Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ryan Price, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Hayden Pike, Ryan Price (Game Changers), Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov, Grigori Rozanov, Farah Jalali, Rose Landry, Wyatt Hayes, Original Character

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Light Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Smut, Autism, Therapy, Communication, data leak, Ableism, Racism, Homophobia, Depression, Panic Attacks, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Autistic Shane Hollander, Confident Shane Hollander, BAMF Shane Hollander, POV Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, POV Alternating, Rivals to Lovers, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Soft Hockey Boys, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Being Assholes (Game Changers), Supportive Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Emotional Support Himbo Cliff Marleau, First Time, Bottom Shane Hollander, Top Ilya Rozanov, Consent Kings Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Shane Hollander eats what he wants including ass, Multiple Orgasms, Face-Sitting, Cowboy Shane Hollander, Praise Kink, Competence Kink, Strip Tease, inaccurate hockey, but I tried to research as best as I could for what I used, The author has no idea about hockey but about depression; autism and pro athletes; so yay?, No Beta; we die like Andrei's coke-soaked nasal mucous membranes, Happy Ending, Happily Ever After

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Therapized Hollanov vs The World

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-24 Completed: 2026-06-27 Words: 144,953 Chapters: 22/22

Clarity

Summary

Shane Hollander expected a lot out of the combine before the 2009 NHL draft: meeting the competition, impressing possible future teams and ultimately securing his spot in the NHL.

What he didn't expect was 50 questions that were about to change his whole damn life.

Or: How an autism diagnosis, a therapist and something magical called communication rebuild the whole trajectory of the Hollander/Rozanov saga bit by bit.

Chapter 1: Testing, Testing

Chapter Notes

Hi everyone!

This is my first fic. It is loosely based on both canons but we drift from the normal canon event results pretty quickly.
Some additional notes: I do have AuDHD and depression myself. I also have been surrounded by pro athletes my whole life. I do not have any experience with hockey and English is my second language. I chose not to use a beta, so there will be mistakes. I try my best with research (you will see in the notes), this will never be 100% accurate though and it's not supposed to be, it's fiction after all.

Update 11.08.26: Thank you so much to rolocat11 for making cover art for Clarity!

Early June 2009

„Shane Hollander?“

Shane sat in a hallway somewhere in the depths of a huge sports facility near Toronto with a dozen other aspiring NHL players, nervous about the mental testing he was about to face in the last portion of the combine when his name got called by the assigned doctor. When he got up in one swift motion, he was suddenly way too aware of his body, his movement and, most of all, his facial muscles. He tried his best to keep a cool – or at least cool enough - exterior.

It helped that he picked out his most comfortable suit, shirt and tie he could find. Still, comfortable was a relative term here. He was convinced that suits were invented as a form of low-grade, long-term torture. He wondered how much the devil had paid the NHL to get them to enforce a suit-and-tie rule on their bulky hockey players, just so that Prada, Armani and whoever else got to use the players as a walking billboard every fucking game day.

“You can follow me in here,” the doctor called out to him.

Shit, in all his effort to stay calm, he had not moved a single muscle after getting up. Great start.

Move. Now!

He finally got into motion, following the doctor into their designated room. He shook her hand, briefly glancing down at her name tag. Dr. Madelene Mearns had a slender but finely muscled frame, was in her early 40s and looked at him with a warm expression that was supposed to insure he was safe with her. On any other day, he would probably let that emotion seep into his tense muscles if it was not for the fact that this testing was a ridiculously large factor in deciding his future.

So instead, Shane decided to take in the rest of her, analyzing her back as he was sure she already had taken mental notes about him the moment she called out his name in the hallway. Hell, maybe even before that.

She was sitting with fully relaxed shoulders, her spine in contrast engaged throughout into a perfectly aligned position. Her hands were elegantly roaming through the documents, precise and unhurried. She was organized but seemed to double check that everything was in order and ready to go. She starkly reminded him of the choreographers that helped the ice dancers in the Ottawa ice facilities with their programs and who would also give them ballet and ballroom lessons. The neat bun she had on her head screamed ballet from what little Shane knew about it. He had seen The Nutcracker basically every year since he was four, twice on ice, his parents insisting on it as a holiday tradition.

Shane's thoughts started wandering like they almost always did when his brain needed distraction from too little or too much input. In this case, too much. 

How easy would it be to lift her in the air? He had never tried lifting someone over his head before, but he was pretty sure her weight was under his PR and the barbell did not have any muscles to gain real momentum. Would jumping make it easier or harder to get her overhead? He would have to stop the jumping momentum at some point. Should I squat and get her directly on straight arms so the lift would need more of my legs than arms? That would definitely make it easier, he decided.

Before he drifted away any further, she finally looked up from her papers, now with a slight smile on her lips.

"Hello Mr. Hollander, before we begin with the final portion of your combine, I will take you through the procedure and if you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask," she said, sounding genuine about the question thing.

Mr. Hollander leaned in to show he was actively listening, nodding at the right places, taking all the new information in as if he had not prepared for the tests for months.

Some information, Shane had been able to find online. The rest had been filled in by Max Ziegler, one of his teammates back home. Max’ older brother Seth was 4 years older than them and had gone to the draft in 2005. The weeks before this year’s combine, everyone had loved asking Max over and over again about Seth’s combine testing and the combine itself. Thankfully, Max had loved talking about all of his brother’s stories. He would talk and talk and talk… and talk and talk and talk, sometimes sounding like his brother had gone to war and won it all by himself. Shane had soaked up the information and filtered through the exaggerations to get to the core of what he would need to succeed.

What Shane currently loved was that Max’ last name started with a Z and therefore he was in a different group over the whole combine weekend and even in a different hotel. He was grateful for the preparation, no doubt, had even gotten him some extra nice stick tape that Max' favorite NHL player uses as a thank you, but he was also grateful that Max was not with him, talking his ear off between tests (sorry Max).

They started off with some memory and association tests. Dr Mearns went through a list of twenty items he had to write down right after hearing them from her. Easy.

He handed over the paper and got a new one. Now, he had a minute to write down every word starting with a B. Bockey was unfortunately not one of the acceptable answers. He still got a good amount. Next was a minute of scribbling down zoo animals. Shane tried not to linger too much on the implications of writing down six different penguin species (King, Northern Rockhopper, Humboldt, Magellan, African, Australian Little Blue) then immediately blanking and just writing down “reptile?”.

Approximately five minutes after he had learned the list, he had to write it down a second time. He got all twenty again, smiling to himself as he was sure he was at least doing well here. The bockey/reptile? incidents were basically already forgotten.

The doctor continued with a short IQ test. He had fifteen minutes for a series of logic questions, trying to complete number or shape sequences correctly. He tried to not get side tracked about it always being five choices, so a twenty percent chance to just guess it right. How many people got labeled gifted through guessing? Probably not many, but also likely more than zero. He had to guess twice. Once on a number sequence where he did not know what replaced the question mark in -10, -8, 6, 40, 102, ? and once on some circles in squares in triangles with different combos of black and white dots and stripes he could not figure out to save his life. Not even holding it sideways helped. Hopefully, he guessed his way to genius.

The list made another appearance. This time, Shane took longer than before. When Dr. Mearns called time, he got nineteen out of twenty on paper. After handing his results over, the missing word came crashing back to him. Pants. Thankfully, that was the only time he forgot pants today.

She informed him the memory test was over with the most recent list recital. The last step with her today was a series of reaction tests. They started with some short bursts of simply having to press space as fast as he could after the screen switched from green to purple. He felt slightly on edge, thinking he might get jump scared again like he had gotten last week after opening a link in the ICQ hockey group chat with a similar setup. Then, he reminded himself where he was and locked in, maybe hitting the space bar more enthusiastically than strictly necessary. If Dr. Mearns noticed, she did not mention it.

They continued through the endurance reaction round, a full forty-five minutes of this time gently pressing the key every time he saw the right color (blue) appear in front of him. He refrained from asking if the computer actually blue screening would also demand a space bar activation from his side. He finished with another short reaction sequence. This time, he had to shoot a fish every time it appeared in the barrel on the screen. Maybe the ICQ group chat made it to the NHL draft combine after all.

"Wonderful, that completes the reaction tests. Please follow me," Dr. Mearns informed him.

Shane went with her into the adjacent room that had the same set-up as the previous room. If someone designed the rooms, would they have been paid for one room or two rooms, he wondered. Dr. Mearns interrupted his thoughts by handing him a stack of papers.

"Please fill out these forms in your own time. Usually, it will take no longer than two hours. There is no rush though, we just need honest answers here. When you are done, you can put them in the side table over there. I will store them somewhere safe before the next person comes in. Speaking of..." She turned around to the side table, collected the papers and locked them in the cabinet next to the side table. She ushered him over to a comfy chair at a small table and handed him a glass of water and a pen.

"Goodbye, Mr Hollander and best of luck with your draft. I am usually not supposed to comment but your reaction times were rather impressive, maybe the best I have seen in the last 10 years."

With her closing the connecting door behind her, he was finally alone. He released a long breath, letting the impact of the physical challenges, the team interviews and the mental tests from the last few days wash over him. He was tired and ready to not speak to anyone for the next forty-eight hours. He also had an irrational, sudden craving for a bánh mì sandwich, one of his favorite snacks his dad had made him whenever he had needed a quick meal between school and hockey practice. The idea had come after the only other Asian kid in his hockey team had brought them in when it had been his birthday one year. He had only informed the other kids that it had been a Vietnamese specialty after they had eaten the sandwiches. At that point thankfully no one had dared to make fun of the foreign food after they all had just said how good it had been in front of the kid's mom and their coach. Shane hadn't been so sure, they would have kept it together otherwise. He had been proven right as the usual name calling and eye lid pulling started up again only two days later. He had really wanted to throw some rotten bánh mìs at them but had settled for a couple of harder checks for that practice. Also what kind of absolute monster would let bánh mìs rot on purpose?

He was so close to being back in his hotel room and taking the world’s longest nap. Then he looked at the papers. Questionnaires. So many of them. No inclination what they were supposed to test. Thinking back, Max had mentioned some paperwork his brother had to fill out after the tests but he had made no mention about the psychological warfare Shane was about to face.

The first one asked him a lot about his feelings. How often he felt sad or angry. Shane was in no mental state to explore those feelings right now really, so he went with the safe route. On a scale through always to never, he mostly went with almost never for the negative emotions to indicate he definitely HAD feelings, but not that many of them. He went with often or, when he felt daring, very often for the positive questions. Again, feelings, but not too much.

He got a couple more pages about feelings, this time about different situations. Some hockey or team related and some more general ones about family, friends, and, to Shane dismay, partners. The partner ones were the hardest. Why they needed to ask 18-21 year olds about partners, he did not want to know. Thankfully, there were only a handful and, to their credit (maybe), there was an option to skip, which felt like a test in itself somehow.

It was not like he didn’t have a girlfriend. Jessica was very real and very much his girlfriend after he had reluctantly asked her to their winter formal back in January. His mom had lovingly forced him to go (Socializing is important, honey) and his classmates had egged him on until he finally asked Jessica to go, mumbling his whole way through the question. Jessica had decided they were dating after that and Shane had gone along with it.

But now, sitting here alone, he realized how little he had interacted with her in the months they had been together. He blamed it on their full schedules, mostly his (it was fascinating how many hockey related things you could do if you wanted a full schedule, especially watching tapes of other prospects, no one in particular, especially not the guy he shook the hand of twice in a span of five minutes at the last World Juniors) and not anything else and put it aside. He wasn't sure if there was a way to guess his way to genius here but he took enough educated guesses to calm himself down. He stuffed the thoughts surfacing about what the full schedules were an excuse for further down so they had no chance of bothering him anymore. He locked that mental cabinet before anyone could walk in and moved on.

The last two questionnaires were different. The first one asked him about difficulties to finish tasks. It didn’t specify which tasks it was talking about. Household chores? Household chores assigned by his dad? Household chores assigned by his mom? Three different answers right there. It also wanted to know how often he interrupted people. Not often enough was somehow not a possible answer. He had to hold his tongue so often as he had learned how fast you could make yourself (even more) unpopular when you would tell someone that their 'facts' weren’t facts at all. And then, there was this question about how often did he leave his assigned place while in a meeting or similar situation. Not how often he wanted to - that was a fucking lot - but how much he did. He said never. He also restrained from writing a comment next to the question to correct the question itself.

The second questionnaire and last of the paper stack was made up of fifty questions. It was a weird mix out of questions that lacked any sort of clarity and questions that were straight up unsettling. 

Did he prefer the museum over the theater? Well, what museum? What play is running? How comfy are the seats in the theater? Where is the museum? Are they showing anything special? Does he need a guided tour or can he wander around on his own? 

Did he do well with social chitchat? Okay, no, but they made it sound like a bad thing that it always felt forced when he had to talk about things he did not care about.

Was he often the last to understand the point of the joke? Quite the opposite. He was usually the first one to get the joke, especially the punching down ones. There was a different rhythm to them than the lighthearted, situational ones. He could smell the first one from a mile away and was excellent in ignoring them. Social survival beat out the avoidance of the headache he got from clenching his jaw too hard after his teammate initiated a round of “guess the fairy on the other team”. If they asked his teammates they would say he just didn't get the joke though. So what was he supposed to answer here?

Was he fascinated by numbers? Numbers? No. Stats that are technically compiled of numbers? Yes. He put in slightly agree and moved on. 

Did he prefer to do the same thing over and over again? Why did that feel like a trap. He was about to be drafted to the NHL where repetition was a key factor to success. Where a lot of running jokes are about superstitious players who cannot play without kissing their goalies helmet or lacing their skates in a particularly way. Where was the line here?

Did he have very strong passions that he would get upset over if he was not able to pursue them? HELLO? Again, for the people in the back: NHL, pro athletes… you do not get to be a pro athlete without being at least a little obsessive over something, preferably over your chosen sport. Why was this phrased so negatively? 

The paper wouldn’t offer him any answer to his questions, so he sighed and just decided on what they could mean, then answered all fifty questions, no skips. That had to do it. He was glad he was alone. His face the last thirty minutes had probably gone through every iteration of a frustrated grimace it could produce.

He left the papers where he was told to and then left the room. Done. Fini. Time for that bánh mì or three in his quiet hotel room. His flight was at noon the next day, so he could have all the rest he needed.

Somewhere between bánh mì two and three, he fully forgot that tests, at the end of the day, usually meant results.

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the first newsletter!

• The doctor is named after Sara Mearns, a NYCB principal ballerina, one of my favorites. She has been outspoken about her depression over the years and more recently about her hearing loss, which is incredibly tough as she is known for being very musical and emotionally connected. A very talented woman, I highly recommend checking her out. (Yes, I know this is a story about hockey players)
• The Nutcracker is a two-act ballet with a score by Tchaikovsky, who was also responsible for the music to the ballets of Swan Lake and Sleeping Beauty. He was also gay. There are multiple version, but Balanchine (who is considered a choreography genius and a raging, abusive asshole) created a version that made it into a holiday classic. A lot of ballet's in North America do a whole season just for the Nutcracker, which rakes in so much money for them but is very taxing on the cast. For many families, it is a holiday tradition to go every year and often a first point of contact to ballet. Here is my favorite musical piece from it: the Waltz of the Flowers with Ashley Bouder as the sugar plum fairy, who is also one of my favs.
• This whole premise is loosely based on Ginger Minj randomly finding out she has autism through the psych evaluation on Ru Paul’s Drag Race All Stars.
• The NHL draft combine does include psych evaluation/personality tests as well as interviews, medical and physical tests. One article's headline said "NHL prospects do it all but dance". It was held near Toronto but is now in Buffalo. I could not find specifics if it does include ADHD/autism tests.
• For anyone wondering about the number sequence: Next number is 200 and I doubt they would use it in a standard IQ test as it is quite difficult.
  -10 + (2^2 - 2 ) = -8
  -8 + (4^2 - 2 ) = 6
  6 + (6^2 - 2 ) = 40
  40 + (8^2 - 2 ) = 102
  102 + (10^2 - 2 ) = 200
• The ADHD/Autism tests would not be done exactly like this in 2009 but we go with how I was diagnosed in 2025. The questions are taken directly from the tests I had, one of them being the AQ50.

I am looking forward to your comments!

Chapter 2: Draft, now available in hot and cold

Chapter Summary

Shane finds out his combine test results and goes to the draft where a certain Russian will be *seeing* him.

Chapter Notes

Thank you for all the kudos, comments and subscriptions. I truly didn’t think anyone would read this somehow.

We got some Ilya POV here :)

Late June 2009

Two days until his life would be forever changed. One day until he would fly out to LA to go to the NHL draft. Zero days until he had to finish all the chores his parents gave him while they were at work. Shane was an aspiring NHL player but was also still living under Yuna and David Hollander’s roof and he was not about to let himself slack just because of the draft. 

After two hours of cleaning all the windows in their house - and asking himself if they actually needed that many windows - he went to his outside tasks. He watered the plants lining the path leading to their house, cleaned the three steps before the door with a power washer (his favorite cleaning tool) and was about to go back into the house when their mailman Marv stopped in their driveway, waving at Shane. Shane made his way down to their postbox.

“Here you go, Shane. There is a letter for you in there as well this time,” Marv exclaimed, handing him some smaller letters, the new edition of the New Yorker and a big envelope with his name on it. On the front, it had the NHL offices stamp on it. Shane quickly thanked Marv and ran inside the house. He barely heard the good luck for the draft from Marv. As soon as he closed the door, he threw the rest of the mail on the little table next to the door and ripped open the letter, his letter from the NHL.

The contents of the envelope had a bunch of different graphs and explanations on them. A lot of his physical tests ranged from above average to highly above average which seemed to be the highest one you could get. He deduced that from one of the bell curves where his little dot was very, very close to the right edge and he still got a highly above average for that. His reactions tests were all highly above average as Dr. Mearns had predicted. His memory results also looked very good, not perfect, he forgot pants after all. 

The papers didn’t include an IQ number, it just stated that with the quick test they did, they could only determine a range. His IQ was between 120 and 130 according to the test. A genius could have guessed himself higher, but it was still a good number. Especially, if you take the concussion he had last year into account.

The last page was about how the questionnaire answers were interpreted by the doctor. They told him he showed no significant signs of a mental health disorder. He also didn’t show substantial numbers on the ADHD test. Wait, they tested him for ADHD?

He wasn’t able to dwell on the thought as the next line read:

However, the AQ 50 results highly indicate that Mr. Hollander is likely autistic. Combined with the other test results, he seems to have low support needs now and in the future, as he shows no signs of intellectual inhibitance. We do not see a hindrance in him participating in the NHL draft or competing in the NHL but recommend further consultation with a specialist to get him thoroughly tested and properly supported.

Shane froze on the spot, reading and re-reading the whole paragraph until it was burned into his memory so intensely, he could probably recite it backwards while being drunk at 3 a.m. Not that he was much of a drinker or someone who would stay up late which would make the whole scenario way worse for him to remember all of that.

The need to lie on the floor overcame him so suddenly, he had no time to question it before he was laying flat on their wooden flooring near the hall. The sun warmed panels gave his back something to breathe against. He wasn’t sure how long he was laying there and if he was actually breathing but his brain finally managed to catch up to what he just read.

Autistic.

It wasn’t bad enough that he was about to be one of only a handful of active players with Asian heritage, no, he was also apparently autistic with low support needs, whatever that meant. And he had to find out two days before the draft from the stupid tests they made him do at the combine.

Fuck. FUCK… fuck.

The teams had access to the results of the physical and mental tests. Did they also have access to the questionnaires? The teams might know. All of them. If they knew, they would have gotten the results before him. That thought fucked him up more than anything else. All of the thirty teams GMs and coaches could have possibly accessed the information. Combined with whoever actually evaluated his tests, around a hundred people may or may not have looked at his test results before he did. All his potential employers. Fuck. He already thought it but again… fuck.

Another unwelcome thought slid through his brain like a derailed train about to hit a bus full of school children: he might not even get drafted. The years and years of sacrifice, not just from him but from his parents - hockey was stupidly expensive for people flinging a dense disc around a huge block of ice if he thought about it too closely - for what? Absolutely nothing? He couldn’t let that happen. He needed a plan, maybe five or six plans to be safe. But more than anything, he needed information to build the plan(s).

That finally broke him out of his spiral. He got up from the floor a little too quickly. He was wobbly on his feet for a second, dizzy from laying down or the panic rising in him, he wasn’t sure which one it was. When he got all his bearings back, he sprinted upstairs to his PC.

He tried to find all the information he could:

What is autism?

Symptoms of autism

What to do when you have autism?

Autism diagnosis now what?

Why do I have autism?

Is autism curable?

Does autism make me disabled?

What does low support needs autism mean?

Famous people with autism

Famous athletes with autism

Famous hockey players with autism

The last search came up empty except for some reddit threads with people speculating. Fuck. So he would be the only one here, not even a handful of others. Someone was playing a cruel joke on him.

Thankfully, the rest of the search came up more successfully. He wrote down the most important parts and also had so many more questions after the three hour research marathon. He needed help.

Right at that moment, he heard the garage door under his room open. His parents were home from work early. They had taken off the days of his draft and seemed to have gotten a head start on their vacation days. Shane moved down to the entry hall to greet his parents, the NHL letter in hand.

“Hello son!” David entered the house first, giving Shane’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

“Hi honey, did you manage to get everything done?” Yuna followed, giving him a quick side hug before going for the letters. David had already picked up the New Yorker.

“Uh, yeah… sure,” is all Shane got out.

“Is everything ok?” Yuna asked casually, still looking at the letters.

“The results from the combine came in the mail today," Shane answered, looking at his hand like he still couldn’t believe what was on it.

“Oh great, can I see?” Yuna turned her head to him and stretched out her hand.

He handed the letter to his mom, his eyes fixed on it while Yuna was going through his results, David peeking over her shoulder.

“This looks all very good, Shane. You were so nervous before and it seems like you aced the combine." Yuna nodded happily over the paper.

“I forgot pants,” Shane blurted out.

“What?” Yuna blinked at him in confusion.

“It was in a list… Nevermind." Shane shook his head slightly. "Erm… did you… did you get to the last part yet?” 

Shane started to panic. What if his parents got mad at him for having, and he learnt that from his research, a neurological, development disorder? Okay, now that he thought the full sentence, he could see that it sounded stupid. It wasn’t his fault. Also not his fault that he found out the way he did or that they were about to find out the same way. He could just tell them but that required more courage than he could currently muster up. And it also looked like his parents seemed to have already reached that part.

“What do they mean you have autism?” Yuna asked the paper in her hand. “Since when are they testing for autism and apparently ADHD?”

“I don’t think that’s important right now, darling,” his dad interjected, putting an arm around Yuna’s waist.

“Yes, right, sorry, Shane.” Yuna gave him an apologetic look and looked at David. “What are we gonna do about this?”

“I have done some research.” That got the attention of his parents back on him. “I looked at the symptoms and what to do when you have it. It’s not curable by the way, if that was on your question list. I'm not sure if I actually have it but enough of the symptoms at least sounded like I could maybe have them. But then they also sounded like something a lot of pro athletes might have, somehow. It's all very confusing. The paper said I probably have low support needs. The internet called that high-functioning but I don’t know if that was compared to other autistic people or the general population. If it was the general population it would be weird though because it also said that autism is a disability, so why would it be called high-functioning. Also there is a genetic component, so if I ever have kids, I might give it to them and…”

“What do you mean, genetic?” David interrupted.

Shane sighed. He didn’t mean to tell his parents that part of his research. Now it was too late, might as well lay it all out on the table.

“So it isn’t 100% clear where autism comes from but a big part of it seems to be genetic, aka it tends to run in the family. It doesn’t have to be but…” Shane held himself back, again a beat too late.

“But?” David tried to get him to continue.

“But the recommendation is to get yourself checked out if your child is diagnosed with autism.” 

There: table, everything, done.

When Shane finally looked up, he saw his parents looking at each other. David huffed out a small laugh. Yuna narrowed her eyes at him and went, “We will put a pin in that.”

She focused back on Shane. “Now we take care of you first, we are in this together no matter if we all have it or just you, okay?”

“Okay.” Shane let out the breath he had been holding for god knows how long.

“Do the teams know about this?” Yuna continued.

“I… I don’t know. But if they do, they might all know,” Shane replied.

“So we might not be able to keep this private." Yuna tapped her fingers against her thigh. "I will talk to Farah to draft a statement if anything gets out. For now, they just have some vague diagnosis, nothing concrete. Do you want to talk to a therapist about it and get it properly checked out?”

“I’m not sure. I have a lot of questions but also what if… or what if it’s not… I’m not sure.” Shane couldn’t get his thoughts in order no matter how hard he tried to wrangle them.

“It’s okay, we can think about it more after the draft. And if anything comes up at the draft, we will be there to deflect," his dad offered.

“We can just tell them, we will look into it and then move on,” his mom added.

Shane was only able to nod. He didn’t dare to say out loud that he might not be drafted at all. His parents embraced him from both sides.

“Let’s go packing.”

____________________________

Shane was a bundle of nerves, held together by a slightly sweat drenched white dress shirt, a simple black suit and a striped tie around his neck. LA was notoriously hot in late June, the little walk he had to do from the hotel to the draft venue felt like he was marching through the antechamber to hell. 

In the venue, the AC got him out of the heated misery. What was left was a cold shiver running down his spine from what he told himself was from the sweat cooling on his back all of sudden and not the masses of people that were about to witness his draft. If he was drafted. Forty-eight hours ago, he would have bet his slightly rusty first car on being a shoo-in for number one or two in the draft.

The only reason he wouldn’t have guaranteed the first draft spot was glancing at him from across the room, his dark gold curls and hazel eyes peeking over the other Russian draft prospects directly towards Shane.

Ilya Rozanov.

The guy that beat him in the World Juniors. Not Team Russia, if Shane was being honest. Him.

The media had them picked out as the future of hockey (no pressure) and apparently, because they were drafted the same year, they were destined to be rivals and must consider each other mortal enemies. A little dramatic for Shane’s taste.

Little did they know how much fun it was playing against Rozanov. Sure, it was frustrating as hell, he was seemingly everywhere when they played, but it felt so good to play against someone who could keep up. Not that Shane would ever say that out loud to anyone. He didn’t want to let Rozanov hear but more importantly he would sound like an absolute asshole.

He had talked to him exactly twice before. Once to tell him to stop smoking in the parking lot and definitely not to have a closer look and once when Rozanov had told him in the handshake line that he would see him at the draft, if that even counted.

So now, he saw him at the draft, holding the glance for far longer than felt necessary. Rozanov gave him a wink. Shane tore his attention away from the sparkly eyes and the crooked smile to focus back on the event in front of him which led him directly down the spiral again.

Did the teams have all the medical information? It said low support needs and not no support needs, would that be too much? Wasn’t the whole point of a team sport that you couldn’t do it without supporting each other, why did this feel different? He didn’t even know what his support needs were, how would he be able to tell a team? Would a team accommodate him if he managed to find out about his needs or would they just ignore it like all his coaches did with the bullshit he had to endure because he was half Asian? Which teams were still interested in him? Would all his accomplishments and high test scores mean nothing because of, well, one high test score?

Shane was a mess internally when they sat down for the proceedings, his parents flanking him on both sides. A quick scan of the room calmed him though, as a lot of the other young hopefuls seemed to be on the edge of a breakdown, too. Even Rozanov wasn’t as relaxed as he had been before. There was a man sitting next to him. He looked like he would go into the basement to laugh and then drown himself in booze to forget he ever laughed. He whispered something to Rozanov which made his jaw tight.

To his horror, Shane realized he was staring again. He moved his attention to the stage, where the commissioner appeared moments later to give an unnecessarily long speech about the NHL and what importance the draft had for everyone. As if the audience was oblivious to that somehow.

Shane tried really, really hard to listen. Almost like he would have to take a quiz on the speech's contents later. He thought that was the best way to stop any thought spiral in its tracks and also if any camera was on him (he spotted two), he would not look bored or panicked. Or both.

The commissioner was finally done. Shane could feel the atmosphere shift in the room. Time for the main event.

“The Boston Bears pick as the first draft… ILYA ROZANOV.”

The room erupted. Four rows behind him, there was a commotion around Rozanov who got up and now made his way in long, elegant strides towards the stairs to the podium, which he took two at a time. He grinned widely while shaking the Bears’ GM and head coach’s hands. They had the black and gold jersey with his name ready, which he presented to the cheering audience. Then, he shook the commissioner’s hand, made a smug face directly into one of the cameras before he got back into his seat, high fiving people on his way.

God, he really was a bit of an asshole. A very attrac… nope.

In the brief moment before Shane focused back to the spectacle at hand, he saw the man next to Rozanov looking unimpressed. He hissed something to Rozanov when he sat back down. Rozanov nodded and his smile looked slightly more forced than before.

The Voyageurs now took the stage. His mom’s favorite team. The team with the second draft pick this year. The place he actually wanted to go, even if it meant he wasn’t picked first. This was it. He convinced himself if they didn’t draft him now, probably no one would draft him. Not in this round or any other round. Catastrophizing was his specialty, apparently.

His mom squeezed his hand and whispered, “Breathe, honey.”

Breathing? He didn't know if he could. He had to focus on keeping his face under control.

“The Montreal Voyageurs choose as their first round draft pick… SHANE HOLLANDER.”

All the air rushed out of Shane’s lungs at once, a smile creeping across his face as three more cameras were now pointed at him. He got up and hugged his mom then his dad before he got to the stage, careful not to trip on the stairs with his shaky legs. He shook a couple of hands and got handed the blue jersey with his number and name plastered across the back to show to the audience just like Rozanov had done. The people in the crowd were hard to make out under the stage lights but the noise made it clear they were excited for him.

He sat back down, finally relaxing after the very stressful last two days. He was drafted. Second all around. By the team he wanted to be play for. In a city close to his parents. So why was he still not satisfied?

The answer came, when he was standing next to Rozanov for pictures. He had the biggest grin Shane had ever seen on anyone’s face while he held up one finger and only one finger. Shane tried to position himself next to him, holding his jersey up like the other two and had to flip up two fingers. One too many for Shane’s taste.

“Big smiles, everyone.”

Rozanov looked over and nudged him with his elbow when he saw Shane lips drawing a straight line through his face. Shane smiled. But Rozanov didn’t fully take his arm back. He kept it close to Shane’s body, brushing up against him when they shifted to look into different sets of cameras. Shane could feel his body heat radiating against him, the skin under his suit feeling electric where Rozanov just brushed against him.

After the pictures, he had to shake so many hands, some firm with an aggressive grip, some overly sweaty, some rough and some, mostly from upper management, almost too soft. A lot of people wanted to congratulate him. They all made a 'funny' quip or asked the same questions over and over again.

How did he feel? What were his thoughts about the Voyageurs? Was he disappointed he didn’t get first?

He gave the same, safe answers in different iterations, keeping a smile stapled to his face. His mom helped him figure out what to say the day before as she had so often done in the past, saving him from having to figure out the 'social chitchat', as the test had called it, by himself.

He ended up at a cocktail table with the Voyageurs GM Hugo Bouchard and his parents on the lower level. He barely listened to Bouchard telling him all about how happy they were for the diversity he would bring. He could hear himself say, “I’m still in shock,! and then thankfully his mom took over.

He could feel eyes on him. Not just any eyes. He flicked up to the balcony and there he stood, looking down on him. His gaze burned a hole right through Shane, sending a spark down his spine. Before he could think about what was happening, Rozanov’s attention was pulled back to what looked like Boston’s GM and the still unhappy looking man that had sat next to him during the draft.

“So, as discussed, Shane, we are totally okay with you finishing school and competing in minors next year," Bouchard ensured them.

“Are you sure?” Shane wanted to know.

“Yes, of course!" Bouchard cheerfully declared. "Education is important. Also our current first line center extended his contract for another year before retiring next year, so we think this works out for everyone.”

Ah, there it was. The real reason why they agreed so quickly to the extra year. Shane had to do the eleventh grad twice as the school suddenly changed policies on how many days you could be missing (all of his days were from the concussion) before you had to redo a year, so he hadn’t finished secondary school yet. They looked into options to finish it during hockey season but Montreal had offered to call him up later. Now he knew why.

“Great, thank you." Shane gave a small nod. "But if anything changes, we have looked into options on how to finish it while I play.”

“Ha, I knew you were well prepared for anything hockey, good to see it extends to other things. Shows responsibility." The GM clapped his shoulder before moving on to other topics like how they set up their rookies and how training camp was usually organized. Shane did listen to him and responded with the appropriate follow-up questions and comments. He definitely did not keep looking up to where Rozanov stood.

The day was way too long and Shane was exhausted but somehow, laying in his own hotel room, the buzz would just not wear off.

____________________________

Ilya couldn’t sleep. He had gotten everything he wanted. He had been drafted in the NHL. He had been first draft pick. He had gotten to the Boston Bears that had been the most eager in the interview, in all 30 that he had had with every single team during the combine. He was going to America, leaving a whole ocean between him and the misery of his family life in Russia.

And yet, somehow, his father had managed to put a huge damper on this whole fucking day. His father had insisted on flying out with him to the draft, so that America wouldn’t corrupt him the first chance they got. 

It had turned out, his father had had another point on his agenda. After the draft with Ilya standing right beside him (with his mouth shut like he was told), his father had told - not asked, told - the Bears' GM Robert Sullivan that Ilya would fulfill his contract with his team in Moscow and compete in the next World Juniors before he could leave for America. He had to represent Team Russia, which had been all of a sudden life or death for Grigori Rozanov. And somehow, for some god forsaken reason, Sullivan had agreed to this. No question, just, “Understood, we can wait another season. It gives us time to plan for the rebuild. We are in it for the long haul.”

That wasn’t how a general manager of an NHL team was supposed to act. Ilya was one of the most highly talked about prospects in years, maybe decades and he had to go back to Russia for a full year now. If it was up to Ilya, he would have left for Boston yesterday.

Not that Ilya could have said anything without serious repercussions. So all he could do was standing next to his father with a neutral mien internally screaming and cursing out every last deity he remembered and maybe one or two he made up just to be safe.

To say he was mad was the understatement of the century. It all felt like a tsunami swirling around the excitement of the other parts of the day, swallowing it all up into one giant storm. 

It was two a.m. and Ilya wanted to jump out of his skin, he felt way too on edge from all the fury coursing through his veins. 

When something similar would happen back in Russia, he would go out to a club and find someone to fuck. Here, he was too young to get into clubs. But even if he was old enough, he would not want to be hungover tomorrow for his early flight next to his father. He could not show any signs of weakness or corruption. Not if he ever wanted to return to America.

Fuck this shit.

He needed to burn his energy off somehow. He rummaged through his suitcase and pulled out workout clothes. The overly friendly receptionist had explained all the amazing features the hotel had, including a gym room in the basement.

He grabbed his water bottle and decided to skip the elevator in favor of running down the stairs.

A few steps from the door and he could hear movement in the gym. Who the fuck was up at two a.m. to work out? Ilya had really hoped he would be alone but going back and sulking in his room was not an option.

He opened the door and suddenly he forgot all about wanting to be alone. 

Hollander had ear buds in, not noticing Ilya until he took the bike directly next to him. He quickly glanced over, barely acknowledging him, before he put his head back down between his arms. Ilya got into the same rhythm as Hollander next to him, his arms relaxed on his hips for now.

This should be fun.

He turned his head fully towards Hollander, waiting to see any reaction. He bent down to reach the resistance wheel, hovering for a second to make sure Hollander would see that he turned it up.

Hollander followed suit, putting a satisfied smirk on Ilya’s face.

Good. Let’s see if you can keep up, number two.

They kept upping the resistance and then when the wheel had nowhere to go, the tempo. They were both puffing, Hollander’s head fully red now but neither of them seemed to want to back down.

Ilya’s legs were burning, sweat dripping down everywhere, his curls fully stuck to his head. He only had so much power left.

Hollander gave up about 2.8 seconds before Ilya would have. They silently cooled down on the bikes before stumbling off to sit on the ground opposite of each other. Ilya had has legs stretched out, purposely leaving an inch or two to Hollander’s shoes. If he pointed his foot, he could definitely reach him.

Ilya broke the silence. “WOO! What a fucking day, huh."

"Yeah, totally." Hollander's head went from bright red to a cute pink.

"Is everything you dreamed of?” Ilya watched the sweat drip down Hollander's throat all the way into his shirt.

“Almost," Hollander responded tensely.

“I'm sorry," Ilya said with a not so subtle hint of sarcasm.

“No, you’re not.” A smile. A small but real one. Out of Shane Hollander.

He took a swig out of his water bottle and winked at Hollander. "How is Montreal?" Ilya actually wanted to know, he had no idea about Montreal or, frankly, Boston.

"It's a good city. Historic team, big fanbase," Hollander recited like he was reading from their website.

"And Boston?" Ilya continued.

"I have not been there. Lots of Dunkin Donuts from what I heard." Ilya made a mental note to check out what that meant.

"Soon. We will be in same city a lot." Ilya let his voice drop to make it clear he wouldn't mind that all that much.

"Yeah, we will be... uh... playing against each other pretty often." Hollander averted his gaze. Instead, he was,what he probably thought was subtly, scanning Ilya’s body. 

Ilya let his hand trail up his leg to where his thigh met his hip, grabbing the fabric there. Hollander’s eyes tracked the movement, fixating there for a second before traveling up to Ilya’s throat. Ilya made a show of tilting his head back, stretching his neck and making the movement of him swallowing better visible. Ilya had his full attention and fuck if that wasn’t more intoxicating than getting wasted on shitty Canadian vodka at some rundown club.

When Ilya stopped drinking, Hollander looked away again, darting his eyes around the floor looking anywhere but Ilya. He couldn’t have that. Ilya bent forward, stretching his arm out towards Hollander who tried to refuse the water bottle. Ilya shook it, a silent Come on, I know you need it in his eyes. Hollander finally looked at Ilya and took the bottle, his fingers brushing over Ilya’s and then he squirted water into his mouth, some of it dripping from the corner of his mouth down his chin. Ilya wanted to lick it off so badly.

Ilya was sure he was already hard enough for it to be visible through his pants if Hollander dared to look back down. Was Hollander also turned on? His face was still pink but that could be from the workout. Ilya decided to push further. He gestured for him to continue, murmuring “More” under his breath. Hollander’s gaze was fixed on Ilya’s lips, taking the instruction without hesitation. 

Fuck, Ilya was definitely hard now.

Hollander handed him the bottle back and Ilya managed to let his fingers fully glide over his wrist and back of his hand. He wanted to do more than some chaste finger touching. He wanted to pounce on him, press him down and let his mouth explore Hollander’s. He wanted to feel every inch of Hollander’s massive body under him. Or maybe Hollander would climb onto his lap, pressing his hips into Ilya’s so he could feel the full extent of how hot and bothered Ilya was after even just this short interaction and the months of build up following the prospect cup.

“I should… I should go," Hollander uttered. He jumped up, with what leg muscle energy, Ilya didn’t know.

Ilya extended his hand to ask for help to leave the floor as well. Hollander was way too nice to not get him up. They interlocked hands and Hollander with one strong pull got Ilya on his feet. They were standing so close to each other, chests rapidly rising and falling, not letting go off the other's hand. Their faces were inches away from each other, Ilya could map out the freckles perfectly over the pink hue of Hollander’s cheeks. He could see every droplet of sweat running down his neck, ready to be licked up.

Neither of them moved.

He could just kiss him. He wanted to taste him so badly. And he was so sure Hollander wanted to, if his eyes dropping down to Ilya’s parted lips was any indicator. He just had to lean forward. He…

A loud bang of a door somewhere above them broke the spell.

Hollander jumped away from Ilya, dropping his hand.

“Err… bye, see you.” With that, Hollander was gone.

Ilya made his way back to this hotel room, with a similar mix of emotions as he had before with the added excitement that he could have had a taste of Hollander right here in the hotel on draft day and the unreasonable hatred towards whoever slammed that stupid door.

He went into the shower and got himself off. He needed a plan. He, to his dismay, needed Hollander.

____________________________

Shane ran all the way up to his hotel room, not risking being stuck in an elevator with Rozanov. He didn’t know what he would do, which was scary. Or he did somewhere deep within and that freaked him out even more.

He closed his hotel room door and leaned against it, trying to get his breath (and his erection) under control. His breath slowed down after a couple of minutes, the erection had no such plan.

He was so, so close to kissing Rozanov. Not just a man, which was a problem in itself, but another hockey player. And not just any hockey player, it had to be the player that the media already put up against him, even before they went number one and two in the draft a couple of hours ago. This would only get worse in the future, Shane knew.

He gave up the fight against his own body for today and went into the shower. Memories of golden curls, a woodsy scent mixed with fresh sweat and ridiculously wide shoulders were all he needed to spill over his hand. The water mercifully washed the evidence quickly down the drain. All Shane was left with was a heaping ton of confusion and a hefty dose of shame.

His draft day would now and forever be connected to almost kissing Ilya Rozanov and jerking off to that thought. 

He definitely needed someone to talk to. Preferably someone that wasn’t allowed to tell anyone else.

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• The info Shane finds is based on today’s research, not 2009 research.
• On autism being genetic: "Autism is hereditary and therefore does run in families. A majority (around 80%) of autism cases can be linked to inherited genetic mutations." (The website has more sources, if you are interested.) So if you have autism (or ADHD) it's very likely that your parents and/or siblings have it too. My sibling got a diagnosis for ADHD after me.
• The NHL had 30 teams in 2009. The league get expansions now and then. In 2017, the Vegas Golden Knights were added. The Seattle Kraken were the expansion team in 2021. They had one captain and four alternate captains to start with, rotating them as they are only allowed two per game. They can go to three if they don't have a captain named. Teams tend to fill the slots.
• Some people pointed out in other places that Shane and Ilya not being immediately called up to training camp is a plot hole in HR (again, I do not know hockey, but it sounded right), so I tried to give reasons here and fix it.
• According to this Wikipedia article (and if I counted correctly), seven players of Asian descent were active in the NHL in the 2008/2009 season, a lot of them biracial, similar to Shane.

I appreciate you leaving comments!

Chapter 3: Right into the danger zone

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya at the prospect cup and a certain photo shoot.

Chapter Notes

Hello lovely people! Thanks again for all the love :)

Also, we earn the rating in this chapter. GLHF.

December 2009

Shane had never felt so relaxed and excited going into a tournament like he did before the World Juniors 2010 in Ottawa. It wasn’t just because his team worked really well together in practice so far or the anticipation of his last big tournament before his NHL career. He could really feel the work of the last six months paying off.

After several meetings with different therapists, he managed to strike gold. Kira Lukasson was a former Olympic level speed skater, sports psychologist and somehow also specialized in autism, ADHD and OCD. She came highly recommended by his buddy Joe, who was a figure skater he used to train with. She managed to get him back on the ice following a rather traumatic fall in a national final last year.

Shane had sessions with Kira every two weeks. In the first couple of sessions, they did more tests and Kira asked him about all sorts of biographical details. At the beginning of session four, she confirmed the autism diagnosis which Shane took with a confusing mix of feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. He now had a certainty that allowed him to plan. That didn’t make his whole life shifting around the new information any easier.

She also let him know why she had such an interest in neurodivergence. She was diagnosed with ADHD and showed significant signs of autism herself. Her sports career would have been way easier if someone had helped her. So she was here now, helping Shane and Joe and who knew how many others. Shane really couldn’t have asked for a better fit.

The months leading up to the tournament, they talked about some basic stuff on how to organize his life around the demanding schedule of a pro career in context of his autism. On what could help and what he might need to have an eye out for. He carefully avoided the topic of the draft night. They had more important stuff to talk about, he decided.

His thought spirals were definitely a focus. They weren’t so much a problem on the ice. His quick thinking and playing through every scenario in rapid succession actually helped his hockey skills. But outside of that, he could often feel it hindering him from making decisions and also from making connections with people. It was really hard to keep a conversation flowing when you were constantly thinking about how you were doing in that conversation.

Kira gave him different tools to try which meant homework for Shane. Lots and lots of homework. He had even less free time, no wonder Jessica broke up with him. Or did he break up with her? He didn’t remember.

On his therapist’s recommendation, he now incorporated yoga into his workout schedule. It was majorly helping to center himself mentally. But it also helped with his balance on the ice as well his flexibility. He had never been able to skate this low before when he needed to.

So now Shane was ready ready. Ready to face the world and beat them all at hockey.

He drove to the hotel the Canadian team was located at and, oh boy, apparently face the world was taken too literally. All over town, ads were plastered with his face on it. It was utterly ridiculous. There were some other posters with more people involved, but the poster with only him on it, barrelling down the ice, seemed to be by far the most frequent one.

He sank deeper into the car seat when he stopped at the next traffic light as if that helped with anything. God, he wasn’t even asked or warned about this. He had to go back to school after the break, there would be relentless teasing.

The traffic light turned green and Shane got his rusty Honda Civic to move. He was very careful to look at the road and the road only.

The next couple of days were all eat, sleep, hockey, repeat. Even if Shane tried to look around for a certain someone, there was no overlap between Russia or Canada so far. No adjacent ice times, no games back to back, they weren’t even in the same hotel. But luckily, both teams made their way back into the finals, ready for a redo of last year.

The arena was filled up to the last seat, the crowd was screaming Shane’s name when he got out on the ice but he only had his eyes on the prize. 

And there he was, somehow with even sharper features than at the draft. 

Rozanov leaned down for the face-off, eyes fixated on Shane.

“Missed me?” Rozanov said in a low rumble. If Shane had, he wouldn’t dare to admit it.

“You wish.” Shane briefly glanced up, sending his best Game On look.

“Mm, I think you did,” Rozanov replied with a full on smirk.

And then the puck dropped. 

Shane made sure to wipe the smirk off of Rozanov’s face. Russia stood no chance, not with Shane being determined to not make the same mistakes as last year. He dragged his team over the finish line with a hat trick and an additional assist on the only other goal.

The stadium erupted with the final buzzer, Shane’s whole body vibrating. He was quickly buried under a pile of his teammates, yelling into his ears. They did it. Shane did it. He always wanted to feel this high.

He lined up for fist bumps, a big grin on his face while he told every one of his opponents, “Good game”.

And then at the end of the line, in a move he would later blame on the temporary insanity from a big win, Shane winked at Rozanov and said, “See you in October!”. He made it even worse by looking over his shoulder and seeing Rozanov looking back with what very much looked like a slight blush that he didn’t have in the line combined with just the slightest of smiles that would haunt Shane’s dreams for months to come.

_______________________________

July 2010

Ilya didn’t know what was more insane: that he told his first and currently only sponsor (the Adidas talks were going well though) to reorganize their whole campaign to make it about him and his 'rival' or that they actually agreed to it.

Now, he was standing across from Hollander, like they would in a face-off, waiting for light and cameras to adjust properly.

“You look pretty,” Ilya said, low enough only Hollander could hear.

“They painted you up as well.”

“Yes, but I don’t look pretty like you.”

Hollander did look exceptionally pretty. His big brown eyes, his long, dark lashes, his straight sloped nose, his plush, pink lips but, to Ilya's dismay, no freckles. Whoever was in make-up had the audacity to cover them up. That just gave Ilya more time to study the rest of his face. He told himself that was his job at the moment: look at Hollander. He couldn’t believe someone paid him for this.

“Okay, guys, we are ready. As discussed, skate in at the same time when I call go and end in face-off position to hold. Okay?” the director asked across the ice from behind the camera.

“Okay," they confirmed before skating to their position.

In the first take, Ilya was a millisecond too slow. In the second take, Hollander slammed his stick down before he arrived. In take seventeen, they sprayed too much ice. 

Take twenty-three, they finally nailed the skate in. Ilya tried to hold it in so badly but this was ridiculous. Now, they were just staring into each other's eyes. He had no choice but to crack, Hollander laughing with him.

“We will just do it again, no worries everyone,” the director said as lightly as he could with take number twenty-four waiting for them.

Take after take, they skated in and they actually tried but there was no point. 

Somewhere between take twenty-five and thirty-two, they almost had it until Hollander stuck his tongue out to the side the camera could barely see, making Ilya laugh so hard, he had to kneel down on one leg to stabilize his shaking body, Hollander grinning across from him.

The directors gave up and called for a quick break to set up the last shots of the day.

“When they tell you you do commercial with together with me?” Ilya asked as casually as possible. 

“I got a call like two days ago," Hollander answered, looking at his skates. Then, his head shot up. “Why, did they not tell you?”

“Ah, did not need to, was my idea.” Ilya scratched his neck indifferently as if he hadn't put in hours to make this happen. If he thought he was insane for suggesting to CCM that they do the photoshoot together, it might be even more crazy to tell Hollander that directly. 

However, the insanity paid off. He could feel Hollander tracking him during his solo skating session and then caught Hollander glancing at him when he himself was on the ice alone.

Shortly after 6 pm, the director called cut. Hollander beelined to the locker room and before Ilya could even enter the locker room, he was already in the shower. Ilya wasted no time. He hadn’t really planned what he would do from here on out but now was not the time to dwell on plans. It was time to put on a show. He stripped off all of his sweaty gear, grabbed his towel and sauntered into the shower like he didn’t just set up a whole photoshoot to get some alone time with Shane Hollander.

He stood under the shower head three down from Hollander, risking a quick glance over the other man’s body. Neither the hockey gear nor the off-the-rack suit he had worn at the draft did him any justice. Ilya had gotten a glimpse in the gym but my god his body was luxurious. His thick, muscular thighs were directly leading to the plumpest ass Ilya had ever seen (next to his own). He also had gorgeous hip dimples, perfect for holding on to. The muscles along his back and shoulders were moving in perfect harmony when he spread the body wash over his pecs. Ilya wanted to squeeze those pecs so badly.

Ilya turned around, giving himself a second to cool down and also to give Hollander a chance to see everything Ilya had to offer. And what if he flexed his ass more than he needed to or stretched his neck out from side to side to draw attention to the shoulders he bulked up during the summer.

He turned around again to face Hollander, taking his body in now for a second longer and oh… Hollander liked what he saw from the looks of it. Ilya couldn’t help but make it clear to Hollander that he saw the excitement.

“Fuck off,” Hollander mumbled but there was no real heat behind it.

Ilya continued to spread some body wash over himself before he made a decision. 

His dick was swelling up rapidly as well. He reached around himself, slowly but surely stroking. A wordless invitation for Hollander to do the same, signaling that he was on board with this, that he wanted this.

Hollander was just staring at him, his face a mix of fascination and confusion. Frozen in the moment, his eyes flicked between Ilya’s lust open face and his moving hand.

“Not here,” Hollander muttered after what felt like a blissful eternity.

Ilya dropped his hand. This wasn’t a no. It was a no for now. So, no point in continuing at this moment.

When Ilya got out of the shower, Hollander was already dressed, fiddling with his shoes on the wobbly bench between lockers. 

“We can just ignore what just happened, okay?” Hollander said half to his shoes, half to Ilya.

“Is what you want?” Ilya prodded, slightly amused after what just happened in there.

Hollander sat perfectly still now, slowly turning his head to Ilya, not giving an answer but his face working through all of the thoughts in his head. He shook his head exactly once.

Ilya closed the distance between them, now looming over Hollander with just a towel on.

“What is your room number?” he asked in a flirtatious tone.

“1410,” Hollander answered immediately.

Ilya adjusted his towel hanging dangerously low around his hip directly at Hollander’s eye level.

“If I come to 1410 tonight at 9 o’clock…”

“I might open.”

“I might knock.”

_______________________________

Ilya tried to calm his nerves in the elevator. This was just a hook-up like so many he had over the years. He knew the procedure by heart.

Get in. Get off. Get out. 

Easy. Simple.

Why were his nerves running on high right now, then?

The elevator stopped on the sixth floor, eight floors too early. The door opened to none other than Yuna fucking Hollander.

“Oh hello there," Mrs Hollander said with a slight irritation in her voice.

don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic

“Oh I’m trying to go down,” she continued.

you are not freaking out you are not freaking out you are not freaking out

“Ah this is going up,” Ilya informed her, idiotically pointing upwards if he wasn’t clear enough. 

Great, that doesn’t look like panic.

“Oh, it’s okay… Oh, I’m…” she seemed similarly perplexed by the exchange.

The doors mercifully closed at the exact moment Mrs. Hollander extended her hand for a handshake. Ilya let out the breath he held slowly and deliberately. He had eight floors to calm his nerves back down.

He knocked at the door at 09:07 p.m. A nervous Hollander let him in. Ilya ignored him at first to get a lay of the land. Hollander either had tidied up or - what Ilya thought was more likely - was very tidy from the start. He had turned off the big light but the two bed side table lamps were on, basking the room in a dim orange light. 

Mood lighting. Good.

He circled back around to Hollander, who was still hovering by the now closed door but instinctively reached out out to him when he came closer.

“Do you want to sit or maybe have a drink?” Hollander asked while Ilya moved him slowly towards the wall.

“No, not really.” There was a low thump when Hollander’s back hit the wall.

“This is such a bad idea,” Hollander said with a nervous smile.

“What is?” Ilya didn’t get - or wanted - an answer. He lifted his hand, grabbing Hollander’s jaw to slightly tilt his face up. He moved deliberately slowly, giving Hollander every chance to pull away.

He didn’t.

Ilya planted a brief but sure kiss on Hollander’s mouth, gauging the reaction. He needed to kiss him again. This time he went in more firmly, opening his mouth, his tongue brushing over the seam of Hollander’s lips until he slightly parted them to let Ilya in. He tasted heavenly, his lips still had a hint of minty toothpaste on them.

He prepared for this. The lamps. The toothpaste.

Hollander’s hands found their way to Ilya’s shoulder, brushing off the jean jacket he had on, his gaze traveling over the shoulders he just exposed. Hollander leaned back in, Ilya’s inside screaming a unified YES. They let their hands roam, Ilya finally getting a feel of the glorious pecs and abs before him, deepening the kiss bit by bit. Not even a minute after they started kissing, Hollander’s hand travelled towards Ilya’s jeans, opening the button and frantically pulling down the zipper. Ilya simultaneously struggled to get Hollander’s shirt off, wanting to not just feel but see more of him. Now shirtless, his hand breached the waistband of Ilya’s boxers, hurriedly palming his hard dick, dragging up and down over it like he had been waiting for months to do it.

Maybe he had.

