't feel like sharing it was fine with him.”

Ilya wasn't sure if he was hurt or appreciative. His pride was bruised that their evening didn't seem to be significant enough for Shane to share details. The rational side of his brain was relieved that at least Ben wouldn't resent and possibly protest Shane’s friendship with Ilya.

“What were you going to say?” Shane asked.

Ilya’s mind raced. He had planned to tell Shane they could forget they'd hooked up. They had done it before. For his sake, it would be safer to pretend, out of a sense of self-preservation. Ilya wanted too much, it was going to suffocate him.

But Ilya was greedy and foolish, and Shane stood in front of him in pajamas, drinking a disgusting smoothie, and Ilya felt petulant. He wanted to hear Shane come a hundred more times. Maybe a thousand. He wanted to feel Shane go lax in his arms and sleepily complain when Ilya cleaned them both up afterwards. He wanted to listen to Shane harass him about coffee creamer, and he desperately wanted to have Shane lead him on a long-winded tour of his cottage.

Ilya might ride this edge as long as he could, until he inevitably slipped and sliced himself open.

“Uh. Nothing, just…we are fine?”

Shane nodded emphatically. It was simple for him, his face was determined and open.

Ilya nodded, and he hoped he presented the same confidence.

***

“What happened to your freckles?” Ilya frowned.

Shane wasn’t sure why he said it in such an accusing tone. Hair and makeup had taken longer than expected, especially when he felt he left the chair looking about the same as when he'd entered.

They were standing off to the side of the set, watching the photoshoot director yell out directions to the two basketball players with vibrant pink hair who were modeling ostentatious diamond rings on every finger.

It had been a month since Shane had seen Ilya, and he had been jarringly nervous to see his friend that morning. Ilya seemed determined to hold Shane to his promise that hooking up one time would not ruin their friendship, as he bombarded Shane with texts and phone calls during their month apart.

It was probably just because he'd only seen Ilya through selfies, FaceTime, and post-game clips for weeks, but Shane found himself sneaking peeks at him that afternoon whenever Ilya’s attention was drawn elsewhere. He had somehow picked up a tan in winter, maybe from laying out in the sun when the Raiders had played in Florida last week. Ilya’s hair was a little longer, and Shane’s fingers twitched when he wondered what it would feel like to run his hand through Ilya’s curls.

Shane had no idea if they were ever going to hook up again. When he tried to analyze that night, he chalked it up to impulsive curiosity and the comfort of already knowing they were compatible in bed. Shane had wondered if it might encourage him to test out his open relationship more, but he found that he had virtually no interest in doing so.

Things were strained with Ben. Shane was walking on eggshells, feeling an undeniable sting of shame that he hadn’t shared that he and Ilya hooked up, but too afraid of the consequences if he was completely honest with his boyfriend.

Shane found himself wondering during sex if Ben was sleeping with other people yet, if Shane wasn’t measuring up. Worse still, memories of Ilya would crash through Shane’s focus, often seconds before he came.

Shane was grateful to have a few days in LA to spend away from Ben. A relationship that had once felt steady and comforting was quickly morphing into something unsettling and distracting.

Shane wanted to tune everything out and enjoy an All-Star weekend with Ilya for once, and while the ad campaign ate into some of that time, Shane had been looking forward to their photoshoot.

Shane felt that the ad campaign itself was a little ridiculous, but his mom had stressed that the money was great, the brand was prestigious, and that he and Ilya would be crazy to turn the opportunity down. He and Ilya hadn't been in an ad together since the fateful CCM commercial all those years ago, and Shane had felt a twinge of nostalgia when he thought about being under harsh studio lights with Ilya again.

The director called a wrap on Alicia and Chelsea's segment, and the crew began to set for Shane and Ilya.

Ilya waved at the women as the PAs dismantled their jewelry, and they drifted over.

“What do they have you guys in?” Chelsea asked.

“I asked for a crown, but they say no,” Ilya pouted.

“My manager asked them to put me in something simple,” Shane shrugged.

Ilya jostled his shoulder. “So boring, this one.”

Shane could feel a blush bloom on his cheeks. He had come to understand that Ilya used “boring” as a form of endearment, and the affection was heavy in his tone when he said it.

“Ilya, Shane, we're ready for you,” a PA waved them over.

Shane had done what felt like a thousand commercials and photoshoots, and the only one he'd enjoyed was that early CCM commercial.

Ilya had to be the determining factor, because Shane was finally having fun. As they posed and angled, Ilya would find ways to poke and prod Shane into laughter.

Unlike their CCM shoot, smiling seemed to be allowed.

“That’s perfect, actually. Shane, you look great. Ilya, can you hold his chin with the ring angled out?”

Ilya cupped Shane’s chin in his grasp, and Shane was hurtled back to memories of Ilya tugging at him before drawing him in for a kiss.

Shane’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes met Ilya’s. The laugh on Ilya’s face abruptly fell, and Shane saw a flash of recognition.

It was like a thick fog rolled in, obscuring everything but Ilya. Shane basked in Ilya’s piercing gaze, the echoed heat of the last time Ilya had truly touched him, taking whatever he wanted.

“Let's try the two of you side by side, turned to look at the camera,” the direction shook Shane violently from his daydream, and he reset. Ilya looked like nothing had happened, stoic and dramatic for the camera.

After their segment, Ilya and Shane idled with Chelsea and Alicia in their dressing room, waiting for the group shots. A tennis player named Gus had been ushered onto the set as Shane and Ilya exited, and Shane had noticed the way his eyes clung to Ilya.

“So you guys are having like, a gay player's meeting tomorrow?” Chelsea asked, bemused. Ilya had been explaining their packed itinerary for All-Stars weekend.

Ilya nodded glumly. “It is going to be so boring, I wish Shane never agreed for us to go.”

“I didn't know what to say! Scott was going to be persistent,” Shane argued.

“We'd need to rent out a whole restaurant if we wanted to have a queer player's dinner at All-Stars” Alicia laughed.

“I wish we had that many, then we wouldn't be stuck in a group chat with these guys,” Shane sighed. Ilya shot him a fond smile, and Shane was unable to resist returning it.

“So how do you guys handle it, playing on a different team from your boyfriend? It must be hard being away from each other for half the year,” Chelsea asked Ilya.

Shane felt his mouth drop open, grin ripped from his face. Ilya seemed to lose his voice for a moment.

“We're not—” Ilya looked at Shane, desperate for help.

“He's not my boyfriend,” Shane said.

“Oh!” Chelsea scratched the back of her neck awkwardly, and shared a confused glance with Alicia. “Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed.”

“His boyfriend writes The Scales of Justice,” Ilya said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No way! My mom loves that show, I just watched the last two episodes with her,” Alicia exclaimed.

Ilya clapped his hands over his ears. “I have only watched first episode of the new season, do not spoil the rest,” he warned.

A knock came at the door, and the four of them were ushered back out, decorated with jewelry, and led to set.

Shane shook Gus's hand and tried not to stare when Gus turned to introduce himself to Ilya. Gus looked a bit like Ilya. Towering frame, sharp jaw. His curls were dark, and longer than Ilya’s. Shane found himself thinking, sullenly, that they would probably break the internet if they started dating.

Ilya tried to get Shane to laugh a few times, but he was too distracted. It began to feel claustrophobic, crowding with strangers and turning around to find Ilya and Gus posed with their faces inches away from each other.

When the director finally told them they were wrapped for the day, Shane felt strung out, as if he had just run a marathon. He was whisked off to a dressing room to get out of wardrobe and makeup, and then lingered in the hallway outside Ilya’s dressing room, waiting.

“Shane! We were just looking for you. You guys want to get a drink?” Alicia popped her head out of a dressing room down the hall.

“Uh, I don't—” Shane was about to turn it down. He and Ilya hadn't had any proper time to catch up, and the weekend ahead was going to be hard to find time alone together. But his train of thought was broken when Ilya’s dressing room door opened, and Ilya walked out with Gus following close behind.

“Sorry, Ilya and I should call it a night,” Shane called back to Alicia. He avoided making eye contact with anyone as he turned to exit the studio, Ilya hustling behind him to catch up.

***

The car ride to their hotel was stilted and awkward. Ilya tried to talk about the shoot, hear Shane’s thoughts on everyone they met, and Shane replied with one word answers.

Maybe he was just tired. Shane had practically dragged Ilya out of the studio and into a cab, and they had promptly gotten stuck in hellish LA traffic. By the time they got to the hotel, Ilya was crawling out of his skin.

“I am on the third floor,” Ilya looked at his key card after they checked in at the desk.

“I'm on the fourth,” Shane said. They trudged to the elevators with their luggage, and Ilya started fantasizing about a long shower and an early bedtime. Shane Hollander was rubbing off on him in the worst way.

“Do you want to watch TV or something?” Shane asked when they got in the elevator.

Ilya squinted at him. “Do you?”

“I don't know. We just haven't had any time together, I thought it might be nice,” Shane shrugged.

Ilya found himself staring at his feet as he considered. Looking into Shane’s eyes had a way of making him lose all logic.

“I am tired…” Ilya started. The elevator door pinged, and he hesitated. When he glanced at Shane, his resolve caved. “I can come up in half an hour?”

Shane beamed at him, and Ilya was hit with the now-familiar swell of hunger, of wanting so much more than Shane could give him.

Ilya let himself into his room, quickly jerked off in the shower, and then laid on the bed for ten minutes, trying to figure out how to feel.

There was a split second during the photoshoot that had felt surreal. Ilya had cupped Shane's chin in his hand and felt Shane go slack, leaning into the touch with a trust that made Ilya feel like he was ten feet tall.

Ilya fantasized for a moment about showing up at Shane’s hotel room and immediately getting down on his knees to suck Shane's cock and hear Shane moan his name. But he also had another urge, almost as potent, to watch something stupid with Shane and hear him laugh. He had missed him, desperately.

Ilya rallied himself, grabbed some tiny bottles of vodka from the minibar, and went upstairs.

“We are watching your boyfriend's show,” Ilya said when Shane opened the door.

Shane looked rosy, his hair was wet, and Ilya wanted to tug him back into the shower immediately. Instead, he flopped on the bed and grabbed the remote.

“I haven't seen anything past the first two episodes,” Shane warned, as if Ilya wasn't painfully aware of this.

“I can explain everything,” Ilya said, pressing play.

He and Shane had tried to watch a movie over the phone once, but it had gone poorly. Their timing was slightly off, Ilya had been just a few seconds ahead, so he kept spoiling the reactions for Shane.

Watching something together in the same room was an entirely different experience, and Ilya quickly relaxed into a warm happiness he hadn't felt in weeks.

The Scales of Justice was decidedly bad, but Ilya couldn't stop watching it now. Shane had dozens of questions, and he seemed pleased that Ilya could answer all of them.

“Do you think you will ever tell Ben we fucked?” Ilya asked. It was abrupt, and he saw Shane sit up a bit in surprise. Ilya had no idea why he needed to hear the answer to this, when it would only hurt.

“Uh. I wasn't planning to,” Shane said. “Unless you want me to?”

Ilya wanted to turn around and scream into his pillow. “Shane, it is not about what I want. It is you and your boyfriend, yes?”

Shane chewed his lip, nodding. Ilya could tell he'd made him feel guilty, but he felt ugly and spiteful right now.

“You have hooked up with other men? Enjoying your open relationship?” Ilya asked.

“No. I don't…I'm not really looking for that,” Shane said.

Ilya stared very hard at the TV as he nodded. He knew their hookup was probably a one-time thing, but he suddenly felt hollowed out at the confirmation.

“What about you?” Shane asked, picking at the duvet cover.

“What?” Ilya turned to stare at him.

“I don't know. You never talk about if you're seeing anyone,” Shane said.

It was true. Plenty of friends talked about hookups. Ilya and Cliff compared stories for years. But that had never seemed natural with Shane, and the truth was that Ilya hadn't slept with anybody in the weeks since Shane. Their hookup was still too potent, and he wasn’t ready to fuck someone else when his mind was completely engulfed with memories of Shane.

“Not a lot to tell right now,” Ilya finally said. He hoped it would be vague enough to stop this conversation, and they could refocus on the episode they were watching about a hung jury.

“What about Gus?” Shane asked.

“Oh my god, what about him?” Ilya groaned. The last thing he wanted to talk about was the cocky tennis player who had hit on him that afternoon.

“He just seemed really interested! Are you guys going to go out?” Shane was watching Ilya with an intensity that had his head pounding.

Ilya worried that his facade was cracking, his feelings were seeping out and it was uncomfortable and obvious to Shane. It had been evident to everyone at the photoshoot, apparently. Gus had asked him first if he and Shane had an open relationship, and had been thrilled when Ilya told him he was gravely mistaken, and that Ilya was single. Ilya’s infatuation was only growing, and he needed to work harder to conceal it.

“I do not know. Maybe I will say yes if he asks me out,” Ilya finally said.

The reply didn't seem to settle Shane’s concern, but they turned back to the TV. They watched two more episodes, and Ilya forced himself to be normal. He explained all the legal terms he had learned, when he began listing the plot holes in the previous season he made Shane laugh so hard he cried, and for a few hours, Ilya felt the ache of wanting too much ebb and recede.

Shane fell asleep shortly after the third episode started. Ilya laid there, and for a wild moment he considered staying. He could reasonably have fallen asleep on accident, and if he happened to wake up holding Shane again, it wouldn't be anyone's fault.

Ilya found himself switching off the TV and leaving as quietly as possible before he succumbed to a selfish idea.

***
One Year Ago

“Shane, you look great!” Rose's voice was a little tinny through the speaker on Shane's phone. She was leaning into the camera, looking at every detail on Shane's outfit.

He had finally hired a stylist. Rose had bought him clothes and told him what to wear when they started dating, and Shane had found it comforting. It was one of many things that Shane realized he was going to miss when they broke up, and it was one of the few voids he could actually address by hiring someone.

There was a different, distinct area he felt her absence right now, and he was not prepared to outsource it to someone he paid.

“I wish you could be here as my date,” Shane sighed. Dating Rose had meant the relief of always having someone to take to events, someone who made him laugh and enjoy himself.

“I know. If I wasn't stuck in Vancouver shooting this pilot, you know I'd be there,” Rose said. “When do you have to go mingle?”

Shane checked the time on the watch Rose had given him at Christmas.

“Like ten minutes. This dinner is going to suck. I don't want to sit in a room with Dallas Kent for an hour,” Shane complained.

Some guys from the Eastern Conference had decided it would be a great idea for everyone to get dinner together. The Metros had scuffled so far that year, and Shane was their lone representative at the All-Star Game, meaning there was nobody at the dinner that he knew very well, and several people, like Dallas Kent and Troy Barrett, that he didn’t want to spend time with at all.

“Oh, I bet. And what about Rozanov? I wish I was there just so I could see you guys play nice,” Rose said.

Shane couldn't even make eye contact with her through the phone when she mentioned Ilya.

His last-ditch attempt with Rose to be straight, or bi, or anything but gay, had ended in spectacular fashion. When she gently asked if he'd ever been with a guy, he didn’t think about the handful of encounters he'd had over the years. His mind immediately leapt to Ilya, who he hadn't even really spoken to in five years. They both seemed determined to keep their distance, but he felt an uneasy thrum of excitement in his core when he thought about sitting across from him tonight.

It felt like things might be different, seeing Ilya and knowing wholly and completely that what he once felt for him wasn’t some confused, young haze of lust. As time had passed, and he had been with enough men and tried his best to fall in love with Rose, he could finally admit to himself that Ilya Rozanov was the closest he had been to truly falling for someone.

“I should probably go,” Shane shook himself out of his reverie. “Thanks for this, I wish you were here. Talk to you later? I want to hear more about the pilot.”

Shane headed downstairs to the hotel restaurant, shoving down any irrational nerves.

The instant that he walked into the room, they came roaring back at him. Nearly every player had brought a wife or girlfriend, everyone was chatting happily with their better half, and Shane felt like the absence at his side was a neon sign, pointing out one of the many ways in which he would always stick out, always be different.

He had talked to Rose on the phone for too long, and now the only empty seat left was next to Barrett, who was probably too much of an asshole to get a girlfriend.

Dallas Kent had somehow managed, and he was talking his date's ear off across the table.

Shane looked down the table and felt a tiny ripple of shock when he noticed Ilya a few seats away from Dallas, his arm draped around the shoulders of a beautiful woman. Ilya’s reputation as a womanizer was notorious, but he'd never brought anyone to an event like this.

Shane thought, sullenly, that this must be serious. This time next year, they'd probably be married and expecting a baby.

As the despondent sense of otherness threatened to engulf him, Shane wondered if he'd ever find that himself. If the domestic happiness he was currently surrounded by would ever exist in his life.

Ilya, laughing with his date, beaming ear to ear, made it look good, like something worth envying.

In that moment, Shane felt a surge of determination. Rose had offered for weeks to set him up with someone, so he could finally try dating a guy instead of meeting strangers for nerve-wracking one-night stands. As soon as he left this fucking nightmare of a dinner, he was going to call her and agree to a date with the first guy she could think of.

Dinner commenced, snapping Shane out of his reverie. After the orders were taken, Shane checked his watch, counting the minutes until he could leave.

***

Svetlana was going to be so disappointed if Rose Landry didn't make an appearance all weekend.

Ilya never dragged her to hockey events, she had told him years ago that she refused to be relegated to hanging out with WAGs. But as the years crept on, Ilya started to get lonely at this kind of thing. He'd never admit it in so many words to her.

He just knew that the final straw had been when she'd idly wondered aloud about what Rose Landry might wear when Shane brought her to the All-Star weekend. Another year of doing the red carpet by himself, feet away from Shane Hollander and his glamorous girlfriend, seemed completely intolerable.

So Ilya had begged, whined, and attempted to bribe his best friend. She finally relented, under the guise of getting to see Rose's stylish wardrobe in person, and now Shane had shown up without her.

She was probably jetting in tomorrow, fresh off a movie set. But for now, Shane sat there, stuck next to Troy Barrett.

“I like your watch,” Ilya heard Troy say to Shane.

His tone was so much softer off the ice, and something about that made Ilya snap to attention, watching the man like a hawk.

Ilya knew all too well what it felt like to be trapped in Shane Hollander's gravitational pull, to try to resist staring at him with a dumbstruck expression.

A sense of uncanny recognition was crawling up the back of his neck as he watched Troy’s gaze flicking to Shane over and over, drinking in the sight of him with poorly disguised interest.

“Thanks,” Shane said to Troy. He sounded immediately irritated, and Ilya watched with quiet satisfaction as Troy curled in on himself, accepting the rejection.

“Your girlfriend get that for you? She has good taste,” Carter Vaughn was at Shane’s other side, and he seemed drawn in by this completely boring, expensive looking watch.

“Uh, yeah,” Shane's cheeks were turning pink as his eyes darted around the table.

He never seemed comfortable being the center of attention off the ice. It was a trait that Ilya was a little obsessed with, the way Shane carried himself with supreme confidence and laser focus in games. Nobody else at the table knew that Shane brought that same intensity to the bedroom. All those years ago, Ilya had been on the receiving of that determination, an eagerness that felt all-consuming. He thought to himself, a little bitterly, that Rose Landry was an incredibly lucky woman.

Dinner dragged, even with Sveta at his side. When he caught Troy blushing in Shane’s direction for the hundredth time, he had enough.

“I'm going for a smoke,” Ilya said.

“Come back after,” Svetlana narrowed her eyes. “I still want dessert.”

Ilya kissed her temple as a promise, and left the table.

He knew it was strange, but he loved the warm humidity of a winter evening in Florida. It felt like a blanket, clinging to him as he idly smoked in the courtyard of the hotel.

He was nearing the end of his first cigarette and seriously debating a second, because it had not abated his irritation enough. Suddenly, one of the causes of his annoyance that evening materialized, Shane Hollander floating through the door.

He was on the phone, key card in hand as he crossed the courtyard to the bay of elevators in the adjoining lobby. His eyes flicked to Ilya for only a moment, a nod of clinical acknowledgement that shouldn't have stung so badly after all these years, but hurt just the same.

“I don't know, Rose. It sounds like a good project to me, but I'm not an expert. Can you explain that last part again? I don't think I understand why your character would—”

Shane’s conversation with his stunning, talented girlfriend slipped out of earshot as the door closed behind him and he went to wait for an elevator up to his room.

Ilya stubbed out his cigarette and abandoned the idea of another. He'd go back to the table, eat dessert with Svetlana, and see if he could convince anybody to take some shots.

***
Present Day

Troy Barrett had a huge, embarrassing crush on Shane. It was undeniable, evident on his face in the way he'd blush anytime Shane glanced his way. His eyes were furtively tracing Shane's face every few seconds, his laugh was immediate whenever Shane said something funny.

Ilya wanted to stab himself in the hand with his steak knife so Shane would have to drive him to the hospital and they could both get the fuck out of this dinner. He deeply regretted rejecting Shane’s proposal of picking a safe word to exit the dinner early.

He kept trying to catch Shane’s eye, to send a silent plea to leave. If Troy happened to catch that they were so close they could communicate without words, that was an added benefit.

But Scott Hunter had locked Shane in conversation, and Shane was studiously answering his questions about the ad campaign they shot yesterday.

“So. Uh, how’s the season been?” Troy ventured, testing the waters with Ilya.