Ilya got his own tank top off, letting his eyes drink in the pleasure Hollander got from simply touching him. Ilya rested his hand on Hollander’s cheek, slightly brushing his thumb over his lips. Hollander, because his face didn’t look hot enough like this apparently, took the finger in his mouth and started sucking on it. Ilya had to be really careful right now not to shoot his load before they even really started. He kissed the corner of his mouth when Hollander unceremoniously dropped to his knees, Ilya’s pants and boxers going with him. He guided Ilya’s cock carefully into his mouth lightly sucking on the head before bobbing back and forth. It was sloppy and too cautious but oh boy just the sight of an eager Shane Hollander down on his knees for him nearly undid Ilya right then and there. 

Ilya snapped out of the temporary haze. He knew it was get in, get off, get out, but he didn’t need to get off that quickly.

“Uhh, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop,” he said softly, pulling Hollander back up in the process.

“Was that… was that bad?” Hollander asked with a worried expression.

He nearly makes me come in 30 seconds and asks if it was bad, this man cannot be real.

“No, was good. Very good. Too good.” Ilya squeezed Hollander’s pecs and gave him a quick kiss for good measure. “Is your first time?” Ilya needed to know all of sudden.

"No, I... I have hooked up before," Hollander either didn't understood where Ilya wanted to go with his question or avoided it. Ilya needed to be more concrete.

"With a man?" Ilya asked.

Hollander shook his head. “You?”

“I have,” Ilya responded.

“Really?” Hollander was smiling again.

“Really.” Ilya smiled back at him.

“Who? Someone from school? Or from your team?”

Ilya weighed his options but decided to be honest. “No, son from my coach in Russia." Then he leaned in like he was telling him a secret. “I like bad ideas.”

“Weren’t you worried you would get in trouble?” Hollander's eyes sparkled way too much for a question about getting in trouble.

Ilya shrugged. “Was part of fun. But it was nothing serious and he would get trouble, too. Was just…”

“For fun?” Hollander supplied

Ilya leaned in to let his lips brush over Hollander’s neck right under his ear. “Mhm… fun. Did you have fun sucking my cock?”

“Wow, those English words rolled right off your tongue,” Hollander huffed.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“I have more fun ideas," Ilya whispered with a smirk.

"Why don't you show me then?" Hollander pushed him back until Ilya was falling on the bed. He undressed what little he still had on.

“Mh, fun ideas don't include clothes for you.” Ilya gestured at the pants Hollander was still wearing.

“All of it?” Hollander had his hand already on the button of his jeans.

“Is only fair." Ilya spread himself out on the bed to show off all of his current naked state.

That did it. Hollander pushed down his pants and… started folding them??? Ilya was baffled by what he saw and had no other choice than being absolute enamoured by Hollander all of a sudden having all the time in the fucking world to fold his pants then doing the same thing with his underwear. The socks stayed on, Ilya decided not to comment on that. He wasn’t into feet much anyway. He made space on the bed and gestured for Hollander to lay next to him. For a moment, they just laid next to each other, staring at the ceiling awkwardly, keeping their hands to themselves. 

Ilya swallowed his nerves and asked “So, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” Hollander’s eyes stayed fixated on the ceiling while his hands were fiddling over his stomach.

It sounded hesitant but not necessarily afraid. Ilya rolled to his side, gave him a quick peck to the shoulder and then wrapped his hand around Hollander’s erection, learning the shape of his dick while stroking him. It was fairly straight, had a really nice, heavy weight to it and maybe an inch shorter than Ilya but thicker. And, to Ilya’s delight, it was already wet with precum which Ilya spread with a swipe of his thumb.

He wanted to taste him but before he could translate his thought into action, Hollander moved over him, rolling Ilya on his back. Ilya could feel his pulse in his throat while Hollander was kissing down his body until he once again had Ilya’s dick in his mouth. It wasn’t any less sloppy than before but also just as eager. Ilya tried to breath through it, his orgasm building way too quickly. He tried to think of horrible things to stop it but all he could see was this beautiful man giving it his all to get Ilya off. 

He had about 1.6 seconds to decide if he was about to come down Hollander’s throat during his first blowjob and maybe fully overwhelm him or pull him off. The hand that was just stroking the black, silky strands was now tucking Hollander firmly off him.

Ilya replaced Hollander’s mouth with his hand, quickly tipping over the edge. He turned his attention to Hollander who was fixated on the mess Ilya just made on his own stomach. Ilya grabbed his face to kiss him deeply.

Ilya broke the moment. “Not bad for first time.”

“Fuck you, Rozanov!” Hollander replied weakly.

“Okay, was nice.” Ilya reached for the tissues on the nightstand to clean himself off. He heard a huff. “What? You want more fun?” Ilya teased. Then he used the moment to roll on top of Hollander, settling between his legs. “Do you think I’m asshole?”

“I know you’re an asshole, you talk so much shit.” Hollander didn't need to roll his eyes to come off annoyed.

“Ah, but not like that. Needs to be fun for both of us.” Ilya rolled his hips ever so slightly against Hollander’s throbbing erection. “Let me show you what else my mouth can do.” Ilya winked and then snaked down Hollander’s body, leaving wet kisses along the way.

He didn’t want to tease Hollander or himself, he just wanted to finally taste him. He wrapped his lips around the tip and then with one smooth move took his dick fully in. He stayed there for a second to let himself adjust to the pleasant stretch of his jaw but then sucked him off in earnest, using every trick in his book, including massaging Hollander’s chest and flicking his nipple in the process, to make sure Hollander would come just as fast as him.

“Holy shit! Oh... aah... Rozanov! I’m not gonna last long,” Hollander whimpered out between unfairly sexy moans. Ilya had just orgasmed and his dick was interested again just from the little noises. Watching Hollander come apart from his mouth did unspeakable but fully opposite things to his confidence and his sanity.

“Fuck, I can't stop, you better get… fuck”, Hollander warned him, accompanied by a yank on Ilya’s curls. But Ilya wouldn’t let anyone get between Hollander’s cum in his mouth and him, not even Hollander.

He picked up the pace, hollowing his cheeks even more, adding pressure with his tongue. Hollander came down his throat with a shout of Oh my god, Rozanov! echoing through the hotel room. Ilya made sure to get every last drop out of Hollander then kissed each inner thigh once and moved up to lay down next to Hollander.

“You didn't... I mean I could have... That was…” Hollander rambled.

“I don’t mind.” A lie Ilya didn’t even believe himself. He did mind, he wanted to and fuck it felt good to feel him finish inside his mouth.

After a beat, Hollander moved to sit on the edge of the bed. His posture was tense just moments after Ilya thought he sucked the tense out of him. Then, his shoulders relaxed and a short laugh came out of him. He took a deep breath.

“So. You aren’t gonna tell anyone about what happened here, are you?” Hollander only half looked back at Ilya.

“I’m going to tell everyone, Hollander, maybe make Facebook post,” Ilya responded flippantly. The Bears PR person had recommended to make a Facebook profile, that would be a memorable first post.

“No one can find out." Hollander sounded genuinely concerned for reasons Ilya didn’t compute.

“Ochevidno.” Obviously.

Hollander didn’t look convinced and Ilya was getting impatient. He had as much to lose, probably more than Hollander and he was far from being an idiot, even though exchanging blowjobs with his so-called rival might tell otherwise.

“Hollander, we have same secret, I will not tell. Ever. Promise,” Ilya assured him.

Hollander calmed down again.

“Yeah, ok. I just wanted to make sure that we are on the same page. Sorry, if that came out wrong. Your secret is safe with me, no worries," Hollander reiterated.

Ilya used the opportunity to tease him one more time before getting out, he simply had to. He sat up close to Hollander now and let his knuckles glide over Hollander’s arm. “Ah, yes, no worries, I will keep your secret that you come very fast.”

Hollander snapped his head back to Ilya. “I did not come that fast.” He caught Ilya’s wrist with the speed of a panther attacking. “If anything, you came just as fast.”

“Ah, so you are liar now.” Ilya tried to free his wrist but Hollander wouldn’t let go. 

“You asshole!” Hollander was suddenly all over him, wrestling him down into the mattress.

It took Ilya a second to catch up but then he fought back. They went back and forth, rolling over the king size bed while giggling until Ilya had him fully pinned to the mattress, both of Hollander’s wrists held down next to his head, Ilya’s thighs holding Hollander’s hips in place. Even then, Hollander made a last attempt to get control by pulling his feet up to be flat on the bed for him to push Ilya off. Ilya had to flex his thighs to their maximum capacity to not be thrown off of Hollander. All the fight drained out of Hollander under Ilya. His knees fell to the sides, the rest of his muscles relaxing.

“So… you will admit now?” Ilya asked with as much seriousness he could bring up right now (so not a lot).

“Never! I demand a redo,” Hollander retorted, his face all scrunched up like an angry kitten. Ilya bent down to kiss the corner of his mouth, trailing kisses down his jaw until he reached his ear.

“I think we can arrange that,” he hummed, fully aware that he really should not indulge anymore.

All of this was already a really bad idea. Arranging the photoshoot, coming on to Hollander in the shower and then going up to his room, nevermind the Yuna Hollander in the elevator of it all. But if he got out now, he would be able to put it all behind him, he told himself. He got in, got off, now it was time to get out. This was way too dangerous.

He heard Hollander respond with a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Fuck. Ilya was way too greedy to not want to see where this was leading to. If he only had this one time, he might as well make the most out of it. What is one more round in the sexual equivalent of Russian roulette?

He rearranged his body to lay between Hollander’s open legs, slotting his half hard dick next to Hollander’s, spreading his own knees to get a better range of motion. He let go of Hollander’s wrists to prop himself up with one elbow on the mattress, the other hand cupping his face.

“Is this okay?” Ilya made sure there was no teasing tone in his question. Hollander nodded and rolled his hips almost shyly to test out the feeling. “Fuck, Hollander, so good.” Ilya responded with a more sure motion of his own pelvis. “Could fuck you just like this, would you like that?”

Hollander froze.

“We do not have to do anything you do not want,” Ilya clarified, giving him a quick peck to his lips. “We can just continue like this, okay?”

Hollander was still frozen under him, Ilya could see the gears turning.

“You are thinking very loudly. Easier if you tell me,” Ilya tried.

“I don’t know if I want to… I think so?” Hollander's eyes were dancing across Ilya's face.

“We do not-” Ilya started.

“Can I think about it?” Hollander asked with his eyebrows drawn together.

“Of course,” Ilya assured him.

“Maybe… maybe… uhm...” Hollander's eyes drifted off to the ceiling making Ilya momentarily impatient.

“Hollander, spit it out.” 

Hollander's eyes snapped back to him. “Maybe next time?”

Now, Ilya was frozen. If he thought it was dangerous before, this was a whole new level. He couldn’t remember making up a next time ever in his lifetime while still hooking up. Most people he slept with were a one and done, with the occasional repeat when the other person didn’t seem too clingy. But this, this was right into the danger zone of way too much.

“Okay.” The word was falling out of his mouth before he could stop it. Apparently, there was a next time now. Hollander practically beamed at him. Yep, he was fucked.

“Uhm, do you want to continue?” Hollander asked nervously.

“Yes, very much.” Ilya closed the gap between their lips for a deliberately slow and deep kiss.

They were both rolling their hips, first a tad clunky until they found a rhythm together. The gliding against each other was heavily aided by the precum mainly Hollander was spreading between them. God, Ilya loved how fucking wet Hollander got.

His mouth was busy exploring Hollander’s, running his tongue over his lips, lightly sucking on his tongue and biting his lower lip just enough so it would sting every so slightly. Everything and anything that drew a little moan, sigh or whimper out of Hollander got catalogued and repeated to see if the reaction held up. Ilya was fascinated about how responsive Hollander was, especially considering how nervous he seemed.

Hollander’s hands were gripping onto Ilya’s ass cheeks, urging him on to increase the tempo, the pressure, anything. His nails were digging into Ilya, not enough to leave marks. Ilya wanted him to bury them deeper into his flesh, he wanted to take a souvenir with him. Instead, he moved to wrap the hand that wasn’t holding him up around both of them, making a tight ring.

“Fuck, Rozanov, I’m so… fuck… so close, fuck.” They stopped kissing all together, just panting into each other’s mouths edging each other close and closer.

“Come on, Hollander, show me.”

Hollander lost his rhythm completely, chasing his pleasure without any coordination. Ilya tried his absolute hardest not to come first, the visuals of Hollander arching under him, thrusting into his hand were so much to handle though. 

“Fuck, Hollander, I’m gonna…” Ilya was seeing stars around the corner of his vision. Hollander shot out white ribbons all over their stomachs, followed only seconds after by Ilya.

He gently let go of their spent dicks, dropping down to his side next to Hollander, both of them panting. Ilya kissed Hollander’s shoulder who turned his head in response. He bent over to kiss Ilya properly, unhurried and almost sweet while still trying to get his breath under control.

“That was so fucking hot," Hollander got out with a grin.

“Yes and I think we have clear result now,” Ilya said with a grin of his own.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Hollander was now full on belly laughing shoving Ilya back on the mattress to kiss him again. “I will get you back for this.” The angry kitten face was back.

“You can try.” Ilya patted his hip condescendingly making Hollander look down.

“Shit, we made a mess," Hollander said, "I’ll go clean up real quick.”

Ilya was lying in the rumpled mess of pillows and sheets alone, listening to Hollander rummaging around in the bathroom. His head, which was suspiciously quiet during all of this, sprang into unwelcomed action.

This was really fucking stupid. Always so weak and needy. You have to get control back, if you stay any longer you might start cuddling or worse, fall asleep next to him. This cannot happen. Stop lounging around, being lazy. Get yourself clean and then go.

Hollander came back with a damp washcloth but Ilya asked if he could go shower quickly instead.

“Sure, I think there is an extra towel in there.” Hollander thankfully made no move to join him in the shower, Ilya needed all his remaining willpower if he was ever supposed to leave.

After showering and getting dressed to finally get out, Ilya paused for a second at the edge of the bed, where Hollander was laying in his boxers.

“So…” Hollander began.

“Yes?” Ilya asked.

“For… next time. Might be easier if we…” Hollander stopped himself.

“Are you asking for my number, Hollander?” Ilya’s corners of his mouth involuntarily curled up.

“Maybe,” Hollander quietly responded.

“Ah, no I do not give out number for maybe.” Ilya made a faked attempt to leave.

“Okay, yes, I’m asking for your number.” Hollander rolled his eyes but then quickly put his phone out for Ilya to type his number in.

“I can give number for that.” He typed in his number and quickly sent a text to himself.

“Lily… really?” Hollander looked at him in disbelief.

“Yes, is less…” He rolled his wrist in the air to find the English word.

“Conspicuous,” Hollander supplied.

“That does not sound like real word, English is so stupid,” Ilya grunted out.

“What is in Russian then?” Hollander asked in a genuine tone.

“Zametnyy.” Ilya sounded out the word slowly.

“Ugh, okay, fine, that does sound better.” Hollander looked down on his phone. “What’s my name gonna be?”

“Jane.”

Hollander huffed out a short laugh but before he could protest the name, Ilya bent down for a parting kiss.

“Night Hollander.”

“Good night.”

With that, Ilya finally got out.

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• Have you ever tried to get new parts on an old Honda Civic to not have it be rusty anymore but you aren’t anywhere near Japan? Good fucking luck. (I miss my Civic :( )
• On my [redacted] reheat, I realized Shane actually winks after winning gold in Ottawa, that little minx. It’s very hard to see but look out for it on your next reheat.
• I know Joe is a one-off mention but I love that Shane wasn’t totally friendless like some people think.
• The Yuna elevator exchange will never not be funny to me. That man is 19. No way he is calm when he meets his hookup’s mother on the way to said hookup.

I can't wait to read your comments!

Chapter 4: Research

Chapter Summary

The start of their rookie season: Boston comes to Montreal but that's not the only thing coming.

Chapter Notes

Again, very little knowledge about hockey, just go with the vibes :)

August 2010

Twenty-seven sessions. He had avoided talking about any sort of attractions he had - romantic or sexual - for all of the 1620 minutes he had talked to Kira so far. And now, his next session was in about five minutes and he was freaking the fuck out.

He could just try to continue to avoid it. He already had one session with her after hooking up with Rozanov, which he had carefully filled with other topics they had talked about in the sessions before. The whole hour with Kira, he had felt like he had been about one second away from exploding though. She had asked why he had been so nervous but he had put it on the training camp that was about to start soon and then the remaining twenty minutes had been just that.

He barely remembered what they talked about in the last session.

He tried to bury what happened with Rozanov somewhere in his mind in the Rozanov drawer. Over that drawer though, a bigger one opened: The maybe not so straight one.

He began seeing that some of the stuff he had done in the past weren’t just coincidences. 

The times, he may or may not had looked at some star hockey players' posters while jerking off. 

The time, he had only gotten it up with Jessica while thinking about a porno he had seen earlier where he had watched the guy’s ass more than anything else. 

Previously, he had explained to himself that probably everyone was an ass person because everyone had an ass, so no matter your gender preference, there was always ass to be appreciated. 

Combined with other instances like really, really not minding the cute baker guy winking at him while giving him a free croissant last week, he simply needed to talk about it. Kira and him had been building a strong, solid relationship over the last year and he felt like if anyone was able to talk him through it, it would be her. He didn’t want to waste anymore time by skirting around it.

Kira welcomed him into the office and he took his usual place across from her in the wide, comfy armchair in which he could put one ankle under his thigh without a problem. They did some usually check-in stuff but Shane wasn’t able to focus once again.

“Shane, you are very nervous just like last session. Is this still about the training camp? We can talk about it some more today, if you want.” Kira looked at him with a soft smile.

He took a deep breath. He had two options:

1. Tell Kira about his maybe not so straight drawer.
2. Combust into a infinite amount of pieces right in this office.

He heavily considered option 2.

“No that is not… was not… no.” Great start.

“What has been bothering you then?” Kira asked.

“You are not allowed to tell anyone about what we are talking about, right? Not that I think you would but you can’t, right?” Shane felt like an ass after a full year of therapy with Kira, he needed to know though.

“Are you in immediate danger?” Kira tried to clarify.

He thought about option 2 for a second then shook his head.

“Then, this will stay between us,” Kira assured him.

Shane took a deep breath. Then another. Then a third. He fixated his view on the tissue box in front of him. It was the same brand as in the Toronto hotel room. Fuck. Okay, he could do this.

“So, I know I haven’t talked about like… relationships or dates or anything before. I did have a girlfriend last year but we broke up.” He let out who broke up with who because he still wasn't certain.

“Do you want to talk about her?” Kira scribbled something down in her notes.

“No, not much to talk about.” Shane’s gaze was still fixated on the tissue box.

“So what do you want to talk about?” Kira inquired.

“Recently, I have started… uh… noticing other men. One guy in particular.” His brain was providing him with what the tissue box was useful for previously. He desperately needed to look somewhere else. “And a couple of weeks ago we met up for the first time.”

Kira made no move. She also didn’t write anything down anymore. Shane was very grateful for that. He was sure she would write down something at some point. For this point in time, it was just confined to the two of them without a paper trail.

He chuckled. “I actually used some of the stuff we talked about.”

That got a miniscule eyebrow raise out of her. Okay, so, she was still alive because otherwise she was currently not moving.

“I had some beginning thought spirals and stopped myself before I could reach too deep and got myself back into the present.” Shane had briefly panicked when he, for whatever reason, thought Rozanov might tell someone.

Kira proudly smiled at him. “How do you feel about meeting up with this guy?”

“Terrified. Confused? But also like… good?” Shane thought that described it accurately enough.

“What terrifies you about it?” she prompted him.

“Most of all, how much I liked it.” He took a beat to formulate the rest of his thoughts that were running around in his head like a tiger was chasing them for the last couple of weeks. “That would mean another thing people could hate me for, even though I…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. He had battled the thoughts about him choosing to do all this over and over again to no real result.

You could have just not told him your room number.

You could have not opened the door.

You could have not brushed your teeth and put on mood lighting.

You could have not kissed him back.

You chose this.

His head was buried in his hands when he heard Kira talk.

“Hey, Shane. Breath with me, okay?” she sounded concerned.

Shane didn’t even realize that his breathing had gone rapidly shallow. He followed her instructions to calm back down.

“I have been around hockey players my whole life, from what I gathered I would guess that it’s not a particularly open environment, even more in the locker room away from outsiders?” Shane hadn’t even mentioned that part yet. Kira was right on the money, though.

“Which is ridiculous," she continued, "all the other sports you share the ice with and above all women’s hockey are some of the most queer friendly sports in existence." 

Shane thought about all the times his hockey teams had openly made fun of the figure skaters and he had just sat there, pretending not to hear anything. He hadn’t even defended Joe that one time it had gotten really bad in the locker room. He couldn’t look at him for a week, he had been so ashamed.

It all broke out of Shane at once. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with all that in the NHL? What if anyone finds out? What if I fucked it all up before I even played a singular game? I can’t be… I just can’t!”

“Okay, let’s play out the scenarios then." Kira pulled him back from his panic spiral. "First, how would anyone find out? Do you think the guy would tell anyone?”

“NO! No, he wouldn’t. I can trust him.” Shane was sure.

“That’s a good start," Kira hummed.

“But someone might still see us." Shane pressed one of his thumbs into the opposite palm. "They are already spinning the story about my start with the Voyageurs, how I am so responsible because I wanted to finish school before the NHL etc. My face has been in so many articles. I haven’t even moved to Montreal, yet.”

“So you don’t want to see him again?” Kira made a move to write something down but stopped herself.

“No, I definitely want to see him again. That’s the problem.” Shane sighed heavily.

Kira thought for a second and then offered, “You can always say, you are just hanging out with a friend, if someone saw him at your place? That means he would have to be okay with hiding it at least for now, though. Would he be okay with just meeting in private?”

“Yes, that part is not a problem.” He left out the part where people would very likely freak out if they saw the two of them hanging out together because then he would have to explain why that was the case and he wasn’t about to out Rozanov to his therapist, no matter the confidentiality.

“So you have a cover for that." Shane loved that they were making a plan even though he was unable to show it. "But let’s just say you do come out or someone sees you with a man at some point, what would be the worst thing that could happen?”

“I get thrown out of the league, I’m a laughing stock, get attacked by people, my parents don’t want to talk to me and the other person gets outed, too." Not exactly a good plan.

“How realistic do you think this is?” Kira asked.

“It feels pretty fucking realistic.” If his fastening hearbeat was any indication.

“Okay, but if you actually think about it?” Kira stayed infuriatingly calm. Something about that got Shane to slow down himself.

“I don’t think my parents would not talk to me anymore." There was a high chance they would not care much, if Shane was honest. "But the rest… still not much different than feeling currently.”

They were both silent. Kira clicked her pen a couple of times. That did not solve the rampant homophobia in the NHL portion all of a sudden, unfortunately.

“Would it help to talk to your parents about it to get some support in case anything happens?” Kira started her notes back up.

“I don’t even know what exactly I feel, I don’t know how I would tell them.” Shane ran a hand through the hair on the top of his neck.

“Would you be okay with thinking about it some more as homework and then we can get to it in one of the next sessions when you are ready?” Kira underlined something in her notes but Shane couldn't see what it was.

“Yeah, sure.” Shane was used to the homework by now.

They continued the session by talking about the training camp in Montreal, this time Shane actually listened to what Kira was recommending to him.

____________________________

Three weeks later, the Voyageurs’ training camp was in full swing. They told Shane he could skip rookie camp, but he didn’t want to seem like someone who thinks he is better than the rest of the rookies. He did the rookie camp and was currently in the locker room for the fourth day of training camp with the full team, about to put his gear on for the day. Someone plopped down on the bench next to him.

“Hey buddy, ready for the scrimmage today?” Hayden Pike was one of his new teammates. It was his second season and he had helped with the rookie camp. He somewhere in that week decided to be around Shane a lot. Shane didn’t mind all that much.

Hayden hadn’t said anything shitty about his race (Do they even know what hockey is where you come from? - You mean Canada?) or the media coverage about him being hyped up as the NHL's new golden boy like some others already had. Two guys tried to chirp him about being drafted second. He quickly shut it down by reminding them that they were 36 and 75 respectively, which didn’t make him any friends. So Hayden was it for now.

“Yeah, maybe we get to play on the same line,” Shane answered. That seemed to be the correct response, Hayden was grinning across his whole face.

“Hope so.” He smacked Shane’s shoulder and put on his gear. They continued in silence and got out on the ice. 

The scrimmage was a lot of chaos. The lines were changed almost constantly, Shane playing a decent amount with Hayden on his side. Their head coach Desjardins seemingly had all possible line combinations on his clipboard the way he was shuffling them around. Shane enjoyed playing with Hayden. He wasn’t as fast as Shane. None of them were, really. Hayden showed some great promise. They clicked well timing wise, skating rather easily around the defense and scoring a decent amount. Mostly Shane, but more often than not Hayden had the assist.

It was the last practice before a day off and the locker room was full of chatter about their evening plans. Shane had gone out with the team during rookie camp and it had been a disaster to say the least. They had gone to some sports bar the team frequented. He had had to turn down multiple people trying to force shots onto him or make him chug his beer. His alcohol tolerance was ok-ish but he hadn’t been keen on getting drunk and potentially embarrassing himself before the season had even started, no matter how much his teammates insisted it was good for bonding. They had also tried to place some girl on his lap. In that attempt, several drinks had been spilled and she had jumped out of his lap again quickly. Shane had used the opportunity and had slipped out of the chaos which somehow made a couple of guys assume he had left with the girl, even though he was pretty sure she had left because her dress had been drenched in beer and vodka soda. He hadn’t bothered to correct them.

This time, he thankfully had the excuse that his evening was full of apartment viewings. He still hadn’t found what he was looking for, so he hired a real estate agent that lined up viewings for today and tomorrow. He bowed out of the locker room with some boos and a singular good luck, bud from Hayden.

____________________________

The training camp concluded with him on the second line, Hayden on his left and a veteran called Beaulier on his right. Beaulier was rather standoff-ish, eyeing Shane’s every move. The communication on the ice worked well enough and he wasn’t a dick outright, so Shane was happy. The preseason rolled around and their season’s schedule was posted. His phone pinged.

Lily: Did you see schedule?

Shane: Yeah, you are here for our season opener.

Lily: Will be fun to beat you in first game. I’m gonna get 50 goals my first season, will be good start.

Shane: You don’t really think you will get 50 goals in your first season?

Lily: Oh yes, I do. Already told nice reporter this morning.

Shane: Omg, you didn’t.

Lily: [interview link]

Shane: What did your team say?

Lily: They thought I was very funny. They will see how funny I am when I outscore them all.

Shane: I don’t think my team would find that funny.

Lily: That’s why Boston hates Montreal. No fun allowed in Canada.

Shane: We will see how much fun you will have when you lose in two weeks.

Lily: Oh, we will. See you then.

Shane hesitated. Would it be too much to ask Rozanov two weeks in advance to come over? He hadn’t made up his mind if he was ready for more. Rozanov had said he didn’t wanna do anything Shane wouldn’t want... but would he still want to meet up?

Shane sat on those thoughts for a full ten days before he finally broke.

Shane: Do you want to come to my place when you are here?

Shane threw his phone on the bed and went on his 5k run, already with his heart going wild before he even started running. This was so stupid. He should have been way more subtle. Or maybe not ask him at all. What if Rozanov didn’t enjoy last time as much as Shane thought? What if he turned him down and then he would have to face him on the ice? He ran faster and faster the more the thoughts spiraled.

He came back with burning calves and a one word answer delivered three minutes after his initial message.

Lily: Yes

His adrenaline was through the roof and it had nothing to do with the run. He hadn’t even specified what he wanted to do. Should he have? He couldn’t go back to the conversation now, so he just kept quiet and kept the panic confined to his Rozanov drawer. The next couple of days felt like a drag and way too fast all at once. He was playing well in practice and was mainly focused on the upcoming game but the thought of seeing Rozanov after was always just there.

The day of the game had finally arrived with the whole city buzzing around him. Before he left the house for game day, he texted Rozanov.

Shane: [map pin]

Shane: There is a side entrance on the left that goes to a separate elevator to just my apartment. Text me when you are there.

Lily: Separate entrance. Did you plan for this?

Lily: So prepared.

Shane: It’s just what’s best for privacy and security.

Shane: My real estate agent recommended it. It also has a separate entrance from the garage. People get a bit crazy here about hockey.

His real estate agent hadn’t been the one who made the suggestion for a private entrance. He had done extensive research on privacy options in an apartment building and that was his favorite one. There was CCTV only he had access to on a local server. Delivery people could still use the regular elevator after being cleared by the doorman but for Shane and anyone who didn’t want to be bothered, he had the hidden, private entrance option. 

He had used the hockey fan excuse for her too, though, which wasn’t a total lie. He had been stopped every time he had been to a grocery store in the last two weeks and several people had screamed his name across the produce aisle while he was deciding which tomatoes to pick the last time he had gone. He had left the heirloom and the plum tomatoes where they had been and handed out autographs. He had looked into delivery options right after.

He made his way to the stadium, passing hoards of hockey fans decked out in different Voyageurs merch with a surprising amount of Hollander jerseys. Sure, he played well in the preseason games, getting at least a point in every game. Was that already worth buying a 250$ jersey?

He was relatively calm and collected until he saw the jerseys. He gripped the steering wheel of his newly purchased Toyota RAV4 tighter and drove around the Bell Center to the VIP parking area. He went through his whole game day routine without really noticing any of it happening. He was floating somewhere above himself, laughing at some jokes about the light show getting more extensive every year and fist bumping some of the guys before lining up in the tunnel. He needed to get back into his body quickly.

He closed his eyes and went through everything he discussed with his therapist in their latest session. He had prepared exactly for this. He had trained for years and years, showing up and showing out to the point where he was drafted second by the team he had dreamed of. He had earned this and now it was time to reap the rewards.

When he opened his eyes back up, the line was already moving. It was his turn to take the ice for his first official NHL game.

“NUMBER TWENTY FOUR: SHAAANE HOLLANDEEERRRRRRRR!”

The arena had been loud before but there was an extra uproar for him. He skated around the arena in long strides taking it all in. The noise came in waves crashing over his body over and over again. His promo shot was on the jumbotron together with his core stats. He had never felt so terrified and alive at the same time. He stopped next to Hayden who greeted him with a grin. He gave him a quick nod before focusing back on his surroundings. He belonged here on the ice.

Boston was called onto the ice after Montreal had filled their half of the ice and the two anthems were played. Shane took a chance to risk a quick peek at Rozanov just to see he was already looking at him. His lips curled up and Shane quickly focused his gaze somewhere else, hopefully not too quickly to make anyone suspicious. Shane made his way to the bench to watch the first lines start the game.

The first face-off between him and Rozanov came minutes later for his first shift when Desjardins saw Rozanov and his line hopping the boards and tapped Shane on the back.

“Hollander, you know what to do,” Desjardins grumbled into his mustache.

Shane entered the face-off circle, bending down to meet him. Rozanov greeted him with, “Ready to watch me score my first NHL goal?” 

Shane bit his tongue, determined not to lose their first ever NHL face-off.

“Wonder how I will celebrate later.” Rozanov winked while Shane crouched down lower with a tight grip on his stick, not daring to look at him for longer than a millisecond.

The puck dropped and Shane was just the necessary beat faster than Rozanov. He flew down the ice, Rozanov right behind him. Before he could steal the puck, Shane passed to Beaulier who forwarded it to Hayden only a moment before a defenseman slammed him into the boards. Hayden was in a good enough position to try to shoot but saw the lane to Shane who flicked it in the net of the perplexed Boston goalie.

Twenty-one seconds from his first face-off to his first goal. He was buried under screaming teammates, even Beaulier seemed semi-happy for once.

Rozanov skated by him, shooting him a look. He could have handled anger. He could have handled coldness. He could have even handled a silent challenge to do it again. The pure, darkened lust that was written across Rozanov’s face sent a shiver down Shane’s spine. It shouldn’t have been motivating him like it did.

The game continued in similar fashion with them trying to outplay each other, daring each other to be more outrageous than the other. Shane had another goal and an assist, while Rozanov managed two of his own goals and two assists. At the end of period three, Montreal clenched the victory with 5-4, all Boston goals involving Rozanov.

The locker room was a full-on party. The music was booming, one corner filled with people listening to Beaulier recapping his goal in the last minute, the other corner crowded with teammates arguing where to go tonight to celebrate.

The PR rep pulled Shane and his captain Roy, a defense man built like a floor to ceiling wardrobe, out for the media circuit.

“Shane, great game, how do you feel about Rozanov?” the first reporter shouted at him before he could choose anyone.

“It was a great game, Boston put up a fight but we were stronger together.” Roy squeezed his shoulder and gave him a friendly jostle. Shane couldn’t help but smile slightly wider than his media trained one.

“You scored your first goal after twenty-one seconds in your first NHL game. How did it feel to win that face-off against Rozanov and get a goal before he could?” Another question involving Rozanov. Yes, he was on the ice for the first goal but so were five other Boston players.

“It felt fantastic to get my first goal so quickly. Couldn’t have dreamed of a better start,” Shane answered, carefully avoiding the Rozanov of it all.

“And against Rozanov?” The reporter didn’t take the hint.

“Any goal feels good, no matter the opponent.” Shane turned to the next reporter. Please let them ask about anything else.

“You won tonight but Rozanov beat you in points by one. He predicted he will get fifty goals by the end of the season. You think you can beat that?” Okay, so this was getting annoying.

“We will have to wait until the end of the season to find out.” His media smile was starting to falter. The PR rep bent over to hand something to Roy.

“I think you will have a great season, Rook!” He handed him a puck. “And here is your starting point, your first NHL goal puck!”

Roy pulled him in and ruffled his hair, flashes going off from all over the place. Great, this is going to make him look like a child, especially next to Roy. The PR rep waved at them to end the press scrum.

“Thanks everyone!” They made their way back into the locker room. Shane got showered and dressed.

“No pussying out today, Hollander. You will drink with us!” one of the defense men yelled at him.

They ended up at the same bar, they went to for the lap girl incident. He slowly downed his beer and managed to only take one shot before someone dragged him on the dance floor. He swayed from side to side, beer still in hand like that helped with his dancing skills. He could feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. He found a more quiet corner as he had a suspicion who it was.

Lily: I am at hotel. I will need 30 mins before I can leave. Meet you in an hour?

Lily: I have thoughts about your goals...

Shane: Yeah? What thoughts?

Lily: Later ;)

The image of Rozanov looking at him after his first goal flashed through his mind. He suppressed the shiver this time but couldn’t control his dick quite the same. He carefully readjusted himself while calculating when he would have to leave. He had about fifteen mins if he wanted to take another shower before Rozanov arrived at his place. And he definitely wanted to prepare himself as he decided he was indeed ready to let Rozanov fuck him if he still wanted. At least it sounded like he was interested in doing that?

He made one last round before saying goodbye to only Hayden and Roy who complained enough for the rest of the team. He claimed he had an early morning call with his agent Farah and promised to stay longer next time. He finally slipped out into the night.

He had about five minutes after the shower before Rozanov would enter his apartment. He already got the message that he was on his way. He pulled out a simple black shirt that stretched nicely over his shoulders and some dark grey jeans which had gotten a little tight around his thighs and ass as he bulked up over the summer. Nothing he would wear outside as it was uncomfortable to sit in them, but he didn’t plan to wear them for long.

Lily: Here

You can do this, you had sex before, even sex with Rozanov, kinda.

Yeah but no one has ever fucked you before.

Can’t be much more complicated than other sex, right?

God, you actually have no clue, do you? It was kinda okay the first time with Rozanov but if you fuck this up, it will be embarrassing and he will probably never speak to you again.

“STOP!” he said out loud into the empty apartment. It was one of the techniques Kira taught him to get his mind under control. “It will be fine, it’s okay to be nervous.”

That didn’t fully convince him but the knock on his apartment door told him there was no time to convince himself further. He opened the door to Rozanov leaning against the door frame. He let his gaze wander over Shane fully up and down before he pushed off the frame and walked into the apartment. He scanned the hallway that opened into the living area as well and turned to take off his shoes.

Shane’s whole body was wound into a tight coil all of a sudden. The anticipation of touching Rozanov almost ripped him in half while Rozanov was nonchalantly putting his sneakers next to Shane’s. When he stood back to his full height, Shane practically leaped at him, kissing him with a ferocity of a wild animal ready to devour its prey. He pressed Rozanov in the wall next to the shoe rack, clutching his curls with both of his hands to pull him in even closer.

Rozanov let it happen for a good minute or two before swiftly turning them around to trap Shane between the wall and his body. After an additional minute, he broke the kiss.

“Hello to you too, Hollander. Won’t even show me your apartment before jumping me,” he got out while trying to catch his breath.

“Sorry, I should have…”

Rozanov was back on him before he could finish his sentence, kissing him hungrily, tipping his head back to deepen it further, dipping into Shane’s mouth with his tongue, drawing a deep moan out of him. Rozanov’s other hand pulled at his hips as he positioned his thigh between Shane’s legs.

“Fuck, Hollander. You happy to see me?” he said with a little laugh.

“Fuck off!” Shane said while grinding against his thigh.

“I don’t think you want that. You put slutty jeans on for me.” Rozanov's hands were sunken into said slutty jeans.

“Those jeans are not slutty, just gotten a bit tight.” And a bit slutty.

“Mmm, sure. They make your thighs look so good, I want to get them off of you and bite them," Rozanov groaned into his ear.

Shit... Shane really didn’t think he would be into fucking biting but Rozanov made it sound like it would be his new favorite thing.

He pulled him back into a kiss, his hands grabbing anything they could get from Rozanov, until he rubbed one of his hands over the front of Rozanov’s pants where his erection was prominently outlined.

“Happy to see me Rozanov?” he quipped back.

Rozanov let his hands glide behind Shane’s thighs hoisting him up against the wall. Shane instinctively wrapped his legs around Rozanov who pressed his fully hard cock against Shane.

“Very.”

He dipped his head down to let his lips run over Shane’s side of the neck until he found the curve between his neck and shoulder to lightly suck on. Shane felt lightheaded, the heat of Rozanov’s body engulfing him fully, every cell of his body screaming to get closer and closer. He let out a gasp when Rozanov moved back up to nibble on his earlobe.

“You thought about my offer?” His voice dropped low, shooting a spark right through Shane’s spine to his dick.

Shane nodded quickly.

“And?” Rozanov lightly pulled at his ear lobe, making Shane shudder in his arms.

“I want to try,” Shane confirmed.

“We will go slow and see what you like, okay?” Rozanov had moved so he could directly look at Shane.

“What about you?” Shane made sure to hold eye contact.

“Pretty sure, I will like it." Rozanov already moved back to kiss his jaw.

“But if you don't, you tell me as well, okay?” Shane wanted to make sure this would go both ways. Rozanov stopped to study Shane’s face, his expression almost surprised. Then, he schooled his features back into a sultry look.

“You have a deal. Now you give me a tour or…?”

Shane was still trapped between the wall and Rozanov’s body. “You would have to let me down for that,” Shane pointed out with raised eyebrows.

“No,” Rozanov said without a hint of wavering.

“No??” Shane couldn't hold back his irritation.

“No, I can carry you around, no problem.” Rozanov took a step back from the wall, Shane having to grip tight for a second. He squirmed his way out of Rozanov’s grasp.

“Where do you want to start?” Shane looked around his apartment to plan the tour.

Rozanov lifted his eyebrows. “Where do you want to finish?” he countered.

Shane felt his face suddenly heat up. He wordlessly grabbed Rozanov’s wrist and led him to the bedroom.

“I think you skipped kitchen, what if I want pancakes and orange juice?” Rozanov made a joking attempt to steer them away from the bedroom.

“Shut up!” Shane pulled him harder.

“Make me.” And with that, they were back to making out against a new wall.

Shane was overwhelmed by the amount of things he wanted all at once. He wanted to get Rozanov out of his clothes right now. He wanted to continue kissing him until neither of them even understood the concept of needing oxygen anymore. He wanted to drop down to his knees and taste Rozanov. But most of all he wanted Rozanov inside him so badly all of a sudden, ignoring all the what ifs like what if he doesn’t like it, what if Rozanov doesn’t like it.

Rozanov stepped out of his space just far enough to take off his shirt and open his pants. Shane dropped his shirt as well, moving back into Rozanov, maneuvering him to sit on the edge of the bed. He dropped between his knees on the plush carpet he had laid around the bed. He pressed his face into Rozanov’s crotch, inhaling the salty and slightly sweaty scent. Shane urged Rozanov to pull down his pants and underwear far enough so his cock could spring free. He looked up at Rozanov silently asking for permission. Rozanov already looked wrecked, his lips kiss swollen, his curls standing in different directions, his pupils swallowing his hazel-green irises. God, he looked gorgeous.

“Go on, suck me Hollander. You earned it today.”

Shane blinked once when he heard the praise. Fuck, why was everything so incredibly hot with Rozanov. He kept his eyes on Rozanov’s face when he gave his slit a thorough lick. Rozanov’s head rolled back while he left out a deep moan. Shane took the encouragement and licked around the tip. He moved on to slide his tongue up and down the underside of the shaft, seeing how Rozanov would react. He found a spot right under the head where Rozanov’s breath would hitch when he moved the tip of his tongue over.

Last time, he had no idea what he was doing and was so afraid of doing everything wrong. Between then and now, he looked at some more options of what he could do. If he was actually into sucking cock (and by the strain against his tight jeans, he definitely was), he could at least be good at it. He closed his lips around the tip, taking him inch by inch, gathering info on how far he could take him. He was over half way when his gag reflex interrupted his endeavour. He pulled back and slid back down, not much farther than before. He used his hand to aid him.

It dawned on him that he was planning on having not just half of Rozanov inside him somewhere else very soon. The brief moment of panic was subsided by Rozanov’s words echoing in his head.

We will go slow and see what you like, okay?

There was no point in panicking right now. He had a very tasty dick in his mouth and he was not about to waste time on anything they might or might not be able to do later. He hollowed his cheeks and bobbed his head in a steady rhythm. Rozanov’s hand was in hair, periodically pulsing against his scalp when Shane changed the angle or the pressure. Between hisses and groans there was a constant stream of barely understandable language coming out of Rozanov’s mouth. He truly never shut up, it seemed. His voice was soothing and arousing at the same time, making Shane even more motivated to do a good job. Shane picked up the tempo to see how far he could push Rozanov. He looked like he was so close to coming when he put his hand under Shane’s armpit and pulled him into his lap.

“Fuck, Hollander, did you practice that since last time?” His voice was unreadably steady.

“What? No, I just… I did some research and looked into options.” Shane looked down at the carpet, not sure what to do.

Rozanov took his jaw and moved his head back in his direction but Shane still avoided eye contact. “You watched porn for this?” Rozanov sounded surprised.

Shane furrowed his brows. “No, not really. Porn seemed like an unreliable source. I looked at some articles and uhm… forums at what people liked and what I could try.”

He finally dared to look at Rozanov. He was met with a wide-eyed look. “You did all that just to suck my dick?” 

Shane felt ridiculous. Other people probably just knew how to do it and didn’t have to look through stupid forums and magazines to gather what would feel good for someone else. Hell, people had been sucking dick way before the internet and news outlets existed but Shane needed to rely on research. He wanted to disappear into this dumb rug he absolutely laid around the bed so he could suck cock with his knees cushioned on it.

All the negative thoughts were catapulted out of his brain when he was thrown onto the bed, Rozanov fully pressed against him, his lip capturing Shane’s, his tongue plunging into his mouth, his hands squeezing Shane’s waist so tight it might leave marks. Shane wasn’t sure if he would mind.

“You still want me to fuck you?” Rozanov got out between bruising kisses.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Shane breathlessly answered.

Rozanov kissed his way down Shane’s neck further and further down until he was at Shane’s pants and quickly opened the button and zip. Shane lifted his hips so Rozanov could yank the pants off of him but they got stuck on his thighs.

“Next time, do not wear tight pants, okay? Good for view, bad for access." Rozanov furiously gave them another yank.

Shane chuckled at him and relaxed his thighs to get out of the pants. He didn’t comment on the next time but he put it into his ever growing Rozanov drawer. Rozanov got rid of his own pants and boxer and crawled back on top of Shane briefly sucking Shane’s dick into his mouth before moving fully over Shane, straddling his hips.

“You have stuff for this?” Rozanov asked.

Shane reluctantly turned his attention off of the perfectly sculpted man above him towards his nightstand. He pulled open the drawer to fish out lube and a condom. The lube was half empty and Rozanov seemed to notice.

“I use it to jerk off and to… to finger myself sometimes,” Shane explained.

Rozanov still looked at him.

“Do you not use lube when you are alone?” Shane usually preferred lube over spit if he had the choice.

“Not often, I have foreskin, no lube needed. But why do you need it for jerking off? You get so wet.” Rozanov looked down between them where Shane's dick was leaking against his stomach.

Shane furiously blushed. “Shut up, no I’m not. That just happens sometimes.”

Rozanov didn’t push any further. Instead, he bent down to kiss Shane slowly for a moment before reiterating, “If you do not like something, you tell me. We stop, yes?”

“Yes, same for you?” Shane ran a hand through Rozanov's hair.

“Yes.” Rozanov rearranged them, pushing Shane’s legs up and getting himself on his knees to have better access. He popped the bottle cap open and coated two fingers in lube. He rubbed it between his fingers for a moment to warm it up and then moved his hand between Shane’s cheeks. He softly brushed over the hole at first, massaging around the tight ring of muscle. Shane’s breath got more irregular as the sensations were flooding his system.

“Is okay?” Rozanov voice had gone soft.

“Very okay.” Shane was humming under the touch.

Rozanov closed the distance between their lips, going at a similar speed he went with his fingers, teasing Shane at both ends relentlessly. He dipped one finger into Shane, shallowly going in and out of him, each time pressing in marginally further until he could breach without too much resistance.

Shane couldn’t handle the double teasing anymore, he rolled his head back, which just gave Rozanov full access to his throat. Without hesitation, his lips wandered up and down his exposed throat, Shane fully melting into the mattress under Rozanov’s attention and he had a feeling they weren’t even close to done.

“Fuck, this feels so good, please don’t stop,” Shane urged.

“Ready for more?” Rozanov’s voice was sounding just as rough as Shane’s.

“Please!” Shane keened.

Rozanov pulled out his finger, just to go back in with two. He was alternating between spreading them open and fucking Shane with them. He curled his finger and OH!

Shane let out a wail when Rozanov stroked what must have been his prostate for the first time. He did it again, this time slower, making Shane's back arch off the bed. He thought he had hit his prostate with his own experiments but oh was he wrong. This was so much better.

Rozanov sped up the tempo, bringing Shane to the brink but not quite over.

“Rozanov, you gotta stop,” Shane exclaimed.

Rozanov halted immediately. “Not good?” He looked concerned.

“Are you kidding me? So good, too good. I was so close but I want… fuck… I really want you to fuck me." Shane was too far gone to feel ashamed by his horny rambling.

Rozanov pulled out his fingers to Shane’s dismay and scrambled to get the condom on. He poured a generous amount of lube on his length and spread it. He positioned himself at Shane’s entrance, maneuvering Shane’s legs further up for a better angle. Thank fuck for yoga, this wasn’t even Shane’s full range yet.

Their eyes met again, Shane nodding in encouragement. Rozanov held himself steady, pressing the blunt head of his cock carefully in. There was a sudden pressure that filled Shane up, accompanied by a slight burning sensation but nothing really hurt or was uncomfortable thankfully. Rozanov stilled after two or three inches. Shane moved his hip in Rozanov’s direction to urge him on. He slipped in further and further until his pelvis was flush with Shane’s ass.

“Fuck, that feels so good but give me second." Shane used his breath to force his body to relax around the welcomed intrusion. Rozanov held perfectly still, the only thing moving was the hand on Shane’s thigh rubbing up and down to soothe him. “Okay, we can… we can continue.”

They moved carefully against each other, no rhythm or thrusts just yet, just getting used to it.

“Hollander, you are so tight, fuck. So fucking good.” Rozanov’s eyes were fixated on Shane, roaming over his face before diving back down to kiss him. The kiss was sloppy, tongues battling each other, saliva spread between them.

The first actual thrust punched the air out of Shane and he accidentally bit Rozanov’s lower lip that was between his teeth at that moment.

“Shit, sorry!” Shane quickly shot out, Rozanov just thrusting into him again.

“If you need to bite me cause I fuck you too good, you are more than welcome to.” Rozanov smirked at him, his lip still showing Shane’s teeth marks. Shane tried to laugh back but was quickly back to absolutely melting as Rozanov was thrusting in earnest, building up a rhythm.

He should have maybe tried to hold back on the noises coming out of him but his brain left his body more and more with every inch of Rozanov’s dick (and there were a lot of them) hammering into him. Thankfully, he had no neighbors on the floor.

He was on the edge several times before Rozanov even entered him and his orgasm was building faster than he would have liked. He could have stayed here forever, lost in the sensation of Rozanov rearranging his inner organs for him one thrust at a time.

“I’m so close, fuck, Rozanov, I wanna…”

Rozanov wrapped the still lube covered hand around Shane, frantically fucking him while jerking him off. “Yes, Hollander. Come for me!” He groaned louder and louder, audibly on the edge himself.

Shane’s vision whited out, his hands involuntarily twitching against the sheets, his eyes screwed shut while his whole spine curved up towards the ceiling. Shane had never felt anything this intense, all his nerves were on fire like he was burned alive in the best way possible. His dick kept spurting for longer than he had ever before.

He was barely back to being aware of his surroundings when he could feel Rozanov’s hips stutter, pulsing against Shane. The look on his face when he came inside Shane would be forever ingrained into his memory. He made that happen. His body put this expression on Rozanov’s face. No wonder people couldn’t stop talking about sex if it was anything close to what just happened on a regular basis.

He let his legs fall to the sides so Rozanov could collapse on top of him. He let his hands lazily run over Rozanov’s back while they were trying to catch their breath, neither of them hurried to go anywhere.

“You liked?” Rozanov’s accent was thicker than Shane had ever heard before.

“Very much… You?” Shane was somehow nervous now.

“I think I died. Death by Hollander’s hole. Put it on my grave.” Rozanov burried his face in Shane's shoulder.

“You are such an ass.” Shane gripped his hair before running his hand through the messy curls.

“I like your ass better.” He gave Shane a quick peck. “I will pull out now.”

Shane nodded and suppressed the whimper that wanted to escape his mouth at the loss of being filled.

Rozanov got off the bed and tied off the condom. He looked around and saw the en-suite bathroom door.

“I will be right back, do not move.” Shane wasn’t sure if he could move so he stayed put. He couldn’t help but smile though. He heard the water running and then Rozanov, still glistening with sweat, returned with a warm, damp washcloth. He cleaned Shane up carefully, leaving no trace of cum or lube behind. He kneeled beside Shane now, hesitant of what to do next. 

“Is ok if I shower and then go? Coaches get mad if I do not get back soon, I already broke curfew.” He looked apologetic.

“Yeah, uh, sure, I don’t want you to get in trouble.” He patted Rozanov's thigh.

“Mmm, I think you like trouble.” Rozanov squeezed the hand against his thigh.

“Go shower!” Shane pushed him off the bed. Shane should probably shower, too. He could feel the dried sweat on his skin, making him itchy. He didn’t want to push his luck with Rozanov tonight though and he said he needed to leave, so Shane could wait.

Rozanov came out of the shower, some water droplets running over his torso, like some fantasy Shane didn't know he had coming alive. Shane had to urge to lick them off but held himself back. He gathered his clothes and suddenly cursed.

“Shit, my phone is dead, do you have charger for me?” Rozanov grumbled.

“Yeah sure. I can also call you a cab from my phone?” Shane didn’t know why he offered, this was the perfect excuse for them to stay around each other longer. Although, Shane had no idea what to do next. He sure as hell wasn’t ready for a round two.

“No, they might connect it to your number that you called for me. Is fine, I can wait,” Rozanov assured him.

“Okay, my charger is on that side. Do you want to watch some hockey? I think the West coast games might still be on.” Shane searched for the remote in his bed side drawer.

“Okay.” Rozanov sank down into the mattress. Shane turned on the TV mounted opposite the bed.

“I will go shower now.” Shane got off the bed.

“Hollander!” Rozanov interrupted his way to the bathroom.

“Yes?” Shane turned around.

“Your shower is big enough for two,” Rozanov stated.

“Yes?” Shane did like his shower to have enough room to not bump into walls while turning.

“Ugh, we could have showered together.” Rozanov threw one hand up in the air in annoyance.

“Oh! Uhm… Next time...” Shane didn’t wait for the reaction.

Rozanov said next time first today technically but Shane still didn’t want to linger around for what Rozanov’s face would look like when he said it after sex and not in the middle of it. Shane showered quickly and put on some clean boxers. He laid down beside Rozanov, holding an awkward two foot distance between them. San Francisco vs Seattle was still going.

“They should be glad we are not in their conference. Look at this, what are they doing?” Rozanov pointed furiously with the remote at the TV.

“The goalie makes Swiss cheese jealous for all the holes he’s forming for the other team." Shane crossed his arms behind his head.

Rozanov snorted. “If this is how you chirp, it is better you don’t.”

“Hey! But ‘What are they doing’ is so creative. At least I tried!” Shane replied a little pissed.

Rozanov only looked more amused. “Is okay, at least you are cute.”

“I’m not.” He could feel his face scrunching up.

Rozanov petted Shane's leg, left his hand there and went back to cursing at the TV. After a while, Shane felt really sleepy, the whole day of excitement crashing over him. He would just close his eyes for a minute…

____________________________

An alarm was ripping him out of his sleep. The sun was already rising outside of his window. But he wasn’t alone. He was sprawled across an equally sleepy Rozanov.

“Make it stop, bozhe moy!” Rozanov desperately whined.

Shane reached over Rozanov to put his alarm out.

“What time?” Rozanov's voice was still thick from sleep

“6 a.m.” Shane had the same alarm every morning.

“Why do you have alarm for middle of the night?” Rozanov sounded genuinely irritated.

“That’s when I usually get up to get ready for the day,” Shane explained.

“Ugh, Hollander, this is no way to live,” then he added, “Fuck, team bus leaves at nine, I have to be back in hour and a half.”

“At least, your phone is charged now," Shane reminded him.

“I need to go shower and then take taxi back." Rozanov made a show of rolling out of bed.

“Okay, sure." Shane had a sudden flashback. "Erm… Rozanov?” "

“Hollander?” Rozanov turned around.

Shane grinned.

“I heard the shower is big enough for two.”

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation:

• Bozhe moy! - Oh my god!

Welcome to the newsletter!