Ilya’s glare seemed to cow him into silence, and they sat there, with nothing in common except a burning need to stare at Shane Hollander.

“It’s too bad we couldn't all be together, maybe this off-season we can do something and invite Eric and Ryan,” Scott said.

The proposal was met with awkward nods. Ilya really wasn't sure when Scott would give up on this forced brotherhood.

“How's Ottawa? You said management has been supportive,” Scott asked Troy.

Ilya caught Shane raising his eyebrow, and returned the expression.

“They've been really great. The staff, the team. They're all incredible,” Troy said. He had the good instinct to look sheepish, at least, because Ilya and Shane were glaring now, resentful of Troy’s great fortune. “It’s way better than Toronto would have been, I think.”

“Yeah, Ryan said Toronto is a really toxic environment. Has been for years,” Shane said sharply.

Troy’s ears flamed red, the intent of Shane’s jab hitting him squarely.

“I know, I was there. I mean, I was part of the problem, and I—”

“You weren’t just a problem in Toronto, you were a problem for the whole fucking league,” Shane spat out.

Ilya wanted to kiss him so badly.

“Barrett's trying to repair things, he knows he's fucked up,” Scott hurried to play peacemaker.

“I really am sorry. I know I can't make up for what I did in the past, but I—”

“But what? You think because we are all gay, we forgive you?” Ilya asked.

“I'm not asking for forgiveness,” Troy shook his head. “I'm just apologizing. I don't expect you to forget how I acted.”

“Yeah, you acted like a fucking asshole,” Shane muttered under his breath.

Ilya almost laughed at the aghast expression on Scott's face. Shane had such a sterling reputation as a polite, media trained role model. Right now he looked like he was a moment away from putting Troy in a headlock.

“This was a great idea, reminds me of family dinners back home,” Ilya said. Shane’s livid scowl dropped for a moment, and Ilya grinned as he watched him struggle to bite back a laugh.

To his credit, Scott sighed and threw in the towel.

“I'm not trying to force anything. You guys hate me, fine. You hate Barrett, fine. I just…I respect all of you. I know what we're doing, being out, it's not easy. I want to be there for you, if you need support. Whether you like me or not,” Scott made a point to stare at each of them, and Ilya felt a twinge of shame.

He didn't hate Scott. He hated that Scott was inextricably linked to the years that Shane wasn't in his life. But if he parceled that to the side, Scott's failings were that he was a little too serious, and maybe overly optimistic. And Scott was geriatric and should probably retire, Ilya reminded himself. 

Shane shoved his chair back, standing up. His expression was livid and pained, and it hurt to look at him.

“I can't, I'm sorry Scott. It's just…” Shane gestured in Troy’s direction, and Ilya watched the man shrink a bit.

Shane walked out, without looking at anyone else. Ilya wanted to give him a moment, let him breathe, but to his horror, Troy got up.

“Ah, I would not,” Ilya tried to warn him.

Troy ignored him, heading after Shane, and Ilya wrestled for a moment. Shane could hold his own, he didn’t need Ilya there as backup if he wanted to yell at Troy.

Scott sighed heavily. “You leaving too?”

Ilya tossed his napkin on his plate in defeat. There wasn't any point in denying it, Scott could see through him.

“Yes. I am sorry about dinner. I do not think I am really mad at you anymore,” he admitted. Scott looked stunned for a moment, then nodded appreciatively.

Ilya left before things could get any more sentimental.

***

Shane could hear footsteps hurrying after him. He thought Ilya would have known better and given him a few minutes to cool off, but when he glanced over his shoulder, his stomach plummeted.

“Shane, wait,” Troy caught up to him in the hallway by the elevators.

“I'm not interested in talking,” Shane said, stating the obvious.

“I know that, and I know I can't make it better. I just…I always admired you, and I was so fucking scared for years. I didn't handle it well at all, and I—” Troy broke off as Ilya materialized at his shoulder.

Ilya shot Shane a look that was part apology, part inquiry.

Shane shook his head, a silent answer that he didn’t mind Ilya butting in. He took a breath and turned back to Troy, who looked like he was praying the floor would crack open beneath him and he could vanish.

“Yeah, you didn't handle it well. You were fucking awful to me for years, and now I'm supposed to accept that it was all because you were scared? What do you think I felt this whole time?”

Troy rubbed his eyes for a minute, and Shane felt ugly satisfaction at the fact that he looked exhausted.

“I know, I was shitty to everyone. I was like that ever since I was young, my dad—” Troy stopped himself, and Shane saw something flash in Ilya’s eyes. He wanted Ilya to leap in, to point out that a shitty father wasn't a free pass to spew slurs on the ice.

Troy’s eyes darted to Ilya, who hadn't said a word since he'd appeared. He seemed to be sizing Ilya up, and then Troy's shoulders slumped, ceding whatever internal battle he had been waging.

“Shane, it's not an excuse. I really am sorry, and I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. I know I was worse to you, worse than I was with anyone else.”

Shane noticed Ilya’s eyes narrow as he tracked Troy’s fumbling apology. Ilya reached out and pressed the button for the elevator, and Shane felt a flood of relief.

The action seemed to send Troy into a frantic tailspin, words pouring out of his mouth.

“I was just so fucking scared that Dallas would realize and I didn't want to find out what he'd do to me, or…fuck, what he'd say to you if he ever noticed how I looked at you. So I'm really, really sorr—”

Troy’s apology was cut off by the elevator pinging, and Ilya walked in, holding the door open. Shane stood for a beat, staring at Troy, trying to parse out every word he wanted to yell at him. It was useless, Shane couldn't summon the energy to express himself with any clarity, so he shoved his way past Troy and got in the elevator.

***

Ilya didn't even pretend he was going to go to his own room, he just punched in the button for the fourth floor and followed Shane as he stormed down the hallway.

The second the door latched behind them, Shane was pacing the length of his room, ranting.

“Fuck him, who the fuck does he think he is? What the fuck was that?” His eyes were gleaming, an anger that Ilya had never seen simmering beneath the surface.

Something about it felt like looking at the sun, and Ilya felt his lips part in awe. Shane was panting, his cheeks reddened, and Ilya quickly collected himself. It was a completely inopportune time to marvel at Shane Hollander's beauty.

“I think he is trying to tell you he was an asshole because he has a crush on you and was scared,” he said honestly.

Shane rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, I am so tired of you thinking everybody wants to fuck or have a threesome, or whatever joke you're about to make. Not everybody is like that.”

The words pierced Ilya a little. He had been sincere. He just thought Shane was completely irresistible, that he pitied Troy for succumbing to the inevitable, a tragic crush on Shane Hollander. He resented that he had a shred of common experience with Troy.

Ilya cleared his throat. “I do not think wanting to fuck you is excuse to be an asshole,” he clarified.

Shane snorted, but when he looked at Ilya his expression slid from wry annoyance to something serious. Ilya’s stomach clenched as he realized how transparent his words were.

Ilya wanted to turn away and hide, think of some joke to defuse the moment and pretend that he hadn’t been talking about himself. It was so hideously obvious, in retrospect, that Ilya had spent years carefully maneuvering around Shane, pretending that there wasn't a cavern in Ilya’s life shaped like Shane that threatened to swallow him whole.

Shane’s breath went ragged the longer that he and Ilya stared at each other. They had gotten too good at wordless conversations, and now Ilya was losing his ability to keep his walls up.

Shane's phone pinged, breaking the silence, and he yanked it out of his pocket to glance at it.

Ilya couldn't decide if he was relieved or resentful of the intrusion.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“What?” Ilya's mind began jumping to the worst, questions forming about Shane's patents, because Shane's expression looked haunted.

“Uh. Ben’s coming. He surprised me, he'll fly out here tomorrow for the game.”

Ilya felt cold, leaden. Any joy and fantasy from the minutes before were leeching out of him.

Shane stood, chewing on his lip and typing something back. Something sweet, probably excited. He had a considerate boyfriend who had probably moved mountains to come see Shane play.

Shane tossed his phone on the bedside table and covered his face in his hands for a moment.

Ilya considered leaving right then, ripping off the band-aid and preparing himself for the next 24 hours of Shane and Ben.

Instead, Shane peered at him through his fingers and asked something that twisted Ilya's heart.

“Would you stay? Here tonight.”

Ilya was helpless. Always fucking helpless when it came to Shane Hollander.

He nodded and watched as Shane crossed the room. Shane stood in front of him and tentatively ran his fingers through the curls at the base of Ilya’s neck. A breathy, needy sigh drifted out of Ilya's mouth, and Shane’s eyes flashed with a determination that set Ilya on fire.

When Shane kissed him, Ilya only had room for one thought rattling in his mind. He wasn't going to survive this.

Chapter End Notes

Scott Hunter pulled out the "this is our get along shirt" and tried to shove Shane, Ilya, and Troy into it, to disastrous effect.

I enjoy writing messy Shane and Ilya (obviously) so I am having the time of life with Shane's spectacularly bad handling of an open relationship. Sorry!

Things will not be so contentious forever with Troy! I think he's a super interesting character in the canon, and I don’t plan to end this story with Shane and Ilya hating him.

I don't have the right brain to write real people, so the basketball players are not supposed to be characterized off irl women, but I did include the pink hair detail because I like imagining a Heated Rivalry universe that includes some fictional equivalent of the Studbudz.

We've learned a little more about why Shane chased a relationship (surprise, it always comes back to Ilya!) Next chapter we'll get some more context for Shane and Ben’s dynamic (because I realize right now it seems extremely one-dimensional)

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

If dialouge is italicized, assume it's in Russian.

Shane tugged Ilya backwards and they tumbled onto the bed. It was clumsy, desperate, and awkward, and it made Ilya feel like his heart was going to shatter.

He wanted to be utterly in control. Shane had asked him to stay, whatever was going on his relationship was bad enough that he was asking Ilya to stay and fuck him, and Ilya decided he would let himself be used tonight.

He'd give Shane exactly what he needed, and then he'd never sleep with him again. Tonight was going to rip him apart, and in the cold light of day he would summon the willpower to protect himself. He'd tell Shane he needed to just be friends, and hope that would be enough for Shane.

But right now, Shane was squirming beneath him, sighing at Ilya’s kisses, and Ilya felt an overwhelming need to worship at the altar of Shane Hollander, to serve him one final time.

“Take these off,” Ilya plucked at Shane’s clothes. He rolled off of Shane and watched him strip, carefully fold and lay his clothes on the dresser, and turn expectantly. It was the sexiest strip tease imaginable, and Ilya forgot a moment that he was fully clothed. Shane raised his eyebrows expectantly, and in a flash, Ilya began ripping off his clothes. His stomach flipped in delight as he watched Shane struggle to rip his eyes away from his body, but manage to cast judgemental glances at Ilya’s clothes strewn in a pile on the floor.