• In 1987, the NHL introduced the rule to play both anthems when teams were from two different countries. The Buffalo Sabres are the only team in the NHL to always play both anthems, even if their opposing team isn't from Canada. Here is a video of the arena singing it during mic issues.
• Saying stop out loud is a legit technique to stop your thought spirals. My first therapist taught me that one. I used it for a while until saying in my head was enough. Can recommend!
• If you see Shane go earlier from an event or want to go shower before they have penetrative sex, it's suppose to imply that he is bottom prepping. Everyone does their bottom prep a bit different, some don't need an extra shower, some do, some make it depend on timing. Shane prefers to go shower when he can. I looked through reddit forums and some websites and took a medium from what people say they usually need.

Comments are always appreciated, I love an inbox notification!

Chapter 5: Should I stay or should I go?

Chapter Summary

Ilya struggles with the old and new home and Montreal visits Boston for the first time.

Chapter Notes

Hi lovely people!
Thanks for all the comments and kudos, they are making me very happy in frankly a shit time.

Russian dialogue will be in italics. I won’t attempt to translate to Russian except for little things that Ilya mixes in with English like bozhe moy.

Shoutout to the person in the bookmarks adding “Autism (epic rock music)” in their notes, I hope you have a fantastic day, every day.

CW

Ilya’s brother and dad are being human turds but what else is new.

The same morning

Ilya was fucked. Or he would have been if he hadn’t discovered the side entrance the day before. He was cutting it very close to 8:30 a.m. which was when he was supposed to be in the lobby. He had gotten lost in the sensation of a wet Hollander pressed against him in the shower, soaping him down and getting them both off. And then, he took way too long getting out of Hollander’s apartment, first stealing some of his scrambled eggs and the neatly cut up fruit and then kissing him for a long time before actually leaving.

It was 8:21 a.m. when he arrived in the hotel room. Marleau was already fully packed and just doing a last sweep of his side of the room.

“Ah, there he returns! I thought you might have forgotten that we exist. You know: Your team. Your job,” Marleau teased him.

“Shut up, Marly, I was busy.” Ilya tried to be stern but the grin on his face betrayed him.

“You didn’t even go out yesterday, how the fuck did you find a girl?” Marleau stared at him with a mix of wonder and confusion.

“I have my ways." Ilya waved him off. "Now let me pack.”

“Ok, but this discussion isn’t over!” Marleau pointed at him.

He turned around to grab his suitcase, leaving him alone in the room. Luckily, he had barely unpacked anything. He quickly changed into fresh clothes - he thought about stealing some from Hollander but didn’t know how to explain that he got a different shirt in a men's size L on than when he left - and then threw everything into his own Bears branded suitcase.

He was in the generic Marriott hotel lobby at 8:28 a.m. Coach LeClaire raised one of his bushy eyebrows at him but didn’t say anything. Ilya was on time and looked like he slept, so LeClaire had nothing to complain about. For now. They talked about some logistics and had to wait for no less than three players that overslept before they could finally get on the bus.

Ilya managed to get a seat next to Ryan Carmichael, who usually would just doze off in the bus. Today, Ilya had no such luck. He kept asking questions about where Ilya was last night. In the middle of him trying to masterfully deflect, there was a message vibrating against his thigh, then another, then a third, fourth and fifth one. He wanted to read them so badly but acted like he didn’t even own a phone.

Phone? What phone? Exactly.

“Shouldn’t you get that?” Carmy asked with narrowed eyes.

“Nothing important.” Ilya tried to stay firm.

“You haven’t even looked.” Carmy continued to stare him down.

“I just know.” Another ping. Carmy looked at him for a beat longer.

“Okay, sure.” He turned to Brad Hammersmith to discuss evening plans for when they would land in Boston.

The phone was burning against Ilya’s thigh. Carmy and Hammy seemed thoroughly distracted over their discussion if they wanted to play Mario Kart or NHL 11. Ilya risked a peek.

Jane: Fuck!

Jane: Fuck fuck fuck!

Jane: You left hand marks on my waist. I didn’t even see them. Someone pointed it out in the locker room. Thank fuck, they didn’t realize how large the bruises were. Why are your hands so big? 

Jane: Don’t answer that.

Jane: They tried for a solid 10 mins to get any details out of me until Roy came back from his meeting with Desjardins and shut it down.

Jane: Can we be more careful next time?

Ilya: Will be very hard not to grab when you jump me like last time.

Jane: Please, just tell me you will be careful.

Ilya: Okay.

And then, because Ilya felt kinda bad.

Ilya: It was not on purpose, promise.

Jane: Yeah, no, it’s fine, I was just freaking out, sorry.

Ilya: No sorry. I am sorry. You do not like marks, I will not leave marks.

Jane: I didn’t say, I didn’t like them…

Hollander was actively trying to kill him. He couldn’t get a boner in the stupid team bus, he would never hear the end of that.

Jane: I just can’t have them around the team. Sorry.

Ilya: I said no more sorry!

Jane: Sorry.

Ilya: You are so boring Canadian. Next thing you tell me you have Tim Hortons commercial.

Jane: No, timing didn’t work out for that. Spring hopefully.

Ilya only knew Tim Hortons because Marleau insisted on dragging him there for breakfast when they played a preseason game in Toronto, explaining to him that it was the most Canadian thing to do. Of course, they had reached out to Shane Canada’s Golden Boy Hollander. Ilya couldn’t fight the smile anymore. Hollander was so sincere like when he explained he actually did blowjob research without any hint of joking. Ilya wanted to eat him right then and there. 

He didn’t realize that Carmy’s and Hammy’s attention was fully back on him.

“Roz is texting a girl one hundred percent, look at his stupid smile,” Carmy exclaimed way too loudly. Several rows turned to them.

“Only girl I am texting is your mother. Do you want me to tell her what you did last week in club?” It was a dumb cheap shot but it got him what he needed.

“Shut up, rookie, and go back to texting your girl.” Carmy shoved him deeper into his seat.

Ilya waved his phone at him. “Your mom says hi.”

This was how it always went with the team. Someone tried to tease someone else then they shot something childish back and then it dissolved into some different conversation. There were often multiple of these conversations going on in the locker room at the same time, the overlapping voices in Ilya’s second language making it hard to follow any of them. On particularly rowdy days, he felt exhausted from trying to keep up, having to translate anything and everything in rapid speed, while also trying to keep up with the banter.

When this happened, he had two options for the night. He could either stay home and let his struggle to adjust to the new team on a new continent in a new language wash over him or he could go out to a blaring club where he could neither hear other people no matter the language nor his own thoughts. He could just dance in the big pile of sweaty bodies, all moving to the same invigorating rhythm like one giant, horny amoeba.

They had tried to prank Ilya by replacing his black practice jersey with a pink one after he wore a pink silk shirt to the club. He wore the jersey to the next club outing and managed to snatch a girl away from Marleau while he was trying to flirt with her. They hadn’t tried to prank him since.

The bus arrived at the airport, they were off to Toronto and then had a tight turnaround to Buffalo before returning home for their own season opener in the TD Garden.

It was after the 2-4 loss in Toronto that his brother called.

“Ah, Ilyaaaaaa!” Andrei sounded drunk or high… or both. Probably both.

“Why are you calling?” Ilya made zero effort to make small talk 

“Can’t I congratulate my brother on his biiiiig Ameeerriicaann league start?” Yep, both.

“You have never congratulated me on anything.” Not even birthdays anymore.

“Won’t be this time either, saw you lost both games.” Andrei laughed on the other end. Ilya could definitely hear a couple of other guys and at least two women.

Ilya was so close to hanging up. But he knew who would call next if he did.

“Again, why are you calling me?” Ilya asked impatiently 

“The 25k you sent me in July ran out.” Ah, there it was.

“How the fuck did you spend all that money already?” Ilya wasn't familiar with the current coke prizes but it couldn't be that much.

“Mascha is pregnant, you know this.” Andrei had the audacity to use Mascha for this?

“And she is eating the money?” Probably better than whatever Andrei was able to cook.

“No, she is buying all this stuff for the baby. Says she wants to treat her like a princess from the day she arrives or some bullshit.” Andrei scoffed loudly.

“Does she know you can barely afford the peasant treatment?” Ilya joked without humor in his voice.

“She doesn’t have to if you stop being so greedy sitting on your pile of money and send some over. Make it 50k this time.” Even in his high state, Andrei had enough brain cells left to be even more of a leech.

Ilya considered saying no. He knew it wouldn’t be going to his niece whenever she would arrive. At least not much of it. He could argue but Andrei was high as a kite and it would only make him angry or he would ask for more money with the help of their father.

“Fine, I’ll do it when I’m back in Boston," Ilya offered.

“And when will that be?” Andrei impatiently asked.

“Three more days.” He was already looking forward to his own bed.

“That’s too late, I will need it by tomorrow,” Andrei demanded.

“I will need to talk to my accountant.” His accountant had already questioned him for the movements but kept it shut after Ilya explained that it was for family.

“Stop being a bitch and make it happen.” Andrei hung up. 

Ilya wanted to throw his phone against the wall. He didn’t know if he was more angry at Andrei for putting another innocent child into this fucked up family or at himself for funding Andrei’s habits.

He needed to get out of this hotel room and more importantly out of his head. The Toronto club they went to was just like any other North American club: loud dance pop music mixed with some R'n'B, shitty vodka and a shit ton of women in some variation of a tight, skimpy dress - not that Ilya was complaining. He danced for maybe ten mins before he found someone to fuck. He made sure she had a good time, like he always did, and got out right after. Back in his hotel room, a snoring Marly was greeting him. He showered and laid down in bed, staring at the ceiling until sleep finally took over.

His dad called when they lost to Buffalo in overtime.

“You go to America just to be a loser?” Grigori greeted him.

“Hello papa. It is early in the season, we are just starting.” Ilya already regretted answering like that, knowing this would be considered talking back.

“It was an embarrassing start. That wouldn’t have happened if you had stayed here.” Grigori had tried again to block him to go to America, the money argument won out in the end.

“Did you see my goals?” Ilya had little hope.

“I saw how you let the other team score the goal in overtime. You are so lazy, your stamina is not enough for overtime. Why do you even play?” His father's voice vibrated through his skull.

“I work very hard here, papa.” It was the truth, not that his father cared.

“Do not lie to me." Grigori's voice rose steadily together with Ilya's headache. "If you worked hard, you wouldn’t have lost three games in a row.” 

“I understand.” Ilya gave up.

“Do you? If you continue like this, I will make sure you will be back in Russia by next summer. No more American league for you if you bring shame on your family like this.” Ilya was pretty sure that wasn’t a threat he could uphold. Ilya was a grown man and had a stable work visa with a reputable organization. It still made his stomach twist.

“Ok, papa," Ilya replied, resignation taking over.

“You are so weak.” The line went dead and so went something deep inside Ilya.

He didn’t go out that night, Buffalo’s club scene didn’t seem like something worth his time. He had to do something though, his body felt itchy all over. He put his headphones on, turned the music to the highest volume and went outside to get a pack of cigarettes. His athletic coach had seen his last one in his bag, threw it away and told him to quit. He had been doing well but some things just demanded a cigarette. The convenience store clerk didn’t look twice at him like one look at Ilya was more than enough.

Back home, he struggled through the next two practices. Not that anyone noticed, he still skated circles around the rest, scoring double compared to anyone else during scrimmage. He was the first and last on the ice, his coaches complementing him on his dedication. 

He knew he was good, excellent even, but that wasn’t enough. It was never enough. So he buckled down even harder.

He scored one goal and two assists with one assist on Marly and one on Hammy, beating New Jersey 4-1. 

There were no more calls over the next couple of weeks but the emptiness still never left him fully, not with scoring, not with clubbing, not with fucking. It only ever made it bearable. That had to be enough.

_________________________________

Jane: [link to new adidas ad with Ilya shirtless]

Jane: Did adidas stop selling shirts?

Ilya: Did not know it was published already. Do you have alert for me?

Jane: No, definitely not. Someone sent it in the Voyageurs group chat.

Ilya: What are they saying?

Jane: Honestly, don’t know.

Ilya: You were too distracted?

Jane: Maybe

Ilya: Is not fair.

Jane: What is?

Ilya: You get sexy pics from me and I do not have anything from you.

Jane: Did you not like the Rolex ad? The director told me to give him a “smoldering look”.

Ilya: What is “smoldering”?

Jane: To look sexy and mysterious.

Ilya: Ah and you ignored director?

Jane: Fuck off.

Ilya: I have better idea. Next time, no clothes, only watch. So many clothes in last ad, so boring.

Ilya: Same with Reebok. At least, you are on your knees for that.

Jane: Omg, shut up, that was just so they could show off the shoes. I had to tie them so many times. In the end, I felt like I forgot how to tie shoes. It was so ridiculous.

Ilya: Thank you for free chirp for next game when we beat you.

Jane: You are so annoying. 

Jane: I don’t have to chirp at you to beat you.

Ilya: Is more fun with chirp.

Jane: You would actually like, if I chirped at you, wouldn’t you?

Ilya: I heard the cheese one, I need more.

Jane: Are you free after the game?

Ilya: For?

Jane: … don’t make me say it…

Ilya: I will send you address.

In the week leading up to the Montreal game, Ilya found his groove from the preseason back. They had two more wins against Tampa and Florida. He also beat Carmy, Harmy and Marly in their Mario Kart tournaments so many times that he was banned from the game for a week. 

Ilya: [maps pin]

Ilya: Side entrance, West side.

Ilya: Wear something sexy ;)

Jane: Fuck off, you gave out the tight jeans ban.

Ilya: No slutty jeans? :((

Jane: I didn’t pack them. Sweatpants are easier to remove.

Ilya: Are you trying to get me hard before the game?

Jane: No.

Jane: Omg, are you??

Ilya: So you are trying.

Jane: You started it.

Ilya: You will finish it? ;)

Jane: Go and get ready!

Ilya: Oh, I am very ready :)

Jane: …

He already had several home games and the Boston fans were known to be a passionate bunch but this was a whole new level. He had never seen so many people hold out their middle fingers at once as when Montreal entered the ice, and it was currently just for warm-ups. 

This was going to be fun.

He risked a glance across the ice and spotted Hollander doing his stretches on the ice. Ilya never really watched anyone stretch. If he wasn’t hard from the thoughts of the easy to remove sweatpants and what was underneath them, his jockstrap definitely felt tight now. Hollander on his hands and knees grinding against the ice…

Hollander looked up at Ilya and shot him a confused look. Ilya gave him a smirk before returning to his own warm-up. He had a game to win, he could watch Hollander on all fours later if the evening was about to follow his plan. They were sent out for the first face-off. They both were still officially on the second line (team politics, ugh) but the coaches weren’t dumb. They knew what the people came here for, so they got to open the game.

“Rozanov.” Hollander looked at him with his determined, big doe eyes.

“Nice to see you again,” Ilya answered with a wink.

He could have said something dirty or annoying but judging by Hollander’s face, this greeting was more irritating than all the other options. Hollander had his eyes fixated on Ilya with furrowed brows and some quick blinks. Ilya won the face-off.

The crowd was loud the whole game. It helped that Boston was one unit this afternoon, making it impossible for the Voyageurs to get through. Well, except for Hollander. He managed to get a goal in every period, the hats flying with eight minutes left in the third period. Ilya watched Hollander try to give the crowd a smile but it never really reached his eyes. His first NHL hat trick and it had to be the game where Montreal miserably lost 3-6.

The post-game interview was what Ilya expected.

“Did Hollander hollander his way to shanehollander through hollandering the Hollander?”

Ilya gave his usual charming, cocky answers and fled the media room as soon as he could. Not that he didn’t like the media attention but he had somewhere to be. He also dodged the going out invite with just wagging his eyebrows when asked what his plans were.

Ilya was home for 45 mins when his phone finally made a noise.

Jane: Sorry, Coach yelled at us at tape review. My head is ringing. I will shower and then take a cab over. I think like 35 mins?

Ilya: Okay.

Jane: I don’t want to be a burden but do you have food by chance? Coach wouldn’t let us eat during review and I’m starving. The others are going out but I don’t wanna go with them today.

Ilya: I will order, what do you want?

Jane: Whatever you like is good. I just need protein, veggies and carbs.

Ilya: Okay.

Jane: Thank you. I will pay.

Ilya: You forgot I am a millionaire?

Jane: Right, sorry.

Ilya: What did I say about sorry?

Jane: Sorry, I will stop.

Ilya gave up on correcting him again in fear he would just get more sorrys out of him. He got his phone out and called the Thai place down the block to get some stir fry with rice and egg fried noodles with extra chicken. He also got some egg rolls.

The food arrived five minutes before his evening plans. He opened the door to a stressed looking Hollander.

“Hi," Ilya greeted him.

“Hi.” Hollander was on him before he even took his shoes off.

“Hollander, do you not want food?” Ilya barely remember what food he ordered.

“Gimme a second!” Hollander sank to his knees, hooking his fingers in Ilya’s waistband, looking up at him. “Can I…?”

Ilya was too stunned to speak, he was only able to nod. Hollander pulled his pants and boxers down and took Ilya’s semi-hard dick in his mouth. That wasn’t what Ilya expected when Hollander said he was starving but he wasn’t about to complain.

Hollander seemed to be determined to suck Ilya’s brain straight out of his dick. Any remaining brain cells had no chance to take control of the situation. He was slightly bent over Hollander, gripping at his shoulder to not lose his balance.

“Fuck Hollander, what…” He wasn’t able to finish his sentence. Hollander bopped his head even faster until Ilya felt his dick bump against his throat, Hollander gagging slightly. “Hollander, I will…” That was all the warning he got out before his whole body shuddered as he came down Hollander’s throat.

Hollander let Ilya’s dick glide out of his mouth with a little pop and pulled his clothes back on. Ilya was still trying to catch his breath leaning against the wall, while Hollander stared at the floor between them.

“Sorry, I didn’t wanna jump you again but I…” He trailed off.

Ilya looked at him in disbelief, his mouth parted.

“You really need to stop with sorry.” Ilya grabbed his jaw to force eye contact between them.

“I should have asked what you wanted to do first.” Hollander seemed mad at himself.

“You asked if you can, I nodded.” Ilya had exactly zero problems with how he was greeted.

“But you always ask what I want.” Hollander finally looked at him, a frown tugging at his mouth.

Ilya couldn’t tell him that he would probably do anything that Hollander asked of him in the bedroom so there was no real point in asking.

“I promise, I will tell you if I do not want to do something. You have to trust me that I will stop you.” He stepped closer to press his body against Hollander. “Is very sexy when you jump me like that. So eager for me.”

Hollander flushed pink under his freckles and looked away again.

“Still starving?” Ilya asked.

“Yeah. What did you get?” That seemed to lighten Hollander’s spirits.

“You want stir fry or egg fried noodles?” He would have to fight him to get all the egg rolls.

“Both?” Hollander asked with a small smile

“Okay.” Ilya led him into the open living space. His white and grey marbled kitchen had a big island with six sleek, wooden bar stools on the other side. A glass wall partially separated the kitchen from the living space with its giant dark grey sofa and a wall mounted TV over the modern fireplace.

“Sit.” He gestured at a bar stool at the kitchen island.

Ilya divided the dishes onto two plates and handed one to Hollander. He put the egg rolls on an extra plate and sat it between their stools.

“Drink?” Ilya opened his fridge.

“Do you have ginger ale?” Hollander asked.

“No, coke or water.” Ilya doubted alcohol was a good idea today, so he abstained from mentioning the vodka in his freezer

“I’ll take water then.”

Ilya got himself a coke and pushed the water bottle to Hollander before plopping down next to him.They ate in silence for a while, Hollander not much happier than before the food.

“This is really good, thank you for ordering.” Hollander hummed happily while taking the next bite of egg roll.

“No problem.” Ilya paused. “Why did you not want to eat with team?”

“Uhhh… I don’t think I…” Hollander stammered.

“Hollander, you said, you did not want to eat and then jumped me.” He could have just let it go but something didn't sit right with Ilya.

“You said you liked that,” Hollander almost whispered.

“I did. Does not mean I am not worried,” Ilya said before he could stop himself.

Hollander sighed deeply. “During the tape review a couple of guys from the third and fourth line tried to make me look bad, saying I hogged the puck and didn’t switch shifts fast enough for them to get their chances.”

“What did your coach say?” Ilya asked, knowing LeClaire wouldn't let something like that fly.

“That’s actually when he started yelling." He stabbed the noodles. "At them not at me. Roy also jumped in with a list of what they need to improve on. But the mood was so shitty afterwards and I feel like I caused the problem.” 

“You know is not your fault, right? You scored hat trick! None of them scored.” Ilya was getting annoyed and it wasn't even his own team.

“It feels like my fault,” Hollander admitted barely audible.

Ilya was stabbing his own noodles. “I do not like your team.”

“It’s just a few of them, most of them are not like that.” Hollander defended his team as if they hadn't just made him run to Ilya.

“Is enough to make you feel bad after fucking hat trick.” Ilya felt deeply agitated by now.

“Sorry, I fully ruined the evening." Hollander got up from his chair. "I should just go, this is not why you invited me over.”

He turned to walk towards the apartment door. Before he could get far, Ilya was behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“You did not ruin anything. We also did not say why you came over. But I have ideas if you want to hear.”

Hollander exhaled. “Yeah, sure.”

Ilya got close to his ear, dropping his voice low. “You had beautiful hat trick tonight. How about… one orgasm for each goal?”

Hollander turned his head towards Ilya, the big doe eyes even wider than usual.

“I don’t know if I can come that often. Twice felt like a lot already and it has only…” He stopped himself.

“Yes?”

The flush was back. “It has only happened with you.”

Ilya’s eyebrows involuntarily shot up. “Well, then maybe three can happen with me, too.” Ilya let his teeth run over Hollander’s neck.

“If I die from this, just promise, you will blame the egg rolls.”

Ilya threw his head back, his laugh echoed through the whole penthouse.

“Promise. Bedroom?” Hollander took his hand and followed him to the master bedroom.

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed.” Hollander did just that, folding his shirt and sweatpants as well as his boxer briefs. “Socks, too.”

Hollander was spread out in front of him on the king sized bed. Ilya took inventory of what was in front of him. Hollander had a light flush under his tan skin, his dick was laying fairly plump against his abs. Ilya planned to make him look positively wrecked after he was finished, so it was good to get the before memorized.

Ilya took his time taking his clothes off. He didn’t exactly do a striptease but he got as close as he could without music and dancing. Hollander’s jaw was hanging slightly slack as he was propped up on his elbows to watch him. Ilya pushed down his pants and squeezed himself through his underwear before taking it off, too.

“Fuck, you look like a marble statue. Where to start? Decisions, decisions.” Ilya's voice purred while he crawled on top of Hollander. He already had a plan but Hollander didn’t need to know that.

“Kiss me?” Hollander’s eyes were sparkling, his breath shallow.

Ilya dipped his head down to meet Hollander’s lips. His tongue demanded entrance into Hollander’s mouth, dipping in and out, brushing against the other tongue, gliding over his teeth. Hollander went pliant under him, his hands in Ilya’s curls, pulling Ilya into him like he would die if he was anywhere else but right under him. Hollander let his own tongue roam, running the tip over Ilya’s lower lip, sucking on it while letting out a filthy moan.

Ilya was close to losing control again just from kissing. He had a plan though, he needed to gather himself. He kissed his way down Hollander’s jaw to devour his neck. He could feel the goosebumps against his tongue. Hollander let out more of his dirty, little noises that drove Ilya insane.

“I’m gonna suck you, even harder than you did me,” Ilya whispered right into his ear.

“Fuuuck!” Hollander’s voice was shaking, the grip in Ilya’s hair tightened.

Ilya slowly made his way down Hollander’s body, not without stopping to give his nipples some attention and lightly bite the underside of his pecs. When he arrived at his destination, Hollander’s dick was fully rigid and leaking against his abs.

“You said you only get wet sometimes?” he teased.

“Yeah, well, now is sometimes.”

Hollander could be such a little brat sometimes. Ilya filed that for another time. He was on a mission to get his own hat trick tonight.

He licked up the precum off of Hollander’s abs, making Hollander shiver, earning him a deep groan. He took Hollander in his hand, pressing his tongue into his slit. Hollander’s eyes were screwed shut, his head tilted back. Ilya stopped until Hollander had his eyes back on him.

“You better watch," Ilya demanded, "for your research.”

Ilya closed his lips around the head of his cock sliding down the whole length until his nose was buried in the small patch of black hair at the base.

“Shit, that’s so hot!” Hollander mumbled, his pupils fully consuming the deep, glossy brown of his eyes. He was panting through his swollen lips.

Ilya swallowed around him, gaining a few new noises for his catalogue. He started going up and down the full length of Hollander’s dick, making sure to flatten and press his tongue against it, using just the right amount of teeth to make Hollander go crazy. His eyes never left Ilya, though, like he told him to. Ilya was more affected by that than he would ever admit.

He sped up, one of his hands curling around Hollander’s balls, rolling them around. They felt firm and heavy, the perfect size in Ilya’s hand. He wanted to take them in his mouth, but it was pretty occupied at the moment.

“Aaaah, fu… Roz, I’m so… fuckfuckfuck… OOOOOOHHHHH!” Hollander’s cum filled Ilya’s mouth up quick, too quick, he was struggling to swallow it all down. Some of it dribbled out of the side of his mouth. He sucked every last drop out of Hollander then released him.

Ilya grinned widely at him. “One.”

“Oh Jesus, you are serious about the hat trick? I’m already a little dead, not gonna lie.” Then, he focused on Ilya. “I need to know how you take me so deeply, my gag reflex is so annoying.”

He wasn’t even fully back in his brain - hell, Ilya was still recovering - and he was already thinking about how to improve his blowjobs even more. Ilya felt a fuse in his brain blow, it felt irreparable. He let out a small but soft laugh.

“It helps if you go slow,” Ilya provided, trying not to look too amused. “It also helps to breathe through your nose and hum if necessary.”

Hollander looked very seriously at him and nodded. It took everything Ilya had to not bite his still flushed cheeks.

“Ready for next round?” Ilya was pretty sure, they both needed a longer break but it didn’t hurt to ask.

Hollander let out a long breath. “So you are trying to kill me.” He paused. “Maybe we go slower for round two. What do you want to do?”

“I will go slower but no spoilers,” Ilya decided.

“Okay.” Hollander’s expression went ever so slightly blank. This was the first time Ilya didn’t tell him what was going to happen. 

“Do you want to know?” Ilya was unsure of what to do. He thought it might be a fun surprise but judging by Hollander’s face, he might have guessed wrong.

Hollander took a moment before looking directly at Ilya. “No, I’m nervous but I trust you. And you will stop if I say stop.” It wasn’t a question. Ilya still nodded in response.

Ilya shifted to lay on top of him, flattening Hollander securely into the mattress. He gave him a soft kiss, just his lips pressing on Hollander’s for a moment before pulling back. A silent promise to take care of him.

Hollander craned his neck up to kiss Ilya back. They were going deliberately slow, carefully mapping out each other's mouths with their lips and tongues. Hollander’s one hand was running through Ilya’s curls over his scalp, making Ilya let out a tiny, desperate whine that Hollander swallowed. The other was down at Ilya’s ass, kneading it thoroughly. The calluses on his muscular hand were scraping over Ilya’s cheek, electrifying every millimeter they were touching. Ilya was pressing his butt back into his hand like a cat desperate for scratches.

“Your ass is so… how the fuck is it so hard and soft at the same time? I can’t stop squeezing it.” Hollander was rambling all of a sudden.

“Hockey does great job." Ilya shrugged, not mentioning his extensive weight lifting regime.

“You can’t tell me that’s just hockey. You can’t tell me other players have similar asses,” Hollander said in disbelief.

“You do not look in the locker room or shower?” Ilya wasn’t sure if he wanted to know but he had to ask anyway.

Hollander shook his head vigorously. “No, that just feels wrong. I don’t think of my teammates like that.”

“You looked at me in the shower.” Oh had he looked.

“That was… different. Have you seen yourself? It’s very hard not to look, okay? Not my fault. And you wanted me to look!” His face was all scrunched up, looking mildly upset at Ilya.

“Maybe,” Ilya answered.

“Maybe,” Hollander repeated, imitating Ilya’s tone of voice. Ilya gave his pec a warning squeeze.

“Do you want me to show you what I think of your ass?” Ilya decided it was time for round two.

“Oh?” Hollander let out, his eyes flickering fast between Ilya’s eyes like that would give him an answer.

“Oh.” He rolled off of Hollander and tapped his hip. “On your stomach," he said in a calm tone, covering his excitement. 

Hollander did as he was told. Ilya tapped his hip again, placing a pillow under it. 

He kissed his way down Hollander’s spine, leaving a wet spot over each vertebra. When he reached his ass, he kissed the left cheek and then playfully bit the right one.

“Hey! No marks, please," Hollander reminded him.

“Okay, you asked so nicely.” Ilya pushed Hollander’s well trained thighs apart, placing himself between them. He said a silent prayer to whoever decided to give Hollander this ass. And thighs. And back. And shoulders. And arms. And face... Fuck.

Ilya spread Hollander’s cheeks apart and gave the center one long lick across the whole length he could reach. Hollander buried his face in the pillow he grabbed, muffling the beautiful sound he just made.

“Hollander, I want to hear you," Ilya commanded in a firm but gentle tone. Hollander nodded, turning his face to the side, his whole face down his neck now flushed.

Ilya went in a second time, this time completely unhurried. The beautiful sound was back, filling the bedroom from floor to ceiling.

“Okay?” Ilya checked in.

“If you don’t continue, I might actually kill you with an egg roll.” Hollander huffed.

Ilya was not about to lose his life to fried food. He had a couple of years left for that, McGriddles will be his beautiful demise somewhere in the future. So Ilya went back in, confidently circling the rim with the tip of his tongue, lapping over his hole in thick strokes. He poked and prodded until his tongue could breach the tight ring of muscle. With each nudge he got in a tiny bit deeper. Hollander was vibrating under him, a thin layer of sweat building up on his spine. He looked like he was dangerously close to ripping the pillow in his arms apart. His moans steadily increased in volume, his face contorted with lust. Ilya’s saliva coated Hollander’s entrance thickly, it was running down his chin as well. Hollander was rocking his hip back into Ilya’s face, giving his now throbbing dick some friction against the pillow under him. Ilya used the lubrication of his spit to add one of his fingers to the mix then another. He scissored Hollander open, leaving more room for his tongue to plunge in and out.

Seeing Hollander like this for him, just for him, was driving him wild. The stoic, determined hockey prodigy that checked you into the boards with full force just to score the most outrageous goal two seconds later was a whimpering mess, clinging onto a throw pillow for dear life, trusting Ilya to make him feel good.

Ilya was curling his fingers to find Hollander’s prostate, fucking him with his hand while his tongue was still running over the rim.

There was no word of warning from Hollander this time, he hadn't said a single word since he threatened Ilya with the egg roll. He was humping the pillow while fucking himself back onto Ilya’s fingers. His full body went taut, a yell ripping out of him when his orgasm crashed over him. His muscles were spasming uncontrollably, his asshole squeezing Ilya’s fingers. Then everything in him visibly relaxed all at once. 

Ilya waited for another minute before carefully extracting his fingers, wiping them off quickly on the sheets. He ran a soothing hand over Hollander’s back, placing soft kisses on his shoulders and neck.

“You are okay?” 

“T…”

“What?”

“Two.”

Ilya froze for a second. Did he just…? Ilya’s whole body was shaking from trying not to laugh.

“I ruined your pillow, sorry." Hollander lifted his head in Ilya's direction. "Probably two of them.”

Ilya couldn’t hold back anymore, he dropped beside Hollander and started gleefully cackling. Hollander turned his head and gave Ilya a devious smirk. This wasn’t over.

“You think you can take another round?” Ilya challenged.

“Rozanov, you said three rounds, so we are going to do three round," and before Ilya could move, “but I need a break. I think all my insides just shot out of my dick.”

“Water?” Ilya made a mental note to get ginger ale for the next time.

“I take the coke now, thank you.” Hollander closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress.

Ilya got up to saunter in the kitchen. He pulled two cokes out of the stainless steel fridge and got straws as well.

“Silly straws? Really?” Hollander scoffed.

“Is not silly, is fun! You need more whimsy in your life, is boring otherwise,” Ilya explained to him earnestly.

“That’s the name for them, they are called ‘silly straws’,” Hollander clarified.

“Not silly in this house. It is this straw or no straw,” Ilya continued.

“Fine. I don't wanna sit up. I’ll take the straw of whimsy." Hollander stabbed the straw into his can.

“Good boy.” It slipped out before Ilya could stop it. Hollander looked like he didn’t mind at all, though. That went straight into his this will be useful another time folder next to Hollander is not so secretly a brat. 

They emptied their cokes, Ilya sat both cans to the side. He climbed back on top of Hollander, who was still laying on his stomach sans the ruined pillow. He kissed his shoulder blade and then nibbled on the top of his shoulder.

“Round three?” Ilya said against his neck he was now peppering with kisses. Hollander pressed his ass up into Ilya’s pelvis, wiggling it against his hardening cock.

“Mhm, round three.” His voice was rough around the edges, all the moaning and yelling taking its toll.

Ilya maneuvered them so that Hollander was on his hands and knees at the edge of the bed. He grabbed the lube and a condom and coated his fingers. He could very easily slide in one finger, so he instantly added a second one. Hollander was still fairly loose from round two. That didn’t stop Ilya from prepping him further.

Hollander’s spine curved down, his head thrown back when Ilya added a third finger. 

“Rozanov, I’m… fuck… I’m ready, come on.” He rocked back against him, getting impatient.

“Mmm, I want to make sure.” Ilya curved his fingers towards Hollander’s prostate, making his arms buckle. He was down on his elbows, giving Ilya even better access. The view was spectacular. Ilya stroked himself a few times. Not to get hard, he was more than hard enough, but just to not go prematurely insane.

“Please, Roz. I need more,” Hollander whimpered and who was Ilya to deny him.

His hands were shaky when he rolled on the condom and slicked himself up. He put one foot on the bed, his stance a few degrees wider than usual. He lined himself up, only tapping against Hollander’s entrance for now. The other hand was on Hollander’s hip, stabilizing them both.

“Ready?” He tried to hide the tinge of desperation in his voice. How he waited until round three to enter Hollander was beyond him and now his whole body was screaming at him.

“Yeah, fuck me.” Hollander didn’t shy away from the desperation in his own voice.

Ilya pressed in. He was welcomed by the tight, slick heat of Hollander around him. He thought the first time was already a revelation but after seeing Hollander go two rounds and still be so eager for Ilya to fuck him, feeling like this, was beyond anything Ilya could have imagined. He bottomed out, reveling in the feeling of being so deep in Hollander.

“Fuck, Hollander, you feel so good. You take it so well. Round three will be your favorite when I am done.” He really needed the second to calm himself more than anything.

“Show me then.” Hollander rocked back and forth, urging Ilya with his body to continue.

Ilya put both of his hands on Hollander’s hips, gripping to still him. Hollander turned his head to glare at Ilya who decided it was the perfect time to thrust into him hard, punching a moan out of him. Hollander pushed his elbows deeper into the mattress, his hips firmly lifted up towards Ilya.

Ilya continued thrusting into him with an unforgiving rhythm, the air filled with the filthy sounds coming out their mouths and their skin slapping against each other.

“Rozanov, Jesus! Har... harder! FUCK!” Hollander barely got the words out but the instructions were clear.

Ilya slid one hand down his back to place it between his shoulder blades, hammering into Hollander like there was no tomorrow.

“Yes, like that! God, Roz… aahhhhh! Fuck yes!”

Hollander used the full range of motion he had in this position to meet each and every one of Ilya’s thrusts. Ilya felt his orgasm building low in his belly, his abs tightening.

“I’m gonna… fuck, Hollander, are you…?” Ilya was nowhere near forming full sentences anymore.

“I’m close… so close. Don’t stop!” Hollander's practically shouted.

“Come for me! Now!” The desperation was no longer concealable.

All of Ilya’s focus narrowed down on Hollander, how his body was shaking, how powerful he thrusted back at him, how his body was taking all of him and still could take more. There seemed to be no limit on what he could handle from Ilya at this moment, completely surrendering while enveloping Ilya fully. Ilya had nowhere to go anymore. His orgasm took over, he managed another two or three thrusts before his hips stuttered, emptying himself into the condom. His hips spasmed, pressing in deep one last time and this was when Hollander finally tumbled over the edge as well.

Ilya’s brain was hazy, trying to comprehend what just happened but failed in the end. Round three was definitely Ilya’s favorite. He collapsed with his upper body against Hollander’s back, taking a part of his weight from his shaky legs and trying to catch his breath.

“Good job,” Hollander’s thick voice rang out under him.

“You, too.” He huffed out a small laugh. He kissed the hand print that was still marginally visible between his shoulders and hopefully wouldn’t leave a mark. It would be really hard to explain that one.

Ilya pulled out, Hollander hissing at the loss. Ilya got rid of the condom and laid on his side, pulling Hollander in to be his little spoon while they both came down.

“I really need a shower,” Hollander said after a couple of minutes of blissful silence.

“Me too." Ilya made no attempt to move.

“I really can’t do a round four.” Hollander turned his head towards Ilya, looking at him with a slight shock in his eyes.

“Is just for cleaning." Ilya stroked down Hollander's side. "Calm down, Hollander.”

They got into the shower and cleaned each other carefully, lazily making out in between. Ilya fully sank into the moment. The last couple of weeks had been rough and Hollander made everything just a little brighter and lighter. For an impossibly difficult thing on paper, it felt incredibly easy to be around him.

Ilya knew this was leading nowhere. Even if he wasn’t from a country that he couldn’t return to with… this … there was also the fact they were playing in a sport riddled with bigots and he was relying on his work visa to stay away from his family’s grasps. And that was just the consequences for him, never mind the amount of shit Hollander would get. Hollander, who would have to be interested in anything besides fucking in the first place, which seemed unlikely.

He pushed the thoughts aside. He would just take what was presented to him. Someone to fuck, someone to challenge, someone to have fun with. These were all things Ilya deeply needed, he hated how much he needed that, and he was not one to complicate any of this. Maybe they could even be friends with time.

Ilya changed his sheets while Hollander was collecting his things. He dropped down into the fresh sheets when he saw Hollander grimace at his phone.

“They are at the hotel bar at the main entrance and there is no side entrance open this late. Fuck.” Hollander looked defeated.

“You do not want to see them?” Ilya asked even though he kinda knew the answer.

“Not the people at the bar." Hollander scrolled some more through his phone. "Hayden texted me that he went to sleep. He got the pain killers that make him drowsy. Roy and some of the other older guys that are laid back usually are in bed by now or they take off to call their wives and kids.”

“You know you can just stay here, right?” Ilya offered.

“Are you sure?" Hollander looked up from his phone in disbelief. "I would have to get up at 6:30 if I want to be back in the hotel before someone can give me shit.”

Ilya threw himself dramatically into his surviving pillows. “I will complain... but I will survive.” 

“Really?” Hollander asked again.

“Really. Now come here before I text your team some of my thoughts.” Ilya pulled him down against his chest, took his phone out of his hand and plugged the charger in.

“Good night, Rozanov." Hollander snuggled in closer. "And thank you, you made my night a lot better.”

“My pleasure. Good night, Hollander.” He kissed Hollander’s hair softly before they both dozed off.

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• Mario Kart is a whole series. The newest one they could have played here is Mario Kart Wii which was released in NA on April 27, 2008.
• NHL 11 was released in NA on September 7, 2010.
• There have been quiet a few Tim Hortons commercials with hockey players. Here are Sidney Crosby and Nathan MacKinnon working the drive thru. They also made hockey cards.
• Here is a Bruins fan giving the middle finger to another team.
• The hat throwing is actually a tradition in the NHL. Here is an article about the history of the hat trick, which is also a thing in other sports.

Really loving all your comments!

Chapter 6: Europe vs North America? Sure Roger…

Chapter Summary

Shane talks to his therapist about his team and the media. Shane and Ilya go to their first All-Stars game with Shane being *slightly* fed up.

Chapter Notes

Hi :)
Thanks again for the lovely comments and all the kudos, they truly make my day.
Also, someone rec’ed my fic on reddit and then deleted their comment and their whole account… if you see this, thank you anyway, lol.
The short french part has a translation, you can either hover over it or look at the bottom notes. Or you just go with "Shane does a French monologue to fuck with the person and it's nothing important." deepL translated it for me, my school French has long been dead and buried.

December 2010

“What do you want to talk about today?”

Shane was staring at the rug in Kira’s office. He had a busy week and had no time to prepare for the session.

“Phew… err… I don’t know,” he got out weekly.

“How is it going with your team?” Kira offered.

“Better, kinda." He dragged his shoe over the rug to watch the fibers pop back into place. "Two of the guys that kept talking shit were sent down to the AHL as they weren’t scoring. We got a new defenseman and a promising winger.”

“And how did that change the team?” Kira had her Shane notebook on her lap that was becoming pretty full.

“The new guys seem motivated. JJ - that’s the d-man - is working well with Roy. They got us covered a lot better now. The winger is on the third line, it seems to work well. They also switched my line to first line as we set the game up well a couple of times and it seems to be a better line match for most teams,” Shane explained it all straightforward and factual.

“That sounds promising. So why did you add the kinda?” It was scary how perceptive Kira was but then that’s what he paid her for so he really shouldn’t be surprised.

“A couple of guys that were close to the two leaving are somehow pissed at me." He dragged his shoe in the other direction. "They think coach is doing me favors. First getting rid of the guys that didn’t like me, then switching me to first line, then adding a d-man that actually protects me like coach wants… plus JJ is black and we get along well. I overheard them saying that now the token bitch boy has a token bitch friend.”

“What are your thoughts here?” Shane had trouble to find the right words. “Take your time,” Kira reminded him, patient as ever.

Shane nodded and rubbed his hands against his thighs to ground himself. “I wish I could just ignore them. I know my line earned the switch to first, we scored more than the previous first line and have more endurance. As I said, the lines match better with other first lines in the league. I also didn’t choose for them to be sent down. I’m very glad that they are gone. They just didn’t score and tried to blame other people. One time, they tried to fight with Mitty, our starting goalie, of all people. Like what the fuck do you expect here. And I didn’t choose that JJ came up and is actually using his brain not like the guy that left but…”

Shane paused.

“But?” Kira looked up from her notes.

Shane threw his hands up in frustration. “But I still feel guilty. They still get to me with this shit. What if Coach is actually playing favors and I just don’t see it. What if JJ is just protecting me because I’m also not the same color as the fucking ice and not because you should protect your high scorer? What if I actually was the distraction that caused the fights? Deep down I logically know, I am not but why the fuck does it not arrive in my brain. I keep going over everything, looking for gaps I left but I can’t find anything that caused this and I still can’t stop going over it.”

“Do you want a possible explanation for this?” Kira twirled her pen between her fingers like she always did when she was gearing up for a potential breakthrough.

“Yes. Fuck. Please.” Shane was exhausted and really needed someone to explain this whole mess to him.

“Autism can cause delayed processing." She started drawing something in her notes. "So you may have registered what these guys are doing and not why they are actually doing. On top of that, you are sensitive to logic. You are used to something in your eyes being logical and then working. You shoot harder, it’s more likely that the goalie can’t hold the goal. You don’t fight because the minutes in the penalty box would mean you can’t score etc. etc.”

“And what does that have to do with this?” Shane was lost.

She held up the diagram she had just conjured. “You keep going through the cycle of trying to reason again and again, to find the logic in their actions. That’s how you get stuck and never fully process that in reality, their actions do not have a reasonable logic. You only have the memories saved but not processed. It comes down to them being jealous and very likely bigoted. Instead of fixing their own playing, they get mad at you for succeeding. Someone who they think shouldn’t succeed. It’s pathetic and you won’t find a logic you will understand because how you operate is: you see a lack of skills and you work hard for it, instead of blaming someone else for being better. Am I anywhere close?”

Shane was flooded with a range of emotions. Anger came first. It was followed by grief, a dash of fear and then in the end, relief. He wasn’t alone in having these issues. He was not the problem, at least not here. But that made him circle back to anger.

“It’s not fair they put that on me. I just want to play good hockey.” Shane rubbed the shell of his ear.

“It’s not fair, no." Kira put her notes back into her lap. "And autism tends to come with justice sensitivity, which amplifies the feelings coming with the mistreatment. It doesn’t help that you feel like you are perceived in a wrong way.”

Something cracked open deep in Shane’s chest.

“That’s not just from my teammates, the media keeps reporting every one of my moves. Am I injured? Are there problems with my line? Is the one game I only scored once my demise? Am I the next coming of hockey Jesus because I scored two goals against a mediocre team? Am I secretly a hockey robot developed to score goals because I don’t move my face for five seconds? Will I enter the hockey hall of fame before I even retire? It’s ridiculous, just report on what I’m actually doing, how hard can that be? There is always a box I’m supposed to fit in.”

“It’s no doubt a lot of pressure on you. Some reporters are just doing their jobs and some seem to try to make the most outrageous statements." Kira deflated back into her chair. "I mentioned my period in an interview after a competition once very briefly and I got everything from: ‘Did we reach the end goal of feminism?’ and ‘Why women shouldn’t be allowed in sports.’ I cried for two days, having my period didn’t help.”

Shane snorted. “How do these people still have jobs?”

“I don’t know." Kira straightened up and leaned forward. "The point is, the media circus will always be there and they need to make money somehow, sadly this nonsense sells. You won’t ever have full control but you have a certain level of control on what you give them and what you take from them.”

“I was well media trained, especially by my mom," Shane reflected. "That helps having control in interviews but I also feel like it’s just one boring, polished version of barely me that feels impossible to uphold. I’m supposed to be a role model for kids that look like me but what if I don't want to be inspirational or whatever.”

“That definitely adds pressure. How much do you dislike the role model stuff?” Kira flipped away from the diagram to turn a new page.

“Like a five out of ten? It definitely helped me to see other Asian players but I feel like I can only disappoint in the long run.” Shane didn't know who would be disappointed but he was sure they would find a way to let him know.

“And why do you feel like that?” she inquired.

“I will never be perfect." Shane could feel his gut clenching. "I am really trying but anytime I make a mistake there is someone to pounce on that and I’m not allowed to react. I’m supposed to be gracious that I have the chance, like I didn’t earn it.”

“But you did earn it,” Kira simply stated.

“Yes," Shane confirmed to both of them.

“And it’s okay to not be perfect even if some people look up to you. Or was everyone that you looked up to perfect?” Kira asked pointedly.

“No,” Shane grumbled out, feeling like he walked into a trap of his own making.

“So why should you be?” Kira wouldn't let it go, not that Shane thought she would.

“I don’t know how to show that I’m just a person without that being used against me. If I was perfect, I would not have to think about this shit.”

Any flaw, any point of attack, any wobble was to be avoided if he wanted peace.

“But that’s not the way you want to live, right?” Kira's voice had gone gentle.

“No, it takes up so much brain power to always be aware of everything I say or do when I’m around people.” Shane could often feel his brain starting to melt from the amount of 3D chess it had to do.

“That’s not uncommon for autistic people to experience a hyper-awareness of their social behavior,” Kira explained.

“Great.” He felt bad for being sarcastic but he had no energy to keep it back anymore.

“Shane, you are allowed to feel drained by this." Her voice was far from unkind but still unyielding. "This is not a normal human experience to be watched like this. Autism or not. But we can work on this together, okay? We can make a plan.”

Shane liked a good plan. “Yeah… yeah… but not today, I have no brain power left.”

“Okay, then all we have left for today is your homework.” Kira made a final note before closing the notebook for today.

“Okay, what do I have to do?” Shane pulled out his own notebook for his homework.

“I want you to revisit some of the situations we talked about today. Write them down. Then write an answer letter with what you would have wanted to say. So you can process these thoughts and feelings. No one will see these letters, not even me. You can burn them, shred them, whatever you want. I just need you to write them.”

“That seems like a lot, honestly.” He was already going through the situations, too many to count.

“Yes, don’t worry, you will have some time." She switch the notebook with her calendar. "With Christmas next week, holidays and then me traveling with the figure skating team for the world championships, our next appointment will be the first week of February.”

“I will try.” He would.

“That’s all I need from you.”

___________________________

It was their last home game before Christmas. Shane’s parents were in town to have lunch with him before they played against Detroit. They had planned to drive to Ottawa together right after.

“How is your defense looking for tonight?" Yuna asked after they put in their orders. "Detroit has been playing dirty, I don’t want you injured for Christmas break.” 

“No major injuries. Roy has slight ankle problems -”

“- on his left, yeah, it’s visible,” Yuna interrupted.

“Literally no one saw that except for you, mom. The coaches didn’t know until I made Roy fess up.” Shane looked in disbelief at his mom.

“Your coaches need to pay better attention to your captain then,” Yuna scoffed.

“I tell them to call you next time,” Shane quipped.

“Please do.” The mental image of his mom telling four grown men to improve their ankle watch made Shane chuckle. Yuna chuckled with him.

“Yeah, I don't know how we needed that autism test for you as well, my love. It’s clear where he gets it from,” David interrupted.

Yuna shot him a look. “Don’t forget the potential ADHD even though they can't officially diagnose me with both. They said they covered each other and that’s the reason why I was never diagnosed with either. Not that women of color are highly under diagnosed or anything.”

“You should call your doctor, too, when you are at it,” Shane added.

“Oh, she already told him. Guess why she’s not going back,” David provided.

“Well, if I need more help, I think he has reached his capacity. No loss there.” Yuna took a swig out of her wine glass. 

David looked around for the waiter. “Anyone think we will get our food soon? I've been starving ever since I read about the ravioli on the menu.”

___________________________

His mom was right once again. Detroit was playing fucking dirty. They were prepared for this.

At least they thought so.

When teams had gone dirty this season, they usually targeted Shane or their second line center Schneider, a gangly German that was second highest in the teams scoring.

Detroit had other plans though. They took the people who would usually assist them in the crossfire. For Shane’s line that meant Hayden. Beaulier was burlier than Shane or Hayden and was good at absorbing and giving out hits, usually not much affected by being a target. But Hayden…

He was shorter and lighter than Shane. He was also slower. He was scrappy against the boards and always found Shane to set him up for a goal. But that was all null and void if he wasn’t able to move. They were in the middle of the second period when Shane got fed up at how no one was calling this bullshit. Hayden gritted his teeth.

“It’s fine." Hayden winced when he tried to twist his upper body. "You just have to break away and then you don’t need the assist. They are so focused on me. I have seen you do that plenty of times.”

Detroit had as well and they had blocked his previous attempts, except for one. When he heard something crunch during the next hit, he almost lost it. Steam was coming out of his ears while the combined voice of his coaches reminded him:

You are the top scorer. You do not get into fights. You cannot get hurt. We need you somewhere else. Let others take care of this. You can’t act like that. Any minute in the sin bin is a minute wasted. We don’t train you to fight, we train you to sink the puck in the net.

Shane was so fucking tired of that today. He checked on Hayden when they got back on the bench.

“Just the shoulder, I can get that taped up in the intermission," Hayden tried to calm him. "Nothing too bad, will bruise like a bitch though.” 

Their line wasn’t sent out for the rest of the period, leaving Shane in the dangerous position of thinking. He wasn’t supposed to start a fight but…

The third period began and Shane started out again.

“Hey, Pike looks kinda rough, anything happened?” The Detroit center asked with a humorless smirk on his lips.

Shane focused down. The puck dropped and he set his plan into action. Be as annoying as he could, like a mosquito you can’t find in the middle of the night. He skated close to the people that targeted Hayden, trying to distract them from him. He was offering himself up just to then be too fast to be caught.

He knew he was playing with fire. Hayden scored off of Beaulier who Detroit had basically ignored for a whole period while Shane grinned widely. One of the Detroit defenseman got absolutely furious, dropping his gloves and lunging at Shane. He simply skated to his left and the defenseman fell flat on his face. The second d-man dropped his gloves as well, Shane couldn’t escape that one. He got a hit in against Shane’s helmet and Shane pushed him off, Beaulier already in action to pull the Detroit player off of him.

They both got a hefty penalty, giving Montreal a power play and Detroit a weak defense for the last five minutes. Shane, Schneider and Schneider’s wing Andropov took the power play after Desjardins gave him a warning look. He didn’t comment on Shane’s tactic as it had worked but Shane was sure he would get at least a stern talk afterwards. Andy scored off of a combined play from Shane and Schneids much to the chagrin of Detroit. They played down the clock of the game and won 3-2. The coach called him out of the locker room which was unusual for Shane to say the least.

“If you pull something like this, at least talk to me before! That could have gone way worse!” His coach was red in the face now.

“I couldn’t let them target Hayden anymore. One more hit and we would have needed a stretcher," Shane tried to explain.

“That’s not your job, we have enforcers for that.” Desjardins spat out through his grinding teeth.

“Okay, so why didn’t they do it then?” Shane snapped back.

Desjardins leaned in closer. “They had instructions to project you and Schneids.” 

Shane was kinda lost on what to do here. He outplayed them, got them off of Hayden and got them the win in the power play. It was also a bit stupid to not inform his coach or line on his plan. He knew it was the right play but he also got too tunnel visioned and took a risk he shouldn’t take.

“I’m sorry coach, won’t happen again.” A wave of shame over the recklessness crashed over him.

“It better not, or you can say goodbye to the first line.” His coach turned on his heels and went back into the locker room.

The reactions to Shane’s little stunt were, as always, mixed. But this time, he saw the flaw in his thinking and could not shake off the negative voices as easily. He turned the whole play over and over in his head, even though no one spoke of it after they came back from Christmas break. Or they wouldn’t have if Shane weren’t named an All-Star in his rookie season next to Roy.

“Ah, so you put on a little show and now you get All-Stars in your rookie season,” Gagnon from the fourth line shot at him across the locker room.

“You could just congratulate us, you know,” Roy shot back.

“Congrats, Roy!” Gagnon barked out.

Shane’s frustration was bubbling over. Before he could do something stupid, his phone pinged.

Lily: Can’t stay away from me? ;)

Lily: [image of All-Star player rosters with Shane and Ilya suspiciously placed next to each other even though neither their first names, last names or team names were close in the alphabet]

Shane: Oh great, you got in, too?

Shane: Of course you did, forget I asked.

Lily: Do not pull Detroit stunt against Team Europe. We cannot handle this.

Lily: Or if you do, make sure you stick by my side :)

Shane: What do you mean, Team Europe?

Lily: They did not tell you? Is Team Europe vs Team North America.

Shane: But the last five years has been East vs West?

Lily: They changed this year.

Shane: What why?

Shane: It’s not…

Lily: Oh yes.