Ilya stretched his arms out and Shane pounced, straddling his lap to clutch at Ilya’s face and draw him in for a wet, hungry kiss. His lips were sweet, plush, and Ilya dug his teeth into the bottom lip to hear Shane cry out. Ilya scraped his teeth along Shane’s neck as he grabbed fistfuls of Shane’s ass, smacking lightly. When Shane gasped at the contact, Ilya hid his grin against Shane’s neck.

“You like that?”

“Yes, fuck,” Shane sounded so needy already, and Ilya wished there was an alternate dimension they could slip into, a world where Ilya could explore every inch of Shane over countless nights, discover a thousand new ways he could respond to Ilya’s touch.

Ilya twisted, throwing Shane onto the bed so his ass was up. Shane bent his knees, arching for Ilya, and Ilya dragged a palm against him, listening to Shane’s breath hitch in anticipation. When he brought his hand down for a stinging slap, Shane yelped.

“Shh,” Ilya soothed, rubbing the pink spot that dotted Shane's soft skin. “You said you like this?”

“I do, please don't stop,” Shane begged. Ilya smacked his ass again and again, drunk off the way that Shane moaned and pitched against his hand.

When his skin was an angry pink, Ilya let up, pressing kisses along his lower back.

“You like feeling bad?” Ilya crooned, running his thumbs along the twin divots in Shane’s lower back.

“Yes, for you,” Shane whispered. Ilya fought every nerve in his body as the words came out. They filled him with pride— Shane placed his trust so eagerly in Ilya’s hands. The words also flooded him with momentary shame, an ugly feeling of the illusion slipping. Ilya was a means to an end, Shane was getting a thrill being bad with him, for him.

Ilya stiffened at the thought. His body had betrayed him, and Shane knew him too well, because he turned to face Ilya with an expression that was too raw, too tender.

Before Ilya’s brain could catch up, before he could collect himself, Shane had scrambled, pushing Ilya back on the bed.

He straddled Ilya, pressing kisses along his neck and tugging at his curls. Ilya swallowed hard, battling a lump that was forming in his throat.

Shane seemed intent to map every inch of him, as if he knew this was his last opportunity. He kissed Ilya’s collarbone, nipped at his shoulder, trailed his lips down Ilya’s abdomen as Ilya fought to hold back a shudder.

Shane paused when he reached Ilya’s cock, glancing up through his long lashes for permission. Ilya threaded his fingers in Shane's hair, guiding him closer, and he threw his head back when Shane wrapped his lips around him.

His mouth was warm, wet, and languid. Ilya felt like his heart was pounding out of his chest, he wanted to whine and plead as Shane took his time.

Shane lazily licked a stripe up the length of Ilya’s cock, swirled his tongue around the sensitive head, and began slowly sucking as he took Ilya deeper and deeper. Ilya began whispering to him without even realizing it, praise that seemed to go straight to Shane’s core as his eyelashes fluttered and he took Ilya to the back of his throat.

“God, Shane, you feel so good. You're so fucking perfect for me,” Ilya realized how close he was to stumbling off the ledge of their tenuous boundaries, and he switched to Russian when he couldn't contain it.

“Why did it have to be you? All this time, the only person I want is you.”

Ilya’s hands tightened in Shane’s hair as he moaned around Ilya’s cock, and then Shane pulled off of him with a wet pop. Ilya let out a frustrated groan.

“Can I eat you out?” Shane whispered.

Ilya blacked out for a second before furiously nodding. Any control he had felt earlier, a desire to ignore himself in service of Shane had completely dissolved. Shane tapped his leg to turn over, and grabbed a pillow for Ilya to prop his hips onto.

When Shane began kissing his way down Ilya’s spine, Ilya was flooded with gratitude. Intentional or not, Shane had given him the freedom to hide his face, and he didn't have to worry right now about how broken he felt, raw and wanting as Shane grabbed his ass.

The first touch of Shane’s tongue, flat and dragging lazily, made Ilya moan uncontrollably. The handful of times that Ilya had done this before had been random one-offs for one-night stands who begged for it. Their desire had made the experience hot enough, but being the object of Shane Hollander's single-minded focus was a revelation.

“Fuck you,” Ilya cried out in Russian as Shane traced his rim, sloppy and desperate. “You've ruined me. I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to forget you. I fucking hate you for that.”

Shane sighed, interpreting the fervor in Ilya’s tone as pure lust, and his fingers tightened on Ilya’s skin. The way he clutched at Ilya, tongue working him open, pushed Ilya into a painful daydream. Ilya allowed himself to imagine that Shane’s moans and firm hands were possessive, that Ilya was his to claim.

As Shane slipped his tongue inside him, Ilya couldn't help pushing his hips towards the pillow. Ilya had fleeting clarity that he might come just from the sensation of Shane humming against him, licking inside him, as Ilya’s cock rubbed against the pillow.

A needy whine escaped his lips, and before he could feel any embarrassment, Shane answered with a deep groan that made Ilya feel like his entire body had turned into fuzzy, frenetic TV static.

He chased it for a moment, savoring the chance to bury his face in the bed as tears sprung to his eyes. The dampness clung to his eyelashes as his hips bucked, grinding into the pillow. Shane's mouth stayed pressed to him, wet and insistent. There wasn't room for any conscious thought, just overwhelming, full-bodied need for Shane.

Ilya screwed his eyes shut as Shane gasped against him, his warm, wet tongue lapping Ilya's hole. He was desperate and gone, and when Shane reached his hand to wrap around Ilya’s cock, Ilya summoned the final dregs of his willpower.

“Stop,” Ilya croaked. Shane froze, moving away slightly, and Ilya had to hold back a sob at the loss.

“Sorry, I…was that…?” Shane sounded so uncertain and vulnerable, Ilya didn't feel like he had the time to compose himself. He sat up, tugging Shane down to the bed as he crawled on top to kiss him.

It was a terrible, poorly thought out idea, as Ilya felt gravity pull a tear off his cheekbone. Shane tensed underneath him, must have felt the dampness drop onto his face, but he didn't pull away.

Shane cupped the back of Ilya’s neck, drawing him closer as he sucked on Ilya's tongue.

“Need to fuck you,” Ilya finally gasped, desperate to explain why he'd interrupted one of the hottest experiences of his life.

Shane stared up at him, nodding as his lips parted. They were frozen for a moment. Ilya felt pinned by his warm brown eyes, watched them shine with a mix of concern and reverence that almost made Ilya want to run out the door.

Shane broke the moment, gesturing towards the nightstand, and Ilya yanked the drawer open to get lube and a condom. His hand paused for a moment as his mind started spinning. Ben was a surprise. Shane had said he hadn't been sleeping with anyone else, that he hadn't been interested. Which meant Shane had either magically learned how to become a convincing liar, and had planned to hook up with some random guy this weekend, or he had brought lube and condoms because he thought there was a chance Ilya would sleep with him.

Ilya’s throat was tight again, and he quickly began kissing his way down Shane’s chest to hide the tears shining in his eyes that he couldn't seem to control anymore. Shane was clutching at his hair, stroking as if he could tell how wrecked Ilya was.

He felt desperate, his need to fuck Shane was overwhelming. He also felt anticipatory grief rising in him, a painful need to commit this final time to memory.

With fumbling, shaking hands, he uncapped the lube and poured too much onto his fingers. He began stroking Shane’s entrance, he watched Shane tremble, arching at his touch.

Slowly, he rubbed Shane’s rim, running his fingers along him. When he slipped his index finger into Shane, Shane’s eyes fluttered closed.

“No,” Ilya stopped, and Shane glared at him, a pout forming on his beautiful lips. “Look at me.”

Shane’s mouth dropped open, but he obeyed. If there was one moment that Ilya had the presence of mind to push for control, he was grateful he had managed this. Shane’s eyes were shining, so alive and transfixed, burning through Ilya.

Ilya began to slowly work him open, watching Shane's breath turn ragged. He wondered if Shane could sense everything he thought, if he knew Ilya was begging him to watch because he wanted him to remember this as sharply as Ilya would. Maybe some night, unbidden, the memory would flit into a dream, and Shane would wake up hard and aching, Ilya’s name on the tip of his tongue.

Ilya began to scissor his fingers, then curl, stroking inside Shane until he cried out, circling his hips, begging Ilya to fuck him.

Ilya ripped open the condom, slicked himself with more lube, and then paused, hovering over Shane. They had a wordless conversation, just like last time. Ilya wanted, needed to see Shane’s face as he fucked him one final time. Shane looked adrift, clutching to Ilya for stability.

Before Ilya could catch up, Shane had flipped him. Ilya only had a moment to enjoy it, to wish Shane would toss him around as much as he wanted. Shane straddled him, grabbing onto Ilya’s cock before he began to sink down.

It was excruciating, Shane’s tight heat made Ilya’s eyes roll to the back of his head for a second. He resisted the urge to thrust into Shane, grasping at his waist instead in an attempt to communicate how absolutely gone he was.

“You like that?” Shane breathed, rocking slightly.

He didn't have words, the whimper that rose out of Ilya's throat was so needy, so obviously the answer Shane needed to hear. He began to move his hips, slowly at first, dragging against Ilya's cock as his jaw tightened. Ilya pitched his hips, hitting the spot that made Shane cry out, and Shane lost control. He threw his arm forward to brace against the headboard, riding Ilya hard.

Ilya craned up to kiss him, grabbed at his ass, and pounded into him. Shane’s eyes grew hazy and unfocused as he began to stare down at the spot where they met, where he was sinking onto Ilya’s cock.

Ilya grabbed him by the back of his neck and Shane snapped to attention, staring at him.

Ilya was lost, he was so completely lost in Shane’s eyes. Shane looked awestruck, he looked terrified, he looked like he had never been so turned on in his life.

They stared at each other, gasping and desperate. Ilya was struck with a sick, overwhelming realization, one he could only cloak in another language, because he was a coward.

“I love you,” he choked out. The words poured out of him, easier in Russian. “I love you so much, and I don’t know what to do about it. You're fucking perfect, and you drive me crazy, and you're not mine,” Ilya's voice was so thin, so broken.

Shane’s eyes grew wet, tears threatening to fall on Ilya’s face as if he understood. Ilya grabbed him and twisted, throwing Shane onto his back and fucking him into the mattress. Shane was crying out, Ilya wondered faintly if they were going to get a noise complaint as the headboard crashed against the wall over and over.

Shane reached down and grasped his cock, pausing for a moment to look at Ilya for permission. It made Ilya feel insane. He wanted to growl, he wanted to slap Shane’s hand away, he wanted to watch him come immediately.

All Ilya could do was roughly nod and whisper “Yes, please Shane. Need to see you come, please, please.”

Shane began stroking himself roughly. Before Ilya knew it, Shane was clenching, shaking, gasping as he came. Long streaks spread across his chest as his eyes screwed shut.

It was the hottest thing Ilya had ever seen, and he lost his mind, thrusting as deep as he could, chanting in Russian.

“I love you, I love you, you've wrecked me, I love you.”

He came, gasping Shane’s name, staring at his hazy expression as he lost himself and then he collapsed on top of Shane, panting.

They laid like that, Shane stroking Ilya’s curls as they came back down to earth. Ilya was clutching at him tightly, trying to hang onto the feeling of warm fogginess and the beautiful sensation of Shane's firm muscles and soft skin underneath him.

Shane broke the moment. It could have been an hour later, it could have been ten minutes later.

“Do you want to shower with me?”

Ilya turned and smashed his face into Shane’s chest as he shook his head.

“OK. I'll go first,” Shane rubbed his shoulder, and Ilya reluctantly rolled off of him.

Shane slipped into the bathroom, and Ilya rolled onto his side, staring at the bottle of lube thrown onto the bedside table.

For a glorious, ugly moment, Ilya could envision it. Shane nervously packing, wondering if Ilya might be willing to sleep with him. In Ilya’s fantasy, Shane was as lost as him. There could have been a world where Shane’s entire being had shifted, maybe he had even innately understood the things Ilya had told him in Russian tonight.

In another life, one where Scott Hunter hadn't spotted them all those years ago, Ilya might have realized long ago that he loved Shane, found the courage to tell him when Shane could have been his to keep.

Ilya listened to the water running in the shower and knew he only had one choice. He got out of bed, throwing his clothes on quickly. He slipped out of the room and took the stairs to the fourth floor. When he shut the door to his room, he slumped, chest aching and eyes wet again. He didn't sleep at all that night.

***

Shane was a disaster. Scott Hunter was the first to notice, running into him in the lobby that morning and immediately asking if he needed a coffee. Shane knew he was pale, eyes bloodshot with dark circles beneath them.

He had panicked when he got out of the shower and Ilya was gone. Panic had settled into dread, then self-hatred. He'd known, he had known for his sake that it was a terrible idea. He had been completely unable to resist, but when he had Ilya in his arms, blissed out after they came, he was struck with the searing knowledge that he had made a colossal mistake.

Shane couldn't just forget what Ilya's mouth tasted like, how his hands felt on Shane's hips, what he sounded like when he came. Shane knew now that he couldn't keep it casual. He was ruining their friendship, and he had wrecked his relationship with Ben beyond repair. The worst realization was that he didn’t really care at all about the second part, all morning his concern had been Ilya.

Ben had called briefly that morning before he got on his flight, and Shane wondered if he could hear the strain in Shane’s voice. Ben's cheerful, sensible tone usually relaxed Shane, but that morning it screeched against his guilty conscience like nails on a chalkboard.

When Ben texted that he'd arrive an hour before the game, Shane had only been able to reply with a thumbs up. He would be sitting next to Shane’s parents, and the thought of Ben, blissfully unaware and making nice with his parents, made Shane feel ill.

Shane’s limbs felt numb and useless when he arrived at the locker room and saw Ilya suiting up. He was deep in conversation with a player from Philadelphia, and the longer Shane watched him, the more apparent it was that Ilya would not look at him.

Shane leaned forward, rubbing his palms over his eyes as he tried to convince himself that his entire life wasn’t falling apart.

“You good?” Scott Hunter had materialized next to him, and the look of concern on his face made Shane want to throw up.

“I’ll be fine,” Shane promised. He must not have been convincing enough, because Scott parked himself next to Shane and kept him company as the room filled.

“I’m sorry last night was a mess,” Scott finally broke the silence between them.

Shane’s stomach lurched for a moment before he remembered the disastrous dinner, Troy’s feeble apology. In the cold light of day, with bigger concerns, Scott’s attempt to bring them together seemed like such a minute offense.

“I’m sorry too,” Shane finally said. Scott looked surprised. “I’m still mad at you, but I shouldn’t be such a dick about it.”

Scott fought back a smile, and Shane felt a weak one form on his face, despite his best efforts.

The tentative moment of peace was snapped by the Admirals head coach calling for attention, giving a platitude-filled speech about how honored he was to coach this All-Star team.

When he called on Shane to rally the room as their captain, Shane shifted into autopilot. He had done it a hundred times, dug into well-worn encouragement and jokes that got easy laughter from the room. The entire time, he avoided looking at Ilya. Shane didn’t think he could handle catching those hazel eyes looking back at him under the harsh fluorescents, not when he knew what they looked like under soft lamplight, damp with awestruck tears. Worse still, Shane knew he would break if he looked in Ilya’s direction and saw him studiously avoid Shane’s gaze.

They hauled out to the ice, running through the fanfare and introductions. Shane had a prickling, hideous sense of deja vu as he and Ilya were announced on the same line, waving to the crowd as they ignored each other. The last thing they wanted, what they had promised each other, was that they wouldn’t return to before. It felt like the door had already slammed shut, and Shane was back to the sick routine he’d endured for years, pretending Ilya didn’t mean anything to him.

When the game started, everything seemed to fall away, and Shane’s head cleared for blissful stretches of time. It was like nobody else existed on the ice, just Ilya appearing exactly where he needed him, anticipating every pass.

They were completely dominant, and Shane finally allowed his gaze to linger on Ilya after he shot a goal to the back of the net.

Ilya was breathless, something burning behind his eyes that made heat pool in Shane’s core. For a second, Ilya flashed a smile. It was the same crooked, warm smile that Shane had become so familiar with the past few months.

Then the game moved on, and Shane was left wondering if he'd ever see that grin again.

***

Ilya should have gone out with everyone after the game. It was the kind of thing he did every year since the fateful All-Star game in Nashville. He'd go out and get shitfaced with other players from the league, falling into bed with a woman at the end of the night.

Instead, he now slunk to the hotel bar, telling himself it was because he was too exhausted to go out and pretend he was fine. When he had seen Shane in the locker room he looked as haunted as Ilya felt. With a grim clarity, Ilya knew that Shane’s regrets were not the ones that kept Ilya up all night.

Ilya regretted letting Shane out of his grasp all those years ago. He regretted that he hadn’t immediately realized the depth of what he felt when they reconnected, that he hadn't thrown himself at Shane and asked him to leave his stupid boyfriend. Instead, reality hit Ilya all too painfully, all too late.

The off-chance that he might get a glimpse of Shane and Ben walking through the hotel was an underlying motivation to drink at the bar, a streak of masochism that felt necessary.

When he entered, he cursed under his breath. He’d planned to seat himself in the corner that had a view of the lobby, but Troy Barrett was positioned there.

“Hi,” Ilya ripped the band-aid off, sliding in next to him. To his credit, Troy looked shocked.

“Hey. You’re not at the club with everyone?”

Ilya swept his arm around, gesturing at the obvious. The bartender took his order, and Troy took a few big gulps of his drink in preparation to leave.

“Stay,” Ilya laid a hand on Troy’s arm. He needed a distraction, and maybe spending time with someone he disliked and pitied so much would help him get out of his head.

“Ok,” Troy obeyed. He fidgeted nervously, and Ilya watched him wearily as Troy summoned the courage to speak.

“I meant everything I said,” Troy began. Ilya rolled his eyes. He had opened himself up to the Troy Barrett apology tour. “I know I can’t make it better, I know I don’t have an excuse. Nobody else acted like me, and we all had the same secret.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Ilya groaned. “I do not forgive you. But I do not need to hear this right now.”

Troy blinked at him, and then glanced around the room as he tried to think of a topic.

“Your goal today was beautiful,” Troy finally said.

“It was all Hollander’s assist,” Ilya muttered, regretting it as the words came out. He needed to get his mind off of Shane, not bring him up. He saw Troy flinch at Shane’s name, and mean, ugly words rose in him.

“How long have you had a crush on him?” Ilya asked. It was unhelpful, it was cruel, and it hurt Ilya more than Troy, probably.

Troy turned bright red, but to Ilya’s shock he didn’t even try to deny it.

“Uh…ever since I knew who he was? I think every youth hockey player in Canada was obsessed with him in one way or another. I wasn’t good enough at the time to make the national team, but I watched the World Juniors when he played.”

Troy was digging a hole, and Ilya wanted to sink into it. He indulged for a moment in memories of Shane introducing himself, freckles splashed across wind-bitten cheeks in Saskatchewan.

Troy seemed to misinterpret Ilya’s silence. “You were both so exciting to watch, even then.”

Ilya shrugged. He didn’t need Troy Barrett to compliment him.

“So you have been in love with Hollander since you were teenager,” Ilya said, resenting their shared experience.

“Oh my god, no. Nothing that dramatic,” Troy protested. “He’s just…he’s a total babe, and he’s great at hockey. It’s really not more than that. I had a boyfriend for years.”

Ilya let irrational relief wash over him for a moment, as if he had any right to worry about the depth of Troy's crush on Shane.

He could feel his eyebrows shoot up as he processed what Troy said, shocked and appalled that some poor soul had spent years of their precious life with Troy.

“What happened?” Ilya asked.

“He cheated on me. He’s a movie star, he got engaged like a month after we broke up and the news was everywhere,” Troy sounded suitably despondent.

Despite what Ilya had initially hoped, Troy’s pain was not helping his own dour mood. Ilya finished his drink and flagged the bartender for another.

“What about you?” Troy asked. For a wild moment, with his mind so stuck on Shane, Ilya thought his own question was flipped on him, that Troy would find out he had also succumbed to Shane Hollander’s charms as a teenager.

“Did you ever date a guy while you were in the closet?”

Ilya sipped his drink and shook his head.

“Nope,” Ilya said, hoping he looked the picture of nonchalance.

Troy was watching him, and maybe it was the alcohol hitting his inhibitions, or the sad expression on Troy’s face, or the overwhelming sense of regret and helplessness closing in on Ilya.

Ilya caved, speaking as honestly as he could allow himself.

“I would have. With one man. But it never happened. And he moved on.”

Ilya was grateful that Troy didn't look at him with pity. Instead a grim flash of recognition at their shared heartache crossed Troy's face, and then he stared at his drink.

Ilya glanced towards the lobby, and the pain that he had hoped for materialized. Shane was cutting across it quickly, Ben hustling behind him. They looked good together, a serious pair, suited for each other. Shane’s determined march sent a chill down Ilya’s spine as he imagined what made Shane so eager to get to his room, to tumble with Ben into the sheets that Ilya had laid in last night.

Ilya ordered another drink, shooting a pitying glance at Troy, who was staring despondently at the bar top. Ilya finally felt grateful that he had miserable company to complement his mood.

***

Ben had gone out for drinks with Shane's parents after the game, as Shane was tied up in post-game press. Shane felt a lurch of dread when he heard, he had an impossible time picturing his parents and Ben sustaining a conversation for more than a few minutes.