Shane: ARE THEY SERIOUS?

Lily: NHL is always serious, would never pull a stunt to put two rookies on different teams.

Lily: PR rep already gave me a call for press conference.

Shane: I wanted to play with you :( 

Shane: You would be so good as my wing.

Lily: You would be my wing???

Shane: We could have settled that if they just let us fucking play together.

Lily: I have other ideas to play with you.

Shane: You are so annoying.

Lily: I think you like it :)

Shane: Ugh, fine, I like it, whatever.

Shane: See you in Nashville :)

___________________________

Shane looked at the itinerary again during their layover in Chicago. Yep, there it was. Press conference at 10 a.m. tomorrow, just him and Rozanov. The league wasn’t really subtle.

“So, you and Rozanov…” Roy started in a low tone.

Shane’s head shot up to look at his captain.

“The league is really trying to push this rivalry. Can’t believe they came up with all that to put you up against each other,” Roy continued.

Oh… that ‘you and Rozanov’.

“Yeah, they are obsessed with us. There are hundreds of players in the NHL, it feels so weird that they orchestrated that around us.” Shane kicked away a lone pebble on the ground.

“You don’t like the attention?” Roy asked.

“What gave you the impression I would?” Shane stared at him confused.

“I’m joking, I know you don’t like when the press goes crazy.” Roy clapped him on the back. “Our flight is finally on the board, let’s go.”

___________________________

They arrived late in Nashville, everyone already back from dinner in the hotel bar. Shane ordered a burger off the bar menu and sank into the booth. He felt the padded bench shake when someone threw themselves next to him.

“Roy! Hollander! Nice of you to finally join us.” Marleau sat down next to him, while Rozanov slid into the booth next to Roy.

“Our flight got delayed in Chicago.” Roy looked around for the waiter, the delay making his stomach grumble audibly.

Shane tried not to look at Rozanov. He failed spectacularly. Rozanov was wearing a relatively simple black shirt with the buttons open to show off his golden cross he always wore. It fit tightly around his shoulders and he had rolled up his sleeves to show off his forearms. Shane tried not to think too hard about how strong these forearms could grip-

“You are stealing Marly from me, is not fair.” Rozanov interrupted Shane’s thoughts with a playful outrage but the glimmer in his eyes told Shane he had noticed where his mind had just gone seconds ago.

“Well, we will show him how to play with a proper center for once,” Shane countered, trying to cover the flutter in his stomach.

Marly loudly laughed. “Hollzy, didn’t know you were like this, you are always so nice in interviews.”

Roy jumped in. “He usually is as nice as he is in the interview, you really have to provoke him.”

“What did Rozy do to you then?” Marly prodded.

Well, last time I was really sad he made me come three times, the third time so hard I could not have told you my name or what country I’m in. He also gave me free Thai food.

Shane shrugged. “I know Boston likes to chirp, this is just a courtesy to accommodate the Bostonian culture.”

“You are funny, Hollzy. Why didn’t anyone tell me that?” Marleau looked at him with a sense of wonder, like Shane actually being funny equaled someone telling him about people having walked on the moon before.

“Just don’t tell anyone, wouldn’t want the media to get any wrong ideas that I do have a personality.” Shane rolled his eyes, making the whole table laugh.

The waiter arrived with their food and drinks. They talked some more with Roy telling the table stories about previous All-Star games as it was the first for the rest of them.

“... and then we lost the guys from Chicago somewhere between the third club and the afterparty 24/7 diner. They were found in Vermont on a maple farm the next day. They got an endorsement deal from that somehow,” Roy told an amused table.

Rozanov stretched dramatically next to Roy. “Is late, I go to bed now. Long day tomorrow. See you at ten, Hollander, yes?”

“Yeah, sure,” Shane muttered.

Did that mean they wouldn’t see each other tonight? Shane tried to not look sad.

“See you on the ice, Roy!” Marleau exclaimed before they both headed to the elevator.

Roy finished his beer. “I will head up, too. I want to see my room, the check-in lady said she gave me an extra nice one.”

Shane raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, rookie." Roy let out a dry laugh. "You will know when to take favors from fans and when not to. Nice hotel rooms are high up on the yes list. Let’s go.”

They tipped the staff generously and went through the lobby, Roy giving a nod to a couple of players just arriving. They were in the elevator when his phone pinged. He had a feeling who it might be and ignored it. He excited the elevator on floor twelve, saying good night to Roy who got a room on the top floor.

Lily: My room has door to room next to me. Does not look very good against noise.

Shane opened the door to his room and immediately frowned at the similar setup presented to him.

Shane: Fuck, I also have a connecting door in mine. 

Shane: I don’t know if anyone is next to me though, I just arrived.

Lily: I hear my neighbor. Nooooo :(( 

Shane: Different teams, now this :(

Lily: I can get a new room, maybe?

Shane: Hotel is booked out, I saw someone having to send their parents to a different hotel because they were overbooked.

Lily: How quiet can you be?

Shane: How quiet can YOU be?

Lily: Quieter than you!

Shane: You are too blame for that.

Lily: :) 

Shane: Just come over anyway? I haven’t heard anything from the room next to me.

Shane: 1222

Lily: …

Shane: What?

Lily: Unlock door to next room.

Shane: What???

There was a click and then a knock at the connecting door. Shane froze for a second before he unlocked his side. The door swung open, the door frame filled with a very familiar, broad Russian hockey menace.

“You gotta be kidding me,” is all Shane got out before Rozanov crowded him against the next wall. His mouth was on him instantaneously, devouring him like he had been in the desert for a month and Shane was the first drink of water he was offered.

“Missed me?” Shane teased.

“Maybe.” Rozanov pushed his hips into Shane making clear how much he missed him. Shane pulled him back in for a kiss, hot and hurried, his hands roaming down to grab Rozanov’s ass and pull him in tighter. Rozanov let out a choked groan. 

“What do you want to do tonight?” he asked between kisses.

“Tomorrow will be a long day, so maybe just one round today?” Shane asked almost shyly.

Rozanov nodded. “Yes, okay. I have idea for tomorrow.”

“Do you want to share that idea?” Shane angled his head to kiss along Rozanov's jawline.

“If you win tomorrow, you decide what we do at night. And if I win, I decide. Yes?” Rozanov turned his head to lock lips again.

“Okay, yes,” Shane mumbled against his lips.

“Now take off your clothes,” Rozanov commanded.

“Charming.” Shane pulled off his shirt.

“Always.” Rozanov did the same.

They got out of their clothes, Shane pulling Rozanov on top of him on the bed. They continued to make out, Rozanov fully covering Shane’s body with his.

“Can I suck you off?” Shane asked breathlessly.

“You want to see if you can take me deeper,” Rozanov quipped.

Shane’s face was on fire, he was sure it was red as a tomato. He looked at the ceiling trying to avoid Rozanov at any cost even though 95% of his body was touching Rozanov.

“I want to be good at this, okay? I just want to make this good for you, too, is that so bad?” He felt a slight panic coming over him. He did it again, saying out loud how insecure he was in this sometimes. He just needed to shut his mouth for once, this couldn’t keep happening. He wanted to bury himself so deep into the mattress that he was one with it. 

Rozanov didn’t say anything. 

Oh god, this was worse than he thought. He braced himself for being ridiculed for being such a loser that wants nothing more than to improve his blowjob skills.

Rozanov stroked Shane’s hair now.

“Hollander, listen to me. Is not bad at all. Is very… admirable you want to make this good for me,” he reassured him.

Shane risked a glance back at him. There was no mockery in his face or his tone. He felt himself relax.

“So you don’t think I’m a loser?” Shane asked before he could think better of it.

“I think you will lose tomorrow, yes. But I do not think you are loser. I do not fuck losers.” His smirk was back. “Now, do you want to try how far you can get me in? I’m curious. Really, really curious.”

He rubbed his erection against Shane’s thigh to underline the curiosity. Shane rolled them over in one swift motion, pinning Rozanov to the bed. Rozanov made no move, seemingly enjoying the experience.

“Just, don’t move your hips, okay? I don’t want to throw up on you.” Great, that was something worth mentioning.

“I am not into someone vomiting on my dick, I will stay still.” Rozanov's eyes had a twinkle of amusement behind them.

“Good thing we cleared that up.” Shane rolled his eyes, more at himself really.

He kissed his way down Rozanov’s body until he reached his dick. Fuck, he was bigger than Shane remembered. The last couple of times, he was sort of in a haze and also only half trying to take him deep. It was more about getting him into his mouth, tasting him, getting him off.

This time, he set himself a challenge. And he was not one to back down.

He started slowly, easing them both into it. He swiped the precum from Rozanov’s slit with his tongue then swirled it around the head, coating it thoroughly with saliva. Rozanov had a hand in his hair, not forcing him down, just connecting there, twirling Shane’s short strands lazily. Shane closed his lips around him sliding about half down before stopping. He made an effort to breathe through his nose and actually go slow, suppressing the need to have all of Rozanov down his throat now.

“You are doing so well. Relax for me, you can do this. So pretty.” Rozanov kept a constant stream of encouragement, some of it in Russian but the tone stayed the same honey-like texture. Shane should have probably felt embarrassed that he felt better with the pep talk Rozanov was giving but his brain was too focused and simultaneously too far gone to register any shame. 

He moved further down in increments, around three quarters deep he tried to hum. Rozanov’s abs and thighs went rigid.

“Humming maybe not so good,” is all he got out.

Shane pulled up, hovering over him. “Did you not like it?”

“Is very hard to stay still when you hum. It… vibrates.” Rozanov's throat bopped when he swallowed.

Shane nodded and got back into it, sinking down to where he was before. His brain felt all fuzzy, high on the feeling of getting further and further down. The weight of Rozanov’s dick pressing his tongue down, his taste coating his mouth, all of it was intoxicating.

He took another deep breath, the tip of Rozanov’s dick was scraping against his throat, his gag reflex fighting to come up. Shane closed his eyes and concentrated on the fuzzy feeling instead. He wasn’t fully down, not yet. He pulled back up, glancing at Rozanov. The hand that wasn’t in Shane’s hair was buried in the sheets, his face was flushed down to his collarbone, his eyes were hooded and slightly unfocused.

“You okay?” Shane asked him.

“Yes, you?” Rozanov asked back.

“Yes, I just really want to get it all in.” Shane tried to hide his frustration that it took him so much effort.

Rozanov chuckled, a rasp appearing in his voice when he spoke. “So determined.”

Shane glared at him, not sure if it was a compliment or a mockery. He kept his eyes on Rozanov’s, now determined to wreck him fully. He took him back in, adjusting the angle as he went down, not stopping this time until his nose hit the curly dark hair at the base. He felt the rush of accomplishment through his whole body, making his own cock hanging heavy between his legs twitch in the air.

Rozanov let out a loud moan. “Fuck, look at you. Taking all of me like a champ.” 

Another twitch, Shane was about to burst all on his own. He swallowed around Rozanov as best as he could.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Rozanov groaned roughly.

Shane moved up a few inches, not sure if he was able to take cum directly down his throat. He went back down briefly one last time before putting a hand around the lower half of Rozanov’s cock to stroke in time with him sucking the upper half.

“Fuck, I… Fuck Holl… BLYAT!” Rozanov spurted into Shane’s mouth with a continued mixture of Russian and English curse words. Shane only let him out of his mouth when he was sure there was nothing left to swallow.

“I cannot move, give me a minute.” Rozanov desperately tried to catch his breath.

“I’m so close, can I just?” He knelt over Rozanov’s hips now, gripping the base of his cock. Rozanov’s eyes went wide then he nodded.

Shane stroked himself roughly, no time or mind for lube, the precum had to be enough. He looked down at Rozanov still looking blissed out from what Shane had just done to him mixed with an acute interest in what Shane was doing with his hand. Shane bent forward, his free hand stabilizing him against Rozanov’s chest. Rozanov’s hand covered Shane’s.

“Come on me,” Rozanov whispered.

Shane’s abs tightened, his hand frantically flying over his dick.

“Fuck, Roz -” His cock spurted out all over Rozanov’s belly and chest, hitting his own wrist and forearm that kept him upright as well.

He collapsed next to Rozanov, both of their hands still on his chest. Shane was first to speak into the silence.

“Okay?” 

“Over okay.”

“You mean ‘beyond okay'?”

“Yes, that one.” Rozanov took Shane’s hand from his chest and kissed his knuckles.

They lied there entangled for a while, Rozanov trailing Shane's body with his fingertips before eventually getting up to go clean himself up. He brought a small, damp towel for Shane to clean his hand and then stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, still naked.

“I should probably…” Rozanov gestured towards the door.

“Sleep here?" Shane made space for Rozanov next to him. "No one will know.”

“Okay.” Shane moved under the blanket, Rozanov following, planting his head on Shane’s chest, sliding an arm across his waist. Shane turned on his alarm for 7:30 a.m. and switched off the lights. He enveloped Rozanov in his arms, pulling him in as close as possible.

“Good night, Rozanov.”

“Good night.”

___________________________

They staggered their entrances to breakfast which they had with their respective teams. Then, they got ready for the press conference where they were supposed to represent Team Europe's and Team NA’s newest talent.

Nobody was fooled. Several of Shane’s teammates for the weekend had commented on it at breakfast, all of them doing it lightheartedly. Shane was still irritated when he got to the media room. He put on his best media smile to cover. Rozanov entered the room a minute later, sitting down with his knees spread far apart, almost touching Shane, leaning on the table with one of his elbows. Shane scanned him quickly before turning his attention to the pack of journalists frothing at the mouth in front of them.

He only recognized very few, maybe three or four, and decided to give the first question to Katie from Sport in Canada. She usually had either fun or interesting questions and her writing was one of the only ones he actually enjoyed reading.

“Katie, from SiC. Question for both of you: How does it feel to be an All-Star in your rookie season?”

Rozanov gestured for him to go first.

“It is a huge honor for me to be here. It’s a lot of fun to get to know players from other teams in a more relaxed environment, you don’t get that during the season otherwise.” Shane made sure to smile.

“Rozanov?” Katie turned to him.

“Is fun, lots of new people, but Hollander stole my wing.” He playfully glared at Shane who rolled his eyes in response. A chuckle went through the room.

After some more low-ball questions, the reporters went more and more into the rivalry. Two of them were particularly annoying, not accepting that neither Shane nor Rozanov had any bad feelings towards each other.

“Do you not feel any animosity towards your archrival that you aren’t the sole rookie here at All-Stars?”

Rozanov stiffened, visibly trying to make sure he understood the question. Shane quickly bumped his knee against Rozanov’s before answering.

“No, I was actually looking forward to playing with Rozanov for once, which wasn’t possible this year, but maybe next year?" He glanced over to Rozanov. "I don’t have to steal your wing then, you can just be mine.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no. You can be my wing, no problem,” Rozanov replied confidently. 

“Next year maybe.” Shane really hoped that now they got it on record they would actually let them play with each other next year. A man could dream.

The other nuisance of a reporter shifted gear. His question was so long that even Shane had trouble fully grasping what he actually wanted to know. It didn’t help that he talked at a speed any Formula 1 driver would be impressed by.

“Can you repeat, please?” Rozanov said flatly into his mic.

“Yeah, I didn’t get all of that.” Shane pressed his lips together in frustration. It was his first language and he got at max half of it, this must be a nightmare for Rozanov. Why were there no translators?

The asshole from the Nashville Gazette somehow spoke even faster, now with a twang added like he was annoyed and the question even more complicated.

Rozanov’s shoulders were pulled up, his chest leaning forward, his eyes dancing over the crowd.

Seeing Rozanov like that made something snap in Shane. This felt like a humiliation ritual for both of them, even more for Rozanov. He felt like a circus monkey, forced into a tutu to entertain the masses with whatever story they tried to feed the audience through Shane and Rozanov.

He looked at the reporter. Nashville Gazette. There was no way he…

“Les Voyageurs de Montréal sont une organisation légendaire depuis si longtemps. Les « Six Originaux » ont une telle importance pour une bonne raison, et je suis honoré d’en faire partie. Il y a bien sûr une certaine pression qui va de pair, mais cela fait partie intégrante de la raison pour laquelle les Voyageurs ont connu tant de succès par le passé. C’est vrai que les choses ont un peu ralenti ces dernières années, mais toute l’équipe est déterminée à se qualifier à nouveau pour les séries éliminatoires et à remporter une coupe. Et le soutien des partisans, même les critiques, compte énormément pour nous, car cela signifie qu’ils s’intéressent à nous.”

The reporter looked dumbfounded, his mouth gaping.

“Can you repeat that in English?” he asked.

“Oh, sorry, sometimes my brain flows better in French. A lot of interviews in Montréal are in French. Habit, I guess. I’m sure you will find someone to translate.” Shane gave him an overly friendly smile and a quick nod of fake encouragement.

The reporter in a baffling move turned to Rozanov and asked, “And you, Rozanov?”

“What he said.”

The room erupted with laughter. Shane could feel a foot pressed against his. He pressed back. The PR rep thankfully declared time and ushered them out of the room.

They waited until they were back in their rooms before saying anything. Shane entered first, still furious from what just happened. Rozanov closed the door and wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist, kissing his neck from behind. Shane was looking at them through the mirror in the hallway.

"I like you like that." Rozanov loosened Shane’s tie for him and opened the highest buttons to get better access to his neck.

"Like what, an asshole?" Shane was still steaming.

"No, an asshole would not have stood up like this, not at first All-Stars game. Very brave of you." He found the sensitive spot that made Shane weak in the knees.

"I couldn't let them be assholes to you." He reached back to anker himself on Rozanov's thigh. "I’m not playing their stupid games like that."

"Mmm, yes, only I get to play with you." Rozanov covered Shane's hand with his own.

"Rozanov." Shane had no choice but lean into him.

"Yes, kotenok?" Rozanov's hand ran up Shane's arm.

"What does that mean?" Shane's brain went mushy around the edges from the fully body contact.

"Kitten," Rozanov supplied. "You look like angry one sometimes."

Shane looked at himself in the mirror, seeing his scrunched up face. His face fell when he saw the resemblance.

"Oh my god, you can't be serious." Shane tried to move away but Rozanov wouldn't let him.

"Is very serious business to play with your kitten." Rozanov squeezed Shane’s pecs.

"If you say kitten one more time..." He couldn’t stop the scrunching.

"You will bite me, kotenok? I would like that." Rozanov gently laid his teeth on Shane’s neck without biting before planting a wet smack to it.

Shane felt dizzy, he leant back into Rozanov’s solid, warm body to hold him up.

“I thought we said no marks?” Shane still hadn't forgotten the investigation after the last one.

“No, you said no marks. I do not mind." Rozanov's smirk through the mirror was lopsided. "Bite me, scratch me, go wild kotenok all over me.”

“We can’t start anything, we have to be down for lunch in… fuck, five minutes.”

Rozanov cursed under his breath. He released him from his grip. They scrambled to get their stuff together, neither of them having done any packing for the arena this morning. Rozanov pulled him into a searing kiss.

“Ugh, we will have to talk to the commissioner today as well, acting like this isn’t a whole lot of bullshit to put on all of this just so we would play against each other again.” Shane heavily considering just staying in the hotel room for a second.

“Commissioner pops a boner when he see us play against each other,” Rozanov dropped between them.

“Eww!” Shane smacked his arm.

“Oww!" Rozanov dramatically rubbed his arm. "You started talking about stupid commissioner after kissing me like this. Not my fault I think of boners.”

“Fuck off.”

“Later.”

Shane gives Rozanov's arms a squeeze before parting and closing the door between them.

The All-Stars game felt overwhelming in the best way. So many new players, including Scott Hunter from the Admirals who Shane admired. He had been captain for New York for a year now and any time Shane interacted with someone from the Admirals, they had nothing but good things to say about him.

They got into the skill competitions. Shane and Rozanov were both put into the shoot accuracy competition together with Hunter. Shane knew it was once again for publicity. He didn’t mind as much this time though, he loved competing against Rozanov.

Rozanov beat Hunter’s record and skated by the North American bench. He didn’t even say anything, just pulled a comically large mock frown at Hunter and sat back on his bench.

Hunter leaned over to Shane. “What an asshole.” 

“Oh, yeah, he can be. But it’s just for fun, I think.” Shane didn’t want to tell him how much fun Rozanov actually was.

“Don’t know if I’m having fun.” Scott was grimacing at the ice.

“That’s because he beat your record you held for so long. I would be pissed, too.”

Scott gave him a surprised look. Oh shit, Shane assumed and said too much. Shit shit shit.

Scott shook his head and smiled. “I will no longer be pissed, if you get the record back to NA, wunderkind.”

Shane gave a small smile back, taking the out. “Yes, Mr. Hunter.”

“Oh my god," Scott disapprovingly groaned, "don't call me Mr. Hunter, that makes me sound so old. Hunter or Scott is fine.”

“Got it.” Shane focused back to the front, trying to ignore the awkwardness he had created.

“Now go get em, rook.” Scott declared through the arena noises.

Shane skated out with a pat on his back from Hunter. The stadium gave him a thunderous applause, all eyes were on him. But he only cared about one pair of eyes. He quickly glanced at Rozanov whose eyes bored into him. A silent challenge crossed between them.

Let’s see what you got.

Shane went through his task one more time, focused all of his energy and shot.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. BZZZZZZTTTTTT!

“A NEW RECORD FROM SHAAAANNEEEE HOLLLANDERRRRRR!”

The crowd erupted into deafening cheers. 

HOL-LAN-DER

HOL-LAN-DER

HOL-LAN-DER

Shane took a lap around the arena, waving at the people around the rink cheering for him. He looked back at Rozanov. His expression was equally as targeted as before but now with an added fire.

I’m gonna eat you alive.

And oh fuck, Shane couldn’t wait for that to happen.

___________________________

Team Europe won the game by two with both Shane and Rozanov scoring two. The teams went to the same bar to celebrate. Rozanov had texted him a time he would be back at his room. Shane kept checking the time, making sure he left thirty minutes before Rozanov.

There were some protests but Shane ultimately managed to get back to the hotel in time to prepare himself for what was to come. He got his underwear back on after showering and laid down on the bed. 

He heard the door of the next room open and close and then the connecting door flew open. Rozanov’s shirt was already half opened, his curls stuck to his head more tightly than usual from the hot, crowded bar. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes roaming over Shane splayed out for him.

“We said whoever won gets to decide what we are doing tonight. I hope yours didn’t include me having more clothes on?” Shane asked sincerely.

“Nope.” Rozanov popped the p on that one. He got rid of his shirt and then made his way over to the bed.

“So what do you want to do?” Shane enjoyed the view of the newly revealed golden skin on Rozanov's unfairly ripped torso.

“You have late flight tomorrow, yes?" Rozanov unbuckled his belt.

“Two p.m.” Shane's eyes followed the movement.

“Mine is at one. So we have time, yes?” Rozanov was looming at the edge of the bed with half open pants.

“Yes.” Shane could feel his pulse quicken.

“Good.” He climbed on top of Shane, placing kisses up his body, practically groaning against his skin. “I want to fuck you slowly. So slowly until you beg me to go faster. Until you feel nothing but my cock inside you and are desperate to come. Would you like that?” 

Shane’s breath hitched, he swallowed thickly. They had taken several rounds before but usually pretty quick ones. This was going to feel very different to the previous experiences, he thought. With anyone else, he preferred to make it semi quick. But with Rozanov-

“Yeah… yeah I would like that,” Shane confirmed.

Rozanov got rid of the rest of their clothes and closed the distance between them, kissing him fervidly. Shane gave himself over to the sensation of the soft lips on him, of Rozanov’s tongue searching and gliding against his own, of teeth scraping against his bottom lip. Rozanov was the best kisser Shane could imagine. It felt filthy and focused, so soft and demanding at the same time. Shane was glad he was lying down, otherwise he was uncertain if his legs could keep him upright while being kissed like this.

Rozanov grabbed the bottle of lube that Shane had already put out on the nightstand and was on his way down Shane’s body. He maneuvered Shane’s legs so that he could hold them up at his knees. He was tightly packaged like a present, ready to be unpacked by Rozanov.

Rozanov dipped down but instead of Shane’s dick he put his lips around one of his balls. He was lightly sucking on it while his fingers danced over Shane’s hole. Shane’s body was overwhelmed by the double sensation, his dick shot out a dose of precum in response.

He released Shane’s right nut and went on to his left. He let his tongue run over the sensitive flesh, moaning around him, making his balls vibrate. Fuck, why did Shane agree to going slow, he really wanted Rozanov inside him right now.

The hand moved up to Shane’s dick, spreading the precum over it to stroke it infuriatingly gently, just keeping him on the edge of getting any real friction.

“How slow do you wanna go?” Shane's voice had trouble to come out of his throat.

Rozanov smirked like a cat who got the cream. He freed his mouth and looked up at Shane. “Already begging?”

“Nope, no. No no. Carry on.” Shane convinced exactly no one. Rozanov still moved back in. This time, his mouth found his entrance, placing soft kisses on it before his tongue fluttered over it. Shane wanted to scoot in closer, wanted to get more but reminded himself that wasn’t the agreement.

Rozanov took his sweet time eating his ass in every way imaginable. Shane was close several times, so close to breaking, so close to begging. He knew he could come multiple times, this felt like torture. Torture he enjoyed deeply. 

The tongue was accompanied by two lubed up fingers after a while, spreading him open, preparing him hopefully for Rozanov to fuck him. His brain was so far gone, he wasn’t even sure anymore if that was happening.

His senses were overwhelmed by everything Rozanov. The room smelled of his woodsy, slightly sweet cologne mixed with a hint of musk. His nerve endings were all narrowed down to wherever he was being touched. His eyes had a hard time focusing, he only registered the movement of the golden crown of curls and the huge hand on his cock. He couldn’t tell if it had been twenty minutes or two hours and he didn’t care one bit.

“Please… Please, Roz.” He needed more.

“Yes?” Rozanov's face was glistening from lube and split.

“Please fuck me.” He slurred his words ever so slightly, feeling drunk on the sensation of Ilya Rozanov.

Rozanov got himself into position, condom rolled on and covered in lube. He paused to look at Shane, searching his face for any kind of hesitation. Shane pulled him in at the neck to kiss him hard.

“Fuck me.”

Rozanov slid in in one continuous movement until he was resting flush against Shane, both of them moaning in an almost relieved tone. Like there was nowhere to go, nowhere to be but right here and their bodies knew. Their lips met again, this time unhurried, just wanting to feel the other as close as possible, impossibly close. Neither of them moved their lower bodies while they were kissing.

Rozanov broke their kiss, letting his nose brush over Shane’s flushed cheeks. “You feel so tight and hot, I will fuck you all night.”

“For that you would have to move actually.” Shane couldn't help the bratty tone.

“Ask nicely if you want me to move.” Rozanov very lightly circled his hips against Shane, not moving in and out of him though, just refreshing the awareness of Shane being filled up by him.

“Please move. I need you to move.” Shane was fully begging now and he lost all ability to care.

Rozanov obliged. He first rocked his hip narrowly then moved on to long, sweeping movements almost completely pulling out before pushing back in as deep as possible over and over again. At some point, he fully removed himself, making Shane clench around him when he reentered, silently telling him to not pull out again. He played around with the head of his cock stretching out Shane's tight ring of muscle as he only fucked the first couple of inches of his entrance, the sensitivity of those parts grinding against each other making them both grow louder and more desperate. 

There was everything going on but not enough. Shane felt the pleasure crashing over him in ever changing waves, never fully drowning him, never letting him back to the beach. He was just drifting closer and further away from his orgasm all at once. It built up and up just to crumble back down, ready to be rebuilt.

He tried to make any sense of what was happening, but there was none. There was just the pure ecstasy of being fucked like time was irrelevant.

“Fuck, Hollander, so good for me.” His voice came out rough, this whole thing definitely not leaving him unaffected.

“Roz, I need… please…”

“You want to cum?”

“Yes, so much, please.”

“I have you.”

He pushed Shane’s legs even closer, trapping Shane’s dick between their abs.

His thrusts came in hard and fast. Shane wouldn’t take long like this. The waves were now taking him away, pulling him down down down until his vision went out. He could feel his dick spit out cum, making a mess of both of them.

“Fuck, Hollander… FUCK!” 

Rozanov fucked them through both of their orgasm until he collapsed onto Shane with his head buried in the crook of his neck. When he regained some control of himself, he placed butterfly kisses all over Shane’s shoulder, throat and collarbone.

“You are okay?” He asked quietly.

“That was so good, I think I forgot which planet we were on there for a second.”

Rozanov chuckled, his body vibrating against Shane. Shane felt himself drift in and out of his own thoughts while they were basking in the afterglow.

They got up to shower together and then went to Rozanov’s bed because Shane’s was an absolute mess. He made a mental note to leave a big tip the next morning.

Rozanov laid on his side, plugging in his phone. Shane slotted in behind him, wrapping himself around him. He placed a kiss between his shoulder blades before they both entered the realm of dreams.

Chapter End Notes

French translation:
“The Montreal Voyageurs have been a storied organization for so long. The original six have such big importance for a reason and I am honored to be part of it. There is of course a certain pressure that comes with it but this is just part of how the Voyageurs had so much success in the past. It has slowed down a bit in the last couple of years, that is true, but the whole team is dedicated to get back into the playoffs and back to win a cup. And the fans' support, even the critical voices, mean the world to us because that means they care.”

Russian translation:
Kotenok - Kitten
Blyat - Fuck

Welcome to the newsletter!

• I intended to have a short intro with Shane and Kira but then it escalated, Shane needed to say some stuff. This was also for the person that said they learned new stuff from this fic and I wanted to share a bit of what I found useful to know.
• Yuna is my queen. Just give her an hour and immunity from the law and she will fix any team.
• A diagnosis for both ADHD and autism was only possible to get when the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) was published in its fifth edition in 2013. Before that, you were diagnosed with whatever was more prevalent. Since then, it was found that they have a high co-morbidity, people with autism also have ADHD between 50 and 70% of the time. (This will come up again in another chapter, I added it here as well later for info)
• Shane is being somewhat of a pest here.

Comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks, leave it all with me, I will take care of them!

Chapter 7: Rookie of the Century

Chapter Summary

NHL awards 2011 in Vegas with some confessions from Shane and Shane’s favorite thing in the world: a plan.

Chapter Notes

Hello lovely people!
Thank you for all your wonderful comments and the kudos and bookmarks and everything.
Now have fun with the chapter, yee-haw or whatever :)

June 2011, Vegas

There were about a hundred people that had clapped Shane’s back, shook his hand or, at worst, ruffled his hair in the last twenty minutes. He was used to being touched on the ice with pads and loose clothes on, nothing to make him uncomfortable. But this, in one of his suits in which he never felt comfortable in - too tight, too warm, too stiff - the constant, unsolicited touching made his left eye lid twitch relentlessly.

He let it wash over him. He should let the people congratulate him. He had just won the Calder for best rookie in what the announcers had called the tightest race they had seen since the award was first given out. And Vincent LeMaire had certainly not been part of that race, even though he had been the third person nominated besides Shane and Rozanov. The crowd had given him a generous applause, his parents pulling him into a hug before he could go up to the stage and pretend he hadn’t prepared a speech. He had been of course not sure if he needed it but being unprepared had not been an option for him.

He had thanked his team, his coaches, the Voyageurs staff and also had mentioned players around the league giving him great challenges in his rookie year. At that point, he had risked a glance at Rozanov whose hard expression had softened just the tiniest bit when Shane had looked at him. Not enough for anyone else to notice but it had been everything to Shane. He would not be here, if Rozanov hadn't been there to challenge him. Not in a 'We hate each other’ way. But in a ‘I know you can do better’ way. It had kept him on his toes, reaching beyond where he had been and grounded at the same time, knowing there was always someone who could overtake him at any moment if he was slacking in any way. And he really hoped he was able to offer the same to Rozanov.

Where was Rozanov?

Shane was standing at a table in the middle of the room with his GM and some people from the Voyageurs owner group he certainly should recognize if they were to be asked. They kept pulling different important people to the standing table to show Shane off like a pony that just won a big blue ribbon. He should probably talk more to them, make some connections, network, but all his energy went into not showing his annoyance at the Montreal group acting like it was their doing to get Shane all those points this season. Like they were the ones that brought them back into the playoffs after years of missing out and not the team. 

Shane was aware that he and his teammates made a shit ton of money playing a sport they all loved (most of the time) for a living and he was very grateful that he did. 

But these guys, the guys that were sitting around in their expensive VIP boxes with some snacks and champagne in hand, probably barely watching the game that was made up of twenty to forty year olds sacrificing all their time and more importantly their bodies to entertain the masses and rake in ticket and merchandise money, having the audacity to claim they did anything but probably be related or married to someone with even more money, made Shane incredibly mad.

There was another clap on his back combined with a handshake, keeping Shane occupied for a second before going back into his mind, straining every last brain cell to not dramatically sigh and stomp away from this clown show.

Still no Rozanov.

His rescue came in the form of the Lady Byng winner of the year, a Carolina defense player named Cloffens which Shane always thought sounded like an old, beloved farm guard dog. He wasn’t far off, Cloffens similarly to Shane barely knew the way to the penalty box without a GPS. He pulled him over to the bar as some of the older guys decided the rookies needed shots and for once, Shane agreed with that sentiment.

He would finally see Rozanov.

He didn’t. There were six veteran players, two rookies from their teams and Vincent LeMaire. They already had shots in hand, waiting for Shane and Cloffens to join them.

But no Ilya fucking Rozanov.

Scott Hunter handed him a shot. “Where is your boy Rozanov?”

Shane snorted. “Didn't you say he's an asshole?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take a shot with him." Scott leaned his back against the bar. "It’s always Hollander and Rozanov, thought you guys would be around each other.”

Shane looked at him in disbelief. “You are like the first person that doesn’t think we can’t stand to be in a room with each other.”

“I mean, the league is a small environment. We all run into each other constantly. You and Rozanov get shoved together any chance anyone gets but it doesn’t seem like you hate each other. Did I get the wrong impression?” Scott searched his face for an answer.

Shane, for the tiniest fraction of a second, had the impulse to kiss Scott for this and it had nothing to do with the fact that he looked like a better version of the Captain America: The First Avenger posters that were plastered all over North America.

He answered kissfree instead. “No, you didn’t. We are competitive with each other but that’s it. Someone would have to be an actual asshole for me to hate them, not bicker with me on the ice about who could shoot the faster goal. Then I would have to hate half the league, no?”

Scott looked around to see if anyone was eavesdropping. “Look, I know we only briefly talked at All-Stars but if anyone is actually an asshole to you, you can talk to me, right? Even if it’s one of my teammates. Especially then, actually, I’m not letting shit like that fly.”

Shane didn’t know how to answer. Scott seemed trustworthy, he knew he was close with Carter Vaughn but he couldn’t start pouring out the problems he had with some of the guys from Montreal or that Roy was a good captain but too loose in some aspects. So he just nodded and said thanks.

“Guess we take the shots without Rozanov then. Bottoms up, rook.”

Shane downed the clear liquid in front of him. Its only redeeming quality was that it was quickly gone.

Three shots and a few sips of champagne later, he felt the air grow unbearably thick around him. He managed to find his parents and stand straight enough in front of them to tell them good night. His mom had already brought his trophy to their hotel room for him to retrieve in the morning.

When they left, he continued to move around the room. No golden curls, no cross dangling between bulging pecs, no low baritone chuckle that promised trouble anywhere near.

Shane desperately needed air. There was nowhere to go on this floor, so he moved to the elevators. He remembered something about a rooftop terrace in the flyer they handed him at reception about What to do in Vegas? which mostly consisted of their own attractions and some collaborations with neighboring hotels. He pressed the button to go to the top.

___________________________

Ilya had seen enough of the afterparty before he had even entered it. A mixture of stuffy suit guys and bulky hockey players stuffed into suits was usually a fun place to be as Ilya had no problem charming the first while chirping at the second. And he looked good in a suit because in contrast to most of the other guys he had an actual interest in fashion and a trusted tailor.

But today was just too much. He had lost the Calder. It could have gone either way, they had been so close. Same amount of goals, Ilya with two more assists but Hollander with less penalties and a better performance in the one playoff round they both had, almost dragging Montreal to a second round. 

Hollander had taken the stage, politely smiling and waving at the cheering crowd, taking the award while profusely thanking the person giving it to him. His speech was carefully prepared and straight up boring until he mentioned other players and turned his attention to one seat in particular. Just for a fleeting moment, too short to notice for anyone but the person who the attention was turned to. Ilya.

It had knocked the air right out of him. He had a hard time controlling his face, never mind the rest of his body. His legs had been thankfully crossed so nothing was really visible but Ilya could feel a sudden desire burning in him. Hollander had won the award and even in his most glorious moment he hadn't forgotten  about Ilya. And that had been his breaking point for the evening before the party had even begun.

He made the shortest of rounds, hiding in the corner trying to talk to as little people as possible. No one was important enough for Ilya to put on an actual smile today. They would probably chalk it up to him being The Merciless Menace or whatever the press wanted to call him that day. 

From the corner, he was able to observe the scene in front of him: A blend of complimentary nonsense and outdated jokes that people had made hundreds of times at these events with a dash of conspiratorial speculation about the off-season trading starting soon. Everything as expected.

He scanned the room for nothing in particular until he found exactly what he was looking for. Hollander, standing between smug looking men in lifeless suits talking at him - not with him - while he halfheartedly smiled and nodded. Ilya could rescue him from this debacle, take him to the bar and get him one drink and himself five. But that would mean he would actually have to talk to people and no matter how badly he wanted to go to Hollander, talk to him, touch him, there was just no chance in hell he wouldn’t do or say something dumb in the mood he was in and he was not about to let anyone see that.

He slipped out of the room as stealthy as someone his stature was capable of and took the elevator up to the roof in hopes there was somewhere quiet he could smoke.

There was a bar but he walked the other direction to go on the mercifully empty terrace that overlooked the city. It wasn’t quite as hot anymore as it had been during the day but still as dry as you would expect it to be in the middle of the desert. 

Whoever decided to build a city surrounded by nothing but sand, rocks and nowhere to go and build air conditioned spaces with lots of booze to wet the dried out throats and casinos with too many shows to count to beat the desert boredom was either a nutjob or a genius. Probably somewhere in between, leaning towards genius as it worked somehow. America was a weird place.

He let his thoughts wander further through the barren land not trying to think about the hyenas lurking in the shadows that were waiting for him to leave this place for what they called home.

He almost didn’t hear the door to the terrace opening and closing again. He decided against turning around, hoping someone was simply lost and wouldn’t bother him. He had no such luck, there were footsteps coming towards him.

“Hey,” a familiar voice rang out behind him.

Somehow, the last and simultaneously only person he wanted to see found him. It made him furious. He looked like a brooding cartoon villain, cigarette in hand, leaning on the banister in a dark suit, looking over a criminally illogical city that screamed of misfortune. He didn’t want to be seen like this. But more than that, he didn’t want to be seen by Hollander like this.

“You need something?” His tone was rougher than it needed to be.

“People were looking for you.” Hollander slurred his words ever so slightly

“Ah. People.” The sarcastic bite slipped out before he could stop it.

“Yeah, they were asking me where you went. Why are you not at the party? I thought you liked parties?” Hollander sounded irritated. How was he the irritated one?

He turned around to look at him. He was swaying ever so slightly either out of anger or inebriation, Ilya wasn’t sure. His hair looked tousled and haphazardly swept back. His suit was one of the boring ones but even the most uninspired suit in the world couldn’t make him ugly. He turned back towards the city, he couldn’t handle looking at Hollander anymore.

“So you went out to look for me because people wanted you and you do not celebrate your big win?” Ilya huffed out a humorless laugh.

“I didn’t feel much like celebrating.” Hollander's voice was coming closer.

“Why?" He took another drag. "Because you got Rookie of the Year? And not Rookie of the Century like they probably wanted to give you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Hollander sounded more and more agitated. Ilya should just shut up. 

“Canada’s Golden Boy deserves special golden award, made just for you.” Ilya knew he was being an asshole. Hollander deserved the Calder just like Ilya would have. He couldn’t keep back the sourness he felt for the barrage of insults from his family he was about to experience for losing. Hollander would have gotten a hug from his parents and gone on with his night.

“I didn’t think you would call me that shit, too,” Hollander spat out.

Ilya finally risked a glimpse at Hollander. He was looking down at the floor, utterly deflated. His eyes were glassy, his fists were pressed into his thighs at his side. 

Shit.

Ilya knew he would fuck this up one way or another. He had hoped it wasn’t tonight. He specifically fled so this wouldn’t happen. Ilya flicked the cigarette to the side and closed the distance between them on instinct. He took a quick scan of the rooftop before grabbing Hollander’s wrists securely. Hollander didn’t relax his fists.

“I am sorry, I should not have… I know you do not like what the press says about you.” 

Ilya got violently hit by the flashback of the All-Stars press conference where Hollander practically leaped in front of him so the press didn’t have a free shot at Ilya. Just the memory of him trying to get through that three page long question the human turd of a reporter from Nashville threw at him was making Ilya’s skin crawl again. He could ignore most of the shit that was said and written about him, no matter if they treated it seriously or handed it out under the disguise of a joke, but even Ilya could only handle so much.

“Then why did you say it?” Hollander asked quietly, still staring holes in the floor.

“I was mad at… things and I let it out on you. I should not have. I am sorry.” Ilya squeezed Hollander’s wrists. Hollander’s hands finally relaxed under the touch, the fists unfurling. Ilya laid one of his hands on Hollander’s cheek, guiding his face gently back up. Hollander’s eyes wandered to Ilya’s throat, not yet to his eyes.

Hollander sighed. “I only act like that to protect myself and I hate every second of it. My therapist calls it masking.”

“You have therapist?” He had never heard anyone really talk about therapists except for one time where his PT mentioned his old practice where he used to work in tandem with sports psychologists. He knew they existed and he knew people went to them but no one talked about it.

“Yeah, for a while.”

“Why?”

Hollander finally met his eyes. “You can’t tell anyone this, okay? Only my therapist, my parents and my GM and coaches know. And I haven’t really spoken to the GM or coaches about it, they just asked me once if I take care of my own support and never mentioned it again.”

“I will not tell anyone, you can trust me.” Ilya’s hand moved from Hollander’s cheek to the back of his neck, letting his thumb stroke the nape of Hollander’s neck.

“Yeah, I know, I just need you to know that this is not something people know, not my team or anyone in the league or the press, and I like to keep it that way.” He took a deep breath. “I have autism.”

“What does that mean?” Ilya only vague remembered hearing about autism but never looked into it.

“Do you remember the questionnaire at the combine with the stuff like ‘Would you rather go to a museum or a theater?’”

Ah, that's where he heard it, his combine letter said he didn't have it. Ilya remembered those papers he had to fill out, he sometimes still wondered who came up with all those silly questions. He nodded.

“That was to test for autism," Hollander explained. "They told me I likely have it and that I should go to someone to test it. Kira - that’s my therapist - confirmed it.”

“Okay and how does it… what does it do?” Ilya didn’t know how to ask any better in this moment without coming off like an asshole again.

“It’s a neurological disorder, my brain and nervous system work differently than others." Hollander leaned into Ilya's touch, unwinding under it.

“Does it… hurt?” Ilya inquired.

Hollander let out a small huff. “No, thank fuck. It can look different in everyone but for me I have trouble with filtering and processing as my brain takes everything in and is bad at prioritizing. So it often focuses on one thing and then struggles to get to the next. Which is great on the ice when I only have to care about hockey where I know where everything goes but it’s shit when I have to figure out what someone wants from me when they are not directly saying it. There is other stuff too, like sometimes I get fixated on one meal and just eat that for lunch and dinner for weeks until I get bored or I get stuck on the same thoughts because my brain isn’t processing them.”

“And you do not want to tell people.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“No." Hollander's mouth pulled into a bitter frown. "A lot of people already have enough reasons to hate me from just looking at me, I don’t want to add more with telling them I have a disability they can’t even see and probably only know from like Rain Man or that one doctor from Grey’s Anatomy that acted like a robot and then flipped out.”

“You watch Grey’s Anatomy?” Ilya watched a lot of shows and movies to improve his English, he still wanted to punch Dr. Burke for what he did to Cristina even if she was better off without him.

“Kira talked about it. I thought I would hate it but there is so much going on and it’s randomly funny. It’s for the days I’m sick of hockey tapes and just want to ignore reality.” Ilya hummed softly in agreement.

He suddenly realized that they were in a public place and he had been holding Hollander rather close for a while. He carefully stepped out of his space.

“Do you want to go back to party?” he asked, hoping for a no.

“No." Yes. "It all felt so fake and pretentious. I felt so icky nodding along, I just really wanted to hang out with you.” Hollander admitted bravely, Ilya wanted to kiss him so badly.

“I think is time for your reward anyways.” Ilya dropped his voice lower.

“It’s anyway, Americans say it incorrectly.” Hollander seemed deeply annoyed by that.

“Stupid Americans.” Ilya waved an annoyed hand through the air.

“Wait, what do mean reward?” Hollander's brain finally caught up to the shift in tone.

“You won big prize today, you get reward from me.” Ilya gave him his most irresistible smirk.

“Oh?” Hollander swayed closer to him.

“Oh. Also as an apology.” Ilya was ready to apologize all night if he was required to.

“You already apologized twice. It's fine.” Hollander poorly conceiled his interest.

“I heard you like third round.”

Hollander’s breath hitched ever so slightly. He stepped back into Hollander’s space and pressed a quick, passionate kiss to his lips before handing him a key card.

“1217, see you soon.” Ilya turned on his heels and left Hollander on the rooftop.

___________________________

Ilya had to roughly estimate how long he had until Hollander would arrive in his suite. He quickly cleaned up his room, pulled out the lube and condoms from his toiletry bag, placed them on the bedside table and went to brush his teeth as he had smoked a couple.

The lock beeped about ten minutes later. Hollander's jacket was draped over his arm, his bow tie laying open around his neck and the buttons down to his sternum opened. Ilya reached for the jacket and placed it gently on the nearby couch before pulling Hollander in for their first proper kiss of the night. He had missed this more than he would ever admit. He had fucked other people but no one seemed to be as eager for him as Hollander was.

Hollander unbuttoned Ilya’s shirt, each button more closely to being ripped off than the one before. They both freed themselves of shirts and undershirts until they were standing chest to chest, skin on skin while their mouths were clashing over and over again.

They somehow made it to the bed, Ilya pushing Hollander unceremoniously onto it. He could just go in, fuck him until they both lost any sense of reality, but he promised Hollander a reward. He climbed on top of Hollander, caging him in and devouring the side of his throat.

“Are you going to tell me what you want for reward, Hollander?” he purred in his ear.

"Wait… wait, stop!” Hollander pleaded breathlessly.

Ilya shot up. He hadn’t really done anything yet and Hollander asked to stop, this couldn’t be good.

“You are okay? You feel sick? Are you drunk?” Ilya rattled out.

“No, that’s not it. Can we….?" Hollander didn’t look at Ilya.

"Whatever you want, is your price," Ilya stated, trying to remain calm.

"No, it's not a sex thing." Hollander paused for a second. "Not really. Maybe it is... no definitely not -"

"Hollander," Ilya interrupted.

"Yes that!" Hollander practically shouted.

"What?" Ilya backed up even further to get a better look at him.

"Can we just... I don't want to be Hollander and Rozanov, at least not tonight." Hollander's concerned eyes flickered across Ilya's face. "I know it sounds weird, but I don't want that in here with you. That's for everyone else."

Ilya was taken back, whatever he thought would come out of Hollander’s mouth, it wasn’t that. But he also had no argument why they shouldn't use their first names. Saying it felt too intimate when they were about to fuck each others' brains out felt rather silly now that he thought about it.

"Can you just call me Shane?" he asked carefully. "Like just... a normal person you want to..."

"Okay. Shane." He said it like he was trying out how it felt in his mouth.

"Can I...?" Shane was holding his breath under him.

"Ilya," he offered.

"Ilya... did it say it correctly?" Shane's eyes started to twinkle.

"Mhm, very good Shane." He pressed a kiss against his lips. "Please do not tell me this is price." 

A laugh broke out of Shane at that. "No, I had another idea, but you need to tell me if you hate it. I wanna ride you."

Any alarms bells that were previously going on about the name thing now sounded a different tune, because he didn't think he could want Holl... Shane any more than he already did.

"And maybe if I am already on top of you I could... like before... erm." Shane's face hit a shade of red that would make any tomato farmer jealous, Ilya wanted to bite his cheeks, whatever cheeks he could get his teeth on.

"You cannot shock me with whatever you say next." Ilya brushed his nose against Shane's.

Shane closed his eyes then peeked through one. "I want to sit on your face."

Okay, Ilya was a full blown idiot. Shock wasn't even the right word, his brain fully short circuited. The imagery of Shane's ass smothering him into a pillow was entirely too much. A small part of him prayed to whatever God that if he had to die soon, please let it be buried between the most perfect ass cheeks he had ever laid eyes on.

"Sorry, we don't have to if you..."

Ilya had apparently been too quiet and too still for Shane to think he would want it. Hell, Ilya might not want anything else ever again.

“I want. Very much,” is all he could say before he had to follow the intolerable urge to taste Shane’s mouth again. There were still some hints of the booze under the tooth paste. He got rid of his own clothes before undressing Shane fully. He then got back on top of him.

“Have you ever done this?” he asked Shane.

“No, anything we need to look out for?” Shane asked back.

“Probably breathing?” Ilya has fucked a lot of people but somehow none has sat on his face before. Maybe just not something you do with someone you fuck one time. “I can tap your leg if I need air, okay?”

“Good plan, yeah.” Shane smiled briefly before sticking his neck up to kiss Ilya again. He let him for a minute before rolling them over and placing his head comfortably in position, enough space towards the headboard for Shane to place his legs.

“Come on, Holl- Shane.” He folded his arms behind his head to fain any sort of calmness. “Take a seat.”

Shane was blushing in anticipation but moved above Ilya’s head and turned around to face Ilya’s body. Ilya put both of his hands on Shane’s ass to place him exactly where he wanted him before Shane could lower himself over Ilya’s face. Ilya stuck his tongue out to give Shane’s entrance a slow, firm lick before fluttering against the rim.

Shane bent forward, putting his hands on Ilya’s thighs and granting Ilya even better access. He let his tongue dance over his hole before holding it flat against it. He planted his hands to Shane’s hips, encouraging him to grind against his tongue. He complied, rolling his hips in small circles, letting out filthy little moans with each rotation.

“Oh, Jesus, that feels so fucking good.” Shane pressed his ass harder against Ilya looking for more friction that Ilya gladly provided. He pulsed his tongue against him in time with the rhythm, causing Shane’s arms on his thighs to shake. He stopped for a second, panting heavily but Ilya was not about to give him a break. He pushed the tip of his tongue in the center, Shane already loose enough to allow him in. Shane sank his hips against the sensation, letting Ilya fuck into him further and further.

“Mmmm, Ilya, so good, please don’t stop.”

Ilya bopped his head with his stretched out tongue, moving in and out of Shane’s entrance, every groan and gasp he got out of him hard earned. Ilya was unable to tell if he hadn’t actually died because this felt like heaven. The warmth all around his face, the feeling of Shane coming apart on top of him, holding on for dear life on his legs while Ilya was feasting away.

Shane moved his upper body further down and gripped Ilya’s cock to guide it into his mouth. No, this was definitely heaven. The silky, wet heat of Shane’s mouth running over him in this unfamiliar angle while he was ever so slightly suffocated by his ass was nothing short of angels singing with ambrosia being fed to him by Aphrodite herself.

He was really close to shooting his load into Shane’s mouth and he could feel Shane similarly close when he remembered there was a second part of the prize. He could just make it a second round, but he was impatient. He decided to tap out.

Shane lifted his ass up in the air but didn’t pull off of Ilya’s cock. Right, that was the signal for I need to breath and not I need you off my dick right now or I won’t be able to fuck you in the next twenty minutes.

“Shane, stop stop STOP!” Ilya yelled the last one, trying to get through the lust-filled delirium Shane was apparently in.

Shane let go and Ilya reached down to squeeze the base of his cock just in time to not spurt cum all over Shane’s face. Most people didn’t enjoy cum on their face but maybe Ilya should ask before assuming. He saved that for another day.

“Shit, sorry, I got carried away.” Would Shane ever get tired of apologizing or was that a side effect of eating too much maple syrup as a child?

“I stopped because you wanted to do something else, yes?” Ilya reminded him.

“Fuck yes." Shane climbed off of him. "Give me a minute, I need to stretch my legs so they won’t cramp.”

So Ilya got a free show of Shane bending and stretching next to him, his bulky muscles shifting him around rather fluidly. If both of them didn’t have ridiculously well paid jobs, Ilya would arrange it so he had enough time to fuck Shane in any position he could fold into which probably would take a couple of weeks at least. The night was young, he could possibly start with round two or three on that.

Ilya used the break to get himself ready with the condom and lube he had prepared. Shane took notice, his mouth slightly parting and his pupils growing bigger as if he was starving for what was about to come.

Shane swung one of his well stretched legs over Ilya’s hips to straddle him. Ilya’s hand with lubed up fingers slid between them to find Shane’s hole. The first one glided in easily after Ilya had already loosened him with his tongue. He crooked it towards the front to scrape over his prostate. Shane choked out a groan and started to move his pelvis on Ilya’s finger. Ilya added a second digit and watched Shane exploring the different angles he could get from this. He was so beautiful in the combination of intense focus on his task and the slow disintegration of any inhibition he might have had.

Shane’s movements came to a halt. He took Ilya’s wrist to silently extract his fingers and then positioned himself over Ilya’s dick he was holding in position. He brushed over his rim with the tip before Ilya gave him the go ahead with a quick nod.

Shane sank down on him, splitting himself open on Ilya’s throbbing cock with one gigantic moan until he was firmly seated with all of Ilya buried inside of him. Shane bent forward, one hand on the headboard and the other on Ilya’s chest. He lifted himself a couple of inches up to sink back down.

“Fuck, you feel so big like this. Even bigger than usual," Shane groaned aloud.

“Is okay?” Ilya held Shane steady at his hips, ready to help him up if necessary.

“Yeah, fuck it’s so okay." Shane underlined his statement with a pleased sigh. "I need to go slow though.”

Shane did as promised while Ilya ran his hands up and down Shane’s thighs unable to control his urge to feel the strong muscles move under his fingers. Thighs that looked like they were made to ride Ilya into enternity.