Shane got back to the hotel at the same time as Ben, and he practically dragged him to his room, desperate to quell his nerves.

“Your parents are nice,” Ben said in the elevator. He brushed his hand against Shane’s arm, and Shane tried to resist the urge to flinch.

“Yeah, I love them,” Shane said, uselessly.

As soon as he closed the door to his room, he realized what a terrible idea this had been. The hotel cleaners had restored the bed to pristine condition, Shane had hidden the condoms and lube. It still felt like the events of last night had left too large an impression, as if Ben would glance at the bed and know that Ilya had come in it 24 hours ago, crying out Shane’s name.

“I think we need to talk,” Shane said.

Ben's eyebrows shot up, caught off-guard. Shane tried to re-think his approach, to ease into what he had to say.

“Why do you like me?” Shane asked. It was inelegant and unhelpful.

Ben frowned.

“Uh. You're gorgeous, you're nice…Shane, what is this?”

Shane rubbed his eyes, wishing he could articulate what had been nagging at him for months, what he had been too afraid to pay attention to.

“I mean, what do you like about being with me?”

Ben rubbed Shane’s shoulders in what Shane supposed was a comforting gesture, but it only made him feel worse.

“I mean, there's a lot to like. I don't know. Like…you understand what my life is like, you don't ask too much from me?” Ben said. Shane stared at him.

Ben continued, rattling off other practical, decidedly un-romantic qualities.

"You always make me feel calm, you're steady. And you don't ask me to be something I'm not. I've had some really high maintenance boyfriends, you're the opposite of that. Shane, why are you asking this?”

Shane looked at him, remembering the relief he'd felt when they first started dating. Everything Ben described was what Shane had craved. Ben understood that Shane was completely consumed by hockey most of the year, he was a steady presence, he never made Shane feel off-balance.

It wasn’t enough. Shane had thought he was sated, thought after being lonely for so long, that this was what he'd been craving.

Then Ilya had come storming back into his life, and Shane remembered what it was like to be seen in three dimensions, not flattened into something placid and steady. Ilya noticed every facet of him, celebrated details that Shane hadn't even recognized in himself.

Ilya made Shane feel engulfed in want, made Shane feel like his entire world shifted into the orbit of one person.

Shane rubbed his eyes and stared at his kind, understanding boyfriend, who thought Shane didn't want anything more. Shane let out a heavy exhale.

“I fucked Ilya.”

****

Ilya strolled through the lobby, beelining for the doors so he could have a cigarette before he figured out breakfast. He had a few hours until he had to leave for the airport.

Ilya was desperate for the time to pass quickly. The hours until he could put distance between him and Shane felt interminable, and the back of his neck prickled with anxiety over the chance of running into Shane and his boyfriend.

His footsteps faltered as he walked outside and saw Yuna Hollander standing on the curb, looking at her phone. Shane’s father was next to her, peering up at a tree with his hands on hips, assessing something that would likely remain a mystery to Ilya.

Before Ilya could run, before he could turn and hide, Yuna looked up. Her face brightened and she waved, beckoning him over.

Ilya could have been rude, he could have slunk back into her previous expectations of him. But there was a nagging, stubborn part of Ilya that still desperately wanted her approval, so he found himself walking to the two of them, as if tugged by a hook.

“Ilya! I wondered if we’d see you this weekend, I know you and Shane are both so busy,” Yuna gave him a brief hug, and Ilya completely froze.

David Hollander seemed to notice the reaction and extended his hand instead as he introduced himself.

“It is nice to see you. Thank you again, for arranging the ad. Shane and I, uh…it was fun,” Ilya half-lied.

Yuna waved his gratitude away as if it was nothing. Ilya saw David’s eyes drift to the tree again, and he couldn’t help himself. He should have been leaving, he should have made an excuse and gone to smoke a cigarette or turn around and hide in his room until checkout.

Instead, Ilya found himself captivated by another Hollander, which seemed to be his curse in life.

“What are you looking at?” Ilya asked.

“Oh! Come here,” David ushered him over excitedly. “Bird’s nest, up there. Looks like an Anna's hummingbird.”

Ilya squinted, following where David pointed, and his eyes locked onto the little bundle perched on the branches. Seconds later a hummingbird flitted up and two little beaks emerged, greeting their parent.

David’s satisfied smile reminded Ilya so much of Shane, and his heart began to sting. When he glanced away and caught Yuna watching her husband with such open fondness, Ilya felt like his chest might crack.

David began telling Ilya about a bird identifying app he had, how he used it to learn about the birds that frequented the lake near their cottage. Ilya needed to tear himself away, but he was trapped, fascinated as David showed him photos of a terrifying bird with red eyes.

“Shane!” Yuna called.

Ilya watched Shane emerge from the lobby, blinking slowly as he approached. It felt like Ilya had been caught committing a crime, as if he’d get arrested for asking David Hollander to play bird calls he had recorded on his phone.

“Hey. Hi, Ilya.” Shane looked as spent as he had yesterday, and Ilya wondered for a hideous moment if he was exhausted because he had been up all night fucking Ben, Ilya not even a thought on his mind.

“Ilya, we were just going to breakfast, would you like to come with us?” David asked.

“I shouldn’t,”Ilya began to protest, but Shane interrupted.

“You should come.”

Ilya felt anger rise in his throat, was ready to protest and punish Shane for not letting him leave in peace.

“Where’s Ben?” Yuna asked absently, looking over Shane’s shoulder. Ilya could feel his shoulders tense up, nervously anticipating the appearance.

“We broke up,” Shane said. The words hit Ilya in his core, split him open, and left him speechless.

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. We don’t have to-” Yuna began managing, racing to the proper course of action, but Shane waved her off.

“I’m fine. Let’s go. Ilya, will you come with us?” Shane’s stare was so intense, so insistent, and Ilya didn’t have a choice. He nodded and followed the Hollanders as they made their way to the car.

***

Chapter End Notes

I think David Hollander’s most used apps are NYT Games, some flight-tracker app so he can follow the Metros plane, and the Merlin app. Would love to hear other ideas though!

In every universe, Ilya is freaked out by loons. He's still probably going to get one tattooed on him in this universe too.

I really thought their hookup was going to be a fun d/s scene, and then it got away from me and turned into Ilya crying (in a sad way) while getting rimmed.

We're going to get more details of Shane’s breakup in the next chapter, he had a lot to unpack with his adequate, but not great ex-boyfriend.

I thiiiink the chapter count is staying at 9? I actually had a whole other arc planned that has been shoved out of the draft, and I'm still trying to see if it makes sense to thread some of it in. If I do, the chapter count might bump up to 10.

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

It was probably a terrible idea to drag Ilya to breakfast with his parents, but Shane didn’t care. The only person he wanted to see that day was Ilya, and when Shane walked out of the hotel and saw his dad and Ilya crowded next to each other, staring at his phone, it felt like fate.

If yanking him along for breakfast kept Ilya from slipping through his fingers, so be it.

Now Shane was confronted with the surreal scene of Ilya Rozanov buckled into the backseat of a rental car, politely answering questions from Shane’s parents like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Everyone in the car seemed to have made a silent pact to not address the bomb Shane had dropped. Shane wondered if they'd make it through the whole breakfast without acknowledging the elephant in the room, but one look at his mother told him otherwise.

She was drumming her fingertips on the center console with a nervous edge as she quizzed Ilya about the other All-Stars. Shane dipped in and out of focus, the breakup and Ilya’s presence creating a fog that was hard to peer out of.

“Shane said you had some kind of dinner with Scott Hunter?” Shane’s mom asked.

“Yes, and Troy Barrett,” Ilya grimaced.

“How was that?” Shane’s dad peeked at the rearview mirror to see Shane and Ilya’s sullen expressions.

“Not great,” Shane said. He noticed that Ilya was fighting a smile at the understatement, and it felt like things were normal for a beautiful second.

“I think Hunter has accepted that we might never be friends with them,” Ilya said. Shane thought back to Scott comforting him in the All-Stars locker room, and he felt a shred of gratitude. Maybe one day they would be on better terms, at least.

“It’s a good thing you have each other,” Shane’s dad said.

Shane stole a glance at Ilya, uncertain if his father’s statement was even true still. Ilya was looking back at him with an inscrutable expression.

“Yeah, I’ll always be grateful to Hunter for bringing us together,” Shane said. He whipped his head to look out the window, too nervous to see how the words landed with Ilya.

Before he knew it, they were pulling up to the restaurant.

It felt like Ilya was maintaining as much distance as possible between them when they slid into the booth across from Shane’s parents. Any time Shane’s elbow knocked against Ilya's, or Ilya's knee brushed against Shane’s, Ilya would stiffen and retreat. Shane wanted to grab him, throw himself on top of Ilya, anything to stop the tense fear that Ilya might fly away at any moment.

“How was the photoshoot? Did you get to meet the other athletes?” Shane’s mother asked as their food arrived.

Shane felt a swell of jealousy as he remembered Gus's lingering glances, the smug expression on his face as he came out of Ilya's dressing room.

“Yeah. I liked some of them more than others,” Shane muttered, stabbing a chunk of cantaloupe.

Ilya stared at him, and Shane could feel the tips of his ears burning. Something challenging rose in Ilya’s face, an edge that filled Shane with nervous anticipation.

“They all thought we were dating,” Ilya said.

“Oh?” Shane’s dad seemed only mildly surprised.

“Not all of them thought that. One guy hit on Ilya,” Shane said.

It felt like he and Ilya were volleying jabs back and forth, and Shane’s parents seemed a little bewildered by the antagonism. Shane wasn’t sure if he understood their tension, but since they couldn’t fuck or yell at each other, it seemed like they were settling for the next best thing.

“He only hit on me after he asked if you were my boyfriend,” Ilya said.

Shane didn’t know what to say to that revelation, and Ilya seemed to suddenly feel self-conscious.

They both awkwardly picked at their food until Shane’s dad abruptly changed the topic to some travel guide he was reading.

Shane watched Ilya make small talk with his parents and he felt like he might scream. He was seated centimeters away from Ilya, yet it felt like there was a chasm between them.

Ilya was pissed at him, he was hurt. Shane could understand it, but he had still allowed Shane to drag him to brunch with his parents. Shane had to believe that there was some hope.

***

“So,” Yuna dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and Ilya felt Shane tense up next to him. In his short time since he’d met her, Ilya had begun to pick up on Yuna’s tones, and this one had a thinly veiled impatience that meant she was going to bring up a topic she had been sitting on.

“Things with Ben didn’t work out?” Yuna asked.

Ilya stared at his pancakes, unable to look at Shane. He had his concerns, his theories. They had made him tense and argumentative all morning.

“Yeah, it didn’t work out. Uh…things happened that we couldn’t move past,” Shane said.