Shane increased his tempo bit by bit until he was slamming down with a relentless force onto Ilya who was cupping Shane’s ass with both hands. The room was heavy with the smell of fresh sweat that was dripping down Shane’s ripped torso, running along the rivets of his abs. His head was thrown back in euphoria, his body’s vibrations audible in the sounds that came out more and more trembling.

Ilya got lost in the clasping sensation that was enveloping his dick, relentless changing and shifting sending ripples of pleasure through his entire body. He felt sparks running through his nervous system, tiny fireworks going off all over. His insatiable brain still wanted more, so he planted his feet on the mattress and thrusted up into Shane, making the lewd clashing sounds of their bodies even more thunderous than before, bouncing of the walls like Shane was bouncing on his cock.

“Shane, I’m will… fuck, so fucking good, need you to come,” Ilya rambled out.

He wrapped one of his hands around Shane’s flopping cock to stroke him in time with the bounces and wrang Shane’s cum out of him in a few flicks of his wrist. His whole being was shuttering on top of Ilya while he was crying out Ilya’s name, barely able to hold himself up. Ilya grabbed his hips to fuck into Shane and the last bit of sanity out of himself.

His orgasm ripped through him with an immense force, he came and came, seemingly unable to stop while Shane’s name tumbled out of his mouth repeatedly like a prayer. When it finally stopped, he slid his feet down and carefully guided Shane off of his dick and onto Ilya's side.

They both took a while to recover, Shane’s thigh muscles were still twitching on and off. Ilya felt wide awake and deep in trance at the same time. When they managed to gather their bearings, they got themselves cleaned before cuddling back into bed, this time with Ilya stuck to Shane’s side who scraped his short nails through Ilya’s curls.

“What are you doing this summer?” Shane asked innocently. Ilya took a second to respond.

“I have to go home,” was the most honest answer he got out.

“Have to?” Shane wondered.

“Yes, family wants me back for summer. Have to show my face in Russia.” To be seen there, not to be heard.

“Do you not like your family?” Shane inquired further.

Ilya really had no desire to unpack all the ways he did not like his family. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shane twirled Ilya's curls back into shape.

“No.” He never did.

“You can, if you need.” Shane's voice dripped with softness.

“Is ok.” He ran a reassuring hand over Shane’s waist.

“Can I ask one more question?” Shane shifted to be able to look at Ilya's face.

“I do not think I could stop you,” Ilya tried to joke, not daring to look back.

“You don’t have to answer, but are you… are you safe over there?” Shane's hand was resting on Ilya's cheek. Ilya lifted his head to study Shane’s face. The concern and a slight bit of terror were bleeding out of his expression.

“I am careful, you do not need to worry.” His tone was as steady as it could be under the distressed gaze.

“I will worry anyway until you are back, you can’t stop me.” The determination was back in full force. There was no choice but to surrender.

“Okay.” Ilya dropped his head back down, waiting for the head scratching to continue.

“And maybe next season we could… nevermind.” Shane's fingers mindlessly wandered through Ilya's hair again to his delight.

“Say what you need to say, Hollander.” Ilya pushed his head into the touch.

“The press has been really bothering us the whole season and I’m tired of it. I don’t want to answer any more questions about how much I hate you or whatever weird shit people make up about us. They act like I want to spit in your soup or something," Shane sneered.

"Soup?"

"Do you prefer salad?"

“What?”

“Not important. The point is, I wanna be friends in public, too. We are… we are friends right?” 

Friends. Ilya needed to let that sink in for a second. He wanted to be friends with Shane, he probably already was without realizing his fortune.

“Yes, if you want then we are friends,” Ilya finally replied.

“I want.” Again, determined.

“So next season we what? Make friendship bracelets and show to everyone?” Ilya could use some more jewelry.

“Ugh no, not that, that seems like a hazard for hockey." Shane took a beat. "We could like… hang out in public when we play, maybe with some teammates and then when the press asks we can just say we have known each other for a while and just hung out at All-Stars and... stuff... I don't know, is that weird?”

“Is not weird, is good plan. We steal away stupid story from them. Press will freak out. Gonna be fun.” 

“You really gonna love the chaos this will cause, aren’t you?”

“Mhm, very much, is my favorite.”

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• Captain America: The First Avenger came out on the 22nd of July 2011. There was a Superbowl ad for it in February, full trailer released in March, so it’s safe to assume Shane had seen some promo material.
• It tickles me that most of the NHL awards are named after important people and there is nothing in the name that indicates what they stand for. Then randomly, there is the NHL plus/minus award (last awarded in 2008) that does exactly what you think it does.
• I hate how boring and ill-fitted most suits are. Please dear men in suits, put some effort in (not you (queer) women/nbs in suits. You are perfect. Kristen Kish, looking at you.)
• Not so fun fact: Isaiah Washington, who played Dr. Burke in Grey's Anatomy, was fired for yelling the f-slur in a fight with (straight) Patrick Dempsey, allegedly about gay co-star T.R. Knight. Rumors started circulating and Knight came out before the media could out him. Washington got defensive about it and said shit like "I love gay. I wanted to be gay. Please let me be gay" to ‘joke’ about it. There has been a loooooot of drama on the Grey’s Anatomy set, good lord.
• Blue ribbons are often for first place winners in riding competitions. I wrote it without the innuendo in mind but now here we are and I’m not taking it back.

What if you just... left a little comment? Just to see how it feels? (These are getting more unhinged because I'm editing my notes all in a row and my brain is trying to bring ✨variety✨)

Chapter 8: Setting the bar

Chapter Summary

Welcome to the second season. Boston and Montreal go out to a bar together and Shane tells his teammate what he thinks of him to the joy of Ilya and the Bears.

Chapter Notes

Hello lovely people!
I felt a bit down writing this chapter at first (I blame listening to Eurovision playlist for this year, I feel like almost all countries are boycotting from what crap they sent, hello). But then I remembered how many great fics are out there and you chose to read mine, so that got me back, thank you for that!!! We crossed 50k words with this chapter, which is wild.
Shoutout to the person in the bookmarks describing this as "Still heated, less rivalry", this was too accurate not to mention, I'm so close to making this a tag.

CW

One homophobic slurs is used.

September 2011

“Ladies and gentlemen, Delta Airlines welcomes you to Boston. The local time is 7:55 p.m. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisles clear until we are parked at the gate. The Captain will then turn off the 'Fasten Seat Belt' sign, indicating it is safe to stand. Please use caution when opening the overhead compartments and removing items, since articles may have shifted during flight.” 

Ilya let out a long breath. He was back. Finally.

The last two months in Russia had been strenuous at best. He had filled them the way he knew it would get him through.

There had been an appropriate amount of time spent with his brother, his father and his father’s new wife so they could get all their comments out about him being a disappointment or a disgrace or whatever while they were holding out their hands for more money. After two weeks, he had bought his own apartment in the city so there was no further need to stay at his father’s place. The regular visits had still been mandatory though, the comments seemingly as well.

He had thrown himself into the preparation for the new season. His training regime had included regular ice time with a handful of old teammates who never fully got tired of telling him how his talent was wasting away in the NHL. He had paid it back by going out to clubs with them and reminding them that he could easily steal any girl away under their noses if he chose to do so. All of that had temporarily drowned out the constant hum of the emptiness he felt in Russia but had never done anything to actually reduce or quiet it.

He also had gotten to visit and hold his baby niece Katjuschka a couple of times. That had been a light in all the darkness of the summer. He had handed some money directly to Andrei’s wife Mascha in hopes she would be smart enough to not tell his brother about it and take care of herself and the baby.

The only times the hum had actually reduced had been when Shane had texted him. They had talked about their training progress and had sent each other pictures of their off-season running routes discoveries (mostly animals they met) but kept it PG as Ilya had promised to be careful. 

It had been enough to not let Ilya drown completely. Barely.

And now after nine hours and fifty-two minutes from Moscow to New York, a quick layover and a one hour and nine minutes flight from New York to Boston, he was finally back. It wasn’t enough time to let go of all the tension that had built over the two months but the ocean between him and the hyenas that claimed to be his family washed away at least a fraction of the black cloud hanging over him. The rest of the hum would quiet over time, he told himself.

The Bears’ training camp started two days later. He was still in a a mood from the summer but no one commented on it as he was in an even better shape than last season. At least no direct comment. Marly, Hammy and Carmy suddenly hung out a lot in Ilya’s apartment, claiming he simply lived in the middle of all of them and dragged him out whenever they could. No one mentioned or asked anything, they were just… there. Ilya didn’t know how to react so he silently accepted it.

LeClaire called him into his office after the last day of training camp. He wasn’t alone in his office. Kane, the captain, and his alternate Zadonsky were in the office as well. 

This couldn’t be good. Fuck. Had Ilya’s mood been more visible than he thought? Fuck. Was that why the boys had been around him so much, to test if he brought down the team in private as well? He had to fix this somehow. He had to -

“So, you can probably guess why we called you in here,” LeClaire said with the most neutral expression he had ever seen on his face.

“If you trade me, at least tell me it is not Tampa. My curls will not do well in Florida weather.” It was supposed to be a joke, the other three were laughing, but Ilya’s stomach was twisting forcefully tight. He was too early in his career to have any real protections in his contract against being traded around like you would do with pork stocks. He didn’t even think about getting traded until now. Why the fuck would they trade him? He tried to not get angry. He failed.

“No, Rozanov, of course we aren’t going to trade you. Kane has something for you,” Zadonsky said.

What? A hypnosis tape so he would finally stop smoking? A self-help book on how to forget you had a shit family? A pamphlet against addiction to fast cars? He might had to cancel the Porsche he ordered.

With a big grin on his face, Kane pulled out a jersey. It was Ilya’s number on the jersey. And a letter.

“You are making me A?” Ilya grabbed the jersey, his thumb stroking over the raised A.

“Yeah, if you continue like this, you are gonna be captain in no time and we thought we start you off with the A now,” Kane answered.

“So when are you going to retire?” Ilya wiggled his eyebrows at Kane.

“Watch it, kiddo.” Kane pulled him into a quick hug.

Ilya had been captain of all his previous teams so it was a natural progression but he didn’t expect it to be so fast. They technically didn’t need two alternates but they had a good system with the previous three captains. So it made sense to add a third one back after the previous alternate retired in the middle of last season. And both Kane and Zadonsky were rather old in hockey years, someone from the younger crowd was a good tactical choice. 

All this made a lot of logical sense in Ilya’s brain. He still stared at the A for a few moments longer than needed. He actually made himself valuable here, a growing feeling of pride blooming inside his chest.

The locker room erupted when he reenter, everyone congratulating him and cheering.

“So you are gonna be more insufferable than you already are?” Marly chimed in.

“Noooooo. I will be a good alternate and behave very well like always,” Ilya said with a shit-eating grin. He got some boos and a sock landed against his head before everyone packed up and left with a plan to meet up in a couple of hours at Giovanni’s for some celebratory pizza and wine as it was tradition after training camp. 

“You are paying, baby cap,” Hammy yelled.

He went home and opened the door to his apartment. He pulled out his phone to text Shane just to find a message already waiting for him.

Jane: Guess who will be the youngest A in the NHL? :)

Ilya: Me? :) 

Jane: Wait, you got the A, too???

Ilya: Yes, they called me in after last day of camp.

Jane: You are going to be insufferable about it, aren’t you?

Ilya: Why do people keep saying this? I am very well behaved.

Jane: When?

Ilya: Okay, you got me.

Jane: Congrats, I’m very proud of you!

Ilya: Thank you :)

Jane: Do you not want to congratulate me?

Ilya: I will do in person ;)

Ilya: But I am proud of you, even though you were old man when you got it.

Jane: I’m like 5 weeks older than you??

Ilya: SOOO OLD!

Jane: You’re the one that has sex with an old man then.

Ilya: Yes, I am into an old man but do not tell Hunter. He will get wrong idea.

Jane: My lips are sealed.

Jane: See you in four weeks :) 

Ilya: See you :*

___________________________

Four weeks later

Jane: Thank you again for last night.

Ilya: Always so polite.

Ilya: Was fun :)

Jane: Yeah, but it sucked we only had an hour :(

Ilya: Not the sucking I like :(

Jane: You’re the worst.

Ilya: I had more plans.

Jane: Next time :) 

Jane: Maybe weird question, but where do you get your suits and shirts from? 

Jane: They are so soft.

Ilya: Bozhe moy! Is that the reason why you jump me? BECAUSE OF MY SOFT SUITS?

Ilya: The betrayal!!!

Jane: What if it were?

Ilya: No more touching me then!

Jane: Okay, but can you tell me where you got your suits from?

Ilya: I was used for my suits!

Jane: I basically rip your suits off as fast as I can. They aren’t much use to me.

Ilya: First used for my suits, now you insult them.

Ilya: This will have consequences.

Jane: I wonder how you know the word “consequences” and I’m not doubting your English skills here.

Ilya: Kotenok so mean to me.

Jane: I’m sorry. I like your suits but I like you without them way more :) 

Ilya: I will accept apology but only if you let me help with suits.

Jane: Okay, so where do you get them from?

Ilya: Tailor in Boston. Little Italian guy in small shop.

Ilya: He is my favorite, I gave him season tickets.

Jane: Ah shit, okay, that will be complicated then. Maybe I can find a tailor here?

Ilya: No, you have to go to Tommaso, no other choice.

Ilya: We go together next time in Boston? Will be first “look, we are friends” thing.

Jane: Okay, sounds fun :) 

Ilya: Let me know when you have time, I will make appointment.

Jane: Thank you!

Ilya: Of course.

Ilya pulled out the list that he wrote down in Russian in a hidden note on his phone:

Jane’s list

• Loud noise -> not likely, workplace very loud

• Bright lights -> not likely, workplace very bright, also less likely with brown eyes -> check lights at home anyway

• Food -> said, only needs protein/carb/veggie but also gets obsessed with meals sometimes -> ask before ordering

• Touching -> does not seem like a problem with me :) maybe with others?

• Clothes -> nothing so far except for folding Clothes not soft enough -> talk to Tommaso!!

• Social interaction -> Hates it with stupid people (but who doesn’t) -> keep stupid people away

• Sensory overload -> not sure -> rest? 

• Routine -> I do not know :( 

• Communication -> likes direct -> ?

He stared at the last point. He had written it down with all the other stuff he found on the internet but there was still no solution.

He was direct or direct enough when it came to them fucking. But for everything else? He already had trouble saying the right things in important moments in a completely different language from his first and then, on top of that, he just felt the need to be an ass at times to relieve some of the pressure of having to feel. A lot of other people also hated how direct he could be, if he felt it necessary like in tape reviews, further suppressing the instinct of just saying what he wanted. So how was he supposed to do this correctly?

Ilya shoved the thought aside like he had done over and over again since Vegas. It worked how it worked and that was fine with him. He could adjust if something came up, right? Right.

___________________________

Shane entered the shop in Back Bay and as soon as the bell chimed out, a short man in his early 50s with a twirled mustache was in front of him.

“Ah, Mr. Hollander, welcome to my shop, I am Tommaso." His voice was melodic with a hint of an Italian accent. He shook Shane’s hand with an unpredictable force. “Mr. Rozanov is already here.”

“Tommaso, how often do I need to tell you to call me Ilya?” The shout came from the back of the shop. Tommaso turned his head.

“Apologies, Mr. Rozanov. Force of habit.” He turned back to Shane and stepped to the side. “Come in! Do you want an espresso?”

“Yes. Could I get some water as well, please?” Shane pulled of his jacket, the shop comfortably warm.

“I will be right back, please make yourself comfortable.” Tommaso disappeared.

Shane went deeper into the shop, out of view from the prying eyes on the street. Boston was a lot more relaxed than Montreal when it came to hockey players but he was sure at least two people had already taken a picture of him.

The main room had a changing cubicle with a dark red velvet curtain, a table where a bunch of tools and supplies were scattered, a rack of sample suits and fabrics and a seating area. 

Ilya sat leaned back in the middle of the couch, legs far spread and arms laying on the back of the couch. He was wearing tight charcoal pants that were accentuating his thighs and an forest green shirt that made his hazel eyes pop even more. He looked delicious. Shane’s first impulse was to climb directly into his lap and kiss him.

Ilya seemed to have similar thoughts as he was licking his lips subtly while taking Shane in. Seeing each other here first after weeks of not being able to touch one another might not have been the best idea, Shane realized. He was about to get measured and dressed, one of the worst times to have a boner.

Tommaso came back into the room and sat the espresso and the water on the side table next to the seating area. He clapped his hands together.

“Okay, Mr. Rozanov has told me you need new suits and shirts and they need to be as comfortable as possible while still looking good, is that correct?” Tommaso was buzzing with excitement.

“Yeah, Ilya has some great suits and he said you were responsible for them. I like how soft they are.” Shane froze.

How the fuck would he explain that he knew how soft Ilya’s suits were? Thankfully, Tommaso didn’t seem to question that.

“He is my favorite client, don’t tell the others.” He winked and then went over to the sample fabrics. “I already searched for possible fabric and color choices.”

“What color choices?” All of his current suits were black.

“Yes, I got a photo of you in a suit. Multiple ones, you are very popular on the internet. Black looks good on you. White would as well.” Tommaso held up a range of black fabrics together with white and cream colored options.

“I don’t think I can pull off a white suit.” Shane risked a glance at Ilya who simply shrugged.

“Never say never. But it’s hard with hockey and travel to keep it clean. Maybe we should try some dark greys, reds and, of course, blues as well.” He put down the previous samples to hold up his new color choices against Shane’s shoulders.

“Yeah sure!” Shane had no idea what was happening but it didn't feel overwhelming for a change.

“Do you like patterns?” Tommaso looked up at him, searching his face.

“If it’s subtle?" Shane was handed the patterned samples. "I don’t want to draw too much attention.”

Suddenly, a chuckle behind him.

“Ah, Hollander, I do not think you are capable of not drawing attention. I have seen paparazzi crowd,” Ilya quipped.

“It’s not my fault that the Montreal press is very interested in hockey players.” Shane was pouting.

“Sure and who brought them back into playoffs last year?” Ilya crossed his ankle over his knee, somehow looking ever more climbable than before.

“The whole team?” Shane tried.

“You are too humble Hollander," Ilya teased. "I’m sure Tommaso agrees.”

Tommaso looked ever so friendly and slightly amused. “I cannot promise that you won’t draw attention in general with how you look. But I can make sure that they will only have the best things to say about your suits when you inevitably will.”

Then, Tommaso got to work. He pulled out all the stops for Shane, showed him even more materials, colors and patterns for suits and shirts, gave him different cut options and asked about his body fluctuation during the season which Shane hadn’t even considered until now. 

Shane tried on a couple of options and Tommaso jutted down everything Shane commented on religiously. Shane hadn’t done much with his NHL and sponsorship money, so it felt really nice to get some proper use out of it. Even better that it would go to someone like Tommaso.

Ilya offered his opinion every once in a while but left most of it to Shane who found the process of getting exactly what he wanted surprisingly comforting for clothing shopping, which he usually dreaded and often got the same thing he liked a couple of times.

The measurement part was the last one of the agenda. Shane tried to concentrate heavily on Tommaso mumbling in what he thought was probably Italian while writing down more notes and not on how Ilya was still sitting on the couch, solely focusing on Shane in his boxers, tank top and socks.

Shane ordered five suits with shirts and wanted to prepay them but Tommaso wouldn’t let him.

“No no no. I will convince you with my work first before you have to pay. You are a friend of Mr. Rozanov after all. And I also know where you work, not hard to track you down,” Tommaso said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Let me at least pay half,” Shane attempted to negotiate.

“Fine but only if we also get you matching ties and pocket squares.” Tommaso noted down to add those.

“You need to let me pay for those, too.” Shane fished out his credit card.

“No, those are on the house.” Tommaso didn’t look like he let Shane discuss any further.

“Okay, you have a deal!" Shane handed him the card and watched him swipe it through the machine. "Will you send the suits to Montreal or should I come pick them up? I’m back in Boston in early January.”

“Best if you come back here so we can see if anything needs to be adjusted. If we have to change anything, I will either do it quickly as long as you are in town or I will send them.” Tommaso handed him the order he just took. 

“Great, thank you so much, Tommaso.” Shane stretched out his hand.

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Hollander.” Tommaso shook it.

“Please, call me Shane.”

“Okay, Mr. Hollander.”

Ilya was suddenly standing very close behind Shane, chuckling again.

“Thank you, Tommaso." Ilya shook his hand as well. "We will see you at game tonight, yes?”

“Of course, I will not waste the seats, especially not against Montreal.” Tommaso leaned closer to him. “Sorry in advance for the boos, Mr. Hollander.”

Now it was Shane’s turn to laugh. “No worries, I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Hollander. Mr. Rozanov.” He gave them a little wave.

“Goodbye, Tommaso.” Shane scrambled to get the card and the receipt back into his pockets.

“Thank you again,” Ilya said with a warm smile.

Ilya briefly pressed his hand to Shane’s lower back to guide him out the door. He quickly pulled away before anyone on the street could see, Shane morning the loss. They had to wait until tonight to do anything. At least, he was able to stay the night if Ilya let him.

“Plan for tonight is still on?” Shane asked before he entered the car he had called.

“Yes, I will make sure Marly does his part,” Ilya assured him. “See you later.”

“Bye.” Shane closed the door and went off to his hotel. He gave himself the fifteen minute car ride to regret his decision not to have alone time with Ilya before the game. 

___________________________

The game was a well fought battle with Montreal just edging out Boston in overtime for a 2-1. Marleau stopped Shane on the ice before he could leave.

“Hey Hollzy, you owe me a drink after that overtime goal,” he yelled, even though Shane was only a couple of yards away.

“I didn’t even score.” Shane playfully rolled his eyes.

“You got the assist.” Marleau skated next to him and bumped his shoulder.

“Fine, you got my number, right?" Shane asked, Marleau nodded. "Text me where you want to go.”

“Sure Hollzy.” Marleau skated off.

Hayden was close enough to overhear the conversation. “What was that about?” 

“Oh, I was on a line with Marleau at All-Stars, he’s fun,” Shane casually explained.

“Why is he calling you Hollzy?” Hayden seemed genuinely confused like Shane was the first hockey player with a nickname.

“I have no clue, he’s the only person that calls me that.” Shane omitted that he liked it from Marleau.

“So you are going out with Boston tonight?” Hayden didn’t get any less confused.

“Seems like it, you wanna join?” Shane asked.

Hayden blinked at him then smiled. “Sure, bud.”

What Hayden didn’t need to know was that Marleau kept telling stories about Shane from All-Stars whenever Montreal was mentioned and Ilya might or might not have planted the seed for Marleau to ask him for drinks after the game.

Shane and Hayden went into the locker room. Shane had planned to bring Hayden, JJ, Roy and maybe Schneids and Andy with them. He had also worked out that it would be best to ask them back in the hotel where the team was more dispersed. What he hadn’t expected was Hayden talking a little too loudly in the locker room while inviting JJ.

“Wait, who is going?” someone yelled.

“Well, currently it’s me, JJ and Shane," Hayden yelled back.

“Hollander is going out? I wanna see that,” Gagnon said disparagingly. Wilson and Laine grunted in agreement.

Suddenly, half the team wanted to go out with the Boston team. Fuck, this was going to be harder to control.

Shane sent off a quick text to Ilya.

Shane: Half of my team is coming.

Lily: How many assholes?

Shane: A couple. I’m sorry :( 

Lily: Did you invite them?

Shane: No, they overheard and invited themselves. Hard to say no.

Lily: Then do not apologize, we will manage, I bring more.

Shane: Okay.

___________________________

Marleau had picked out a club that seemed more laid back than the ones Shane had been to before. It also had a big enough VIP area to fit around twenty bulky hockey players. Shane felt underdressed in his jeans and black T-shirt, he maybe needed Tommaso for going out outfits as well. Would he really need them in the future? It probably couldn’t hurt to at least have some options.

The teams were somewhat separated, only Mitty, Shane and Schneids managed to mingle with the Bears. Mitty talked to their goalie Parker about some guy from Anaheim that either shot two or twenty times on the goal in a game and Schneids found the only other person that could speak German on the Bears with Keller, a guy from Switzerland.

Marleau and Shane came back from the bar with two waitresses behind them carrying their drinks. Shane sat down next to Ilya, Marleau landed on his other side. Shane was handed a non-alcoholic ginger beer by Marleau with a friendly nod while everyone except for Lorence from Boston were taking their alcoholic drinks. His wife was due with their second baby in a week, so he wanted to be able to drive home if the baby decided to come early.

“Man, now you are finally in a club and don’t even drink, Hollander," Wilson complained across the sofa.

“Yeah, you’re no fun,” Laine added.

Shane raised an eyebrow. “If you need alcohol to be fun, that’s kinda sad.” He took a big swig out of his ginger beer.

“You are such a pussy,” Laine snarled.

Shane should probably just shut up but he wasn’t in the mood to hold back. He got the A but some of them still showed him zero respect. 

“That’s the only pussy you will see tonight then,” Shane stated without looking at Laine.

The Bears around him started laughing and Marleau clinked his drink against Shane’s.

“As if you are hooking up tonight. I have seen you pick up like twice in the last year," Laine countered.

Roy between them let out a big sigh. “Laine, back off.”

“Nah man, he is weird, acting like a sexless robot. It’s creeping me out.” Wilson was back in the discussion for some godforsaken reason.

“Really, Wilson?” Roy shot Wilson a pointed look.

“Just because I don’t pick up when everyone is drunk, doesn’t mean I don’t get laid. I prefer my hookups to be fully conscious.” Shane hit a nerve.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Wilson stood up.

“Remember two weeks ago? I do. You had to buy that girl three drinks in under an hour before she went home with you,” Shane responded calmly.

“I had the same amount of drinks.” Wilson was now very close to making a scene.

“You weigh twice as much as her.” Shane didn’t back down. It took a grounding knee from Ilya pressing subtly into him to not jump across the table.

“Like your new friend over here is much better!” Wilson was wildly gesturing at Ilya. The whole crew turned their heads. Ilya looked like he was thoroughly enjoying being involved. “We all see the TMZ articles about the girls from clubs, probably fucks all puck bunnies he can get. Walking STD right there.”

Ilya put his hand over his heart in mockery. “You follow my tabloid articles, how sweet of you Willy boy.”

“That wasn’t the point, you asshole,” Wilson snapped back.

“You really think I need booze or fame with this face or these moves?” He flashed his teeth and rolled his hips in an obscene circle in his seat, brushing against Shane in the process. The Bears wolf whistled, Marleau next to him gave Ilya a friendly shove for him to stop. Shane felt very hot all of a sudden.

“Fuck all of you, I’m getting another drink.” Wilson stormed off with his tumbler still two thirds full, Laine and Gagnon following him to the lower level bar.

“Well, this is fun,” Marleau remarked before emptying his drink. “Anyone wanna order food?”

Roy murmured something unintelligible and followed Marleau to the nearest bar. The rest of the players fell back into their own discussions. Shane excused himself to the bathroom.

He checked that the stalls were all empty before letting out a loud and frustrated groan.

The door swung open. Shane braced himself for either Wilson, Laine or Gagnon to get further on his nerves.

“So that was…” Ilya stepped behind him in the mirror, his eyes darkened. He let his knuckles run over Shane’s back, Shane shivering at the touch.

“... really stupid?” He looked at Ilya through the mirror.

“I say stupidly hot.” Ilya got closer. “So you are getting laid, hm?”

“Maybe even tonight.” Shane leaned into him.

Ilya tilted his head before his mouth turned into a lopsided smirk. “I think yes.”

“You leave in twenty, make it look like you picked someone up, I follow twenty minutes after?” Shane wanted to jump him right here but that really wasn’t an option with the lockless door.

“So bossy, kotenok.” He gave Shane’s waist a quick squeeze before leaving the bathroom.

Shane steadied himself and splashed his face with cold water. He actually needed to pee, so he took care of that with a bit of trouble from the half hard erection he was sporting. He fixed his sweaty hair before rejoining the table. Forty more minutes were survivable.

___________________________

They were not survivable. He had to watch Ilya dance with various women for twenty minutes while JJ was ranting about something in French, probably his latest girlfriend-not-girlfriend, until Ilya finally left the club with two women by his side. He took one last look back at the table and winked at them.

“Yeah, get it Rozy,” Hammersmith shouted after him.

“He told you, he doesn’t need booze, that bastard,” Carmichael shot in the direction of the Voyageurs. Wilson just glared at him and downed another shot. 

20 minutes before Shane could leave.

He had told Ilya he wanted him to make it look like he was picking someone up. He did just that, probably just found girls to smoke outside with and then he would leave them. Shane still felt an unwelcomed stab to his guts with the very convincing show he was given. It was not like they were anything but friends. Friends who fucked. So why did he feel like this?

18 minutes and a cab ride to get over those thoughts. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t have sex with other people as well. Late during the last season after a game against New Jersey, he managed to discreetly pick up a cute Brazilian guy on holiday outside a bar to blow each other in the guy’s hotel room. During the off-season, he flew out to the Bahamas for vacation and found a muscly guy to top him. There had also been a handful of girls during the season but he only had anything more than oral with one and that was also barely anything close to successful. He was nervous at all hookups, more so with the guys, but it wasn’t like he was a monk when Ilya wasn’t there. There were just no tabloids to capture it, thankfully.

16 minutes before he got to leave.

JJ was still ranting, now towards Hayden who had a dreamy look in his eyes while checking his phone. He was most likely texting Jackie, who he had met during their last outing in the previous season. It had been at a bar in Montreal, she had just finished college and had gone out to celebrate with her friends. Shane had been on duty to keep the other guys from interrupting them as Hayden and Jackie had disappeared in a dark corner for way too long for anyone not to notice. Six months later, they had already moved in. Shane would bet his latest performance bonus on Hayden wanting to ask her to marry him on Christmas or maybe New Year’s eve, depending on the schedule.

13 minutes to go.

Marleau leaned into Shane so just he could hear. “Hollzy, still can’t get over how you told your teammate off, that fucker should watch himself. The other Bears now get why I find you so funny.”

“Erm, thanks, didn’t plan on that but can’t let him talk shit like this.” He rolled his shoulders.

“Fucking right!” Marleau looked around the room when the music changed. “Fuck, I love that song, I’m gonna head down.”

11 minutes left.

His phone buzzed:

Lily: Home. Please hurry

Shane: I have another 10 mins left.

Lily: Pleeeeeeaseeeee. I’m so horny :(

Shane: Fuck it.

Shane: Omw.

Lily: So good to me, Kotenok.

Shane couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He did feel like a cat in heat though, so who was he to deny that stupid nickname.

“Where are you going?” Hayden grabbed his wrist.

“I’m leaving, I think I had enough for today.” Shane pulled away.

“Ok, see you at the hotel.” Hayden sank back into his seat.

“I’m meeting someone. I will see you in the morning.” Hayden and JJ looked at him like they had seen a ghost.

“Have fun then, err… don’t get anyone pregnant in Boston?” Hayden commented.

Oh, that was definitely not the plan for today. Shane shook his head while biting his cheek to not grin too hard.

“I’ll be careful.” Shane threw on his jacket, sent a last look back at the booth with Wilson and company and quickly saluted Roy before he made his way out of the club.

He jumped into the next cab and gave the driver an address a block away from Ilya’s.

___________________________

Shane had narrowly made it through the door when Ilya was fully on him, pinning him against the wall, kissing him feverishly.

“Ilya.” Shane was already panting.

“I need to fuck you right here, kotenok.” Ilya was breathless as well.

“Fuck, okay.” Shane was too horny to think or find a more appropriate place. He needed Ilya, all of him. He hastily pushed down Ilya’s pants and dove his hand into his boxers to find him fully hard already. He let his hand glide over his length, teasing the head with a swipe of his thumb.

“Turn around,” Ilya huffed out.

Shane put his hands against the wall and pressed into Ilya. Ilya yanked his pants and boxers down until Shane could kick them away. Ilya dropped to his knees and pulled Shane’s cheeks apart, letting his mouth explore between. He kissed, sucked and licked Shane’s hole until Shane’s legs were close to giving out underneath him.

Shane’s mouth let out a desperate whimper. “Jesus, Ilya! I... fucking hell… I need you. Please!” 

Ilya stood back up, giving Shane’s ass a playful smack before Shane heard the cap of the lube bottle pop. He felt Ilya’s fingers circle over his entrance. Ilya’s other hand pushed Shane’s shirt up so he could grope his chest.

“Do not worry, kotenok, I will give you everything you need,” Ilya whispered in his ear, letting his teeth run over the sensitive skin of Shane’s neck before his fingers found their way into Shane.

Shane was impatient, he spent all day either fantasizing or trying to stop fantasizing about having Ilya like this. He pushed back against the fingers, rocking back and forth on them, dangerously needy for more.

“So eager for me, you think you are ready?” Ilya added a third finger, Shane moaning deeply.

“Yes, please, come on, I can take it.”

It was supposed to be a challenge but tumbled from his lips as a plea. His whole body was running hot, screaming for more so he could melt into the sensation. His hands scraped at the wall to get any sort of grounding feeling to hinder his mind from fully drifting away.

He felt Ilya’s fingers being pulled out of him. A condom wrapper was ripped open and some more lube spread. Shane spread his legs in anticipation, they had fucked like this in the shower once before.

Ilya turned him back around to face him. He had pulled his shirt off at some point without Shane realizing. Before Shane could stare for too long at his naked chest, Ilya let his hands glide down Shane’s sides until he reached behind his thighs and hoisted him up against the wall. Shane gasped and immediately wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist who secured him between his torso and the wall. 

“Hold on tightly,” Ilya directed him with a smirk before reaching down to guide himself into Shane while Shane tried his best to hold himself in position. Suddenly, he was filled up to the brim with Ilya’s cock leaving him no choice but to throw his head against the wall and send a loud moan towards the ceiling.

“Okay?” Ilya asked while nuzzling against Shane’s collarbone.

“Come on, fuck me.” Shane had no way to move but to roll his hips in the air.

“You are going to kill me.” Ilya started thrusting.

“I’m not the one… ah fuck… who decided to … oh shit, Ilya… to pin 200 pounds against the wall.”

He was shut up by Ilya’s lips back on his mouth, the kiss messy and so, so good. Shane was grappling at anything he could, shoulders, back, hair, anything to hold on.

Ilya was pounding into him in a ruthless rhythm, urgent and unwilling to give Shane anything else but all he had. He was punching little ahh ahh ahhhhs out with every smack of their skins against each other. Shane was clinging on to Ilya as snug as possible, nothing fitting in between them but their combined sweat running down their sculpted bodies. 

The feeling of being held like this, fucked like this, consumed like this was overwhelming Shane to the point where his brain went blank. There were no thoughts left, just the sensation of Ilya turning everything in his mind unbearably bright and sensitive until his whole body pulled tight around Ilya. His orgasm was accompanied by a drawn out cry, his hole clenching around Ilya still hammering into him. Ilya’s grunts were muffled by Shane’s shoulder where his lips were pressed, holding back the urge to bite. With one last full thrust, he came with his pelvis flush against Shane’s ass, pulsing in small circles into him.

Ilya pulled out seconds later to let Shane back onto his feet but not yet away from the wall. Ilya stabilized them both against it while Shane’s head was flooded again with thoughts. He then for the first time realized they weren’t even fully naked. His shirt was pushed up to his armpits, Ilya’s pants and boxers were still around his thighs. They looked like a total mess, Shane couldn’t help but laugh.

“You okay?” Ilya was still alive then.

“Yeah, just… we didn’t even make it out of our clothes," Shane sighed gleefully.

Ilya leaned back, took inventory and then laughed with him. God, they were ridiculous.

“Well, this time it was my fault. I jumped you.” Ilya closed the distance between them, giving Shane a tender kiss, probably too tender for how they looked. 

He picked up their clothes and pulled Shane into the shower where they made out and then sucked each other before eventually getting clean.

It was only after the shower when Shane noticed what he had done.

“Oh shit." Shane carefully inspected Ilya. "I’m so sorry, your whole back is fucked.”

There were big red streaks all over his back like he had gotten into a fight with a tiger or another big cat. Well…

“A little souvenir.” Ilya looked very pleased at his reflection.

After they made themselves comfortable in Ilya’s bed (yes, Ilya very much let Shane sleep here), Shane had a question to ask.

“Did you by chance not smoke as much recently?” He tried to say it as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yes. I do not smoke all the time," Ilya responded nonchalantly back.

“It was not because I complained last time about your erm… taste, was it?” He had made a face before he got stop it last time he had swallowed.

Ilya let his nose roam over Shane’s chest where he was laying on and kissed it languidly. “Maybe. Did it help?”

“Actually did. Thank you.” Shane hugged him tighter.

“I will not start drinking pineapple juice though." Ilya made a little disgusted sound. "I only like it in pina colada.”

“Does that help?” Shane had looked into that so far.

“Internet says so," Ilya confirmed.

“Do you want me to try?” Tit for tat or something like that.

“I like your taste. But you can try… for research.”

“For research.”

___________________________

The alarm rang out at 7 a.m., enough time for a morning round, shower and breakfast before he had to go back to the hotel at 9:30. Ilya made no attempt to move when he picked up his phone to silence the alarm.

He took a peek at his messages, the group chat was going crazy.

A bunch of articles had dropped over night.

Bears and Voyageurs spotted together at Truth or Dance Club!

Rivalry dead? Boston and Montreal go out together after Montreal's victory in Boston!

EXCLUSIVE! HOLLANDER AND ROZANOV SPOTTED TOGETHER AT BOSTON TAILOR!

From bitter rivals to besties? Why these Rozanov/Hollander pictures will floor you!

NHL STARS OUT AND ABOUT! Watch Rozanov and co. show Montreal how to party!

The group chat wasn’t much better. The ones that weren’t there yesterday found it mostly funny. Some of the guys were celebrating their first tabloid appearances. Wilson, Gagnon and Laine were far from sunshine and rainbows though.

Gagnon: Wtf @Hollander, you traitor went to a tailor with that guy?

Wilson: Are you that ashamed of your clothes you had to go all the way to Boston to get a stupid suit?

Laine: Why the fuck would you ask Rozanov for clothing advice? He looks like a fairy when he’s off the ice like 80% of the time.

Schneids: Ok, calm down guys. You also went out to the club yesterday, no one is a traitor.

Wilson: I’m not the one who talked to Keller for hours, traitor.

Schneids: What? I miss speaking German, none of you can speak it.

Roy: Everyone get it together or I’ll make sure coach won’t let you go out after a game ever again.

Gagnon: You don’t have to be so dramatic about it, Roy.

Roy: One more peep and I'll message him.

“Can I just stay here?” Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya.

“You will have to pay rent.” Ilya moved to fully lay on top of Shane like a blanket. “Now you cannot go.”

“You know I can move you, if needed, right?” Shane mumbled against Ilya's cheek.

“But do you want to?” Ilya pulled his head back.

“No, but I have to.” Shane frowned.

Ilya licked his lips. “Will a blowjob make this better?”

"Probably, so… please try?" That turned that frown upside down real fast.

“Always so polite," Ilya said before getting to work.

Exchanging blowjobs did make it better. The shower and the breakfast also helped. Having to leave Ilya did not.

“Early January?” Shane was checking if he packed everything.

“Early January. We can meet at Tommaso’s again.” Ilya handed him his wallet.

“Err, I have to check the schedule, but maybe next time I stop here first.” Shane tried to suppress the heat creeping up his features. Ilya raised an eyebrow at him.

“Was it… hard to see me there?” Ilya said in a seductive tone.

Shane didn’t dare to look at him. “You’re still the worst.”

Ilya kissed him goodbye and then Shane was off.

Early January couldn’t come fast enough.

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• I looked up current flights from Moscow to Boston, the most efficient one I could find was by Turkish Airlines over Istanbul. If someone knows more about 2011 flight routes and if there was a direct flight, please let me know in the comments. EDIT 17th of May: OMG SOMEONE ACTUALLY DID! Shoutout to msperception and friends, I changed it now to a flight over New York with online calculators telling me how long would be from NY to Moscow. 
• Shoutout to this website for the flight announcement Not sure if anyone but me would have cared if it wasn’t accurate but I care. 
• Little niece’s actual name is Yekatarina in my story but she would be called Katjuschka. Did I name her after Katya Zamolodchikova? We will never know for sure. (Yes.)
• If you are curious, being around twenty and named alternate captain is pretty rare but not unheard of. Sidney Crosby was named alternate captain in his rookie season at 18, there were some others at 19-21. (Look at me, learning about hockey, totally not because I’m afraid it will be fully inaccurate at random unimportant points).
• Also, I will continue to ask if someone is interested in a ballroom dancer Hollanov AU and will write it if one (1) person says yes. (I will finish this first though, so it will take a while). (Someone did say they want to read it, it shall be written!)

As always, I go feral for notifications. Feel free to put anything between a heart emoji and an essay in the comments, I read it all and will respond.

Chapter 9: On the record

Chapter Summary

Shane talks to his mom, Ilya struggles with the holidays and data is leaked during All-Stars 2012

Chapter Notes

Everyone, rejoice! I found a way to sort the tags so they won’t drive me crazy.

This chapter will be a bit heavier than the others, if you want to make sure you are okay with the content, see the CW dropdown.

CW

Ilya is depressed during the holidays, very brief mention of Irina's suicide. Medical data is leaked. Shane has a panic attack. People are ableist towards Shane.

December 2011

Looking back, Shane thought this had been inevitable, he should have prepared himself better. It was really fascinating how long it took. Maybe, it was just because they hadn’t seen each other in a while in person and this was something to be done face to face.

They sat down in his apartment after he had divided the ordered food onto plates. It was eerily quiet for exactly three minutes before the silence was broken.

“Shane, why did you do it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Going out to a club with Boston?” His mom had barely touched the lemon chicken on rice he had ordered for her while his dad was already a good quarter through his pile of wild mushroom pasta.

“I don’t see the problem with that.” Shane avoided eye contact with anything but his tuna steak which was too dry for his taste.

“First of all," Yuna turned to him, "You are not allowed in clubs in the US-”

“Admission was over 18-” Shane interjected.

“You are still not allowed to order alcohol-” Yuna countered.

“I didn’t." Shane pushed his tuna around the plate. "It was non-alcoholic ginger beer, you know I don’t drink during the season, usually.”

“And you usually also don’t go out with other teams." His mom's brows were deeply furrowed.

“Well, maybe I want to change that.” Shane took a bite of the tuna and regretted not getting the soy sauce from the fridge.

“Which leads me back to the question we started at: why?” Yuna's worry swung in every word.

“Are you concerned as my mom or my manager?” It was supposed to be a neutral question but as he heard it coming out straight up spiteful, he already regretted it. She was excellent at doing both even though sometimes these two things were hard to balance for them.

His mom slumped back into her seat like she was physically shoved back. “I’m always your mom and only part-time your manager, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, just… we talk a lot about the manager stuff and I sometimes just want my mom in certain situations.” Shane shifted in his chair

“Okay, then." Yuna's voice turned more delicate. "As your mom, I’m still concerned about what happened.”

Shane sighed. “Marleau asked me after the game, if I wanted to go out with them, said I owed him a drink for assisting in overtime.”

“And you just went?” Yuna asked.

“Yeah, why not?" Shane twirled the empty fork in his hand. "He has been nice to me at All-Stars and he called me funny a couple of times. I didn’t see the harm in actually making friends outside of my team, especially… nevermind. I just wanted to hang out with other people. That can’t be a crime.”

“If the club was actually admission 18 and over-” Yuna reiterated.

“You can look it up if you need.” Shane took a swig of water, his throat too dry from both the tuna and the discussion.

“I trust you.” Yuna tried to ensure him.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” Shane couldn’t help but snap at her. The eerie silence was back for what felt like an eternity.

“I’m sorry, Shane. It was just… unusual, okay. What is really going on?” Yuna leaned back into his space, putting her hand on his forearm that was planted on the table.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. He couldn’t continue lashing out at his mom for legit parental concerns over their son maybe doing mildly illegal stuff in another country. No one actually caring what laws NHL players were breaking most of the time didn’t mean he should be careless as well. And reassuring her of that should have been an easy conversation and not whatever he just did.

“You know I have a hard time connecting with people. So it was really nice for Marleau to come up to me and ask to hang out. I didn’t stay long anyway, if that is any help.” Shane's head was hanging low.

“Did something happen?” Yuna's voice hit a new shade of concern.

“Some of my teammates were just assholes, that’s all, nothing unusual.” Shane could hear his attempt to play everything down fail.

“You know, you can talk to us, if anything gets out of hand, right?” his mom asked.

“Yeah, sure, I’m handling it.” He was but there was always only so much he could do.

“Okay.” Yuna finally cut into her chicken again that looked similarly dry. Shane had to strike that restaurant of his go to list. He risked a glance at her, she was still tense.

“Can I ask one more thing but as your manager?” Her brown eyes met his.

Shane owed her one for before. “Sure, go ahead.”

She took a deep breath. “What are your plans with Rozanov?”

Oh for fucks sake, was he that obvious? When did she notice? Shane was so careful not to overly mention him or react much to her ranting about him whenever they would face. His mom was ranting a lot about other teams and Shane would just listen, that wasn’t unusually. So what tipped her off?... Wait, why was this a manager question, if this was about them…?

Kira’s voice rang out in his mind: Ask, before you assume.

“What do you mean?” He held perfectly still in anticipation of what was to come.

“Well." Yuna put her cutlery back down. "There was this whole elaborate narrative built around you two being rivals, mortal enemies and what not, driving up both of your market value immensely from the start. It helped that you present starkly opposite of each other. I know we curated your image carefully on your end, I doubt Rozanov did the same with his team but it worked out anyway. So why the sudden change in direction?”

Good thing he asked.

“Rozanov and I have never been mortal enemies," Shane explained, actually glad she asked. "He is as annoying as reported on the ice but off it, he is not that bad. And frankly, he is the only one that gets how crazy this whole media stuff has been for both of us, so we started talking. He offered to take me to his tailor after I complained about my suits being uncomfortable. I thought I was being ridiculous for feeling affected by my clothes but he actually took me seriously and helped.”

“So what about the media, do we need a new direction then?” She already pulled out her phone for potential notes.

“This whole narrative sometimes makes me feel like… like I’m suffocating in it. The role model thing combined with the golden boy vs evil Russian menace bullshit, as if I don’t check people hard into the boards or fight when I have to, is making me feel very, very small.” Shane felt his back tense up involuntarily.

His mom let her phone sink again, directly looking at him. “Do you feel like I’m forcing you?” She sounded distressed.

“A bit, maybe? I’m not blaming you or anything. The talking points you gave me helped out a lot in the beginning. But I feel like I’m maneuvered into a little box of the perfect Asian player instead of… just being me.” Shane tentatively looked up at his mom. Her brows were still furrowed, her mouth twisted into a frown.

“Okay, then we need a new plan on how we can change that. I will set up a meeting with Farah. I have to say something though.” She gave Shane a moment to collect himself.

“Shoot.” Shane waved his hand as an invitation.

“I don’t think the media will ever fully get rid of the narrative around you being an Asian role model. They will also never get tired of enhancing whatever flaw you show because you are one of only a handful. I thought that the small frame would help you to ignore it.” Yuna's face was working through several different emotions at once.

“And it did until it didn’t,” Shane stated.

“Okay, then we look into what we can shift." Yuna typed in several things into her phone in rapid order. "It won’t happen overnight, probably not in one season but we can set this on a wider foundation to have options. This might also increase your market appeal if you are more open.”

“Thank you, mom.” Shane was deeply grateful that his mom had agreed to manage his career. Navigating all of this alone would have been a nightmare and trusting someone else with all of the important stuff was a big risk Shane was glad to avoid.

“Anything for you, you know that, right?” His mom squeezed his hand over the table.

“I know. I love you, mom.” He squeezed back.

“I love you too, honey.” Her mouth stretched into a smile. “So about your next Tim Hortons commercial…”

___________________________

December 25th 2011

Jane: Merry Christmas!

Ilya: Merry American Christmas

Jane: Do you not celebrate Christmas?

Ilya: Not on 25th. Russian Christmas is on 7th of Jan.

Jane: Oh, I didn’t know, sorry.

Ilya: Is fine to say merry Christmas.

Jane: Okay, but I will annoy you again on the 7th.

Jane: What are you doing today then?

Ilya: Sleep. Maybe Chinese takeout.

Jane: Oh, okay and on the 7th?

Ilya: Flight to Toronto.

Jane: You don’t get a day off?

Ilya: NHL does not care, no.

Jane: :( 

Ilya: Is fine, New Year’s is much bigger in Russia and Marly has big party planned.

Jane: Okay, just text me if you get bored.

Ilya dropped his phone next to him on the oversized coach in his living room. ESPN was playing on low volume on his giant TV. Ilya hadn’t been watching for a while. All of his attention was focused on the grey sky and the measly amount of snow that turned into slippery slush on the ground. 

He was fine, he hadn’t lied about that. Most of his teammates went somewhere to celebrate with their families or invited them to their Boston homes. Their French rookie Victor St-Simon had offered to do something together, as he couldn’t fly to Europe either but Ilya had turned him down, citing the whole Russian Christmas is not on the 25th spiel. Vicky went to the Zadonsky family last minute instead, Ilya declining that invitation as well.

He didn’t exactly regret it. He was in a mood again, pouting at the sky like it personally offended him for not producing better snow at this time of the year to cause a proper winter. He wasn’t keen on anyone seeing him like that.

Still, being alone when everyone else was at their home with their family in matching sweaters and a turkey ready to be smothered in gravy, made being in his apartment all by himself incredibly difficult. It had been last year as well. He had gotten drunk around noon and forgot all about it until it hit him about an hour ago that this was as awful as last year, maybe even worse. That’s when the staring at the greyness started.

No matter what Christmas it was, it reminded him about what he lost, what he was painfully missing and what he would never get back. A family. More importantly, his mother. She was the one who actually created something resembling anything close to a family. She was in charge of the holidays, a rare occasion as his father had to dominate everything else. He had dictated where everyone had to be at all times, had approval of their clothes, what food got on the table, what friends they could see and what hobbies they got to have. Ilya was only allowed to play hockey as his father saw it as a manly sport that would teach him discipline. If that had failed, Ilya was promised a military career, bringing glory to Russia in one way or another.

His mother had carried the holidays in her soft and skillful hands though. Ilya remembered her singing in the kitchen while she had made an unsavory amount of salat Olivye and pelmeni. The house had been lavishly decorated to the approval of his father who had taken the opportunity to brag about his house and his perfect family to all the people who would come over to celebrate with them. There had been no word of gratitude towards his mother, the lack of complaints and insults had to be enough praise. Ilya had learned quickly that was the case towards him as well.

She had also made sure that both of her sons had an equal amount of Christmas gifts after the big meltdown of 1999 when little Ilya had gotten one more than Andrei, a set of three new hockey sticks. He had been forced to share the hockey sticks on his father’s orders, even though Andrei had stopped playing hockey the spring prior. His brother had burned one of the sticks and used the other to chase after Ilya trying to beat him whenever their mother hadn’t been looking.

Ever since she had decided she could no longer stand being on this earth, the holidays had lost all of their joy for Ilya. He still had to sit through dinners with practically strangers as his father had been lamenting about their home and his still perfect family where he had simply replaced one way too young woman with the next like his mother had been some flat tire that had been quickly forgotten at the side of the road as the rest of this “family” had driven off with a new one.

There was not much home about Russia anymore for Ilya. He had lost that at twelve.

Boston though… Boston also didn’t feel like home. Maybe just not yet. Maybe not ever. Maybe he had to make it his home, had to put more effort into it. Maybe he just had to wait.

He didn’t know. The grey sky wouldn’t tell him. ESPN wouldn’t either. The Chinese takeout menu on the coffee table refused to answer as well.

Home is where the heart is.

Stupid Americans. If that was the truth, his heart was buried six feet under in a Moscow cemetery.

He scrolled back through the messages. There were some general team chat messages with pictures of happy little families around gigantic Christmas trees and sometimes a dog or two. Ilya zoomed in on one of the dogs that also got a Christmas sweater and made a screenshot. That would get him through the day, he hoped. 

Then he went back to his messages with Shane. He wanted to text him so badly. But that would mean he would have to admit to himself and, worse, to Shane that he was bored. That he should have just taken the invite, either one.

He pouted at the firmament for another hour before he ordered dim sum for four.

___________________________

7th of Jan 2012

Jane: Merry Christmas :)

Ilya: Merry real Christmas :)

___________________________

The All-Stars announcement this year came with yet another twist. The league announced two captains, Scott Hunter and Pete Cloffens. For alternates, there was a vote going on and conveniently, they were sorted by time in the league. Rookies weren't eligible for alternates, which meant that Shane and Ilya were the first two names popping up in the ranking and somehow got the most votes by a landslide. Shane got to be Cloffens second in command and Ilya, to his dismay, was Scott’s alternate. They would draft the rest of the teams in person on Friday before the skill competition and game on Saturday.

Shane: Who do I have to pay so that they won’t split us up again?

Shane: They were only like 2% more subtle than last year.

Lily: Did you see promo?

Shane: No, do I want to?

Lily: Website banner is of us facing off like CCM shoot.

Shane: Did they add that before or after the vote?

Lily: Do you really want to know?

Shane: Unbelievable.

Shane: Next time I will tape myself to you, good luck separating us then.

Lily:  Handcuffs are easier than tape ;)

Shane: Shut up, let me suffer in peace.

Lily: At least you did not get Hunter!!!!!

Shane: Why do you hate him again?

Lily: He’s so old.

Shane: Cloffens is like two years older.

Lily: Cloffens is like big dog, dogs do not get old, is rule.

Shane: When do you fly to Philly?

Lily: Thursday afternoon.

Shane: Me too!

Lily: See you then :) 

Shane: Yes :) 

___________________________

Shane woke up on Friday morning alone. Ilya had come over late last night but they had ultimately decided it would be too risky for him to stay. Thankfully, the pillow still smelled faintly like Ilya, so he smothered his face into it when his alarm went off. He put it to 7 a.m. so he had enough time before the 10 a.m. media call for the captains. Of course, they would find another chance to push them together for media, this time poor Cloffens and Scott had to be involved, too.

He glanced at his phone screen. He just wanted to check for any messages from the other captains but his phone screen wouldn’t stop showing new messages.

Mom: Oh honey, please call me.

Farah: Shane, please reach out when you wake up.

Hayden: Are you okay, buddy?

JJ: Yo, wtf is going on?

He opened the group chat with a sinking feeling of impending doom.

NHL DATA LEAK! Draft combine tests data made public

2009 NHL combine leak: Everything you need to know.

The Hollander-Rozanov combine year data leaked!

NHL LEAK REVEALS: HOLLANDER AUTISTIC

13 times we should have known Shane Hollander has autism.

He didn’t read the other messages, he didn’t need to. He clicked on the last one. The website had already put together clips of him in interviews or on the ice, mostly of his face going blank or his answers coming out stiff after a reporter had asked a majorly fishy question.

His vision went blurry, his hands were shaking so bad that he had trouble holding onto the phone. His nerves were tingling starting from the bottom of his feet moving up his whole body until he heard a high pitched whistling sound vibrating through his ears and skull.

This is what he had tried to avoid so desperately. He was already the wunderkind, the golden boy, Rozanov’s rival, that one Japanese player (even though they were three half Japanese players in the league for fucks sake), the one actually good Asian player, the pretty boy, the legend in the making, only one step away from total failure, he didn’t need another thing to add to his list here.

This was his disability, this was his disorder, this was his to manage, to go to therapy for, to explain to himself, to navigate, to calculate, to work with, to use. Someone took the opportunity from him to do that in peace. Of course, there were things he couldn’t hide like the hyperfocus or the occasional awkwardness. But now people had a new lens to watch everything he does through, like they did with him being Asian.

He didn’t want them to make it into a thing. It wasn’t a thing for him. It was a part of him. A part that had shaped him, that made certain things more difficult and other things more clear. It had brought him to Kira who taught him so much in the last two and a half years. It had also brought him closer to his mom. It had gotten him closer to himself.

But it was also not all of him.

And in this moment, all this was not his anymore. He was front and center of all of this against his will. There were about a hundred other people at the combine but the headlines mentioned him over and over again.

Hell had opened and welcomed him into its fiery pits.

He couldn't tell when he dropped to the floor. His breath had gone shallow, too shallow. He tried to get air into his lungs, his fucking life was depending on it but the oxygen would’t reach down. This was the end, he was going to die right here, right now in this stupid Philadelphia hotel because someone decided to wake up today, be a fucking asshole and leak his medical data.

This was his own personal nightmare and there was no way to wake up.

There was a bang on the door. 

They found him. They would break into his room and try to interview him or photograph him, get more money out of his misery, maybe just point and laugh like he was a sad clown. 

Another bang.

“HOLLANDER!” 

The sound was muffled through the door and the ringing in his ear.

“Hollander, open the door.” 

This time the voice was more clear. The Russian accent, the low baritone, the… ILYA!

Ilya couldn’t see him like this. He was curled up into a ball on his side, his arms wrapped around his knees, hot tears streaming down his face, still gasping for air, choking on his spit he was unable to swallow.

“SHANE! I come in now.”

The door clicked. Shane vaguely remembered handing Ilya a keycard last night so he could sneak in whenever and would not risk standing in the hallway. 

Shane was unable to move or speak. He wanted to run away as fast as his heart beat was currently going at. Where to? He didn't know, just away from here, away from the league, away from his public persona into the arms of obscurity.

The bleary image of a familiar hulking shape with a golden set of curls came into his vision. He wanted to send him away or at least tell him he was fine. He couldn’t put this on him.

All he managed was to pull his knees tighter and sob even harder than before.

“Oh my god, Shane!" Ilya gasped. "Oh Shane!”

Ilya stood over him for a moment before moving into action. He got down to the floor next to Shane and pulled him into his lap, fully enveloping him in his arms. Ilya rocked him back and forth, stroking his hair and kissing his temple where cold sweat formed beneath the hairline.

“Is okay, I am here. You hear me? I am here,” Ilya repeated over and over again. Shane closed his eyes, trying to focus on the warm, solid body around him.

“Please, solnyshko, breath for me. Please.” Ilya’s voice was trembling, unable to hide his own fear.

“Focus on me. All you do is breath with me, okay? I do the rest.” Ilya made exaggerated breathing noises that Shane was still not able to follow correctly.

“You are doing great, solnyshko, come on." He stopped the gentle rocking. "In, out, slow and steady.”

In.

Sob.

Out.

Whimper.

In.

Sob.

Out.

Whimper.

In.

Out.

Whimper.

In.

Sob.

Out.

Whimper.

In.

Sob.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Whimper.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Shane was coming back to the room gradually. He felt disgusting. His whole body felt clammy. His face was burning, tears still running. His limbs were still not under his control.

The noise in his ear was gone. It was swiftly replaced by the ringing of his phone that he had dropped next to him.

“Shane, is your mother. She keeps calling. Can you talk to her?” Ilya asked.

Shane couldn’t form any words, just more sobs were coming out. He shook his head.

“Do you want me to talk to her? She is probably worried.” His mom and Ilya… talking? In any other situation, this would cause another panic attack but he was still too deep in this one to register. He nodded.

“Okay, will be fine.” Ilya wrapped one arm stronger around Shane before reaching for his phone and pressing accept. “Hello Mrs. Hollander… no, this is Ilya. Rozanov… I am with him… he saw, yes… he is not okay… I can try… Shane, can you talk to her?”

Shane opened his mouth just for another wounded noise to escape. He buried his face between his knees.

“He cannot speak right now… I will stay of course… because he is my friend… oh, he mention, good… yes… good, yes… yes that is great, thank you… he will call when he can… okay bye.” He hung up.

“Shane, your mother is worried. She will talk to your agent and they will make statement. They will take care of this. Your mother sounds scary, will fight whoever leaked this. You are in best hands.” Ilya’s second arm made its way around Shane again, pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace.

They sat there for what could have been an eternity, Shane’s brain had lost any capacity to grasp the concept of time. His tears stopped, there was probably just no liquid in his body left which would explain the desert dry throat. His sobs were few and far, his breath mostly steady. His taut muscles slowly relaxed under the pressure. The exhaustion laid itself over him like a black veil obscuring any feeling but the fatigue that comes with fighting a battle you already lost before it started.

“Hey. You had food yet?” Ilya tried to sound upbeat.

“N…n…” There was nothing coming out but a cough. 

“You can nod or shake.” Ilya stated.

Shane shook his head.

“Okay, I will call room service and get you drink. Is okay if I put you on bed? Floor is… not good.” Ilya wrinkled his nose while looking at the weirdly patterned rug underneath thim.

Shane nodded.

Ilya got his legs under himself and then both of them off the floor in a move that would have heavily turned Shane on in any other scenario. He placed Shane on the bed and pulled the comforter over him up to his waist.

Ilya picked up the hotel phone and ordered eggs, ham, toast and some fruit as well as coffee to be left outside the door with a knock to inform them of the arrival. He hung up then went to the minibar to get two cans. He sat down next to Shane on the mattress and opened the ginger ale. He held it out for Shane.

“Drink for me, okay?” Ilya quietly asked.

Shane took the can in his hand and sipped. It didn’t take long before the whole can was gone. Ilya got up again unasked to grab him a bigger bottle filled with water. Shane downed that, too.

“You feel better?” Ilya took the bootle back.

“Yes, thank you.” His voice was still rough but the cough was gone.

“Hey, you speak again.” Ilya gave him a soft smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Shane stammered.

“Shane, this cannot be your first words.” Ilya tilted his head forward.

“You didn’t need to see me like this.” Shane tried to hide his face, all of sudden aware of how destroyed he must look.

“Like what? Terrified because stupid person leaked private information?” Ilya stroked his cheek where the salt crust of his tears made the touch rougher than usual.

“Yes.” It was marginally above a whisper.

“This is not for you to apologize for. We will find them and then they can see what they got themselves into. This is not your fault, Shane. This is not…” Ilya sounded close to bubbling over from rage.

Oh shit, did anything important from Ilya leak? Shane was so focused on himself that he didn’t even consider that anything was out there from Ilya.

“Ilya, did anything from you…” Shane searched his face.

“No, nothing." Ilya hesitantly shook his head. "I just… is not okay.”

Shane didn’t fully grasp why Ilya was so enraged then. He was also too tired to ask, so he reached out and tucked on Ilya’s sleeve. Ilya followed the invitation, scooting close to Shane and maneuvering him to lay against his chest, arms around Shane’s shoulders to secure him.

Three quick knocks before a voice called out room service.

Shane heard the footsteps disappear in the distance and Ilya wiggled his way out to grab their breakfast. Shane didn’t feel particularly hungry but knew he should probably get something into his system, he still felt too jittery for comfort. Usually, he wouldn’t eat breakfast in bed but today was not a normal day.

They ate in silence through half of the breakfast until Ilya spoke up. “So, what do you want to do today? I can call Farah to get you out of press until tonight's draft where no one will ask questions.”

“I’m not sure if that's possible.” Shane ripped a piece of toast apart.

“We will make it possible." Ilya gratefully took the other toast half. "Or we let Yuna call, she will handle them.”

“I can’t let my mom get me out of media.” Shane worried his lips between his teeth.

“She is your manager, yes?” Ilya asked.

“Yeah, but you know what I mean.” Shane could just imagine the headlines.

“Shane, something terrible happened, they cannot make you do stuff, especially not today.” Ilya bit into the toast.

Shane considered. “If I skip press, it looks like I have something to hide.”

“Or maybe like press did not earn to talk to you after spreading data.” Ilya angrily sank his teeth into a raspberry.

“Not, that’s not… I can’t…” Shane didn’t know how to explain it any better.

“Yes, you can,” Ilya insisted.

“No, Ilya. I can’t.” Shane looked him directly in his eyes that missed the usual sparkle. A thousand emotions were behind them, none of them clearly readable to Shane.

“Okay.” Ilya took his hand and squeezed.

“Okay.” Shane squeezed back.

They finished breakfast and Shane requested to get ready alone. He needed a shower before he could get into one of his new suits he got from Tommaso. He hadn’t worn any of them yet, he thought All-Stars was the perfect opportunity. Tommaso really was a master of his craft and he wanted to give them a proper stage.

Now at least, he wouldn’t feel restricted by his suit like he did from his life in general.

He brought Ilya to the door. Ilya cupped his face, thumb stroking over his cheek again. Shane let the weight of his head sink into Ilya's hand for a moment.

“I will be back at 9:50, okay?” Ilya gently asked.

“Okay,” Shane confirmed.

Ilya laid the softest of kisses on Shane’s lips before slipping out the door.

Shane had half an hour to shower, get dressed, call his mom and ultimately get himself together.

___________________________

Ilya was led into the media room together with Hunter, Cloffens and Shane, who wore one of his new suits and looked way too good for the occasion. The first two had briefly checked in with them but Shane had waved them off.

The PR person wanted to arrange them according to teams with the captains in the middle but one look from Ilya made it clear they would seat themselves where they wanted. So Ilya took center right with Hunter on the end. Shane landed next to Ilya, Cloffens at the other end. Ilya spread himself wide, making him as visible of a target as he could.

The questions started firing rapidly, the first few were about All-Stars and the captain/alternate dynamics which Hunter and Cloffens mostly took with a few quips from Ilya in between. Cloffens had nothing but praise for Shane, as he should, and Hunter carefully danced around his real opinion of Ilya with a well-trained friendly expression. Shane remained perfectly still on his chair like the reporters wouldn’t be able to see him if he didn’t move a hair. His face was a stern mask, his head only slightly turning to whoever spoke.

“Shane, anything you want to say about this morning’s leak?” a reporter yelled.

Ilya glanced to the side, ready to jump in. Shane let out a huff before answering. “I have only seen very minimal but from what I gathered this is a gross invasion of privacy of over a hundred players and should be taken very seriously.”

“Are you telling us you have not looked into the data at all? You are not curious about your competition?” the reporter followed up.

Shane scooted closer to the microphone, all eyes on him, the occasional camera clicking. “I have only seen headlines. And no, I will not look into private medical data of any players they do not want to share and frankly, neither should anyone else.”

Ilya pressed his knee into Shane under the table. To hell if Cloffens or Hunter would know that he was close to Shane.

“Ilya, the data revealed that Shane has autism, care to comment?” Ilya was so perplexed, he could do nothing but blink.

“Why would Rozanov comment on that?” Hunter sounded rather bothered.

“Do you want to comment on it then?” the reporter tried to dig further.

“Me? Again, why? I can comment on Shane as an outstanding player and his behavior off the ice from the couple of interactions we had that were all rather pleasant. If you want a quote from me, that's it.” Hunter forced his smile back but it turned more into a grimace than anything.

“Hollander, do you feel guilty for the data leak?” a reporter from the last row shouted over the scrum.

“What?” Shane and Ilya said at the same time.

“The speculations are that the data was only leaked because you and Rozanov’s names were attached to it," the reporter elaborated. "What do you want to say to the other players that were pulled into it?”

Shane opened his mouth and closed it again. His jaw was audibly clicking next to Ilya. Ilya had seen enough.

“So you are blaming us for the data leak? For our and a hundred other players' privacy invaded by some money or fame hungry asshole without anyone’s consent? What is next? Will you break into my apartment and tell me is my fault you steal my stuff because my stuff is too nice? Will you try to destroy my knee cap because my leg is valuable? Can you hear yourself? All I want to say to the other players is that idiot reporters like you have nothing better to do than snoop in people’s lives because their own is so sad. You should leave this job for someone who is good at it.”

Ilya stood up rapidly, the chair behind him tumbling to the ground.

“I think this is done, see you on the ice.” He whipped around to Cloffens and jerked his head towards the exit. He pulled Shane up at his shoulder and got him out of the room covered by Cloffens and him. Hunter was last of the foursome leaving, making sure no one would follow them.

The four of them found an empty conference room, Hunter locking the side.

“Are you two okay?” Cloffens was the first to speak, keeping his voice low in case someone was holding a microphone to the door.

“I am fine, I just need to kill a guy or five.” Ilya was pacing around the room.

“Rozanov,” Shane said too calmly. Ilya stopped. “They are not worth it.”

“It’s not okay, how they treated you.” Ilya was careful not to do anything stupid with Hunter and Cloffens in the room.

“I’m not happy to say this but he is right,” Hunter chimed in.

“See, even Hunter agrees, listen to dinosaur, he has seen everything twice.” Ilya ran an agitated hand through his neatly styled hair.

“Really, Rozanov?” Hunter's anger was no pointed at Ilya. Not that he cared.

“Was compliment, you are a very wise dinosaur.” Ilya shrugged while Hunter was dragging his hands across his face.

Cloffens got them back on track. “Shane, again, are you okay?” 

“No, but we can’t do anything about it right now." Shane sounded oddly calm. "I will have to talk to my agent and my mom, who’s my manager. I think that’s enough speaking to the press for me for today though.”

“Okay, then we get you to your room so you can make the phone calls and I pick you up for the draft. Or I will do the draft alone,” Cloffens offered.

“Thank you, but I already made a strat for drafting.” Shane smirked at Cloffens.

Ilya should have known. He shook his head with a grin on his face. “Ah, strategy will not help, we will outplay you with any team.”

“Again, really, Rozanov?” Hunter looked at him in disbelief.

“You’re on, Rozanov.” Shane had his determined scrunched up face on to Ilya’s delight.

Hunter’s eyes danced between them, unable to grasp where the sudden mood shift came from. “You two are weird.”

“We like to win, I will show you how, Hunter.” Ilya mockingly patted his shoulder before looking around. “There is a second door, we can leave through there.”

___________________________

They made it back to their respective rooms. Ilya sent a bunch of check-in messages until Shane told him he could only check in every hour or when he would hear something as Shane had to handle the statement and talk to his coach and GM.

They got through the draft without a hitch, the other players only making comments in private or not at all.

Ilya slipped into Shane’s room who was already half asleep, stripped down to his boxers and slotted himself in behind Shane’s curled up body. Ilya was too afraid to leave him alone, it was hard enough that he had to during the game the next day. 

He set his alarm to 5:30 a.m. before snuggling in as close as possible. He made sure Shane was asleep before he closed his eyes for the night.

They got through the day, Ilya and Cloffens making sure that the press wouldn’t dare to come near Shane again. 

More articles dropped during the day, analyzing different aspects of Shane’s questionnaires. Some called into question if his diagnosis was even real as the result said he seemed to have low support autism and was recommended further consultation for proper testing but there was no result on the further testing in the leak. Others dragged him through the mud for hiding it, asking if he was ashamed of being disabled. The third group called him a burden to Montreal and how they can’t support someone with special needs, going as far as calling for his removal from the team.

Ilya knew Shane had not read any of the full articles, but the headlines were already vicious enough. And from what he could gather, the Voyageurs had sent them in the group chat until noon, when Roy with the help of Hayden put an end to it. 

Shane didn’t show any of it during the skill competition where he won fastest skater, or during the game where he scored a beautiful hat trick with Marleau assisting on two. Shane had picked Marleau first round, gaining an exaggerated pout from Ilya. He didn’t celebrate much of his goals, he just continued like it was just another Tuesday and not a spectacular showing of a one of a kind hockey talent in a stacked All-Stars competition. Team Cloffens went off the ice victorious. 

Back in the locker room, Ilya opened his chat with Shane.

Ilya: You are going out?

Jane: No, I will eat in my room, it's just too much.

Ilya: Okay, I will come to your room.

Jane: You can go out if you want.

Ilya: You do not want me over?

Jane: I do, but I want you to have fun. It was a shit weekend.

Ilya: You want me to have fun? Then I come to you.

Jane: I don’t know if I’m up for anything.

Ilya: You said food, yes?

Jane: Yes?

Ilya: Sounds fun, I will be there in an hour.

Jane: Okay.

Ilya showered quickly, got his clothes back on and dodge some more reporters on his way to his room. He showered more thoroughly to get the final bit of hockey gear stank off and got into comfy clothes to go to Shane’s room. The other All-Stars were out to eat or party, making it fairly easy to not be seen. Not that anything conspicuous had to happen at 8 p.m. but the less questions the better. People understood why neither of them wanted to go out tonight.

They ordered food and ate with some TV show in the background, neither of them keen on seeing themselves on the news or ESPN. Ilya already anticipated the fine he would get for yelling at the reporter but he would pay his full year’s salary to do it again.

Ilya put the food tray outside and got back into bed. He carefully placed a kiss on Shane’s clothed shoulder. 

“Do you want to sleep?” Ilya asked.

“No," Shane answered softly.

“Do you want to talk?” Ilya scooted closer.

“No. Can you just… I need to be out of my brain for a while. I feel like I can’t fully breathe, my head is racing.” Shane shuffled closer as well.

“What do you need?” Ilya had a hunch but needed Shane to say it.

“Can you fuck me? Doesn’t have to be anything… complicated… I just need to feel you, is that… is that okay?” Shane peered at him through his long dark lashes.

“Of course, solnyshko.” The endearment came out naturally.

“What does that one mean?” Shane tilted his head to the side.

“It means sun or sunshine.” Ilya left out that it also meant something like dear or darling.

“So like Cristina called Meredith?” Shane's tip of his tongue slipped out between his lips.

“Yes, you are the sun, not them and they will not dim your light, okay?” Ilya looked deep into his eyes which in the low light were the color of the earth after a heavy rain.

Shane pulled him for a deep and wanting kiss, letting out little desperate noises that Ilya swallowed up.

Ilya made sure to take care of him, never leaving Shane’s body with his lips or hands for longer than absolutely necessary, He entered him in one smooth glide, being welcomed in like he had never left.

For the first time, he wished there was no barrier between them. He knew that wasn’t a smart idea with their arrangement so he didn’t even mention it but he wanted to be irrationally close to Shane at this moment. He would take what he would get though which was honestly already so close to perfect.

Shane looked blissfully wrecked while Ilya was working into him with just the right amount of force to keep them both in this wonderful, floaty state where nothing else existed for as long as he could.

“So perfect, solnyshko, just like that, so beautiful.” Ilya had to get all of it out, it was impossible to hold himself back anymore. He switched to Russian before the dam broke completely.

“You were so brave today. I wish I could have protected you. I wish I could protect you every day. You don’t need it, you are so strong but I still want to. I should have been brave. I was not honest with my answers, maybe then you wouldn’t have to be alone in this. I was a coward, please forgive me. Please don’t leave me. I was so scared when I saw you on the floor, I know I can’t have you but I cannot lose you. Please don’t leave. I don’t know why I need you this badly, but I do. Please.”

He hid his face in Shane’s neck, tears so close to falling. He needed to hold it together for Shane.

He snapped his hips harder, very near to losing his rhythm. Shane’s legs went tighter around him, his upper back arched into Ilya, he was so close in every sense, Ilya could feel it all.

“Come for me solnyshko. I want to feel you. Come.” He wrapped his hand around Shane’s dick, stroking him through his orgasm.

Shane in a blind frenzy to muffle his sound sank his teeth into Ilya’s shoulder, the sharp sensation tipping Ilya over the edge with him.

Ilya collapsed onto Shane whose body went fully limp under the weight. 

“Thank you,” Shane got out when his breath was under his control again.

“It worked?” Ilya lifted his heavy head up.

“It was perfect." Shane gently kissed him. "Now, I do need sleep though.”

“Okay.” Ilya made an attempt to roll off of him, but Shane caught his biceps.

“Can you stay again?” Shane looked so concerned.

“I will stay, solnyshko.”

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• I’m aware that the final episode of season 10 of Grey’s Anatomy where Cristina says “He’s not the sun, you are.” aired in 2014 but I randomly inserted Grey’s in Ch. 7 and now I can’t stop thinking about how that final dance moment was to Tegan and Sara "Where Does the Good Go?" which, sorry, I love that song but terrible to dance to?? This choice is so very lesbian coded while saying ‘you are my one true love’ basically, despite neither of them getting a queer storyline. Also fanon using solnyshko all the time and Cristina calling Meredith the sun to tell her to take care of herself and remember how bright she is and that no one can eclipse her which is perfect for Ilya and Shane?? I’m trapped in my own mind palace so please forgive me if I ignore the timeline here.
• Panic attack vs autistic meltdown: From what I understand (and experienced), autistic meltdowns are caused by a sensory/emotional overload and panic attacks are caused by an immense rush of fear. The lines are blurry though and panic attacks have a medical definition, autistic meltdowns do not. I called it a panic attack because I think it fits the bill here better, just fyi. Both are a nightmare to experience so potato, potato.

If it helps, I made myself cry at the end. Feel free to tell me in the comments if light angst is underselling this, my angst meter doesnt work. Or just any nice comment you want :)

Chapter 10: Aftershock

Chapter Summary

Shane deals with the aftermath of the leak.

Chapter Notes

CW

Short mention about homophobic, racist and ableist language.

From: Roger Crowell, NHL Head Offices

To: All active players in the NHL and AHL

Subject: Investigation into the data leak

We are aware of the leak of the 2009 combine data that included medical results. We have launched an internal investigation as well as cooperating with the police for a criminal investigation.

During this investigation, all the communication runs through the NHL PR team in tandem with the FBI. All players are strictly instructed not to comment on the situation to not disrupt the investigation until it is completed. Anyone that might be deemed helpful in the investigation will be contacted at the appropriate time. If you have any helpful information, reach out to our offices immediately.

A leak like this is unacceptable and will have severe consequences for the perpetrators. 

In light of the current events, we will launch a program to ensure compliance to certain labor laws. Our HR team will be in contact with the front offices of all teams in the following week.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Roger Crowell, NHL commissioner

___________________________

Shane’s phone rang. 

“Hi Farah,” Shane greeted.

Farah cut right to the chase. “Did you see the email, Shane?” 

“Yeah, so we scratch the statement?” They had worked on it for two days.

“Yes, we have to.” Farah sighed. “At least for now.”

“Can I still donate to the charity?” Shane had thought about this last night until he was so riled up, he went for a quick run in his basement gym.

“I’m afraid, we will have to wait for that, too. If you donate now, people will definitely have questions and that will lead back to the leak. Or do you want to donate in private?” Farah asked.

Shane weighed the options for a second. “It’s probably smarter if people see. I can’t take the information about my diagnosis back and that way, maybe more people will donate?” 

“Okay, I haven’t contacted anyone at the Canadian Autism Association yet, so no one is waiting for the donation or anything. And even so, you are probably right,” Farah assured him.

“Do you know what the last part is about?” Shane had read the email a couple of times but couldn’t for the life of him figure out what this was about except for maybe don’t leak more sensitive information, thanks.

“The whole thing is about damage control," Farah explained. "They're afraid, someone will sue. There have also been online discussions about how the NHL failed disabled players. They are afraid, someone will actually complain on the basis of anti discrimination laws, there could be hefty fines.”

“Oh, now they are aware that there might be some discrimination going on?” Shane stared at his apartment wall in disbelief.

“And they say you and me are the incapable ones.” Farah let out a dark laugh. They had briefly talked about the struggles Farah had faced as a female hockey agent with Middle Eastern descent when he signed with her. Their stories were two sides of the same coin.

“Do you know what they will actually do?” Shane pulled on the string of his hoodie.

“No clue. I’m not sure they even know right now.” Farah's eye roll was audible.

“So I just what? Sit still and wait until they get it together?” Shane had higher hopes for white Christmas in the Bahamas.

“Yes, unfortunately. The good part sadly is that the leak was 107 players total, so you are not alone in this,” Farah offered.

“I was the only one with autism.” Shane frowned.

“Yes, but there were five people with ADHD and two with depression in the group." Farah had sifted through the articles for him for useful info. "Not everyone is still active, but maybe this is enough for now. And I am sure that in other years there were more people with diagnoses that are uncomfortable with the leak and might demand better conditions. The NHL already has their data, so they aren’t giving up anything new to the head offices which makes it easier. The Players' Association might also step in. That could actually be the reason for the last part.”

“I’m exhausted and I haven’t even done anything.” Shane threw himself on his sofa where a hockey game was silently playing in the background. The Admirals were currently up 2-0 against New Jersey.

“I understand you. I will keep you updated if I hear anything, okay?” Farah handling everything was a true life save.

“Okay, thank you, Farah.” Shane sank deeper into the sofa, letting the exhaustion wash over him.

“No problem," Farah responded. "Talk to you soon.” 

___________________________

From: Voyageurs front office

To: Players and coaching staff

Subject: Anti discrimination seminar

After talking to the NHL Head Offices, we will hold an anti discrimination seminar next Tuesday at 9 a.m. This seminar is mandatory for all players and members of the coaching staff. Please be on time. 

Sarah Pitzky, head of HR

___________________________

JJ: Did you see the email from HR?

Shane: Yeah.

JJ: As if a seminar will teach these cocksuckers anything about not discriminating.

Shane: Maybe don’t call them cocksuckers in the seminar?

JJ: Shit, yeah, okay, didn’t even think about that. But you know what I mean.

Shane: Yeah, don’t think this will change anything. 

JJ: 5 bucks on Wilson losing his cool in the first 15 minutes.

Shane: Deal.

Shane: I wish we ordered the “token bitch boy” and “token bitch friend” shirts, they would have been perfect for this.

JJ: How everyone thinks you are always so polite is a mystery to me.

Shane: I’m not the one who said it!

JJ: True.

JJ: See you tomorrow.

___________________________

“Does anyone have questions?” Sarah asked after giving a forty-five minute presentation on how to not discriminate against people only having to interrupt twice to wake people up.

JJ had won the bet after eight minutes as Wilson had loudly groaned over the list of marginalized groups he couldn’t be shitty to under the anti discrimination laws.

“Yeah, I wanna know if you have ever played hockey to suggest anyone will care,” Laine snarled at her.

“I played all through college but women’s hockey usually doesn’t need a seminar.” Sarah tightly smiled at him. Laine grumbled some more. 

“Is this shit all because of Hollander’s newly discovered special needs? We have to sit through all of this because of him?” Gagnon was gesturing towards Shane but not looking at him.

“The data leak was for 107 players,” Shane answered before Sarah could. “So not even 1% of this is because of me. And I have known since before I was in the NHL. I was born with this. If you haven’t been bothered by my special needs by now, the leak didn’t change anything in that regard.”

“Maybe I have. Maybe I’m tired of your princess treatment shit. Or do Hunter and Rozanov need to hold your hand for me to tell you this?” Gagnon countered.

“That’s enough.” Desjardins was standing in the corner of the room, every head turned to him. “You have been out of line a couple of times but I thought you might get it together. If you continue to act like this and actually cause us problems with labor laws, you are frankly not important enough to keep on the roster, Gagnon. Same for you, Wilson and Laine. The AHL is full of talent that will understand this.”

“What did I ever do?” Wilson sounded offended.

“We have all heard you on the ice before,” Roy stated, “and you didn’t even make it ten minutes into the seminar without complaining.”

“So do you understand me?” Desjardins asked the room. A sluggish choir of yes, coach filled conference room B.

“If there aren’t anymore questions-” Sarah took over again.

“Do all players get this seminar?” Andy interrupted.

“Yes, all players are made aware of the regulations and laws in place for workplace discrimination and harassment,” Sarah confirmed. “Anything else?”

No one said anything, so they were dismissed to put on their gear for practice. The time on the ice was way more quiet than usual but Shane had a feeling this wouldn’t last long.

___________________________

Jane: Can I call you?

Ilya: Yes. Home in 30.

Jane: Okay.

Shane had never asked to call him before. Ilya hadn’t tried to call either. Whatever this was, it was new and Ilya was frightened as hell that it wouldn’t be something positive. Phone calls were never his favorite, except for the time his agent called to tell him he had gotten the Adidas sponsorship.

He hurried out of the locker room and took his new canary yellow Porsche 911 Carrera back home to his penthouse.

He should really eat something, he had just come back home from three games in four days and he couldn’t lose weight this early in the season. But he felt too sick to eat his usual post practice snack, so he paced for another ten minutes before his phone screen lit up with Jane.

“Hey.” Shane sounded tired.

“How are you?” Ilya tried the best he could to hide his rising panic over a simple phone call.

“Been better." Shane let out a low groan. "We had that seminar today.” 

“We had it, too.” Ilya slowed his pacing but didn't stop.

“How did your team react?” Shane asked.

“Eh, was fine," Ilya answered. "Three people had stupid questions, but team usually does not say much bad stuff that was mentioned in seminar. We say it is boring, we like more creative chirps.” 

Last month, someone called an opponent a cocksucker. Ilya had asked him if he liked his cock sucked and when he confirmed it, Ilya told him that someone had to do it so it couldn’t be an insult. They both laughed and Ilya took the win where he could. Once he would be C, he wouldn’t let that shit fly at all anymore, but he was still relatively new, so he could only do so much.

Shane was quiet on the other end.

“Shane?” Ilya asked.

“Yeah?” Shane tentatively responded.

“Was your team not good?” Ilya asked, although he had a premonition of how it had gone with the Voyageurs and a seminar about discrimination.

“No… no they weren’t. Desjardins threatened to throw them out if they don’t get it together, but I don’t know if that will change anything,” Shane recounted.

“I do not like your team," Ilya stated once again.

“Yeah, me neither, at least the handful of assholes. But what am I supposed to do?” Shane’s frustration was audible.

“Leave? See if they trade you?” Ilya replied.

“You know our contracts are pretty shit this early in our career. And where the hell am I supposed to go?" Shane's voice grew more tense with every word. "To Toronto, where Kent asked me if I prefer the stick up my ass or something else? To Detroit, where I missed a shot and Trenton asked if I learned shooting like this in special ed class? Or to Washington, where Smith asked me after a goal how I even see the goal with my squinty eyes? There are assholes everywhere.”

Ilya mentally put some more people on his to murder list.

“Not every team is like this. Boston is more accepting,” Ilya countered.

“You haven’t had a none white player in over a decade and you wouldn’t know how they would react if they knew about… you know… us.” Shane made a frustrated noise.

“No, I do not know. Is that why you called me? To tell me, my team is shit, too?” Ilya was getting impatient.

“No that’s not… no… I wanted to talk about us,” Shane got out.

Ilya’s stomach dropped.

“Do you… not want to see me again? Is fine, you did not need to call for this.” Ilya’s whole body felt cold all of a sudden.

“What? No… what?” Shane sputtered.

“Hollander, is fine-” Ilya gripped the kitchen counter he was leaning against.

“Ilya, stop, that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Do you want to… is that because I freaked out?... Fuck, okay.” Shane made a defeated noise.

“What?” It was Ilya’s turn to be puzzled.

Shane let out a big breath like he was bracing himself for a hit against the boards. “Do you not want to see me again because I had the panic attack?”

“No, of course not. Shane, don’t be stupid,” Ilya asserted, now a slight air of confidence back in his voice.

“Oh, I’m being stupid?” Shane grumbled.

“Yes,” Ilya confirmed.

“Okay, to summarize, we are both stupid, no one wants to stop this, can we talk about what I wanted to talk about?” Shane's agitation was gone, just exhaustion left in his voice.

Now that that was cleared up, Ilya was relieved and actually curious about why Shane decided a call was necessary if not to blow him off.

“Yes, okay.”

“I just wanted to make sure, we are cautious that nothing more gets leaked." They had always been a little worried but not enough for either of them to take further action so far. "I really, really don’t want anyone to find out against our will. The one leak was bad enough. I don’t think the league would keep me or probably both of us employed if they knew, no matter how many anti discrimination seminars they are forcing these assholes to take. The fish stinks from the head.”

“What does that mean?” English had some weird idioms , you never knew where they were going.

“So if they are bigots on top, they will let the bigots underneath them in the organization be just like them as well. And as we know, the commissioner is a stinky fish head.” Ilya could hear Shane's face scrunching up. God, he liked this dorky man way too much.

Ilya let out a theatrical gasp. “I will tell Roger you called him stinky fish head.”

Shane snorted. “Make sure, I’m there, I want to see his face.” 

“Deal.” There was a beat of silence before Ilya continued. “You have a plan?”

“Kinda. So we have some options. I already turned off message preview. There is also an option to move to a messenger that needs a separate password. We could also either use the chat for only hockey and delete all the other stuff or the other way around. We can’t be flirting and talking about becoming alternates in the same messages. There is the possibility of using dual sim cards, but that would mean new phones.” Shane had really thought this through which was kinda touching and so him, Ilya thought.

“I think we can afford new phones,” Ilya joked. He had at look at his bank account this morning, he could afford a new phone every day if necessary.

“Yeah… yeah sure… there is also the option of using a different platform.” Shane sounded nervous.

“Grindr?” Ilya quipped before he could stop himself

“Ilya,” Shane scolded him with a singular word.

“That is a no then,” Ilya concluded.

“We could use Snapchat with neutral usernames," Shane continued.

“Snapchat?” Ilya perked up against the counter.

“Yeah, it’s a relatively new messenger app, that-” Shane rattled down.

“I know what Snapchat is. Do you know what people use it for?” Ilya had to suppress a grin. This wasn’t even a video call but he was sure, it was audible in his voice.

“Message each other?” Shane asked innocently.

“Send each other nudes that go away after view.” Yeah, the grin was no longer suppressible.

“Oh my god, that’s not why I… what I intended… oh my god.” Shane barely got any words out. Ilya was highly intrigued about what would happen if he actually sent Shane some more provocative material.

Ilya brought them back to topic. “Hollander, we can message each other on Snapchat for the more… ahh… telling things.”

“Okay… yeah… okay… So we set up Snapchat and just text with our real names saved?” Shane asked with a releaved tinge in his voice.

“Sounds good to me," Ilya confirmed. "Thank you for making plan.”

“I had more options but those were the best ones.” Ilya knew the kinda was a lie earlier.

“What, you wanted to use messenger pigeon?” Ilya tried to joke.

“No, they can only do one way," Shane explained in a serious voice. "Although, they could go the full distance from Montreal to Boston and back in a day which is pretty impressive if you asked me. That would make for very slow message exchange though and we would have to explain the pigeons.”

Ilya didn’t know if he should laugh or be impressed by the random knowledge. “You are serious?”

“No, of course not. I just looked it up. I also learned about Morse code and older encryption methods. People get really creative.”

Dork. His favorite, though.

“We set up Snapchat now, yes?” Ilya asked again.

“Yeah, okay.” Shane let out a relieved hmpff.

They took another fifteen minutes and some bickering (“No, you can’t use russianlovemachine81, Ilya!”) before they were fully set up.

After Ilya hung up, he deleted his more telling messages with Jane and changed the contact name to Shane Hollander. Something settled inside his chest.

___________________________

“How have you been since our initial session after the leak?” Kira pulled her notebook in her lap and clicked her pen.

“It’s been… a lot.” Between the HR seminar, the ongoing investigation with no real update, his talk with Ilya and the comments in person and online, he had been feeling on edge for a good four weeks.

“Okay, then let’s start with one thing.” Kira gave him an encouraging smile.

“How do I choose?” Shane rolled his lower lip between his teeth.

“You can do hardest or easiest. You could also rank them from most to least important,” Kira explained.

“So I have to choose how I will choose?” A sudden wave of exhaustion hit Shane right in the chest.

“I can also choose for you,” Kira offered.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go with the easiest first. All the comments online and some from fans in person have been… overwhelming.” There were so many feelings he had about the comments but overwhelming put a nice bow on the shitshow going on.

“How so?” Kira clicked her pen, something she did when she was trying to get to the root of something.

“So some are like super nice." Shane was really happy about those. "They haven’t seen anyone like them with autism in sports and those are usually just flat out supportive. Then there are the ones that are mean or ignorant but I try not to dwell on them, even though it hurts more than the comments I usually get.”

“Why do you think they hurt you more?” Kira made some quick initial notes.

“Hm… Good question.” Shane turned his head to watch the tree outside the window with its leaves rustling in the late winter breeze. “I think I just got used to the other stuff. I rarely come across something new about my hockey or me being Asian that I haven’t read before in one form or another. Doesn’t make the comments better but I feel numb to them in a way. The autism comments feel like a fresh bruise that they are poking at, especially with how incredibly dumb people are with it. A guy asked how I can give interviews, he thought people with autism couldn’t speak. He went so far to claim that I was just moving my mouth and someone else was speaking for me as a cover up.”

“Oh Jesus," Kira mumbled. 

Shane probably shouldn’t feel like it was an achievement to get a shocked reaction out of his therapist by telling her painful things about his life but he also couldn’t stop it. Maybe he needed a second therapist to talk about that.

“Those aren’t even the ones that bother me the most though." Shane traced a squirrel running up the tree. "There are the people that say look, he plays hockey with autism, he is so inspirational, what is your excuse. Yeah, I have some difficulties, but I do have support and resources - the NHL money makes a lot of shit easier - and also… I don’t have a god damn choice here. It’s just what I have and I deal with that. I don’t get why they have to compare me to other people or put me on pedestal like that.”

“Ah, you are bothered by the inspiration porn,” Kira dropped nonchalantly.

“By the what?” Had he heard that correctly? He pulled his focus off the squirrel that he envied for never having to open a social media platform.

“Inspiration porn is a relatively new term to call out the objectification of disabled people. It’s usually about someone pointing to a disabled person doing a normal task and then acting like it’s a miracle they do it. It quickly can make you feel like a circus animal doing tricks for an audience instead of a human just living their life.” Kira clicked her pen some more, this time it seemed more out of frustration.

“That’s pretty fucking accurate.” Shane sank deeper into his chair.

“Now, don’t get me wrong," Kira continued. "What you do on the ice is pretty extraordinary. But for you, this is your daily business and I would guess comments like that make you feel less capable even though your activities haven’t changed?”

“Yeah, all of sudden, I’m special but not because I’m talented and worked my whole life for this but because I have autism and play despite it. Even though I feel like it helps me with hockey, seeing how well I can focus on a singular thing and how well I recognize patterns. I don’t know if I can say that out loud though because I don’t want to make it sound like it isn’t causing any difficulties, you know? I feel like I can’t win and I really do like winning.” Shane felt his mouth pull into a pout.

Kira let out a small laugh at that. “Yes, that is pretty well established. You talked about wanting to expand your media profile some more, maybe you can try explaining some stuff in an interview?”

“I thought about that, too." Not just him, Yuna and Farah had helped, too. "But that would draw more attention to it and even if I get to control what is printed, there are a million different ways people will read stuff into it, no matter how clear and direct I am. It’s like people want to find a problem between the lines. And I am not allowed to say anything publicly until the investigation is done, whenever that is. My hands are tied.”

“Okay, so we let that sit for now, maybe come back to it in a different session." Kira scribbled in her notebook before looking back at him. "What else do you want to talk about?”

“We could talk about my team but they are currently really careful around me. The three assholes are probably just talking shit behind my back in a group chat or something, too afraid to say it to my face with Coach putting his foot down.” Shane had suppressed the finally he had wanted to yell in the seminar.

“How do you feel about that?” She leaned forward.

“A bit relieved that Coach finally did something but also on the edge that a bigger bomb might drop at any point when people aren’t looking. I feel almost… paranoid.” Shane felt his skin on his forearms itch just thinking about it.

“What would you do, if they tried something like verbally attacking you again?” Kira focus on solving instead of panicking spread through the room.

“Hmm… I have dealt with them before, I would try to stay calm and get out of the situation. That sounds doable on paper but it doesn’t make the paranoia go away. I’m stuck in what ifs again.” Shane played with the loose thread in the chair's cover he had discovered two sessions ago.

“The fear you have is not unjustified but also not productive in the long run. Would it help you to play out the what ifs so you actually feel prepared?” Kira asked.

“Yeah, that might help.” Shane let the thread go.

“Okay, that’s your homework for next time then and we can go through them together.” Kira seemed to love a good plan almost as much as Shane.

“Sounds good.” Shane made a mental note to make a physical note later.

“We have some time left, anything else you want to talk about?” Kira asked.

Shane had been avoiding talking about anything regarding his dating life for a while but the leak had him reconsider certain things.

“Yeah, so… err…" Shane took a deep breath to sort his thoughts into words. "This guy I keep meeting up with that I mentioned. He has been very supportive during the whole thing. Before I say anything more, could you maybe not write this down? I know it’s unlikely someone will steal your notes or something but I want to be very careful. Maybe even erase the stuff I already said about meeting up with any guys?” 

Shane had thought long and hard about where else anything could leak and even though only a few people knew who his therapist was, there were always some stalkers finding random stuff out. He was going in person so if someone managed to follow him, it would be pretty clear where his information was stored.

Kira gave him a nod. “Of course. This might mean I have to ask you about certain details a couple of times as I can’t reread my notes but your safety is more important.” She put the notebook down.

“So, this guy. I told you about the panic attack and that someone helped. What I didn’t mention is that it's the same guy. But yeah, it’s the same guy and I… I don’t know. He is really kind to me and kinda protective but also really funny and great at what he does and so, so… just… hot… oh god, sorry!” Shane felt the blush creep up his face.

“Shane, it’s okay that you find someone you are sleeping with hot,” Kira said with a slight hint of amusement.

“Yeah, you’re right, sorry. Okay, so I really like to talk to him and spend time with him. He can be annoying at times but I don’t even mind that and…” Shane stared at the tree again.

“And?” Kira asked after a long beat of silence.

“And I don’t know what to do with all that. It’s not like this can go anywhere. He lives in a different city and we are both very busy, so we only see each other a handful of times a year. I can’t even really talk about him without outing not only me but him too which would be a nightmare for both of us. I can only say he is my friend, which isn’t a lie but also not the full truth, at least not to me.” He felt a sting in his eyes, tears threatening to come to the surface.

“Have you talked to him about this?” Kira's voice was so gentle which made everything worse somehow.

“No, I don’t think he feels the same." Shane's stomach twisted into a painful knot. "I’m afraid, if I asked, he would feel pushed and wouldn’t want to see me anymore. Last time we talked, he assumed I didn't want to see him anymore because I wanted to talk about us. I don’t even know if there is an us. I just wanted to make sure that we are safe with our messages but before I could get to that, he asked me if I wanted to end it and said he didn’t need a call for that. We cleared it up that that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about.” 

Shane was holding on for dear life not to let the tears fall. “It made me think that maybe he doesn’t care as much as I was hoping for and I’m just making stuff up in my head like I have before when I thought I was close to people and then they turned their backs like I never mattered to them.” 

Silent tears were falling down his cheeks. The memories of childhood friends that turned out to just use Shane for entertainment or until someone more popular came along constricted his heart with the force of a giant kraken wrapping itself around a pirate ship.

“Shane." Kira stretched out her arm to hand him the tissue box. "I understand you have been disappointed by people before and it’s fully understandable why you don’t want to trust your gut or another person anymore.”

“I feel like there is a but coming.” Shane tried to make light of the situation while he wiped away his tears.

Kira didn't let him out of it just yet. “It can be extremely isolating to not be able to trust in people. If that is something that is keeping you from connecting to someone that is potentially important to you, I would suggest we work on making it easier for you. Not just talking about how to trust but developing methods on how to select who you want to trust. Would you be interested in that?”

“Yeah, that… yeah, I want to try.” Shane sniffled the last tear away.

“Good, because otherwise you are stuck in what ifs and assuming what other people need again and you said that is exhausting for you.” Kira sat still, giving him time to process the heaviness of what he just put into one sentence.

Shane nodded slowly. “Yeah, it really is.”

“It might take a while but I think you are used to how therapy works by now,” Kira smiled kindly at him.

“Yeah, slow or no progress and then sometimes breakthroughs or setbacks. The usual.” Shane looked at Kira and gave her a small smile back.

___________________________

Sport in Canada

New development in the NHL leak

By Katie Covey

published on 24th of March 2012

In an unprecedented incident at the end of January 2012 during the NHL All-Stars weekend, the combine data of the 107 players who participated in the 2009 draft was leaked to the internet (initial report from SiC here). 

The speculations ran high on who and why the material was leaked, seemingly coinciding with the All-Stars weekend for maximum effect. The NHL telling their players not to comment and a consequential report of HR meetings about anti discrimination seminars added further fuel to the fire that someone in the NHL was targeting players with this leak. 

Two weeks ago, the FBI made several arrests connected to the case. Yesterday evening, an official report was published that detailed that the arrests were made not only on the basis of the leak but because of potential gambling manipulations around the yearly NHL draft and further activities with rookies like trades or moving from AHL to NHL with the data. At least two low level NHL employees were part of the ring that facilitated the manipulation.

But why would you leak data that is used to turn bets in your favor? 

You wouldn’t. 

At least, not on purpose. According to the report, the data was accidentally uploaded to a public google server while moving it and was found before the data could be removed again. As the confidential data included medical data, this will still not mean the leakers will get off free. The NHL has already terminated the contracts. The trial is scheduled for May and anyone involved could face hefty fines as well as time in prison.

We will keep you updated on any developments on the case.

___________________________

Shane let his phone sink down. All of… this… because of some accident of a whole gambling ring? 

He blankly stared at his ceiling.

This is…

He broke out in a laughing fit when the absurdity hit.

Holy shit, this is stupid.

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• My search history got weird for this chapter. From anti discrimination laws, to 2011 Porsche models, to “how far can carrier pigeons fly”.
• I feel like a lot of scandals happen because someone is stupid. (*Points to Stupid Watergate: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver*)
• My thoughts on Desjardins: It’s a smart move to keep your team in line and protect your top scorer/alternate captain against some lower level performers. Shane is a generational talent, the rest is way more easy to replace. I don’t think he would put his foot down if Shane wasn’t as valuable.
• In my outline I had them fighting and then Shane said no.
• The term inspiration porn was popularized by Stella Young in July 2012
• People keep saying to get Shane out of Montreal and while my heart agrees, it is not that simple. Shane is on an entry level contract for three years (it is determined by age, he was 19 when he started) and then becomes a restricted free agent if he doesn’t resign with Montreal, which means they get dibs on him. This happens until he is either 7 seasons in the NHL or 27. Reading these conditions felt like reading some weird faye contract with too many clauses when you are allowed to do what. This was the best summary I could find.
• This is not an important note to the story but I feel like I have to tell you. This was a hard chapter to write and I was struggling to finish until I had a job interview and the CEO of a medical company (!) said something about “hardships cause big emotions except if you have autism then you should go to a psychiatrist”. I told him I have autism and he said something about autistic people being very intelligent and that he doesn’t care if I have it or not?? And autistic people are supposed to be the rude ones, yeah sure, lol. He was such a caricature of a CEO, I didn’t think people like that actually existed. I was scream-laughing after I hung up.

I’m looking forward to your comments!

Chapter 11: The price is wrong

Chapter Summary

Welcome to the 2012/2013 season with a new friend (?) for Shane and Ilya thoroughly taken care of.

Chapter Notes

I wrote this instead of doing taxes. You’re welcome.

Also: surprise on the new addition.

CW

Once again for homophobic language. What else is new :(

July 1st 2012

Shane left Montreal behind for his parents cottage for a few weeks to get away from the stressful last couple of months. He had given a written statement for the trial in May but hadn’t felt much vindication when the lot of them got light prison sentences and heavy fines. The leak had affected him, no doubt, and he was still mad he was the one suffering but it had been an accident after all. A really, really dumb one. And stupidity wouldn’t be cured by an empty bank account or by being behind bars for any amount of time. So before or after the trial, he felt the same exhaustion. And no, the mandatory apology to all the victims hadn’t done shit.

He had woken up early and already gone for a run when his phone rang.

Incoming call: Coach Desjardins 

“Hi Coach,” Shane said nervously. 

July 1st was the start of the NHL free agency after the season ended and a lot of moves had been traditionally done on this day. Shane was still under his entry level contract for another year, so he could be moved easily. But then again, he would be under contract or a restricted free agent until he was seven seasons in. Montreal had a lot of power over him in that time period, including dibs on negotiation to outbid anyone for a new contract. Montreal could do almost whatever they wanted for a lot longer.

“Hi Hollander, how is the cottage treating you?” Desjardins replied. His tone was steady and close enough to friendly. Shane didn’t know if that made him more or less agitated.

“Good," he responded, "lots of places to run and we added a gym in the garage so I can bulk up even earlier.”

After the whole leak debacle, the team had actually improved. The evil triplets had mostly kept their mouths shut and the overall team dynamic had helped them into the second round of playoffs, where they lost miserably in five games to Toronto. They still took the improvement to last year.

“Speaking of bulk." Desjardins cleared his throat. "I thought I’d inform you of a trade before anyone has questions.”

Here we go.

“I think we need better protection for our forwards. I got us a new enforcer from Buffalo, Ryan Price. You remember him?”

Okay, this was either an exceptionally mean way to tell Shane he had been traded to Buffalo or…

“Yeah, I definitely remember him. He is massive, heard a couple of players say they are scared shitless of him.” Shane remembered every player in the league but some stood out, Price quite literally with his 6’7’’ and 260 pounds on him.

“Good, GM traded him for Wilson, we didn’t feel like he was doing his job towards the end of the season,” Desjardins explained, tone still even.

Ah, so this was why he got a heads up. Wilson was often the leader of the evil triplets who kept their mouths shut but also decided to ignore Shane. Laine and Gagnon hadn’t been much of a problem on the ice as they were on different lines, but your enforcer not on your side was a whole other problem. Shane’s ribs had a story or two to tell from the playoffs.

Desjardins continued, “This might look like a favor for you but it isn’t. We all saw how he ignored the instructions he got against the Guardians, I can’t have that.”

“Thank you for the heads-up.” Shane felt his gut unclench.

“I also informed Roy before you, it’s just what I do with my captain and alternate.” He would just take him by his word. Desjardins was known for not being big on having favorites but he liked a good performance and Shane had an excellent run the last couple of months.

“Okay, got it,” Shane replied.

“If the press wants to talk to you, you can just ignore them. They will call our PR team if necessary.”

Shane’s favorite way to talk to annoying reporters: Not at all.

“Got it," Shane repeated. "Anything else I need to know?”

“No, that was our first trade. There might be some more movement, I will inform you when appropriate.” While Shane had to stay fit during the off-season, the coaching staff was busy with preparing the new season already. None of them could ever really relax for long.

“Yes, Coach.”

“Bye, Hollander.”

___________________________

It had been a full week into training camp when the Voyageurs decided they needed to go out.

“If your wife or girlfriend isn’t birthing a baby in the next 24 hours and no one has died in your family in the last 24 hours, you are required to go out tonight,” JJ threw out jokingly into the locker room.

“Where are we going?” Schneids wanted to know.

“Ah, I know a place,” JJ informed him with a twinkle in his eyes.

“You always know a place,” Andy groaned next to Schneids.

“Yes, and have I ever disappointed you, mon ami?” JJ said in a sing-song voice.

“Three times, actually,” Mitty chimed in from across the room. Of course, the goalie was the one keeping score.

JJ held his hands up in defense. “Hey, two times weren’t my fault, I couldn’t know that throwing darts would be so dangerous with you guys and how would I guess that that bar would take all beer off the menu from one week to another. The weird space themed bar is on me though.” 

“I still can see where that dart hit my hand!” Mitty held his left hand up to show a minute scar of a dart puncture wound.

“Tell Laine to not throw with his back turned to the board next time while you still pull out darts!” JJ replied.

“I would have hit the board if he wasn’t there!” Laine protested loudly.

“Not the point,” Roy intercepted while rolling his eyes. “JJ, text the location to the group chat and tell the bar we will be there at around eight.”

Shane looked over to their new addition, hunching over in the corner, not looking too pleased his day wasn’t done yet. Ryan had been quiet during the start of the camp which was unusual for a player that wasn’t a rookie. A lot of the trades Shane had seen had tried to integrate themselves into the team fast and loudly so that a lack of comradery wasn’t the reason they would get traded again. 

Shane waited until they were both fully dressed and half the team was already out before going over to him.

“Hey Ryan,” Shane said in a quiet tone.

“Hey…” Ryan looked like, he wanted to say more but couldn’t get it out.

“Are you coming tonight?” Shane knew he himself was mostly going because some appearances at team outings were expected, especially before the actual season and as the alternate captain. He had already set an internal timer for how long he would have to absolutely stay if his social battery ran out too quickly. He could always stay longer depending on the evening but a guideline for the night turned out to be his saving grace a couple of times since Kira had suggested it.

“Uhhh, I don’t know.” Ryan was stubbornly looking at the floor.

“I mean, you don’t have to, you can ignore JJ." Shane always liked when someone offered him options for events. "He was right though, he usually picks good places, so might be a nice way to get to know Montreal better. And you don’t have to stay super long, I usually go after one or two beers before anyone thinks of trying to hand me shots or throwing darts at my hands.”

“You don’t like drinking?” Ryan finally looked up at Shane, searching for something, Shane wasn’t sure for what exactly.

“Not much, not my vibe most of the time." He shrugged. "It fucks with me getting up early and I don’t like messing with my routine.”

Ryan let out an understanding noise.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Shane asked.

“I’ll think about it.” Ryan grabbed his duffle bag and got up.

“Okay, see you later or tomorrow then.”

___________________________

An hour into the bar and therefore halfway through his self-imposed mandatory team time, Shane was convinced that Ryan would not make an appearance tonight when he spotted the redhead in the door of the bar.