Ilya’s stomach plummeted. Their impulsive hookup, Ilya crying and so obviously throwing his heart at Shane had crossed a line that resulted in Shane’s relationship imploding.

He couldn’t even enjoy the fact that Shane was single, entertain the idea of it clearing a path for the two of them. Shane sounded miserable, and he’d probably never forgive Ilya for ruining their friendship and his relationship in one fell swoop.

“That’s too bad, kiddo,” David said sympathetically. Yuna was noticeably silent, and Ilya couldn’t help recalling her pinched expression when they had talked about Ben over lunch.

Ilya finally stole a glance at Shane, who looked desperately uncomfortable.

“Can we change the topic? I’m not really ready to talk about it right now,” Shane pleaded.

“Sure,” Yuna turned her gaze to Ilya. “Shane said Boston hasn't been great since you came out. It's been noticeable how much they're limiting the media appearances of their star center,” Yuna said with a tight frown.

It shouldn't have made him smile, but praise from Yuna didn’t feel like empty compliments, they always felt like an objective assessment, so Ilya found himself sitting up straighter.

“Yes. I do not know if they are worse than Montreal, but they are not great. A few teammates are good. But I do not know if I will stay when I am free agent.”

Ilya could feel how hard Shane’s stare was, it felt like the side of Ilya’s face was on fire. They had spoken abstractly about more tolerant teams, but it was the first time Ilya had acknowledged the reality of it all.

Yuna cleared her throat. “Would you ever consider going to Ottawa when your contract is up? I know one of the minority owners is gay, and it seems like Barrett is treated well there.”

“Mom!” Shane hissed. “Ilya doesn't want to play on a shitty team with Troy Barrett.”

Ilya rested a hand on Shane’s arm for a moment, an automatic gesture to tell him it was fine. The contact burned between them, and Shane looked startled.

“I might. Troy says they are very accepting. And I would not mind moving to Canada.”

Shane looked stunned, and Ilya couldn't blame him. He never would have thought he'd willingly join a team with Troy, but if what Troy said was true, Ilya might take the hit to move to a team that wasn't so hostile. New York was always an option too, Scott had made it sound appealing. But Ottawa also meant being two hours from Montreal.

It was stupid. The last thing Ilya should be doing was planning to move to another country for an unrequited love that he had resolved to cut out of his life.His heart couldn’t resist daydreaming and yearning for the impossible.

“Well, what if I wanted to play in Ottawa?” Shane asked.

Everyone gaped at him for a moment.

“I thought you just said they are shitty team, and you do not want to play with Troy Barrett,” Ilya accused.

Shane’s eyes were gleaming, defiant and beautiful. Ilya was mad at him, he was hurt, he didn’t know what to think. Against his better judgement, Ilya felt his chest begin to flutter.

Yuna waved her hand to get their attention. “What I would say, Shane, is that we are treading murky waters if the two best players in the league collude to go to the same team in free agency.”

Shane slumped in his seat, reprimanded.

Ilya shot a nervous look at him, then glanced at Yuna. To his shock, she winked at him.

“But they do have a lot of cap space. And I think your dad and I would be very happy to have you back in Ottawa.”

Shane fidgeted with his napkin, and Ilya wished they could have this conversation in private. He was desperate to interrogate Shane, to see how serious he was. The Metros were awful, absolutely. Shane had grown more and more despondent as the season dragged on, and it broke Ilya’s heart to see the joy leech out of hockey for Shane.

But Shane had plenty of options, there were other tolerant teams to go to. They would each have to take less money than they were worth to play on the same team, one of them wouldn't be on the first line. It would cause a media frenzy and outrage from fans, maybe reprimand from the commissioner.

“Ilya, I think you'd really like Ottawa,” David piped up. “I'm working on a project right now, making friends with some crows in our neighborhood, I think you'd get a kick out of it.”

Shane and Yuna let out a heavy, affectionate sighs. This was evidently a topic David had exhausted with the two of them, but Ilya was happy to be a captive audience.

David fished out his phone and showed Ilya the piles of peanuts he was leaving on his fence posts, and the shiny trinkets the crows left behind as a token of thanks. It made Ilya’s heart swell, and he wanted it so badly.

He wanted to move to Ottawa, to be with Shane, to tell Shane how much Ilya loved him. He wanted to play on the same team and destroy everyone else, turn Ottawa into a dynasty. Ilya wanted to watch David's crows eat peanuts from the Hollander's back porch, and sit on the couch with Yuna as they made fun of Scott Hunter's PSAs, and have a thousand meals with the Hollanders, just like this one.

Ilya almost wished he'd never met Shane, never collided with a man who made him feel greedy and envious of things he could never have.

Breakfast eventually came to a close, and they clambered back into the car.

The air between him and Shane was so tense, it felt abrasive. Ilya was twisting the hem of his shirt, wrapping the cloth around his fingers so tightly that he began to cut off circulation. He almost leapt out of his skin when Shane grabbed his hand to make him stop.

Ilya stared at Shane, who was looking at him with the expression he got when his mind was loud. Ilya had seen that expression the night they had hooked up last month, when Shane told him Ben asked for an open relationship. Ilya had seen that expression in the locker room yesterday, when Shane was hunched over in his stall, muttering with Scott Hunter.

It looked loud and painful in Shane’s head, and Ilya couldn't bring himself to rip his hand away. Some masochistic streak within him still wished he could be support for Shane, as if Ilya’s presence could be more helpful than harmful. It was stupid. Ilya had torn through his life like a storm, ripping up Shane’s relationship.

Shane squeezed his hand, and Ilya had to turn to look out the window so Shane couldn't see the tears Ilya blinked back.

***

“Love you, have a safe flight!” Shane called out as he slammed the door on the rental car. Ilya stood on the curb, waving to Shane’s parents as they drove away, and his whole expression changed when the car rounded the corner.

“What the fuck was that?” Ilya asked. He looked livid, he was breathing heavily, and Shane felt consumed by guilt.

“I’m sorry, I know I kind of forced you to have breakfast with my parents. I just wanted to spend time with you, I needed to catch you before you left,” Shane explained.

“For what? So you can hold my hand and tell me you dumped your boyfriend? Great. You could have texted, use Hunter's stupid group chat, whatever,” Ilya said.

Shane watched his face. It didn't match his words at all. Ilya was trying desperately to sound dismissive and aloof, and Shane knew him well enough by now to know better.

“I broke up with him because of you,” Shane argued.

Ilya’s face fell for a moment, complete sadness etching his features before he could reassemble his expression into something stoic.

Ilya and Shane both seemed to realize that they were in public at the same moment, and Ilya stormed through the lobby doors towards the elevators, jabbing the button to go up to his floor.

Shane followed him inside, staying silent. Ilya seemed resigned to the fact that he was going to trail Ilya to his room, so he didn't even bother punching Shane’s floor in.

When they entered Ilya’s hotel room, Shane expected yelling, anger, something explosive.

Instead, Ilya collapsed on the edge of his bed, looking like he had just woken up from a coma.

“Explain,” Ilya said, dragging his hand down his face.

“I had to break up with him,” Shane said. Ilya's expression was blank, and Shane tried to tame the anxiety rising in his throat.

“It was different, with you. Like, sleeping together was different. But also just talking to you, thinking about you. I thought it was because we had history, or maybe just a lot of sexual tension,” Shane tugged at his earlobe in discomfort as he tried to remember the ways he rationalized the fact that they talked constantly, that they had incredible, life changing sex.

“And I didn't know what to do with that. Then we hooked up here, and I felt like…” Shane swallowed the rest of the sentence, not ready to verbalize the depth of what the other night had meant to him.

“I realized I couldn't keep dating Ben. I should have realized that months ago, before you were even back in my life. But I was lonely and sad, and it was shitty of me.”

Ilya was watching him, his jaw twitching, his expression unreadable.

“Did you tell him we fucked?” Ilya asked.

Shane nodded. “He wasn't surprised. Uh. He said part of why he asked for an open relationship is because he thought we needed to get it out of our systems.”

Ilya’s eyebrows shot up, a mirror of Shane’s shock last night.

“I told him I didn't think I could ever get you out of my system,” Shane winced. “I tried. For a long time, I really tried. But you never left.”

Ilya’s hazel eyes were wet now, and he tipped his head up to look at the ceiling, blinking hard.

They were silent for agonizing moments, time felt like it stretched endlessly as Shane watched Ilya refuse to cry. It felt like an insult, after Ilya had come apart the other night, letting teardrops fall onto Shane’s face. Shane could still taste their salty kisses, see the way that Ilya's eyes had swam as he was so overcome with emotion that he was unable to hide.

Finally, Ilya threw himself back on the bed.

“I never let you go either,” Ilya whispered towards the ceiling. Shane was frozen in place, afraid to spook him.

“I thought I remembered wrong,” Ilya continued. “And then I am around you again, and I think…this should be all I need. I am greedy, I want too much, I should be grateful that you are here at all. But I want more, more, more.”

Shane could only contain himself for so long. He crawled onto the bed, sliding next to Ilya, propping himself on his elbow so he could watch his face.

Ilya was still training his eyes on the ceiling, intent to get the words out without distraction.

“I want all of you,” Ilya admitted.

“Me too. So much,” Shane said. Ilya finally cracked a tiny, teary smile.

“I think we are very stupid,” Ilya said. It was not the romantic finale Shane expected, but Ilya turned to face him, and he looked so scared, so brave, so open.

Shane traced a finger along his cheekbone, trailed it down Ilya’s sharp jaw. Ilya shivered under his touch, and his lips parted.

When Shane leaned down to kiss him, he thought it would be soft, sweet. Something gentle and fitting for the terrifying new reality they were leaping into.

But Shane had no finesse when his lips met Ilya’s. Ilya groaned and Shane lost his mind, scrambling to climb on top of Ilya, licking into his mouth, twisting his fingers in his curls. Their teeth bumped, their tongues were sloppy, and it still felt like the best kiss of Shane’s life.

Ilya gripped Shane’s hips, yanking him even closer as they fumbled through messy, wet kisses.

“This is real, right?” Shane tore his mouth off of Ilya, full of stupefied delight.

Ilya’s mouth was slack, eyes unfocused, and all he could do was nod before he grabbed Shane’s chin and kissed him again, firm and slow.

“When is your flight?” Shane gasped as Ilya began trailing hot kisses down his neck.

“Mmm. Forget my flight,” Ilya sighed.The pleasure in his voice wrapped around Shane in a haze that was so blissful he could barely think.

“I’m serious,” Shane ground against Ilya’s hardening cock. “How much time do we have?”

Ilya threw his head back. “I have to leave soon, ok? So will be easier if you stop interrupting.”

He squeezed Shane’s ass, and looked livid when Shane lifted up off his lap for a moment.