Ryan was immediately pulled into some sort of heated debate between Schneids and JJ. He looked like a lost puppy that was trying to find his litter and found two raccoons fighting over a piece of old bread in the dumpster instead.

Before Shane could spring into action, Hayden, who was sitting with Shane in a booth, was already on the move. 

Great, he will save him.

It took all but ten seconds before Hayden joined apparently as the third raccoon in the stale baked goods fight, making Ryan look over his shoulder multiple times towards the exit.

Jesus, and they tell me, I don’t get signals.

Shane made his way through the bar, dodging two offered shots and a very flirty looking group of women to reach Ryan.

“Why the fuck would you put mayo on your fries?” JJ had an offended look on his face like someone just told him his grandma’s griyo tasted like the bottom of a shoe. Shane didn’t think they would actually fight about food, it just strengthened the raccoon theory.

“It’s a European thing, I swear. It’s the go-to in Germany next to ketchup. And I have seen you eat fries with mayo based sauces before,” Schneids countered.

“Do not come for aioli! Mayo is so… zero inspiration!” JJ said the last words in French even though they were the same in English just to give it some flair. He spotted Shane and pulled him to his side. “Shane, you got to help me out, this crosseur wants to put mayo on fries.”

“You know, I’m partial to sour cream with my fries and you told me my fry opinion doesn’t count because of that just last week, remember?” He turned his attention to Ryan, who was once again looking towards the exit. “Hey Ryan!”

“Uhh… hey.” Ryan had a big Save me! sign stapled to his forehead.

“I was about to get another beer, you want one?” Shane wanted to get Ryan away from the feral fry squad.

“Sure.” Ryan was a big man with little words.

“Okay, let’s go to the bar then.” He walked as quickly as he could away from the trash pandas. They ordered their beers and slid back into the booth that was still unoccupied, thankfully.

“How did the first days here go for you? Have you found an apartment, yet?” Shane asked.

“Uh, it’s fine. No apartment, just a hotel.” Ryan was rolling his beer back and forth on the table over the bottom rim of the bottle.

“Schneids has a furnished apartment close to the rink, there might be an opening. I can ask him, if you want.” Shane took a sip of his own beer.

“Yeah, thanks.” Ryan nodded, peeling the label of his beer.

That was all the small talk Shane had prepared when he planned to invite Ryan. Now, there were two people at the table awkwardly looking around the room.

“I’m glad you’re here," Shane said. "The enforcer we traded you for was a dick. You seem way nicer.” 

Oh fuck, that was probably not a smart move to let him know his thoughts about Wilson. Shane didn’t know if Ryan might be in any way connected to Wilson, Laine or Gagnon.

“He will fit in fine with Buffalo then. Uh shit… I didn’t mean to… I usually don’t…” Ryan’s shoulder stiffened even more than they had before.

Shane snorted in response. “Don’t worry, the on ice encounters with Buffalo have never been my favorite. People tend to get mean when they keep losing.” He ook a beat. “Hmm.. not Ottawa though, but everyone else. Maybe you get an exemption if you are last constantly. Nowhere to go but up?” 

“Probably.” Ryan seemed to relax again.

Shane leaned a tad closer. “So, erm, has anyone given you trouble so far?”

“No, no, all fine.” Ryan was barely audible over the music.

“If anyone does give you trouble, you let me or Roy know, okay?” Shane remembered how much it had meant to hear it from Scott, even though he hadn’t used it so far.

“Okay.” Ryan took a big swig of his beer without looking at Shane.

Shane tried for a while longer to keep up the conversation, even though getting any information out of Ryan was similar to trying to pull a rotten tooth from a biting ferret. 

“Thank you for talking to me in the locker room. I know I’m, uh, not the most talkative,” Ryan got out after a while.

“No problem. We can also just not talk and look at what our other teammates are doing. Probably something stupid if I know anything about them.” Shane turned his body towards the bar. They spent another half an hour people watching, leaving comments here and there before Shane decided his battery was empty even though he enjoyed the mostly quiet hangout.

He offered Ryan a ride to his hotel which he took with a look of relief on his face. They didn’t say a lot in the car either but the silence was far from uncomfortable. They said their goodbyes and Shane made a mental note to find more time to get to know Ryan. 

___________________________

Incoming call: The general

Ilya stared at his phone screen in disbelief. He had ignored his father’s calls for a week and had just had a call with him. Why would he call again?

“Ah, so he finally takes my call.”

That was the same sentence he had greeted him in the last call five minutes ago.

“Hello father.”

“You lost your game.”

Lost his game? It was early in the season, they lost their first two games but were on a three game win streak and Ilya was on a four game point streak as well.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t act dumber than you already are. I saw the game, losing against Canada like this is embarrassing.”

He had lost against the Winnipeg Warhammers in their second game but that was two weeks ago.

“It was just one loss, we have a lot more coming.”

“One loss? Don’t make excuses, you played like shit. I don’t want you home with silver.”

Silver? He hasn’t gotten silver since…

Something dawned on Ilya. Over the years, he had learned to tune his father mostly out as his father’s Top 40 hits all revolved around insulting Ilya one way or another. Looking back at the summer though - and he usually avoided that - his father had had some more off days. He had been more pulled back at times. He had also seemed to misplace things a lot. He had kept asking Ilya about the same things over and over again, which Ilya had chalked up as a new form of torture at the time. 

But this was a full lapse into a new realm he couldn’t ignore anymore. Fuck.

“Papa, the game was almost three years ago.”

The long silence felt like Ilya was being dragged through a line of thorny rose bushes.

“I know that. But you forget about your failures too quickly. You need a reminder or your inflated head will burst.”

“I will remember, father.”

“You better.” His father hung up on him. 

Ilya was back to staring at his phone. He had just found his groove again after his summer in Russia mood he had gotten into in September and now he was pulled right back into it. He knew what he had to do next and that let him sink even deeper into the darkness.

The phone rang for a long time, Ilya was close to giving up before he heard his second least favorite voice out of the tinny phone speakers.

“Why are you calling?”

“Andrei, what is going on with Papa?” 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“He keeps forgetting things. He just yelled at me about the prospect cup from 2010 like it just happened.”

“You deserve that.”

“You are missing the point like you are missing all of your brain cells.”

“Fuck you! I’m not the lazy idiot who says he plays hockey for a living like that’s a real job.”

“The not so real job is paying for your life, you failure. So what is going on with our father?”

“He’s just dumb. That’s where you get it from.”

“Can you keep an eye on him?”

“What is that worth to you?”

“Really, Andrei? I have to pay you for checking in on your own father.”

“I’m not the pussy freaking out over a bit of ‘where did I put my keys?’, Ilya.”

“Fine, I’ll up the payment by 20% but I expect regular reports if anything gets worse.”

“Send the money, we will see about the reports.”

Just like their father, Andrei ended the call abruptly when he felt like the conversation ended. 

Like father, like son, they say.

___________________________

Of course, they had to fly out to play Montreal two days after. Ilya barely wanted any company, let alone a team giddy to play their rivals and a full stadium of screaming fans.

Ilya could avoid the usual airport travel small talk by putting on headphones and pulling the hood of his sweater over his head but not the one on one with Cliff in their shared room. Stupid shared rooms.

“What’s going on, Roz?” Cliff asked as soon as the door clicked shut.

“I do not know what you are talking about, Marleau.” Ilya threw his suitcase in the corner next to the bed on the left side that he usually took.

“Come on, you've been acting like someone killed your hamster or something the whole way here. You don’t like playing Montreal anymore all of a sudden?” Cliff prodded further.

Ilya turned around to face Cliff. “Maybe I will kill your hamster if you keep asking me questions.”

“Hey, woah, okay, relax.” Cliff went to the opposite corner to deposit his suitcase there.

“I am relaxed.” Ilya was not relaxed.

“Clearly.” Cliff shuffled through his own suitcase, turning away from Ilya. “Look, you don’t need to talk to me but maybe talk to someone. Or, I don’t know, go for a walk or some shit. You can’t play like that.”

“I can and I will.” Ilya wanted to throw something against a wall like a toddler with a tantrum. Couldn’t Marleau just leave him the fuck alone right now?

“Okay, just saying." Cliff let out a sigh. "I will head out with Vicky to check out a French restaurant he found for lunch. You want to join?”

“No, I’m fine.” Ilya could feel himself pouting.

“I’ll text you the address anyway if you want to swing by later. It’s just a ten minute walk.” Cliff grabbed his wallet and phone.

“Okay.” Ilya kicked his shoes into the corner as well.

“See you later. Don’t break anything.” Cliff shuffled out of the room.

Finally, Ilya was alone. 

He got room service for lunch instead of going for team lunch and then took his pregame nap. Cliff must have gotten back at some point as Ilya woke up to a loudly snoring Cliff. He was lying on his back, putting a curse on the entire Marleau bloodline for the third time when his alarm went off.

The attempts to talk about Ilya’s mood thankfully didn’t make a comeback, so they went on the team bus to the arena. Ilya should have probably checked on people as alternate, make sure everything is going smoothly but he just didn’t have it in him today. There were two other captains, that had to be enough.

He put on his gear in the usual order, the rhythm helping him to get a portion of his game focus back. He didn’t have any real superstitions like some others. Marleau, for example, always had to have a Fanta before the game because a reporter had described his game play as fanta-stick after the first game he had drank one so he always downed a small can before he went into the tunnel. The lemon one was his favorite.

Ilya took the first face-off against Shane. He glanced at him for only a brief moment, not saying anything.

“Hello to you too,” Shane said lighthearted in a volume only Ilya would be able to catch. Ilya only had a grunt for him.

He lost the face-off as well as the next. By the third lost face-off, he lost his patience, too. He was ready to fight someone. 

It couldn’t be Shane. Even in his worst of moods, he hadn’t got an inkling of will to physically fight Shane. Naked wrestling that would ultimately end in fucking didn’t count. 

He scanned the Montreal bench. Laine looked particularly punchable on this fine day.

His chance came in the third period when the lines hadn’t changed yet for Montreal and Laine was on the ice at the same time as Ilya. Laine checked Marleau with his stick too high for Ilya’s liking. Under normal circumstances, he would have just waited for the ref to call it. Today was not that day.

Ilya’s gloves dropped without ceremony, his hand twisted up in Laine’s jersey a second later. Before the Voyageurs forward could react to what was happening, Ilya’s fist connected to Laine’s nose. He got another hit in before Laine pushed him off, a fist landing against Ilya’s jaw in the process.

“Fuck off,” Laine yelled.

“Keep your stick down next time if you do not want to feel consequences." Ilya spat on the ice right next to Laine.

“I can put my stick somewhere else, feels like you would like that. Or is that Marleau’s job?” Laine titled his head to the side with a digusting grin on his face.

That was the moment the ref decided to break up the fight, sending both of them into the penalty box. The fight didn’t help, Ilya was still seething.

Shane’s line got on the ice. He skated by Ilya with a concerned look on his face but didn’t say anything.

Boston lost the game after Shane scored to a 2-1 during the last two minutes of the third period. That didn’t improve Ilya’s mood somehow.

The locker room was relatively quiet, no one was really in the mood to go out. Ilya’s phone pinged with a Snapchat message.

Celestial_Ink: Are we still on for tonight? I’m home in 30, dinner is already prepped, if you want. I made lemon chicken pasta. 

Ilya locked the phone for a moment. He really wanted to see Shane. The last time had been in Vegas for the NHL awards in June and now they were already deep into October. There was just the slight problem of Ilya being really close to breaking and he couldn’t do that in front of Shane. He went into the shower and only opened the messages back up when he was half dressed.

Crimson_Claw: I will be there in one hour.

That’s the time Ilya gave himself to get it together.

Celestial_Ink: Okay, I bought a lot of parmesan I need help with :) 

___________________________

Shane’s doorbell rang fifteen minutes after Ilya had said he would be there. Nothing too unusual after a game but Shane was getting really hungry, so he was glad to be put out of his misery.

He opened the door to a blank faced Ilya who wordlessly put his shoes to the side before surprising Shane with a heated kiss. Shane instinctively threw his arms around Ilya’s neck to get him even closer. Ilya moved them inside the apartment right past the kitchen where the pasta was waiting to be heated up.

“Wait wait wait, let’s eat first, I’m starving.” Shane was barely able to get an inch between them.

“Later,” Ilya grumbled again Shane’s lips before going in for another taste. Shane gently put his hands on Ilya’s shoulders to actually get some distance between them.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You looked pissed today.” Shane remembered the way Ilya looked like a trapped wild animal in the penalty box earlier.

“Only thing wrong is that we aren’t in the bedroom already. Four months is too long.” Ilya tried to seductively smirk at him but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Shane was very, very willing to go to the bedroom but something felt off and not even Ilya’s thick thigh rubbing on his already half hard dick could convince him otherwise.

“Food first, we need fuel for what I have planned with you tonight. Winner’s choice right?” He squeezed Ilya’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

Ilya sighed dramatically before stepping out of Shane’s space. “How much parmesan did you buy?”

Shane took his hand and dragged him into the kitchen where Ilya plopped down on a bar stool at his breakfast bar. Shane slid over an ice cold coke and a neon green silly straw before he warmed up the pasta in the microwave. He finely grated the parmesan into a bowl, added a spoon and put that on the table right in front of Ilya with a slice of extra parmesan so he could snack on it. Then, he divided the pasta into shallow bowls and sat down next to Ilya. 

“Thank you for food," Ilya said quietly.

Shane reached over to squeeze Ilya’s knee before inhaling his food. He forgot to even add any parmesan before he was halfway through. He paused to reach over for the cheese, taking in Ilya’s expression next to him while he was twirling his pappardelle. His skin looked less golden than usual, his undereyes were painted with dark rings, his jaw tight while chewing the shredding chicken/pasta combination.

“Can we talk about what’s bothering you?” Shane said after silently debating through the rest of his portion if he should say anything.

“Is nothing,” Ilya replied before stuffing his mouth with his remaining food.

“You know, you can tell me, right? Whatever it is, I’m here to listen. I just don’t want you to be alone with stuff.” Shane risked another look at Ilya. The furious Ilya from earlier today was nowhere to be found. His whole being was sunken into himself.

“Is family stuff, I do not know how to explain.” He dropped his fork into his now empty bowl.

“Did something happen?” Shane carefully inquired.

“My father is… I do not know what is going on.” Ilya rubbed his hands against his thighs.

“Does your brother know?” Ilya had mentioned a brother exactly once before when his brother called during one of Shane’s visits to Boston.

“He said, is nothing. He took my money anyway.” Ilya let out an disgusted grunt.

“What do you mean?” Shane asked.

“I send him more money, so he has an eye on our father. I do not know if he will though.” Ilya sounded nonchalantly about all of him.

“You are sending him money?” Shane pressed further.

“Yes," Ilya responded.

“Is he out of work?” Shane had trouble to put the whole picture together.

“No, he has a job. But he says he needs more, so I send it over.” Ilya shrugged.

Shane had the urge to dig deeper about the whole money thing but that didn’t seem to be the point that Ilya was currently bothered by. “So your father is not well?”

“I do not know. That is the problem. I do not know.” Ilya groaned and covered his face with his hands. Shane stood up and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s shoulders from behind.

“Hey, it’s okay, that sounds scary as fuck.” He hugged him even tighter. Ilya let his hands drop to his lap and leaned back into Shane.

“Is there more parmesan?” Ilya signaled that the discussion was over for now.

Shane put a quick peck on Ilya’s shoulder before releasing him and making his way over to the fridge to grab the block of parmesan and hand it over together with a cheese knife. Shane cleaned up, Ilya still sitting at the bar watching him rummage around.

Shane walked around the kitchen island to stand next to Ilya who put his arm around Shane’s waist.

“So, what are you up for tonight? We can just hang out, I have NHL 13 if you want,” Shane offered.

“This is your winner’s choice?” Ilya raised both his eyebrows at Shane.

“No, I had other plans but we don’t have to do anything if you aren’t in the mood for it,” Shane reassured him.

“Tell me your plans, we will see if I’m in the mood.” Ilya let his arm around Shane’s torso sink to his hips and pressed his fingers into Shane's side.

“I… okay…" Shane had thought about this for a while but saying it out loud was a different beast. "I really like when you eat me out and I thought maybe…”

Ilya was perking up. “You want to sit on my face again?”

“No, not tonight." Shane shook his head. "I… has anyone ever… like, erm, has anyone ever done that for you?”

Ilya’s eyes were dancing while looking back and forth between Shane’s. “No, you want to?”

“Yeah, it feels really good when you do it and your ass is just so… I want to… I really want to get up close, if you know what I mean.” Shane could feel himself blushing. Of course Ilya would know what he meant, god damnit.

How Ilya was usually so confident in suggesting stuff in the bedroom was a mystery to him. Shane just needed to say ‘hey, I want to eat your ass if you are into that because you’re smuggling a whole bakery and I want a bite of that cake’. How hard could that be? Instead, he was a bumbling mess.

Ilya got up off the bar stool and put his lips on Shane’s briefly. “Okay, but I want to shower first.”

“Do you want me to join?” Shane asked.

“Any other time yes but I need a moment. Is okay?” Ilya asked back.

Shane nodded. Ilya usually was already thoroughly clean when they would see each other, which Shane really appreciated, but he understood that sometimes you need extra time to prep. The emotional talk probably didn’t help. 

They got to the bedroom where Ilya made his way to the ensuite and closed the door. Shane stood in front of the bed, unsure what to do.

Ilya would come out in nothing but a towel, so it was only fair for him to be naked as well, Shane thought. He put his clothes in the hamper next to the bathroom door from where he heard the water running over Ilya. Mental images of Ilya previously with him in the shower were provided to him in rapid succession, making his dick very interested.

He got on the bed and propped himself up against the headboard with bent legs that he let fall to the sides. His hand wandered over his chest, down to his stomach. He could feel his dick turning increasingly rigid at the anticipation of what was about to come. He had been thinking about this ever since Ilya had sent him a pic of his ass in the mirror on Snapchat in early summer. They had called that night and Shane got off twice, once with and once without Ilya.

He closed his eyes and languidly stroked himself, sinking deeper into the pillows. He ran his tongue over the ends of two fingers on his other hand before reaching down and massagin his rim, moaning at the feeling. It was a crime that no one has given that pleasure to Ilya before. He really hoped Ilya would like it, too.

“I am missing the show?”

Shane was startled, his body flinching ever so slightly before relaxing again at the view. He hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes and somehow had neither heard the shower being turned off nor Ilya reentering the room however long ago.

“Sorry, I was just…” Shane mumbled.

“No, no, continue, I like what I see.” Ilya let his towel drop to reveal he was already fairly hard as well.

Shane obliged, stroking himself a couple more times before reaching one hand out to invite Ilya into his bed. Ilya followed the invite and laid down next to Shane. He put his hand around Shane’s and stroked with him. Shane let go, leaving only Ilya’s hand working up and down his dick. He used his free hands to pull Ilya into a needy kiss. Ilya smelled like Shane’s seaweed and citrus body wash but there was still Ilya’s signature woodsy scent under it, the two mixed together making Shane absolutely feral.

He demanded entrance into Ilya’s mouth with his tongue, poking in and out, gliding up against the other tongue. He put Ilya’s lower lip between his teeth and tugged, earning him a deep growl and a tighter jerk. His hip pushed involuntarily up into the sensation. He was already half lost in ecstasy when he remembered his original plan.

He broke the kiss and stilled Ilya’s hand movement to gather some sort of resemblance of control over his body.

“Are you still okay with the plan?” Shane asked while searching Ilya’s face for any hint of hesitance.

“Where do you want me?” Ilya stretched his legs out, flexing his thighs in the process. Had they always been this huge? Shane discreetly wiped his hand over his mouth to get rid of any potential drool.

“On your stomach with a pillow under your hip if that’s okay.” Shane was hit by a wave of nervousness all of a sudden. 

What if Ilya didn’t like it? What if he wasn’t any good at this? What if he was so bad he would ruin it for Ilya even though he might like it with someone else but wouldn’t try because of this?

You looked into this. He wants to try. You know what makes you feel good and you can always ask him if he wants something different or you stop and do anything else.

The little doubt he had left entirely exited his body when he saw Ilya arranged on the mattress for him like the world’s most beefy buffet.

Shane tapped Ilya’s leg so he spread them for him and positioned himself between them. He rarely had Ilya’s back view. Was that anything close to what Shane looked like when he was on his stomach for Ilya? Ilya had slightly broader shoulders and was missing Shane’s hip dimples he knew Ilya loved to hold on to but other than that... If it was anything close, no wonder Ilya went wild. 

Shane never had the urge to fuck Ilya before, their dynamic worked really well as is, but if Ilya ever expressed interest in being fucked in the future, Shane would heavily consider giving it a try.

Shane traced Ilya’s different back muscles with his fingers starting at his shoulders, placing kisses over different moles he found along the way down. In some places where the muscles felt especially hard, he pressed in and massaged in slow, deliberate circles, loosening the knots. Ilya was melting under his touch, letting out happy grunting noises. Shane made a mental note to get massage oil for the next time. They regularly got massages from their PTs but that didn’t mean Shane couldn’t make Ilya feel good like that, too.

He went all the way down to the base of Ilya’s spine, cupping his perfect half spheres of an ass with his hands, digging his fingers into the muscles like he had done many times before whenever Ilya was lying on top of him. He took his time, his hands familiarizing themselves with every square inch of surface area. 

He lowered his head and pulled the cheeks apart to kiss down the crease until his mouth planted a firm one directly on Ilya’s hole. Ilya shivered ever so slightly. Shane stuck out his tongue, pressing it flat against Ilya’s entrance, moving his head up and down to keep the pressure consistent while spreading his spit around. Another more visible shiver accompanied by a low moan encouraged Shane to brush the tip of his tongue over in circles before putting his mouth back on and sucking, increasing the suction bit by bit.

“Oh fuck, Shane. Justlikethat,” Ilya slurred out.

Shane went back in, this time with the help of two fingers. He put them in a V shape left and right of the entrance, pressing and massaging while his tongue flicked over the center relentlessly. When he felt like he could go further in, he pulled his fingers away and darted his tongue out to fuck Ilya with it. A highly responsive Ilya rocked his hips back against Shane’s face all while his moans grew louder and more desperate. The noise went straight to Shane’s dick. He freed a hand to give himself some attention before fully focusing back on Ilya. This might have been the best idea he’s ever had. Eating Ilya’s gorgeous, perfectly shaped ass was a incomparable delight.

He realized he never asked if fingers inside were an option for Ilya, they just talked about eating out and that sounded more like tongue inside only, right?

“Is it okay if I finger you?” Shane breathlessly asked.

“Fuck, you can do whatever you want if it feels like this.” Ilya groaned out. Shane couldn’t help himself, he let out a giggle before reaching for the lube he already put out.

“Do you want to try to come like this or do you want to fuck me as well this round?” Shane mindlessly massaged one of Ilya's cheeks.

“I do want to fuck you but I do not know if I can move anymore.” Ilya lifted his head with what looked like an immense effort.

“I can always be on top," Shane said, "or we see if we can manage a second round. We have time tonight, right?”

“Yes, Marly is covering for me,” Ilya confirmed.

“Okay, your choice then.” Shane ran his hand up and down Ilya's lower back.

Ilya took a moment to consider. “I want to see if I can come from this.”

Shane gave Ilya’s ass a loving smack before rubbing over it. Ilya sank back into the pillow in front of his face.

Shane teased Ilya some more with his tongue while warming up the lube on his fingers. He rubbed the tip of his index finger in and out while his lips brushed over the upper part of the rim. He made it in until his first knuckle, then his second until he was fully inside him. The inner walls felt smooth and hot around him and he could feel the muscles at the base of his fingers working against the intrusion. Ilya went quiet under him, just his ragged breathing giving any indication that he was affected.

“Are you okay?” Shane asked gingerly.

“Ah yes, just… floating,” Ilya murmured with an air of content in his answer.

Shane did his best to make Ilya’s muscles more pliant under his touch before adding a second finger.

“Good?” Shane halted his movements when both fingers were deep inside him.

“Mmmgood.” Ilya pressed back into Shane's hand. Shane spread his fingers to win some more room to move. When he gained it, he curled his finger to search for the spot. He wasn’t sure if he did it correctly until he found a small bump and then…

“OH FUUUUCK!” Ilya cried out.

Shane gave him a second to breathe before going over Ilya’s prostate in a smooth, constant rhythm. Ilya left any notion of being quiet in the past as a litany of curses, moans and groans fell out of his mouth. Ilya’s head was turned to the side, his eyes were just millimeters away from being shut, his plump lips softly parted to let the noises escape freely. He was so unbelievably beautiful falling apart like this under Shane’s touch, he couldn’t believe he was privy to witness it. Staring right at the sun would be less blinding.

Shane ripped his gaze off of Ilya’s wrecked face and went back in to work his fingers and tongue in tandem. Ilya was rolling his hips aggressively into the pillow under him, seeking out friction. Shane sped up, doubling his efforts until Ilya let out an earsplitting wail when his orgasm rolled over him. Shane let him ride it out until the end before he retrieved his fingers.

He ran a soothing hand over Ilya’s back. Neither of them spoke for a good minute.

“Did you like it?” Shane asked.

“Did you hear me?” Ilya let out a humored huff.

“I think all of Montreal might have heard you," Shane quipped back.

“I liked it. It was… a lot… but very good.” Ilya searched around before finding, grabbing and squeezing Shane’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Any time." Shane squeezed back. "I will get something to clean you up now.”

“What about you?” Ilya turned his head to get a better look at him.

“I’m fine.” Shane’s throbbing dick between his legs was telling a different story but that wasn’t Ilya’s problem.

Ilya rolled over in a pace a snail would find slow. 

“My mouth is still working.” He was grinning at Shane.

Shane looked up and down a very limp looking Ilya. “Yeah, but aren’t you too tired to move?”

“Who says I am moving?” The grin got even wider somehow. “Come here.”

Ilya gestured for Shane to scoot closer until he was seated on Ilya's chest. Ilya licked his lips before opening his jaw wide. Shane got the message and laid the tip of his dick on Ilya’s lower lip who closed his mouth around him and raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Who says I am moving?

Shane tentatively moved his hips forward. The angle was shallow and a bit awkward but Shane wouldn’t need much after what he had just witnessed. He looked down at Ilya who gave the biggest nod he could give in his situation (about seven degrees) and Shane rocked a couple of inches back and forth until he found a rhythm. His hands were planted against the wall above the bed, his arms shaking from the tension he needed to keep himself up. 

Ilya hollowed his cheeks and flicked his tongue against Shane’s cock relentlessly until Shane let out a wail of his own and spilled into Ilya’s mouth who swallowed it all up with a blissful hum.

Shane somehow managed to collapse on Ilya’s side and not on top of his head.

“Fuck, that was amazing.” Shane pressed a smiling kiss into Ilya’s pec muscle.

Ilya nuzzled Shane’s hair. “You did a very good job, solnyshko. We killed another pillow.” 

“It’s fine, I have like a thousand." Shane took the pillow and threw it off the bed. "I accidentally ordered double what I needed. I still put them all out for some reason but I won’t miss one, don’t worry.”

“So we should kill more pillows, is plague,” Ilya said seriously before a giggle broke out of him, Shane joining in.

Shane turned his head up to look at Ilya’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I am better now.” Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head.

After a while of just lying there in each other's arms, they decided to clean up and go to sleep. Round 2 had to wait until the morning, Shane put the alarm earlier than necessary after Ilya insisted.

Shane was already three quarters asleep and wrapped in a big bear hug from behind when he heard Ilya whisper.

“I like you.”

“... like you, too, mon ours.”

___________________________

The next couple of weeks, Shane was walking on Cloud Motherfucking 9. The evil twins kept it shut against Shane, JJ or whoever else they had tried to target in the past and got decked whenever they let it out against the other teams, decreasing their ice time significantly.

He also got closer to Ryan. Not much, that man was a literal and metaphorical brick wall, but he went onto two other outings with Shane. He seemed to enjoy both mini golf and bowling more than the bar. 

Shane, Hayden and Schneids helped him move into his furnished apartment. He profusely thanked Hayden for the plant and Shane for the throw pillows (plant and pillow both alive and well). He got pizza for everyone and some German beer for Schneids as a thank you for putting in a good word for him.

They had one last game against the Detroit Flying Flames in November before their three day break around American Thanksgiving.

Shane was barrelling down the ice closely followed by Hayden in the third period when he heard an ugly noise of two bodies colliding with each other, slamming into the boards with a loud thump.

Fuck, Hayden was right behind him. He heard the whistle to stop the play and Hayden skated into his view to his left. If it wasn’t Hayden…

They both swiveled around at the same time to see their captain tangled up in a pile of limbs with a Detroit defenseman, neither of them moving.

Get up, get up, get up.

Chapter End Notes

French translation:

• Mon ami = my (male) friend | I put this into google translate to be absolutely sure and found out that it doesn’t give a suggestion for the female form if you don’t indicate a gender. Kinda fucked but what else is new from google.
• Crosseur = French Canadian slang for cheat/scammer or here wanker (I trusted someone on reddit for this)
• Mon ours = My (teddy) bear (it’s spelled like the English ours but pronounced nothing like it)

Welcome to my newsletter!

• Evil triplets = Gagnon, Wilson, Laine; if that wasn’t clear.
• Why did I pick Wilson to be traded? I did a search for how often the evil triplets got mentioned, Wilson had the most. Then, I realized he was the one who got a woman at least tipsy to sleep with him and that I mentioned that Buffalo has no interesting club scene (sorry Buffalo, if incorrect), so he can go rot there :)
• I did plan for one of the evil triplets getting traded early on but then came the idea to trade him for Ryan, because we only see Ilya briefly with him in HR, but I think a slightly more emotionally mature Shane could help him. And I really like Ryan, even though I didn’t enjoy Tough Guy as much (don’t come for me but Fabian pissed me off with his reactions to Ryan fighting in hockey and I hated how his friend group acted).
• Griyo (or griot) is a widely popular Haitian pork dish. From what I read, it’s basically an unofficial national dish.
• Re: Ilya is pissed about the shared room: Single room accommodations for anyone without an entry level contract were negotiated during the 2012-2013 NHL lockout. It’s section 16.9 on page 103 , if you want to check it out. I think I have only seen a lockout mentioned in home economics, maybe you guys and gals and nb pals have more recommendations on fics about NHL lockouts. Also, he is still on his entry level contract, so shared room either way, just wanted to mention this.
• In earlier chapters I just used the team names I knew or the city name. Why I missed the opportunity to come up with silly new names, I will never know. Moving forward, I will give all the teams names.
• NHL 13 came out in NA on September 11, 2012.
• My thoughts on their (soft) dom/top sub/bottom dynamics: I think they make sense in the original material and give them both what they need. I do doubt though they go their whole relationship like that as they are pretty open to playing with their dynamics. They also stay fairly vanilla (which is nothing bad at all! Vanilla sex is a lot of fun when approached like they do). Basically, it's like a “hey, this makes me feel good, maybe you will like it, too.”. And that’s also a good way to learn “the other side” and see what you can try yourself in your usual dynamic. It is mentioned in TLG that Shane has tried toys on Ilya before. I tagged this with Ilya top/Shane bottom and will leave it for this fic that way but if you are interested in them switching it up in a future fic, lmk.
• I’m never sure where I stand with Shane calling Ilya pet names. Nothing English felt right so I looked for French pet names and the first page spit out “mon ours” for my (teddy) bear and I thought it was so sweet and a little stupid, it was perfect for them.

As always, I'm very much looking forward to your lovely comments. Thank you also for the bunch of kudos and subscriptions!

Chapter 12: Oh captain, my captain

Chapter Summary

Roy is injured and Montreal needs a new captain. The boys exchange Christmas presents. The All-Stars 2013 game has yet another format.

Chapter Notes

What the fuck, we reached over 1000 subscriptions on this story with so many comments, kudos, hits and bookmarks. THANK YOU!!

2012/2013 was supposed to be one chapter, now it’s three :)

I need any witch power you have to get me the apartment that I put my application in for.

The hospital had a certain hum to it everywhere you went. The neon overhead lights, the beeping machines, the rushing through the corridors, the quiet talks in the corner, the scratching on clipboards and notepads. Nothing was ever loud but it didn’t quiet down either. The restlessness of a place where people are supposed to heal in peace was palpable everywhere you looked.

Shane was pacing in front of Roy’s room for the last half hour. They had been forced to play the rest of the third period but both Detroit and Montreal played like absolute burning garbage with both teams having a teammate barely wake up after the crash.

At least, he did open his eyes.

Shane shuddered at the thought. He had heard of players dying on the ice, mostly from pucks that hit the wrong unprotected place but there were cases of head injuries and stuff from blades he really didn’t want to think about.

The rest of the team had been sent home hours ago, except for Hayden so Shane wasn’t alone and also because Hayden had been part of the cause of the collision, making him insist on staying. They had quickly reviewed the footage and saw that the Detroit defenseman Oppel was going for Hayden and Roy intercepted in a standard maneuver but Oppel caught an edge and they tumbled over each other.

Desjardins had checked in but then was pulled away by management to come up with a plan to replace Roy at least for the next few games. Roy’s prognosis wasn’t even out and things were already set into motion for someone to take over.

It’s a business after all.

Another shudder. The business had caused Roy at least a major concussion and possibly a broken shoulder. The jury was still out on the second part. Oppel, the man usually described as a tank on blades by the press, wasn’t in much better shape. Double rib fracture, a nasty twisted ankle and a major concussion on top. They were flying his girlfriend to Montreal right at this moment, his teammate mentioned he wanted to propose to her on Thanksgiving.

Fucking hell, if something were to happen to… Nope.

Shane really needed to get his brain under control. Roy was in excellent hands. There were a bunch of people checking on him. He was an important financial asset to the Voyageurs and as morbid as that sounded right at this moment that also meant they would pull out all the stops to get their captain back on his feet with the best care available.

Hayden came back from his snack run. They both still hadn’t eaten dinner.

“Shane, sit down! They will kill us if you run long enough to put a hole through the floor and get injured, too.” Hayden plopped down on the bench in the otherwise empty hallway and gestured next to him.

“I can’t. My whole body is still buzzing.” Shane felt a tingling all over his skin like an ant colony crawling on top of him.

“Okay, then at least take a snack. You won’t help anyone if you are stressing yourself out on an empty stomach into a possible fainting.” Hayden was holding up multiple snack options and a bottle of water but Shane didn’t pause to grab anything.

“That sounded like Jackie is talking to me, not you,” Shane said instead.

“It’s called ‘better half’ for a reason.” Hayden had a lovesick smile on his face, the same one he always had when they talked about Jackie. He was so happy, it was disgusting.

“Have you picked out a ring?”

Hayden’s eyes went wide. “How did you…” 

“You are practically already married, might as well. You are also not very subtle on the bus with your phone sometimes,” Shane explained without looking at Hayden. He didn’t want to snoop but Hayden once fell asleep with the jewelry store website on his phone open and Shane just wanted to save the phone before it would tumble to its death through the team bus.

Hayden grunted. “Sit down, come on.”

Shane followed the order this time. He ate the sour cream and onion chips that Hayden brought for him and downed the water with it. His leg was bouncing the whole time, his body unable to calm the nervous energy enough to sit still. 

Hayden put his elbows on his knees and his forehead against his folded hands almost like he was praying. “I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, me too.” Shane stared at the door of Roy’s room where currently two doctors and a nurse were still doing tests on him.

“No, I mean… fuck, I feel bad that he is injured because of me.” Hayden let out a deep, frustrated noise.

“Hey, we all know the risk of playing hockey. Roy did his job, Oppel tripped under him. It was a horrible outcome for a normal interaction.” Shane didn’t know if he was trying to calm Hayden or himself.

“I know that, okay? I still feel like I want to throw up. The image of him twisted up like that…” Hayden did look paler than usually. Shane contemplated if he needed to bring him a bucket before they bothered the poor night nurse even more.

“Do you want to know why I feel like shit?” Shane needed to get it off his chest before it would burst. His splattered remains were another thing the night nurse definitely didn’t need to be bothered with.

Hayden waved one of his hands in the air. “Sure, sharing is caring or whatever.”

Shane took a deep breath in. “My brain found it helpful to immediately think that I will be captain now.”

“Yeah, that’s just how things go.” Hayden shrugged his shoulder. “You are our only alternate and best player. They would be crazy not to make you captain at least while Roy is out, maybe even beyond that.”

“Well, that’s the logical part I fully understand, doesn’t mean I don’t feel like a trash human being for looking forward to being captain. I wanted the captaincy but certainly not like this. I thought maybe in like two or three years when Roy finally makes good on his threat to disappear to New Zealand and start herding sheep because they are smarter than the team.” Shane already missed Roy’s good-natured grumpiness in the locker room.

“He’s not wrong with the last part. They also produce wool, what useful thing have we ever done?” Hayden said with a dry chuckle.

“I once made a macaroni painting in third grade that my mom still stores somewhere.” Shane had to practically beg his mom to take it down when his junior teammates were invited over to his house that one time.

“So nothing then.” 

They sat in silence for a minute.

“Fucking hell." Shane let out a sharp exhale. "Do we know if Roy’s family is coming? His brother and parents wanted to fly in from Ohio for Thanksgiving.”

Roy had told the team before the game that he had already put the turkey in the brine for the next day. He wanted to go all out. Now he was just… out. Fuck.

“Yeah, Coach said they will be here late tomorrow morning,” Hayden recounted.

“Okay, we will stay until they come in then.” Shane sank back into his chair.

“Yes, captain.” Hayden saluted him with two fingers. Shane slapped them away. 

“Fuck off, Hayd.”

___________________________

They were all gathered in conference room B the day after Thanksgiving for an emergency team meeting. Desjardins had a grim look on his face when he entered with his assistant coach and the GM. 

“Good morning everyone.” 

Yeah nothing good about this morning if the head coach’s voice was any indication. Shane hadn’t gotten full details on Roy’s prognosis but this didn’t sound like positive news.

“Roy is out for four to six months. His shoulder is broken and he has a major concussion.”

“Six months? That’s fucking May!” Someone threw in.

“Thank you for the quick math, yes, that might mean he misses the rest of the season.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Their general manager Bouchard quieted them back down.

“While you had off for Thanksgiving, we came up with a plan. We will call up Bolton from the AHL and try Dagenais with Bolton and Price, we will see which pairing works better.” He paused when JJ basically leaped across the room to hug Ryan, who stood there accepting the hug and nodding briefly at Bouchard. 

“More importantly, we will need a new captain for now.” Bouchard turned to Shane. “Hollander, you are doing good work as A, we expect you to do even better as the C.”

Hayden next to Shane was the first to clap, the rest of the team following swiftly, some louder than others, Shane noticed.

“I will do my best.” Shane put on his most confident smile which almost fell off his face when Hayden clapped him repeatedly on the back harder than necessary like a Great Dane puppy not aware of its strength.

“We will also need a new A. We decided to go with Pike…” This time Shane was the first to applaud. “...and Schneider.”

Montreal hadn’t had three captains in a while but then again, Roy had been on the team for a while as a captain and their captain before that was in his late twenties when he was announced, just like Roy had been. Shane was only 21.

21... Captain of his NHL team at 21. Youngest captain in the NHL in a decade. Youngest captain for the Voyageurs ever. 

Shane’s face changed from his confident smile into a face splitting grin. Exactly no one could take this from him even if it was just for one game. But he would not let it slip out of his hands and keep up the work until Roy was back.

The meeting adjourned after Desjardins had laid out the practice plan for the switches, Shane already making a mental note to help Ryan and JJ (well and Bolton when he would arrive) with any extra ice time. 

He might also show Ryan some of his skating techniques he learned from the figure skaters. Ryan wasn’t the best skater, Shane had to admit, but he seemed to always listen closely to what he was taught and with an ounce of confidence, he might actually make it onto the line with JJ. Pure enforcers were also slowly falling out of style, so any support now might prolong his career.

___________________________

Shane had worked with JJ and Ryan (who got Roy’s spot for now) for three weeks when Ryan scored his first goal for Montreal. 

Defender goals were rare as is, Ryan’s maximum in one season were two and both of them were against horrible teams. But the Nashville Artic Pistons were no team to scoff at.

Ryan was in full-on disbelief when the other players were piling on top of him. 

“You fucking did it, mon frère!” JJ was screaming next to him.

Hayden had jumped on his back and Shane crashed into his front.

“Let’s fucking go, Pricey,” Hayden yelled directly into his ear.

“Fucking beautiful goal, Ryan!” Shane was aggressively smacking Ryan’s chest in celebration.

Ryan whispered fuck, yeah before they skated off together to switch lines.

They all rode the high to a demolishing 4-1 win. The celebration followed them from the locker room to the team bus to the charter plane home for Christmas. Even Shane took a glass of champagne from the team assistant.

They were high up in the air when the plane suddenly jostled for a second. Nothing too major. The pilot still told them to sit down for now. Hayden was seated next to JJ so Shane sat down next to Ryan.

Ryan had always been quiet on flights but this didn’t look like his usual silence. His hands were digging into his thighs and his upper body was rocking back and forth ever so slightly. Shane also spotted a sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

Fuck, Shane remembered when Kira described the signs of a panic attack so he could recognize them if they ever came back. He reached over to put his hand on Ryan’s bicep.

“Hey, Ryan!" Shane said in a low but clear tone. "Can you look at me? Are you okay?”

Ryan didn’t look at him, he only shook his head in response. Shane quickly looked around but no one had seemed to notice yet and they were a couple of rows away from others. Good, that would probably make it way worse for Ryan otherwise.

“Okay, Ryan, listen to me. Can you breathe with me? In and out, okay?”

Shane counted four on inhale, three on hold and seven on exhale. Ryan looked like he was putting all his focus into following Shane’s instructions. His body was no longer trembling but he was far from being back to normal.

“I’m gonna put my arms around you and put on pressure, okay?” Shane hovered his arms in front of Ryan's view.

“K.” Even that seemed strenious for Ryan to get out.

Shane’s arms barely made it around the giant. He held onto his own wrists and squeezed the ever living shit against the taunt muscles. Hayden made eye contact with Shane and raised an eyebrow, Shane subtly shook his head and made a don’t ask face. Hayden thankfully got the message.

Ryan let out a sudden forceful exhale, his muscles finally loosening. Shane held on for another ten seconds before slowly letting go.

Ryan seemed slightly disoriented. “Fuck, sorry… I mean… thank you… shit.” 

“Hey, all good, you’re not the only person here with panic attacks,” Shane admitted.

“I’m not?” He threw a wary look towards Shane.

“Nope. Can you keep something to yourself?” Ryan only huffed at Shane before Shane continued. “I had a major one when the combine data was leaked.”

“Oh shit, yeah." Ryan's eyes went wide at him. "I can imagine. What did you do?”

Only him, Ilya, his parents and Kira knew in more or less detail what had happened that morning in his room. Ryan was about to be person number six.

“So, erm… you may have heard that I’m friends with Ilya… Rozanov. He was the one who found me when I was panicking.” He skipped the part where Ilya had a key card to his room, hard to explain that one without the part about them fucking. “I felt like I was dying, I literally thought my heart was about to stop right then and there, it was the worst experience of my life. He talked me down from it, I don't know how it would've ended without his help.”

“Does that happen to you often?” Ryan asked.

Shane took a second to recap his last couple of months, he could hardly remember any struggles.“That extreme? No, just that one time. Much smaller ones sometimes but I had help from my therapist. I have it under control. As under control as you can have that bullshit.”

“You have a therapist?” Ryan sounded genuinely surprised at that.

“Yeah, Kira, she’s great. I got her for the autism diagnosis but stayed in therapy for the last three and a half years. Makes things a lot easier. Do you get panic attacks often?” Shane hadn’t noticed anything beyond the social anxiety but that didn’t mean anything. You could get quite good at hiding them, tormenting only yourself with it.

“Sometimes, yeah. Flying makes it really bad. The turbulence… I didn’t even think about flying today really and that bump made it all come crashing down. Like I let my guard down and then something happened, it all… magnified.” Ryan closed his eyes for a second and swallowed thickly.

“Shit, I didn’t know. Man, that must be horrible then to fly so much.” Shane had stopped counting the hours he had been in an airplane. Some in-flight personnel might have less time than him at this point.

“Yeah… not the greatest.” Ryan was fidgeting with the edge of his team hoodie.

“Do you have anyone to talk to?” Shane was technically a person he talked to, he was a bit out of his depth, though.

“Not really, no," Ryan replied. "I kinda told my mom once. She pulled out some stats on how safe flying was. She was trying to help but that only made me think about the times it didn’t go so well and I stopped talking about it.”

“I don’t want to like..." Shane pressed his thumbs into his thighs, "overstep, so just ignore me when you aren’t interested but do you want to talk to Kira? She’s in Montreal and specializes in helping pro athletes. She was one herself.”

“You trust her, right?” Ryan sounded like he was going through twenty different emotions all at once.

“Yeah,” Shane confirmed.

“I will think about it.” Ryan dropped his hands from his hoodie.

“Okay, sure. But can you promise me something?” Shane nudged Ryan with his elbow.

“What?” Ryan looked over to Shane.

“If it ever gets bad again, come to me, okay?” Shane made sure to fixate his eyes on Ryan to make it clear he meant the support offered.

“Okay.”

___________________________

December 25th, 2012

Ilya was once again alone in his Boston apartment on Christmas. He had actually accepted an invite to the Hammersmith household but Hammy woke him up at 6 am, telling him that they all had gotten food poisoning from a bad batch of eggnog and maybe the only thing worse available to Ilya than a lonely Christmas was a Christmas in a house full of giants (the Hammersmith family were all freakishly tall, even the spouses and kids) vomiting all over the place. Merry Crisis everyone. His phone buzzed again.

Shane: Happy American Christmas, look on your doorstep whenever you are awake :) 

Ilya: Happy American Christmas :)

Ilya: What did you do?

Shane: Why are you up? Are you already at the Hammersmiths?

Ilya: No, they are vomiting.

Shane: What?

Ilya: Bad eggnog.

Shane: Oh shit, are you alone today then?

Ilya: Depends on what I find on my doorstep.

Shane: I’m still at my apartment, can we FaceTime?

Shane: I want to see your reaction :) 

Ilya: Are you pranking me on Christmas?

Shane: Yes, I AM known for my pranks.

Incoming FaceTime call: Shane Hollander

“Hollander, again, what did you do?” Ilya greeted him.

“Hello to you, too, Rozanov." Shane was annoyingly awake. "Open the door.”

“Fine.”

Ilya trotted over to his apartment door. On the mat was a relatively small white box with only For Ilya on it.

“How is there no address on this?" Ilya turned the box in the air to inspect it. "Did you fly to Boston and then go without saying hello?”

“No, I had it delivered by a courier so that it would arrive at the time I wanted," Shane explained. "I didn’t make them knock, I thought you would still be sleeping.”

“Silly from you to think I would sleep past 6 am." Ilya heard a little snort though the phone.

“Ha. Ha. Come on, open the box.” Shane looked like he was getting the present.

“Always so eager," Ilya said, the suggestive tone not missed on the other end.

Shane smirked at him. “You like me eager.”

Ilya smirked back. “I was not complaining.”

Ilya sauntered back into his kitchen and propped his phone up against his decorative bowl full of limes he didn’t even know was there. Did the cleaners put it out? Merry Crimmus.

He ran his kitchen scissors over the tape and opened the box to a bunch of packaging peanuts.

“Hollander, did you send me only packing material?” Ilya pulled out even more stuff.

“No," Shane answered dryly, "I keep my best pranks for Canada Day.”

Ilya snorted and dug deeper into the package. He felt something hard and suspiciously shaped.

“If that is what I think it is..." Ilya raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh my god, Ilya, no.” Shane dramatically pinched the bridge of his nose before dropping the act and trying to see the present better. Ilya adjusted the phone for him.

Ilya pulled his present out. It was a wooden painted figurine with his face on it. He took a guess and twisted the top and bottom. It came apart and showed Marly’s face next. He continued the process until in descending height order a little Ilya, Marly, Hammy, Carmy and Vicky in their jerseys were standing before him.

“Shane." Ilya could feel his mouth gaping slightly. "Where did you…”

“Someone is making them on Etsy," Shane seemed so happy to share that info. "There are ones for every NHL team. I customized it to the people you mention the most.”

“You got me a Bears matryoshka doll,” Ilya said, baffled, as if Shane didn’t know what he bought for Ilya.

“You also all got bear ears on the side of your helmets. Do you like it?” Shane was worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

Did he like it? He couldn’t even remember the last proper Christmas gift he had gotten, probably when his mother still had been alive.

“I love it. Thank you. I will send pic to the group.” He quickly took a picture and sent it into the Boston group chat without an explanation.

“Glad you liked it.” Shane's smile was warm and relaxed.

“I feel bad. I do not have anything prepared for you.” Ilya pulled his mouth into an exaggerated frown even though there was a genuine pang of guilt. He didn’t know they were the kind of… friends that would get each other gifts.

“You don’t even celebrate on the 25th and you don’t need to get me anything. I thought you might like it, so I bought it. It’s no big deal,” Shane explained as casually as possible for him.

It was. To Ilya, it definitely was.

“I can still thank you though,” Ilya said in a seductive tone, ignoring the 6:20 a.m. on his microwave clock.

Shane looked bashfully into the camera. “I have to leave soon, sorry. But erm… are you free tonight? I will be back around ten.”

“I will clear calendar.” Done.

“Okay, I have to hurry, I will text you updates of the day and then I will call you at ten. Bye.” 

Shane tapped two of his fingers against his lips, then against the cam before he hung up.

Ilya sank down on his bar stool staring at the phone then staring at the dolls.

This man.

___________________________

January 1st 2013

Shane: Happy new year :)

Shane: IS THIS FROM YOU??

Shane: [image.jpg]

Ilya: Happy new year :) 

Ilya: Is Russian day to give presents.

Ilya: I made special order with Tommaso.

Shane: The sweater is perfect. Thank you so much!

Ilya: The blue will look very good on you. Tommaso said so.

Shane: Wait, did you make Tommaso work over the holidays??

Ilya: He was very happy to do so. The extra money probably helped ;)

Shane: How much did you pay?

Ilya: Hey, is rude to ask for gift price.

Shane: It’s probably too much then, Ilya.

Ilya: My bank account can take it.

Shane: It’s so soft, oh my god.

Ilya: Is made from Rozanov wool.

Shane: Your family makes wool?

Ilya: No, is cashmere. Made from GOAT wool.

Shane: … Did you just call yourself Greatest Of All Time????

Ilya: :)

Shane: Unbelievable.

___________________________

Five minutes later

Celestial_Ink: [Expiring image. Shane from the neck down in his bedroom mirror from behind in just the sweater]

Celestial_Ink: Do you think it fits? :) 

Outgoing FaceTime call: Shane Hollander 27:21 min

___________________________

Sports in Canada

NHL All-Stars 2013 format announced

By Katie Covey

published on 8th of January 2013

New year, new format!

The NHL announced their new format for the 2013 All-Stars game, which will happen in three weeks in LA. 

The highly popular draft format will stay in place this year. The captains of the teams have already been chosen by the NHL. The captains with the longest and shortest tenures - namely Johnny Hoppinger from the LA Golden Crowns and Shane Hollander from the Montreal Voyageurs - will face-off against each other.

The draft will not be as straight forward. The captains will have to battle it out in the skill competitions to gain the right to choose their teammates first. The competitions will also include their chosen teammates. More details will follow, according to the NHL Head Offices.

This year's All-Stars include fan favorites and last year’s captains Scott Hunter from the New York Admirals, Pete Cloffens from the Carolina Grim Reapers and Ilya Rozanov from the Boston Bears as well as some newcomers like Troy Barrett from the Toronto Guardians.

Full list:

…

___________________________

Shane: I like Hoppy, but he will have to die.

Ilya: :O Shane Mob Boss Hollander. What is going on?

Shane: I will have to battle him for first pick and I will NOT let him take you away from me.

Shane: Your ass is mine.

Ilya: Wrong chat?

Shane: Shut up.

Ilya: What if I want to join Hoppy’s team?

Shane: You don’t want to play with me? :( 

Shane: I guess I pick Scott then, calling him right now.

Ilya: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO DON’T CALL MR FOSSIL.

Ilya: Shane

Ilya: Shaaaaaaaaane

Ilya: Hollander

Ilya: HOLLANDER!

Ilya: Shane Hollander, answer right now.

Shane: :) 

___________________________

All forty players that weren’t chosen as Captains were lined up alphabetically on one side of the rink behind the goal line waiting to be picked. Shane and Hoppy already had their team jerseys on. On the team benches, there were several helpers with jerseys with all their names ready for both teams.

Ilya was standing between Reyleigh, a goalie from the Tampa Bay Leaves, and Sallinger, a defenseman from the Seattle Diving Petrels, awaiting his fate. He had a game against LA last week and was extra shitty to Hoppy but was still not convinced he wouldn’t be picked based on his merrit alone. 

He couldn’t just be a teeny tiny bit worse at hockey, could he?

They brought a tombola drum out that would pick the skill competitions. Each won skill competition would earn the captain the right to pick first in the current round. Then, they would alternate for a certain number of players to choose for their teams. Those would then go up against each other in the next skill competition to win the right to pick first in the following round until everyone was chosen.

Ilya really only cared about the first round. He leaned against the boards as aloof as possible.

Reyleigh poked him with an elbow to the ribs. “Do you think they will pick you first?”

I made one of the captains come twice last night. I called the other 'so slow, he is a disappointment to sloths' to his face last week. You could call it a 50/50.

“Sure or someone else. Is whatever,” Ilya responded lackadaisically while his eyes never left the back of Shane’s head. He had familiarized himself with it very well last night when he pushed it, to Shane’s delight, into the pillow to muffle the sounds Shane was making. Even thinking about how incredibly loud Shane would get otherwise made him uncomfortably hard in his jockstrap.

The drum came to a halt when a ball rolled over the metal tube coming out and was fished out by some retired LA player Ilya didn’t care to remember.

“First competition iiiiisssssss: McDonalds’ Fastest Skater!”

Ilya couldn’t help but smirk. Hoppy was 30 pounds heavier than Shane and just a little taller. He also had ten years and multiple knee injuries on Shane. This was going to be a skate in the park.

Hoppy skated first to the blue line closer to the other All-Stars with his back to them so the last two corners were going to be in front of them. Shane stood at the start of the player lineup. It looked like Adams and Anderson were trying to convince Shane to pick them first. He was politely smiling at them before turning his laser focus on Hoppy.