“Oh my god, calm down,” Shane rolled his eyes, yanking his fly open and pulling out his cock. Ilya’s irritation dissolved and was replaced with an excitement that made Shane feel dizzy.

The few times they had hooked up before, it had been completely potent, an all-encompassing intensity. Now, freed by the knowledge of how they felt,, they were giddy. Shane grasped both of their cocks and Ilya cursed.

“Fuck. Hang on,” Ilya groaned. He looked pained when Shane stopped squeezing his cock, but he gestured to the bedside table where a bottle of lube sat. Shane scrambled to grab it and uncap, drizzling some on his palm. When he returned, slicking Ilya, then himself, Ilya let out a ragged gasp.

Shane began stroking slowly, struggling to maintain focus as his hand gripped both of their cocks. Ilya was so hard, panting into his mouth, fingers digging into Shane’s hips as Shane thrust into his hand.

“Shane,” Ilya choked out his name as a plea, and Shane sped up. He wanted more. He wanted Ilya’s warm mouth on his cock, he wanted Ilya to fuck him into the mattress, he wanted him in innumerable ways. With a jolt, Shane realized he could have it all. No more fleeting hookups, they could stay in bed for hours, wring orgasm after orgasm from each other.

Shane’s pace slowed as he reveled in the idea, and Ilya whined, bucking his hips as he chased Shane.

“Shane, fuck. I want you to be mean, but I have to-”

They would have the luxury of time soon, but not now.

Shane pulled away to look at Ilya. His eyelids half-lidded, his lips shiny with spit. He had never looked more beautiful.

Ilya took his thumb and pressed against Shane’s lower lip, gasping when Shane sucked it into his mouth. With his tongue wrapped around Ilya’s thumb, Shane began pumping his fist faster. Ilya kept staring at their cocks, staring at his thumb disappearing in Shane’s mouth, and his brow furrowed as if he was in pain.

“You are going to fucking kill me. Such a slut for me.” Ilya’s eyes sharpened. “Just for me, you're mine.”

Shane nodded, too lost to speak around Ilya’s thumb. The realization that Shane belonged to him completely seemed to send Ilya over the edge.

He pulled his hand away from Shane and wrapped it around Shane’s as they stroked together.

Ilya came with a choked out sob, coating their hands and Shane’s stomach. Shane looked at Ilya’s lips trembling, eyes lost in ecstasy, and he followed, crying out Ilya’s name as he came.

As he slowly rocked, riding out the wave of his orgasm, Shane almost told Ilya that he loved him.

He wanted to grab his face and yell it at him, mouth a hundred kisses into his skin to imprint those words that he had fought against for so long.

Instead, they curled into each other, holding each other tightly and savoring the few moments they could spare before Ilya had to leave. Shane would find a better time to tell Ilya how he felt.

***

Ilya packed his suitcase while Shane mournfully watched. He was confident that Shane’s tragic expression was about Ilya leaving, but Ilya enjoyed the flashes of horror he saw whenever he threw a balled up t-shirt into his bag, forgoing any folding.

“I can cancel, you know.” Ilya teased. He couldn’t, really, and he knew Shane had to be on his own flight in a few hours so he could make practice tomorrow morning.

“I can’t wait until we’re both in Ottawa,” Shane sighed.

Ilya’s heart leapt. “You were serious? Not just fucking with me?”

Shane squinted at him. “Of course I was serious. I don’t want to be in a long-distance relationship with you.”

Ilya wasn’t sure his nervous system could handle Shane Hollander telling him he could have everything he’d ever wanted.

“Yes, it has been horrible enough being in long-distance friendship,” Ilya smirked.

It was true. He had spent months thinking of Shane, calling Shane, texting Shane. It was going to be agony.

Shane nodded seriously. “I missed you all the time. It’s going to be so much worse now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I think so,” Ilya said softly. Then, because Shane looked so fucking sad, Ilya tried to cheer him up.

“But now we can have phone sex, could not do that when we were friends.”

Shane turned bright red and covered his face.

“Shane, will you not have phone sex with your boyfriend?” Ilya asked, trying to quell the alarm in his voice.

“No, it’s just I already…wait, boyfriend?” Shane squeaked.

Ilya couldn’t help laughing, and Shane peeked through his fingers, grinning.

“Yes, Shane. I think so.”

“I love you,” Shane said. Ilya stilled, and Shane’s eyes widened. “I…I meant to say that differently, but I…I realized it last night. I mean, I’ve been in love with you longer that, maybe since-”

“I love you,” Ilya swooped in to cut him off. “I think maybe since I first met you, in a way.”

Shane smiled at him, beautiful and exhausted. Ilya looked at him and thought the dull ache of Shane’s absence the past six years would be nothing compared to the sharp pain of missing him these next few months. He would throw himself onto that knife a thousand times, a pain that felt like an exquisite gift.

Ilya smiled at the man he loved and decided right then to miss his flight and piss off his coach just to spend another half an hour with Shane. Shane would always be worth it.

***

Shane: I miss you already

Ilya: Me too. We should have done my plan.

Shane: We're not breaking each other's legs so we can spend the rest of the season together.

Ilya: You have no romance.

Shane: Besides, it’s not like we could fuck anyway with two broken legs between us.

Ilya: Oh, this is why you say no to the plan?
Ilya: I think we can figure something out. Don't get on your flight, come back!

Shane: I wish I didn't have to.
Shane: I love you.

Ilya: I love you.

***

Shane: Hey, I have a question.

Scott: What's up?

Shane: Ilya and I are in a relationship.
Shane: And we're both signing with Ottawa. It'll get announced in a few days.
Shane: Our agents said to prepare for blowback, and it might help to have some support in the media.

Shane:I know we didn't leave on the best terms in LA, but I was wondering if you would consider it. I appreciate that you've been trying to change things in the league.

Scott: Oh wow. That's a lot.
Scott: Sorry, not the reaction I meant to have. Of course. I don't need to consider it, I'm in. Can we bring it to the group chat?

🏳️‍🌈🏒

Eric: Wow. I'm just glad I retired, I do not want to face the Centaurs next season

Ryan: Yeah, I'm so glad this was my last season.
Ryan: Congratulations, guys. I'm happy for you.

Ilya: Thank you.

Eric: Shane, you've really brought out a whole different side of him.

Ilya: What does that mean? Because I say thank you? I knew manners before Shane.

Scott: Glad to see you didn't somehow get bodysnatched.

Shane: Your support means a lot to both of us, thank you.

Troy: My boyfriend Harris has some ideas for posts I can do when you guys announce it. Can I run them by you?

***

Troy: image attached

Ilya: Harris is very talented. I do not know what he sees in you.

Troy: Honestly, I wonder that every day.

Ilya: No, do not think that. I am just chirping. I think like that with Shane for too long, we should just accept that these men love us.

Troy: When did you get so wise and romantic?

Shane: He's always been that way. There was just no reason for you to see that side of him.
Shane: Thank you for putting a lot of thought into it. I appreciate it.

Troy: Of course. I know I probably made things worse in LA, but I'm glad it didn't prevent you from coming to Ottawa. You'll love the team.

***

Shane: Ok, we have three houses to tour on Saturday. Janice said she might lose it if you say no to all of them too, she claims we're going to run out of houses on the market.

Ilya: Fine. It is time for my confession.
Ilya: I liked the house we saw two weeks ago.

Shane: With the fenced yard and the doghouse?

Ilya: Of course. That house is perfect. Close to your parents, has a sauna. Giant shower I can fuck you in.

Shane: Why didn't you want to put an offer in? It's still on the market, I'll call Janice.

Ilya: I think I have a fetish for your Mr. Real Estate personality. I want to see you tour more houses and tell Janice what is wrong with all of them.

Shane: You're impossible. Ok, we'll get the house.
Shane: We could probably still tour homes after we buy. Look at investment properties or something.

Ilya: I love when you want to role-play

***

David: image attached

Ilya: I cannot believe it

Yuna: What am I looking at?

David: Ilya convinced me to give the crows some slices of hot dog yesterday. Look at what they brought me!

Shane: I agree with mom, I can't tell what I'm looking at.

David: Tinfoil! Ilya, you should see the size of this thing, it's as big as my hand.

Ilya: I knew it would work. I will come over tonight so we can watch our show, please save it so I can see.

Yuna: Please do not save a piece of tinfoil a crow with hot dog breath dropped in our yard.

David: Ilya, I'll keep it on the deck for you.

Ilya: ❤️❤️❤️

***

Ilya: Shane
Ilya: SHANE

Shane: What? Is something wrong? I'm almost done with my run, I can be there soon.

Ilya: I am a TV star!

Shane: What?
Shane: We're on TV all the time. What do you mean?

Ilya: David and I were watching our show.

Shane: I wish you'd never gotten him hooked on that.

Ilya: And the next episode a handsome Russian hockey player has an affair with Simon! Simon and Brendan break up before their murder case goes to trial!

Shane: I'm going to kill him.

Ilya: I think he is allowed to use me for a plot line.
Ilya: It is the least I can do.

Shane: I hate that it's about you, though. That's not fair. I was the one who should have broken up with him before I realized I was in love with you.

Ilya: I want to invite all our friends over to watch. Hazy, Bood, Harris can bring Troy if he wants.

Shane: I don't think anybody besides you and my dad watch The Scales of Justice, so you would have to spend half the time explaining it.

Ilya: No problem, I can do this.
Ilya: Look, the actor even looks like me.
Ilya: image attached

Shane: Wow. Yeah, where did they find him?
Shane: He looks a lot like you.

Ilya: Never mind.
Ilya: You cannot watch with us. I do not want you drooling over the hot TV version of me.

Shane: I literally drooled all over your dick this morning.

Ilya: Somehow I forget. Maybe you need to come home and remind me.

Shane: Fuck
Shane: On my way. I love you

Ilya: I love you

Chapter End Notes

That's it! Hope you enjoyed my mashup of friends to lovers/not quite exes to lovers.

The last chapter took forever to edit because I had a whole multi-chapter third act draft of Ilya being too scared when Shane breaks up with Ben. But it felt too similar to other fics I've written, and I hate a third act breakup/delay. These two were ready to figure it out already.

I needed to give Scott his dream moment of rallying the gay hockey mafia. In my mind, things thaw out between him, Ilya, and Shane.

Also needed one final shoehorn of the goofy legal drama I have developed in my head. Why is a lawyer having an affair with a hockey player? Idk!

& I have no idea if the NHL has rules against free agents colluding to go to the same team. Probably! All I know is they get away with it in the NBA .

I'm messing around with a High Fidelity-ish au, but it's pretty different from my other fics and it's taking longer to work out, so I'm not sure yet when I'll post it.

I'm on Threads under the same username if you want to chat/see me crash out about the Mariners in the meantime.