The siren went off and so did Hoppy. He made his way through the long side, whipping around corner 1 and 2 with more speed than Ilya thought he was capable of. The crowd cheered him on through the straight line and when he neared the line of players all of them were banging against the boards behind them and shouting for him to go faster. Some of it was surely for the cameras but some of them turned genuinely red while yelling at Hoppy. He crossed the finish line and his final time materialized on the jumbotron a second later.

Johnny Hoppinger: 15.200 seconds

The crowd whooped and cheered for Hoppy who gave Shane a fist bump before he was josseled forward by Adams and Anderson. His smile disappeared as soon as he ducked down at the blue line into his starting position. His minutely scrunched up face was shown on the jumbotron for Ilya to count his freckles (once again).

The siren for Shane’s round screeched and Shane dug his blades into the ice. There was never that much difference in the fastest skating competitions but my god he looked so much faster. He was calmer than Hoppy, every stride calculated before it was taken. His slightly longer hair was tousled in the wind he was producing, his face determined as ever. If it wasn’t for protection of his beautiful head, Ilya would pull out all the stops to ban helmets so he could watch Shane in his full glory every game.

He barely slowed down in the corners, maybe he got faster in them, even if that was very likely physically impossible. It took all of Ilya’s strength not to let his jaw drop at the pure demonstration of skill and beauty in front of him. He catalogued his thoughts and feelings to bring them back up later at night.

Shane was half down the long side when Ilya realized the other players were already banging on the boards while the audience was at least 20% louder than they were for Hoppy. As they should. He joined in, screaming louder than any of them, not a care in the world how he looked. Shane deserved his full volume.

Ilya, for the fraction of a second, thought he saw Shane smirking directly at him before rounding the second pair of corners to finish the full lap.

Everyone’s eyes went up to the big screen.

Shane Hollander: 14.061 seconds

Shane skated another round until he reached the All-Star line again, high-fiving several of them. He then made his way to the announcer together with Hoppy who asked him for his first pick. 

Instead of answering, Shane, the little shit, took off towards the bench with the jerseys and carefully took the one he asked the helper for so no one could see who he picked until he was ready to reveal. 

Holy shit, this was so theatrical, Ilya thought to himself. Probably no one thought that Hockey Robot Shane Hollander, as the press liked to call him, had a dramatic flair in him. But Ilya knew.

He arrived back at center ice where the announcer was waiting with a professional smile, then looked for a camera pointed at him and unraveled the chosen one.

“Ilya Rozanov!”

The crowd was deafening when Ilya skated forward, some of them chanting his name, some just screaming in pure delight.

The rivals united or whatever the press would print tomorrow.

Ilya bumped his shoulder against Shane, took his jersey and pulled it on. His smile was so wide, it was starting to hurt. Shane wasn’t much better next to him. They looked like little kids that just stole a freshly baked chocolate cake from the windowsill and got away with it.

The rest of the draft went on without a hitch, Team Hollander winning five out of the seven skill competitions, earning Shane the first vote five times and an excellent group. He did choose Hunter at some point, to Ilya’s dismay.

It only got worse when the coach from New Jersey informed them that they would all be on the same line for the game. Ilya quickly snapped his jaw shut when Shane automatically shot him a look, knowing Ilya had an insult or three ready for Hunter.

The game itself was an absolute dream as in Ilya has dreamed of playing with Shane for so long he didn’t believe this would ever turn into reality. But it did. Playing against Shane was thrilling. Riling him up and then narrowly skedaddling around him for a goal or two to fuck him later or get ridden into oblivion was Ilya’s favorite string of events. 

Playing with him though, that went beyond any description. He wasn’t just fast. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once. After the first two shifts, Ilya completely stopped looking for him as Shane seemed to know exactly where Ilya wanted him at all times and Ilya returned the favor any chance he could. He would have felt sorry for Hunter if they didn’t manage to still set him up for a goal. The other team’s current goalie looked like he was close to snapping his stick over his knee in frustration. Ilya had never had so much fun in his fucking life.

It was all topped by their celly after Ilya assisted Shane to a hat trick. He said fuck it and skated up to Shane to give him a big smooch on his cheek. Shane’s exertion blush deepened as he winked at Ilya. 

Hunter was close but not joining their hug, just awkwardly hovering. Ilya decided to threaten him with the same celebration, chasing him across half the rink, making Vaughny on the other team laugh so hard, he had to go down to his knees to not fall over. Shane was just standing where Ilya left him with a dopey smile, shaking his head at them.

Team Hollander won the game 12-9 with 6 goals from the Hunter-Hollander-Rozanov line.

They knew the song and dance for the afterparty by now. Shane would leave thirty minutes before Ilya, Shane’s key card already securely in Ilya’s back pocket as Shane had an almost isolated corner room. And if Ilya squeezed through the bar to brush up against Shane before he left more than necessary, so what?

Ilya downed his beer and slipped out of the bar without anyone noticing. And if they did, they might just assume he would go for a smoke or had already found someone to hook up with. One of these things was true.

He made his way to Shane’s hotel room without meeting anyone in the lobby, the elevator or the hallway by some miracle. He had showered before the bar and the establishment actually had a well working AC, so he still smelled good. To be extra sure, he pulled out a tiny fragrance bottle to give himself a fresh spritz across his chest and on his wrists.

He opened the door and made it barely two steps into the hotel room before he was thrown against the wall by Shane, his mouth on Ilya like he would die if he wasn’t immediately kissed dizzy. Fuck, it never got less hot when Shane showed his strength. He had his hands on Ilya’s wrists pressing them to the wall next to Ilya’s head, his thigh slotted between Ilya’s leg, his own erection pressed into Ilya’s hip bone.

“Mmm, my Captain is very eager today,” Ilya whispered when he finally got to take a full breath.

Shane rubbed his thigh against Ilya’s cock. “Not sure if you are talking about me or your dick.”

Ilya chuckled low and dark. “Oh no, I definitely mean you, Captain.”

“Fuck!”

Shane moved back in, kissing him deeper before scraping his teeth over Ilya’s stubble on his jawline and suckling right under his ear lobe, making Ilya’s knees go weak. Ilya spread his hands over Shane’s already naked back, holding on for dear life at the strong muscles there. 

“On your knees.” 

It was more of a plea than a command, really. Shane still obliged, making quick work of Ilya’s belt (why the fuck was he wearing a belt? Quick access was vital!) and pants, before tearing off everything between him and Ilya’s dick. He took Ilya halfway in one swoop, groaning around the flesh filling his mouth.

Ilya’s hands were roaming through Shane’s hair while he bopped his head, finding every spot that made Ilya go crazy. Thank fuck he was leaning against a wall, Shane Hollander was doing a number on him.

When Ilya felt himself bump against Shane’s throat, he forced himself to open his eyes that he shut somewhere between the obscene sucking noises and an intense lick through his slit. He had to shove a fist into his mouth not to let out an earth-shattering cry when he saw Shane nuzzling in his neatly trimmed happy trail with his cock fully gone from view being swallowed down. He shot his load right then and there. Shane coughed lightly with his long eye lashes clinging together from dampness but he drank it all down without a hitch before releasing Ilya.

“Fucking hell, Captain.”

Shane let out a shuddering moan before kissing him again. Ilya could taste himself on his tongue, savoring the tangy aroma. He had to admit, he did indeed taste better when he hadn’t smoked in a while.

He moved Shane further into the room, getting rid of their clothes on the way over. He pushed him down so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Ilya was looming over him, enjoying the view of a hungry looking Shane who leaned back onto his hands, spreading his legs for Ilya to step into.

Ilya went down to the floor just like Shane had done and went to work. Shane’s thick cock was throbbing against Ilya’s tongue while he moved Shane’s length in and out of his mouth. He suckled on the head, swirling his tongue around before going all the way down. 

His hand found Shane’s balls, rolling them around before he went behind them to massage the perineum as he didn’t have lube in reach. Shane’s hips jerked forward, almost forcing Ilya off, but he was determined to finish what he started. Shane grew louder and louder. Ilya blindly handed him a piece of clothing that he realised a moment too late was his underwear. Shane still shoved it into his mouth, letting out a desperately pleased noise when he could taste Ilya in his mouth again. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when he came with a muffled shout deep down Ilya’s throat.

Ilya was already half hard again or maybe he was never really fully soft in the cloud of pheromones filling up the hotel room.

Shane realised the underwear out of his teeth, spitting it to the floor. He narrowed his eyes at Ilya, determined like he was at the blue line before humiliating Hoppy and the rest of the league by breaking yet another record.

Ilya met his gaze equally determined. “I’m gonna fuck my Captain so hard tonight.”

He grabbed Ilya’s chin to pull him in, swiping his tongue over Ilya’s to gather his own spent for a tasting.

“Say it again. Please!” Shane was panting, his pupils were dilated wider than Ilya had ever seen them.

Ilya climbed into Shane’s lap taking his face in both his hands like he was something precious before dragging out the words one by one.

“I am going to fuck my Captain so. hard. tonight.”

Shane sank his nails into Ilya’s shoulders, bringing their bodies impossibly closer while their lips were colliding, bruising, crashing over and over again. Ilya brought his hand between them, arranging them to stroke them both fully back to life. Shane let his head fall to Ilya's shoulder, putting his lips and teeth on him to quiet himself semi successfully. Ilya was using their combined precum to make the experience less rough, gaining a tender love bite into his shoulder from Shane.

He got out of Shane’s lap to position himself low against the headboard to ultimately switch their positions. He grabbed the lube Shane had put out on his way.

Ilya put it on two of his fingers, while Shane was peppering his face, throat and shoulders with kisses, making Ilya almost forget what to do next. Almost.

He reached between them to spread the lube over Shane’s entrance before dipping the tip of his index finger in. Shane spread his legs wider and took a couple of deep breaths. Ilya could immediately feel that he was granted easier access, his whole finger sliding in without a problem. 

Fuck, did he practice that, too?

He was barely fingering him for a couple of minutes when Shane grew impatient.

“Come on, I can take more. Ilya, please.” Shane’s eyes were fixated on Ilya, challenging him.

“Whatever my Captain wants.” Ilya didn’t miss the involuntary clench around his finger before he withdrew it and added the second one as instructed.

He worked him open properly, ignoring the way Shane went more and more frantic on top him, fucking himself on Ilya’s fingers. Ilya had no intention to injure Shane no matter how desperate they admittedly both were for it.

“You ready?” Ilya asked.

“So ready, I need you inside me like yesterday,” Shane groaned.

Ilya let out a small chuckle. He had been inside Shane yesterday. 

Shane must have realized why Ilya was laughing as he pinched Ilya’s nipple before saying “You know what I mean, are you gonna fuck me now or what?”

For a split second, Ilya thought about teasing him some more, possibly spanking him for being such a brat. He decided on following his captain’s orders instead. He reached over for the condom and the lube and got himself ready. Shane positioned himself over Ilya who had one hand on his dick and the other one Shane’s ass to guide them together. 

Shane made it a couple of inches down upright before having to lean forward to hold onto Ilya’s chest to take the rest of him. Another deep breath before a smirk crossed Shane’s face. Whatever he was planning, Ilya was in danger.

Shane gave Ilya’s pecs a thorough squeeze and rolled his hips in a circle on top of him. He felt so incredibly tight and hot, Ilya could feel the inner walls making an earnest effort around him while Shane was grinding down on his cock. The sensation was driving Ilya to the edge already. How the fuck was Shane getting him there so fast. He had no problem with other partners to fuck them for hours if necessary but with Shane he was ready to shoot his load in mere minutes and that was after he already came from an incredible blowjob.

He tried to get himself back from the edge, which was unbelievably difficult when he saw Shane lift his hips up and drop back down, punching a moan out of himself. He repeated the motion, each time waiting a moment on top so Ilya wouldn’t know when exactly the drop would come. It was the hottest form of torture Ilya could imagine.

Shane soon switched to an actual rhythm, riding Ilya in earnest. Ilya grabbed Shane’s hips to thrust back up, drawing out obscene noises out of both of them. Ilya was getting lost in the sensation, feeling Shane all over him, his skin electrified under the wandering touch of Shane’s hands and mouth. Shane was slamming his ass down while sucking a bruise into Ilya’s side of the neck, making Ilya’s whole body vibrate.

Their bodies were moving in perfect harmony with each other, just like they had done earlier on the ice. They picked up the pace and slowed down together, right there where the other needed them. And as an excellent teammate, Ilya knew when to take over when he saw Shane’s thighs tremble.

He wrapped Shane compactly to his body before flipping him onto his back in one smooth motion. He picked the pace right back up, pounding into Shane vigorously, filling the room with dirty smacking noises every time his pelvis kissed Shane’s sublime ass.

Shane took his own ankles to pull them in a V close to his ears so Ilya could hammer even deeper into him.

The view Ilya got should be absolutely illegal. Shane was effortlessly folded in half for him while his cock was disappearing over and over where they were joined to be tightly embraced. Shane’s face was twisted in a mix of agony and ecstasy. His brows were knitted together in an effort to focus on not letting out noises, spectacularly failing when choked back moans would escape his mouth nethertheless. His eyes were lightly glazed over, his jaw hanging slack with lips kissed to a shiny shade of pink.

“Ilya… fuck… go… ohhhh… harder… please…. har…der… FUCK!”

Shane’s hands were gripping tight onto Ilya’s ass, urging him to utterly destroy them both. Ilya dug his knees into the mattress to gain more traction, snapping his hips with a single-minded purpose.

His muscles were screaming at him, shaking, crying while his mind only had three words for him left.

Fuck. My. Captain.

Everything else went blank, the world stopped existing around him. There was just Shane left for him. 

Sparks were running up and down his spine, spreading through his limbs, exploding behind his irises. Shane’s nails in his cheeks were sending more sparks to join the rest. Ilya had only seconds left before he would burst. He was hit hard with his orgasm when he could feel Shane rippling around him, his muscles milking Ilya in the process. Ilya’s hips stuttered, his tired muscles convulsing into uncontrollable pulses in an effort to fuck Shane through his pinnacle.

Ilya looked down just in time to see Shane’s dick spurt out the last few ribbons painting both of their chests white, before Ilya collapsed on top of him.

He was trying to catch his breath, he definitely was, but there was also no way around kissing Shane senseless into the pillow. 

He held onto the condom while pulling slowly out of Shane who whimpered like he was saying he wasn’t done yet, no matter how spent they both were.

Ilya reluctantly went to the bathroom to clean himself and fetch a warm, damp towel for an appreciative Shane. Ilya made sure Shane was properly taken care off and if he massaged over Shane’s hole a couple more times than strictly necessary, that was between him and whatever deity decided to create the masterpiece called Shane Hollander.

Ilya laid back down on the rumpled sheets, pulling Shane to his chest and the duvet they kicked off over both of their waists. Shane was drawing lazy patterns over Ilya’s abs, leaving a warm tingling sensation all over his skin. Ilya buried his face in Shane’s hair, inhaling his scent and nuzzling his nose through the black strands.

“So you like being called Captain, hmmm?” Ilya teased him lightly.

“Fuck off, not like that.” Shane bored his finger into Ilya’s sternum. Ilya captured the perpetrating hand and interlaced their fingers instead.

“Oh it sounded just like that.” He chuckled into Shane’s hair that was standing up in all directions.

“Just from you, okay? It feels different when you say it, I can’t explain it.” Ilya could hear the little pout in voice.

“Because I am better player than the rest,” Ilya stated.

“I’m not going to call you the GOAT.” Shane lifted his head to look at Ilya. “Not yet anyway.”

“I will remind you.” Ilya cupped Shane’s ass with one hand and patted it softly.

“I’m sure you will.” Shane was smiling at him softly. “I am also sure, you will get Captain soon.” The smile turned into a full out grin. “We will see how well you will handle it when I call you Captain.”

“Oh you will.” He placed a kiss on Shane’s forehead. “I think you handle it pretty good. Very clear instructions. Good with your mouth. Hard working. Always helpful hand. No complaints.”

“Shut up,” Shane replied with no real heat behind it. He made sure to keep Ilya quiet though by rolling on top of Ilya to make out with him. They continued until they both felt the exhaustion blanket itself over them.

“Good night, mon ours,” Shane whispered against Ilya’s neck where his head was resting on Ilya’s shoulder.

“What does that mean?” Ilya had caught it before but had never asked.

“Means my bear.” Shane pressed his lips against Ilya’s neck before letting out a content sigh.

Ilya could swear his whole face was beaming with delight.

“Good night, moy kotenok.”

Chapter End Notes

French translation:

• mon frère = my brother (shoutout to AliceinFandomland0119 for catching my earlier mistake!)
• mon ours = my (teddy) bear

Russian translation:

• moy kotenok = my kitten

Welcome to the newsletter! One person said they liked the details, so it escalated.

• Exactly no one was worried about Roy in the comments, lol. (CW: death of real people) I wasn’t going to kill him but I looked up hockey injuries and there is a whole Wikipedia article about hockey players dying during their careers (most of them off the ice but some did die from pucks, skates or head injuries. There was also a plane crash with only one survivor).
• Merry Crisis vine (added after RadiantOlives asked if this was a reference, yes it was)
• Shane and Ilya’s contracts both go until the end of the 2013 season, just fyi. Entry Level Contracts for them are 3 years but they both don’t play in the 2009/2010 season, so they qualify for an entry-level slide which means their ELC’s are extended by a year. They would still be restricted free agents, aka their current teams can outbid other teams and get dibs on them.
• There have only ever been 2 captains in the NHL with Asian heritage I could find: Paul Kariya (retired in 2010) and Nick Suzuki (C since 2022 in Montreal, named at 23, youngest in the franchise. Also, who picked this pic to put in his wiki). If I missed one, please let me know, I will add them. Edit: One_thousand_flowers informed me it was probably picked to avoid copyright, it's still funny af, I hope the lady in the pic knows she is part of his Wiki!!
• In the real NHL, Shane would be 7th youngest captain of all time, 6th if you don’t count Brian Bellows as he was an interim captain.  
• Here you can read about the decline of the enforcer role. Basically, fights went down and keeping a roster slot open just for someone to fight and little ice time was not a good deal. Wikipedia also mentioned enforcer deaths and CTE awareness.
• FaceTime was released on iOS on June 24, 2010.
• When I brainstormed gifts the first thing I thought about were matryoshka dolls. Then my brain went “haha, wouldn’t it be funny if someone made them into hockey players.” And lo and behold of course someone already did: Boston Bruins nesting dolls.
• Etsy was established in 2005.
• Why I let a lime bowl appear: I love limes - Dakota Johnson (allergic to lime)
• I have taken the times for the Fastest Skater competition at the NHL 2011 Game. The competitions are actually sponsored. Also All-Stars games have waaaay higher scores than regular games. How long do you think I can research everything about hockey/the NHL until I finally watch a hockey game?

As always, I’m really looking forward to all your lovely comments! I'm refreshing my inbox more than I'd like to admit, I'm addicted, okay.

Chapter 13: In a room full of people (I look for you)

Chapter Summary

Shane goes on a playoffs run and they reunite in Vegas including a (private) club outing.

Chapter Notes

I embedded three links in the chapter, two of them are songs. Highly recommend letting them play while you read the parts of the chapter.

I will have to break my current three day update rhythm as the next couple of days will be stressful. Also, I had a massive chronic pain flair-up, I have to take care of that as well. I'm hoping for the weekend for the next chapter.

Chapter title from 12 to 12 by sombr

The mood was somber in the Kane household. The Bears went out in five games in their first playoff round against the Buffalo Wild Springs and were now having their traditional post-season dinner at the Captain’s house two days after the devastating 1-4 series. 

This would be the last time this particular group of guys would be in one room together as teammates. Some would retire, some would get a new contract somewhere else, some would be traded.

Ilya was already in negotiations through his agent with Boston. There was definite interest from other teams but Boston sounded determined not to be outbid so it was just a question of how much they were willing to offer Ilya. So at least he was pretty sure he would stay. The others though? No clue.

Rachel Kane, the captain’s wife and therefore head WAG, had organized an impressive spread of dishes with the help of the other Boston WAGs. Some of the single guys had brought stuff, too. Ilya was already on his second plate and except for some very bland Brussels sprouts everything tasted delicious. But even that couldn’t improve the mood in the room.

The team had been looking good during the regular season but then their starting goalie had gotten injured in the penultimate regular season game and hadn’t properly recovered until the start of the playoffs. The coaching team had decided to keep it on the safe side for the first two playoff games and not let him play, but had quickly regretted it when Buffalo had been up 2-0 and had carried that momentum through the series.

The team was spread out across the open floor plan, every surface suitable for sitting covered in Bears. The eighty inch TV was playing the preshow for game six between Montreal and Toronto when the conversation stirred in the direction of everyone's off-season plans.

“Who is going where this summer? Any plans?” Zadonsky, their alternate captain, asked.

“My flights are booked for mid-July. Bahamas, here we come!” Carmy answered.

“Yeah, baby!” Marly shouted through a mouthful of coleslaw, earning him a stern look from Kane who didn’t seem to appreciate the mayo dressing splattered on his velvet couch.

“I am leaving for France in late June. If anyone wants to join my summer on the Côte d’Azur, we have rented a small chateau,” Vicky added.

“Woah, how much are the Bears paying you?” Marly had finally swallowed his coleslaw and immediately bit into an intensely sauce-covered wing. Kane, in an act of desperation, threw a napkin at Marly, which he placed onto his lap.

“Friend of a friend owns the place, we get special treatment,” Vicky explained like it was the most normal thing to know someone with a chateau in France. To be honest, it probably was in their circles.

“So we are all staying for a bit?” Zadonsky wanted to know. An agreeing murmur went through the group.

“You know what I always wanted to do? Go on one of these duck boats!” Marly was gesturing with his half eaten wing into the air. Kane looked close to throwing him out into the garden like a misbehaving dog so he could fling food around as much as he wanted.

Ilya grunted. “They look like tourist trap. All colorful and stupid names.”

“No, they’re legit, man! They can go into the water, too.” Marly sounded like an excited little kid trying to convince his parents that Superman and Batman will accept the invite to his fourth birthday party if they just send them to the letters.

“Oh wooooowwwwww. That cannot be tourist trap then.” Ilya spread himself out further in the corner of the couch.

“Come on man, you have been here for what? Three years now? How much of the city have you actually seen?” Marly pointed out.

“I have seen plenty. I can navigate to all the clubs with eyes closed.” Ilya gave them his best cocky smirk and hoped the discussion would be over with that. He just really wanted to decompress and wallow in peace after the disappointing end of the season and not hear about some historic building some part of some revolution had happened at.

“Yeah, but Boston has like a lot of history and shit. Some beautiful corners, too,” Hammy interrupted. “I haven’t been on a duck boat either. When my parents visited they went on one, they said it was loads of fun.”

“It’s settled then. We are going on Monday! I will call them to get us a separate one.” Marly, to Kane’s relief, dropped the chewed-up bone onto the plate and pointed at Ilya. “And you are coming with us instead of sitting grumpy at home.”

Fuck, his teammate knew him to well.

“Fine, can we watch hockey now?” Ilya put his empty plate onto the coffee table and grabbed his beer getting warm there. If he wasn’t going to get out of the stupid duck boat tour, he at least needed to see Shane kick some Guardians' ass. He had punched Kent last month which was pretty satisfying but seeing Shane outplay him and his lackeys settled a different kind of gratification in Ilya’s chest.

___________________________

The list:

• Loud noise -> might enjoy this sometimes?

• Bright lights -> not likely, workplace very bright, also less likely with brown eyes -> check lights at home -> home lights adjusted, gave comment on how nice lamps are

• Food -> said, only needs protein/carb/veggie but also gets obsessed with meals sometimes -> ask before ordering; Update: eats same breakfast when possible

• Touching -> does not seem like a problem with me :) maybe with others? 

• Clothes -> nothing so far except for folding Suits and shirts not soft enough -> talk to Tommaso!! -> soft clothes worked!! -> more?

• Social interaction -> Hates it with stupid people (but who doesn’t) -> keep stupid people away

• Sensory overload -> not sure -> rest? Fidgets when too much -> Pressure helps?

• Routine -> I do not know :(  Yoga or run before breakfast, three meals + two snacks, three on game days. Naps only before games or after long flights, needs to be able to brush teeth

• Communication -> likes direct -> ?

___________________________

Shane: Is that from you???

Shane: [image.jpg]

Ilya: You will need it for second round.

Shane: Are those all the ingredients for my overnight oats?

Shane: How did you know what I put in them?

Ilya: I saw you make them last time.

Ilya: Looked like cement but tasted good.

Shane: This is so sweet, thank you!!!

Ilya: Go murder Buffalo for us, okay?

Shane: Okay :)

Crimson_Claw: I got you bananas with it, too. So you think about me ;)

Celestial_Ink: I will have to slice those with a knife, don’t know if you want me thinking about you then?

Crimson_Claw: No please don’t. 

Celestial_Ink: I wish it was you next round.

Crimson_Claw: You would meet up during PO?

Celestial_Ink: Yeah?

Crimson_Claw: Fuck, tell me sooner next time!!!

Celestial_Ink: Well, we could call right now…

Outgoing FaceTime: Shane Hollander 32:49

___________________________

Ilya was annoyed. He was having the time of his life on this stupid duck boat and he missed out on this for three stupid years for no reason at all. The guide, who was calling himself the con-DUCK-tor, was making non stop cheesy jokes and had stories about every single corner. 

Ilya loved every second of it.

“And over here, we see the gold tea kettle which is a pictograph. When Boston was an international sea port back in the 1600s to 1800s but you didn’t speak the language, you would look for pictographs and they would tell you what was there. What would you think this one represented? That’s right! A tea shop! Bet you didn’t expect that one! And here we pass a Dunkin Donuts which will be the last one we see until…” The duck boat rounded a tight corner. “... right here.”

They drove through Old Town, got to hear how Boston was built on mostly created land as the population on the island it was on quickly grew too big and passed by the beautiful Boston Common and Public Garden.

When the tour had a quick break between historical sides the conDUCKtor would lead them all in the typical Bears chant with an extra bonus.

The conductor would sing into the mic “Here we go Be-ars, here we go!” and they all would respond with an enthusiastic “QUACK! QUACK!”.

The real highlight of the day came after they did an extra loud QUACK! QUACK! when they passed the TD Garden, their home stadium, in the West End. The duck boat was not just a silly name for a truck, the amphibious vehicle directly descended into the Charles River with them on board. The massive hockey players all looked a ridiculous mix of terrified and excited while some of them even let out a high pitched Wiiii! when they hit the water.

They got a spectacular view for both the Boston and the Cambridge skyline and even got to steer the wheel of the boat. Marly threatened to take the boat right to the Cambridge dorms but was quickly removed by Kane who got a little captain's hat as a reward.

Ilya looked around and was quite pleased that this was the city he was playing for.

Vicky leaned over to Ilya when they were out of the river and on their way back to the New England Aquarium where they had started eighty minutes earlier.

“Feel a bit better, Rozy?” Vicky said low enough so only Ilya could hear.

“What do you mean?” Ilya replied with a hint of irritation.

“Last year after the season you were kind of… down.” Vicky looked like he was genuinely concerned. “And also at the beginning of this season...”

Ilya cut him off. “Is fine, is just… is nothing. Do not worry about me.”

Vicky didn’t press any further but it still made Ilya worried. Were his moods that noticeable? Marly, who he shared a room with on the road, was one thing. But Vicky… and thinking back to how Hammy and Carmy were around him two years ago so much when he came back from Russia…

He thought he was good at hiding it. He got angry sometimes, sure, that just happens when emotions ran high around games. Almost no one was exempt from that except for probably that one very chill back-up goalie from Toronto, Hayes, who was on the bench for no fucking reason if you’d ask Ilya. He even saw Cloffens break his stick when he lost the seventh playoff game in the last twenty seconds of the third period.

But everything else? That was none of anyone else’s business. He needed to be more careful in the future.

___________________________

Shane was exhausted. The Wild Springs were up a goal at 1-2 and they had only six minutes left. They could end the series right here and now in game five and get some well needed rest or they had to fly back to Buffalo for game six. It wasn’t a long flight but every extra travel day was costing the team resources they would like to keep for the next rounds if they got there.

Shane was handed a packet of mustard he downed. He once had seen a player eat a mustard packet during a triple overtime game and after doing some research, he found out that the acetic acid in mustard actually helped to avoid cramps. The alternative would be pickle juice but the mustard packets were easier to come by and the sting made him awake like nothing else.

His line went back out and he took his place in the face-off circle. He needed to make a play here, at least bring them to overtime. That would gain his team some breathing room and would hopefully drive the opponent to despair which could lead to easy mistakes.

He quickly glanced at his wings. Hayden was still looking sharp even though Shane knew his right leg was bothering him after a hit in game four where he didn’t react fast enough to turn correctly. Beaulier looked more tired than Hayden, his stamina had been wobbly a few times in the playoffs before, but he looked locked in as well.

The puck dropped and Shane was just a moment faster to gain the puck. They moved around the ice in a choreographed fashion and when Shane realized they were in the right position for a play they hadn’t pulled out yet, it was already too late for their opponent. He faked to Beaulier just to pass it to Hayden who then actually passed to Beaulier who had shaken off the d-man in the meantime. Beaulier found the lane to Shane who sank the puck in the five-hole. They piled on top of Shane, a sigh of relief going through them. The game was not over just yet though.

They quickly changed shifts, their second line with Schneids, Andy and their rookie Alberts named Berty on the ice. Four minutes left.

Buffalo won the face-off but Montreal wouldn’t let them get away with it for long. Chaos broke out, both benches were screaming at their team, the puck barely visible. Then by whatever miracle, Andy found a way to extract the puck to pass to an uncovered Schneids who sprinted down the ice all on his own. The Buffalo goalie tried to psych him out but Schneids took the shot confidently and hit the right upper corner with ease. The whole Montreal bench was on their feet while another Voyageurs pile formed on the ice just two minutes after Shane’s goal got them even.

They just had to play down the clock to reach the Conference Final. Buffalo pulled their furious goalie but to no avail. The final siren sounded through the Bell Center. The team hopped the boards and celebrated on the ice.

Eight wins behind them. Eight wins to go.

___________________________

“Roy is back for the conference final.” Desjardins gave a rare smile to the room. “The doc gave him the final clear this morning, he is back to form.”

“Finally, we have our captain back,” Gagnon declared.

“I’m back as a player, not as your captain,” Roy corrected him.

A burst of confusion filled the room. Even Shane thought he would give the C back as soon as Roy was ready.

“I’m not going to take away the C from Hollander for the sake of carrying the C. He successfully captained you through basically the whole season to the Conference Final. I don't need a letter on my jersey to finish my last season with a win.” Roy went over to Shane and laid a loose arm around his shoulder. “You’re gonna get me the Cup or do I have to retire without one?”

Shane smiled up at him. “We’re gonna get you the Cup, Roy.”

___________________________

Ilya was lying on his living room couch for the sixth game of the Stanley Cup Finals. 

Alone. 

There had been the option to go to the Hammersmiths and group up with some teammates but Ilya decided he would be better on his own for this one.

The game between Montreal and the LA Golden Crowns was tied late in the third period at 3-3, Shane with a goal and an assist to (ugh) Pike. The clock was brutally ticking down, two of the last five games had already gone to overtime and everyone looked ready for a three month vacation in the close-up camera shots. He knew Shane was playing with a strained ankle and a massive shoulder bruise, the rest of the team not looking much better. The only thing they had over the Golden Crowns now was youth which translated to a higher stubbornness to ignore any injuries.

Shane was squeezing out a mustard package into his mouth which Ilya had tried once and almost had thrown up from. He maybe shouldn’t have mixed it with Fruit Punch Gatorade in his mouth before swallowing. You learned from your mistakes.

Ilya watched Shane skate back onto the ice with his line and he felt so incredibly tense, almost like he was the one skating up for his potential final face-off in a possible Cup winning game.

Shane snatched the puck away from Hoppy and made his way down the ice. 

Come on, come on, come on.

He should probably pass, should make this a more tactical approach but instead he used his pure ability to be faster and smarter than the rest to be suddenly alone in front of the goalie and then…

MON 4-3 LA
S. Hollander (3rd - 19:02)

Shane took a full second to realize what he had just done and then his whole face lit up on screen. Pike was the first one reaching him, shaking him, screaming at him. Shane looked directly into the camera and made a little circle over his head before spreading his fingers towards his face. 

It felt like a message Ilya didn’t quite get. Maybe something for his parents? Maybe for someone important Ilya didn’t know about? A pit in his stomach formed that Ilya chose to ignore.

The last couple of seconds were counted down in the Bell Center and as soon as the final siren went off, the team stormed out, helmets, sticks and gloves flying everywhere. Even through the TV screen, the volume from the audience celebrating in the stands was overwhelming. Montreal hadn’t won a Cup since the early 90s and now Shane was one of the youngest captains, if not the youngest captain, to ever win a cup. (Ilya would have to consult Shane on the stats).

Ilya stayed home because he thought he might feel jealousy, anger or sincere sadness that it wasn’t him on the ice. There was definitely some of it in the back of his mind when he watched Shane get the Conn Smythe Trophy as MVP of the playoffs.

All the negative feelings dissipated when he saw Shane hoisting the 35 pounds of Stanley Cup over his head with ease, screaming in celebration into the camera before kissing it and taking a lap through the arena. They were quickly replaced by one thing.

Pride.

He did it. He actually did it.

Ilya’s eyes were prickling with tears which made him really glad he wasn’t among other people. He blinked the tears away and pulled out his phone.

11:09 p.m.

Ilya: Congratulations solnyshko!

He watched Roy and some others lift the trophy and prance around with it. When the families and friends filed out onto the ice he decided he was ready to go to bed as he didn’t expect an answer until somewhere tomorrow if anything.

11:53 p.m.

Shane: I didn't let them dim my light.

Shane: [link]

Ilya pressed the link. It was a woman doing the same gesture Shane did after the winning goal. A circle over her head and then spreading out her fingers to her face. Only then he realized what website he was looking at.

Learn the ASL sign for sun.

Ilya stared at the screen in disbelief until it went dark. Shane just basically dedicated his Cup winning goal to a name Ilya gave him. Or maybe simply… to Ilya. 

___________________________

Not enough.

Shane looked up at the three nominees for the Hart Memorial Trophy for MVP of the season and only one thing came to mind.

Not enough.

He had already won the Stanley Cup. He had already won playoffs MVP. And now he was staring at the big screen waiting for the announcer to say his name.

Not enough.

He had earned it, hadn’t he? Youngest captain to hoist the Stanley Cup since the mid 70s. Most goals and points in the Stanley Cup winning team. No big dips over the whole season. Consistently at the top.

So why would the persistent thought of not enough not leave him?

He already had everything he wanted. He got the captaincy, he got the Cup, there had been a fucking parade in their team’s honor, why would he care about another trophy?

But he did care. He cared so deeply that he was about to explode if the C-list celebrity on stage would take any longer to open the stupid golden envelope.

“And the winner is… Shane Hollander from the Montreal Voyageurs!”

He could barely feel the congratulatory hugs or hear the whooping and cheering. 

He had done it. The full triple. Stanley Cup, playoffs MVP, season MVP, all in his first season as captain. 

His victory march towards the stage was done in a haze, his speech thankfully well rehearsed. The rest of the award show was a blank after that. If you had told him Miss Piggie and Kermit had presented the Jim Gregory General Manager of the Year Award, he would have probably believed you.

The afterparty at the venue was a blur of more exaggerated congratulations, recycled jokes, wise words and about a hundred variations of What’s next?.

What was next?

Shane was about to sign his extension for Montreal for four years, Farah only had to iron out some of the last details. Roy had indeed retired with a Cup. Shane had fought hard for the captaincy and proved his worth for now. There would always be people that didn’t like him, probably even hated him, but he was not about to give up what he had earned here to go somewhere else where it was probably equally bad or worse compared to Montreal.

And he did manage to make some friends. Hayden and JJ up front but also Ryan who he saw improving slowly, not just on the ice but also with Kira. He was friendly with others like Schneids, Andy and Berty as well as Mitty, who he promised that he would look after his cat Mittens for the next two weeks when Mitty went to Hawaii. The cat was named after the mittens on his paws but of course also got the nickname Mitty.

Shane had to stay in town anyway to help Hayden and, more importantly, Jackie with the last stretch of wedding preparations. It turned out his well thought out scheduling and color coded note taking transferred well to wedding planning.

He had made the round twice when he finally got to stand at a table with Ilya. It was just annoying that there were a couple of hundred other people here as well, including Marleau and their rookie Connors.

“Congratulations Hollzy!” Marleau threw his arms around him in a tight hug which briefly knocked the wind out of Shane’s lungs. He thankfully released him after a couple of seconds.

“Yes, great season Hollander,” Connors said with a nervous smile, extending his hand for a quick hand shake.

Ilya’s hand landed with a semi-hard thump between his shoulder blades. 

“Good job, Captain,” Ilya praised in a teasing tone before dragging his hand along Shane’s spine. The contact was barely a couple of seconds but Shane ferociously snapped back into his body. 

Ilya on the other hand seemed fully unbothered. “Party is so boring. We should go to club for proper celebration, yes?” 

Shane felt a sudden rush of disappointment. He was really hoping to get Ilya alone for a proper celebration.

“Fuck yeah, let’s go. I need to get out of this suit and into that new club they just opened.” Cliff was already loosening the tie around his neck.

“Sure, anything better than here.” Shane tried to sound as convincing as possible.

“Good, we meet back in lobby in thirty minutes. Only tell fun people, do not drag some dickhead with you or I will remember.” Ilya sternly looked at Marly, Connors and the three other players who had appeared out of thin air when they heard the word club.

The group slowly trickled out of the room towards the elevators, some stopping to inform some more players and an assistant coach from Nashville about their plans.

Shane was standing in an elevator behind Ilya, Marly, Connors and some guy from Tampa. He discreetly pulled out his phone.

Shane: What’s the plan?

Ilya: Trust me?

Shane: Sure.

Ilya: You will like it.

Shane: Okay.

“Hey Rozy, who are you texting? Already picking some chick for the night?” Marly tried to peek into his phone which Ilya punished with a hand shoved into his face to turn it away.

“Don’t look at my phone or you won’t make it to the club,” Ilya said with a smile showing his teeth.

“Ok, Jeez, it was just a question, Roz.” Marly shooed away the hand from his face before grinning back at Ilya.

They left the elevator at different floors and to Shane’s chagrin he had to leave before being alone with Ilya in the elevator. There were surveillance cameras so he couldn’t really do anything but he still would have preferred a moment of quiet with him.

Back in his hotel room, he considered just sending his room number to Ilya and hoping that that would be enough to convince him to not go out. But that would mean he wouldn’t see Ilya’s plans unfold. He sighed and quickly got out of his suit. He took a shower to calm himself and prepare for any eventualities that were part of the mysterious plan.

He put on a dark blue pair of jeans that were highlighting his ass quite nicely without being too restrictive and a cream colored short sleeved silk shirt he got from Tommaso that was hugging his shoulders and biceps tightly, leaving the top three buttons open. He patted his pockets twice to check if he had everything and then made his way down to the lobby.

The elevator doors opened to about fifteen people that looked ready to go clubbing. At least, they all kept to the no dickheads rule as far as Shane could see.

A couple of cars took them to the club Marleau had talked about. The club was nothing out of the ordinary: high ceilings with a hovering DJ booth on one end of the dance floor and a seating area with big white leather couches on the other with flanking bars on each side. Next to the bar on the left, there was a staircase that went up to the VIP area where they were led to after Marly explained that they were all from the NHL.

They barely had their drinks in hand before Ilya announced it was time to go dancing. Shane was down to just watch but a hand closed around his wrist and tugged him down the stairs. Ilya just grinned at him. They found a spot on the cramped dance floor where they could move, the other players dispersed around them. A few of them already found a dance partner.

Shane tried to follow the pulsing beat as best as he could. He wasn’t sure if he could dance, he never really had any interest in it. That seemed like a potential social disaster best avoided by staying put on whatever seating arrangement was offered. He swayed from side to side looking around the room when a tall blond woman in a glittery dress appeared in front of him. The dress highlighted all the right spots on her body and she for sure was beautiful but…

“I’m Joselyn, you wanna dance?” she asked him in an overtly flirty tone.

Before Shane had the chance to answer someone bumped into Joselyn and Shane’s arm shot forward reflexively to steady her. She took that as an invitation to put her arms around his neck and start moving against him. Shane was clueless on what to do. He didn’t want to be rude to her but also definitely didn’t want to dance with her, especially not this close.

He searched his periphery for any sort of help. He spotted Ilya a couple of feet to his side, surrounded by no less than four women. He wasn’t directly dancing with any of them. His hands were swaying up in the air while his hips suggestively moved to the music. He said something to the woman right next to him who giggled at what he said before Ilya swiftly turned his attention to Shane.

He scanned him up and down before wetting his lips and locking his gaze with Shane. Joselyn meanwhile turned around and was pressing her back to Shane. Ilya was staring him down, raising an eyebrow at him in the process.

Shane didn’t understand anything anymore. Was that the grand plan? Both find women and then what? Go their separate ways? Have an orgy? Shane didn’t even…

He needed to get out of the club. He needed air which seemed impossible in stupid desert Vegas in June. He apologized to Joselyn and made his way towards the exit where taxis were already lined up. He opened the door to the first one and slid in but before he could close the door a hand appeared on it.

“Move over,” Ilya huffed out like he had just sprinted.

Shane hesitated for a moment before scooting across the row of seats and letting him in. Ilya gave the address and neither of them said anything in the car or on the way up the elevator. Shane was really close to just pressing his own floor and calling it a night. The only thing preventing him was that Ilya had a look on his face like he was about to eat Shane alive and Shane was only so strong even though the confusion was still not fully gone.

Ilya opened the door to the penthouse and Shane followed him, still not speaking. They both kicked their shoes off. Ilya turned to a control panel on the wall. The lights went from dim yellow to a slowly changing array of rainbow colors. The room’s integrated speaker system came to life with a heavy, sultry R’n’B beat filling the room. Shane looked closer and there was something of a dance floor in the middle of the space.

Their own private dance club.

Ilya stepped behind him, letting his fingertips glide over the exposed portion of Shane’s arm.

“You want to dance?” Ilya proposed in a low tone.

Shane nodded and let Ilya lead him to the dance floor. Ilya put his hands on Shane’s hips and pulled them close to his to slowly grind against him in time with the beat.

“Baby, if you give it to me, I'll give it to you

I know what you want, you know I got it”

Shane put his hands on Ilya’s chest and started grinding at the same tempo. Ilya dug his fingers deeper and upped the pressure against Shane.

“Baby, if you give it to me, I'll give it to you

As long as you want, you know I got it“

Shane felt his body loosening up, moving more confidently under Ilya’s guidance. His hands were gliding over Ilya’s body, feeling the finely trained muscles shift in time with the music. His right hand found the nape of Ilya’s neck to pull him for a steamy kiss. Ilya readily parted his lips to let Shane’s tongue dip in, sucking on it before brushing against it with his own.

“And the ill shit about it? We don't sex every day (Ahhh)

But when we sex, we tease in a passionate way (Ooh, ooh)

Love the way you touch it, the little elaborate ways (Ooooh)

Got the God feelin' released to relax for the day, it's on you, Ma.“

Ilya broke the kiss to turn Shane around in his arms and mouth against his neck. Ilya rolled his pelvis against Shane’s ass and let one hand wander to grab Shane's painfully hard erection through his pants.

“I wanted to do this the whole night, Shane. Dance with you like this.”

Shane pressed his back even closer to Ilya, circling his ass against the bulge he could very clearly feel.

“Fuck, you look so hot, I wanted to fuck you right on that dance floor,” Ilya groaned into his ear.

Shane let out a filthy moan and grabbed Ilya’s hip to silently tell him he wanted more. Ilya delivered, stroking over the front of Shane’s pants while sucking the sensitive spot right under Shane’s ear. Shane let his head tip to the side, giving Ilya even better access to his neck. Ilya ran his tongue over Shane’s earlobe before pulling it between his lips and nibbling on it.

Shane felt lightheaded, his thoughts covered in a colorful fog. His body was pulsing to the music, the base vibrating deep in his bones. He never wanted to stop but also needed to get fucked by Ilya right here right the fuck now.

Ilya, never losing contact, moved him to the couch, sitting Shane down with a view of the dance floor. Shane positioned himself so Ilya could get on top of him. Instead, Ilya went back to the control panel. The music changed.

Ilya strutted over to the middle of the room until he was standing with his back turned to Shane. He took a look over his shoulder to wink at Shane before his whole body slowly rolled with the new song. He playfully bumped his hip to the sides while turning to face Shane. He smacked his hands on his hips and then dragged them upwards until he buried them in his own hair, throwing his head back while his hips were aggressively gyrating.

His hands found their way to the buttons of the semi transparent dark burgundy shirt he was wearing, taking his time to sensually pop each one open.

“This is it

It′s time for you to go to the wire

You will hit

'Cause you got the burnin′ desire

It's your time (time)

You got the horn so why don't you blow it?

You are fine (fine)

You′re filthy cute and baby you know it (ooh)”

Shane never had anyone strip like this for him. He fully forgot how to close his mouth, panting like he was the one fucking the air right now. He absently squeezed his cock through his pants, not being able to help himself. 

Ilya opened the last button and ripped the shirt open, his sculpted torso temptingly glistening with sweat. Shane drank the full scene in front of him in like the thirsty fool he was. This Greek god-like looking bastard had decided to put on a whole ass show just for him and Shane was really close to losing it.

“Cream

Get on top

Cream

You will cop

Cream

Don′t you stop

Cream

Sha-boogie bop”

Ilya made his way over to Shane, unbuckling his belt in the process. Shane’s mouth was watering, he wanted a taste so badly. Ilya took Shane’s hand and put it around the buckle. Shane grabbed it and pulled, the satisfying noise of the belt swooshing through the loops made his dick jolt in response.

He was so close, he could just put his hands out and pull him into his lap but Ilya was already stepping back again a few paces. He ran his hand over his abs before dipping down to the button of his black pants. He opened the button and then pulled the zipper down in a painfully slow manner.

He pushed his pants down his massive thighs and calves to kick them to the side. The only piece of clothing on his body was a pair of skintight boxers his ass was trying to burst out of. 

“You're so good

Baby there ain′t nobody better (ain't nobody better)

So you should

Never, ever go by the letter (never, ever)

You′re so cool (cool)

Everything you do is success (ooh)

Ooh, make the rules (rules)

Then break them all 'cause you are the best

(Ooh, hey-hey) Yes you are“

Ilya dropped to his knees, his hips thrusting in time with the beat. He masterfully executed a body roll from one side to the other and back, his wrists crossed over his head like someone had tied them there. 

Shane swallowed thickly, making sure he wasn’t drooling all over himself. He unbuttoned his own shirt to avoid dying a premature heat death. He also opened his pants so he could reach down and get at least some relief for his throbbing erection.

Ilya locked eyes with him, dipping his hand under his own waistband and palming himself just like Shane was doing. Shane sped up his efforts, biting his lip to suppress the groan forming deep in his throat.

Ilya decided to make Shane’s situation worse by crawling over to him on all fours, looking like a panther ready to pounce. He wordlessly took Shane’s hand out of his pants. He grabbed the pants and removed them, Shane having to lift up his hips in the process. 

“Cream

Get on top

Cream

You will cop

Cream

Don′t you stop

Cream

Sha-boogie bop”

Ilya was mouthing at Shane’s dick through the fabric of his boxers which already had a damp spot from the precum soaking through. He looked up at Shane, wickedly smirking at him when he freed Shane’s dick and dipped his tongue into the slit. Shane was already so on the edge, he was ready to come at any moment.

“Fuck, Ilya, I’m not gonna… I’m already close.”

Ilya said nothing and just closed his lips around the angry red head of Shane’s cock, hollowing his cheeks while bobbing his head up and down. Shane lasted some measly minutes before his orgasm crashed over him. He could do nothing but grasp Ilya’s curls and let out a deafening shout while coming into Ilya’s mouth.

He pulled Ilya up into his lap, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Maybe there wasn’t, Shane truly didn’t care anymore.

“Fuck, where did you learn all this, why can you move your hips like that?” Shane should probably not ask, not sure if he would like the answer.

“Russia is big on ballroom dancing. I had three years of latin, you should see my Corta Jaca in action,” Ilya responded with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Shane kissed him again until they both ran out of oxygen. Ilya’s rock hard cock was rubbing against Shane’s stomach, Shane staunchly aware now he was the only one who had gotten off so far.

“Do you want me to take care of that?” Shane asked against Ilya’s lips.

“Mmm, I have better idea.” Ilya got up from his lap and helped him up from the couch. He stripped Shane out of the rest of his clothes, kissing the now exposed shoulders and chest. 

He took Shane’s hand and led them in the direction of the bedroom. Instead of the bed though, he walked right up to the windows overlooking the Vegas strip. A butt naked Shane stopped in his tracks.

“What are you doing?” Shane asked.

“I think you know,” Ilya responded with a smirk.

Shane was horrified. “The windows… people could see.”

Ilya closed the distance between them and cupped Shane’s face, stroking over his cheekbone. 

“The windows have mirrors, no one can see in. I saw when I booked,” Ilya said more softly.

Shane took a second to weigh the potential risk against something that was currently reawakening his cock in rapid time.

“Okay,” was all he could answer.

Ilya quickly kissed him in response and continued his way to the windows. He positioned Shane facing towards the strip, placing his hands on the beams framing the glass. Thank fuck for those. At least, Shane wouldn’t have to panic over being fucked through the glass and falling to his death onto the Vegas strip. That would be an awkward headline. At least, he would be too dead to read it.

Ilya stepped away to retrieve lube and a condom and put it on the coffee table right next to them. He had also gotten rid of his last piece of clothing and was once again pressed against Shane's backside.

“I am going to fuck you right here, for all of Vegas to see.” He was practically purring into his ear.

“Fuck…”

“Mmm yes… fuck.”

Ilya gently nudged Shane’s legs into a wider stance. He heard the familiar pop of the lube cap and the squeeze. Ilya pulled one cheek to the side to place his fingers over Shane’s puckering entrance, circling it before pressing the first finger lightly in until the tip could loosen the ring.

“The night you won the cup, what did you do?” Ilya asked while fingering him open.

“Fuck, Ilya, I… we went to a club, I got kinda drunk and I went home… fuck.” It was really hard to form a coherent thought while Ilya was massaging his prostate.

“And then what?” Ilya pressed further.

“I… fuck… I jerked off to… Ilya aaaaahhh.” 

“Continue.”

“I jerked off to thinking about you calling me Captain, okay? Fuck!” Shane leaned forward and moaned loudly when Ilya increased the pressure.

“I do not think I should call you Captain anymore.”

Shane was confused but before he could ask, he heard Ilya prepare himself and then felt his blunt head tap against his hole.

“Fuck, yes, come on.” He tilted his hip back to signal to Ilya he was ready. Ilya grabbed his hips and stuffed his cock up Shane’s ass until he bottomed out. Both let a mix of a moan and a sigh out at the feeling.

“I cannot call you my Captain anymore,” Ilya repeated.

“Why?” Shane asked.

“Because you got upgrade.” Ilya started rolling his hips slowly to the music that was still playing in the background. “You are champion now. Going to call you that.”

A shiver ran through Shane’s whole body. At some point, he might had to examine why the simple praises turned him on so incredible hard but his body was too busy enjoying the cock buried deep within him and the criminally hot guy attached to it. 

“Ah fuck… I need you to… please… ” Shane was keening at that point, desperate for Ilya to fuck him.

“I have you, moy chempion.”

Ilya thrusted again, this time building up a rhythm that quickly made Shane clutch the beams to hold himself up. He moved in time with him, the colliding of their hips now almost hurting. The pleasure was stronger though, overtaking Shane’s whole body.

Fuck, how was he able to go without this for so long, he was in the middle of it and his brain was still screaming for more.

“See all the people down there? They all want a piece of you but no one can reach you. No one can get even close to you.” Ilya pumped into him relentlessly.

“No one… Jesus Christ… no one but you! Ilya!” Shane felt delirious. The thought of all of these people being able to see but only Ilya near felt like a fire lit inside him.

Ilya wrapped his arms closely around Shane, their bodies flush against each other while Ilya’s hips were pistoning without a break.

“Yes, no one but me," Ilya purred into his ear. "Fuck Shane, look at you. Moy chempion. They will never achieve what you did. They will never be you no matter how hard they try.”

Shane was struggling to keep himself up, even with Ilya holding him tightly. The rush he felt from the words coming out of Ilya’s mouth almost knocked him straight off his feet.

“Ilya, please… can you…?”

He didn’t have the words so he let his head drop to the side and reached back to pull Ilya’s head to his neck. Ilya obliged and sank his teeth into the side of his neck just shy of bruising him.

“Harder… I want… please. I want to see it.”

He had never let Ilya leave a mark but tonight he needed it. He wanted the visual reminder of what they had done, where Ilya had been, what he had said.

Ilya bit down harder and sucked over the bite until the sting was close to overwhelming. Ilya let go of the piece of flesh he just had between his teeth and carefully licked over the spot. He moved to the other side to leave another one in the symmetrical spot.

Shane’s brain was thickly clouded, the different sensations swirling around each other into a storm rolling over his body. He felt it growing bigger, louder, stronger, taking over even the last cell with pure ecstasy. His second orgasm of the night went through him like a lightning strike straight from his head down into his dick, where he was shooting cum against the thick glass of the penthouse apartment.

Ilya was still chasing his own orgasm, Shane on the brink of too much and still wanting Ilya to finish inside him so badly. He pushed his hips back as hard as he was able through his shaking muscles.

“Come for me, mon ours,” Shane pleaded.

Like a magical spell, Ilya spilled over with a choked back cry before murmuring moy chempion against Shane’s shoulder.

They stayed like that for as long as they could and then separated for a moment so Ilya could take care of the condom.

Ilya got them into the shower and cleaned them both. Shane's legs were still shaky, but Ilya made sure he was leaning against a wall to not slip and fall.

When they were back in bed, the whole night slowly unfolded itself in front of Shane. It was one of the greatest nights of his life, almost as good as the day he won the Cup.

So why was he still feeling like… not enough.

He thought back to the club. The way they had to carefully interact. The way they couldn’t even really touch each other in public. The way it was fully possible that Ilya would just go home with one of the women there and leave him behind. 

He hadn’t… but he easily could have.

Shane would never be enough here. He couldn’t be. They were too far away from each other and saw each other only a few times a year that it wasn’t enough for either of them.

Shane knew somewhere in the back of his mind that Ilya was sleeping with other people. Shane wasn’t a saint either, he managed to hook up a couple of times on the road in cities where no one knew him or on holidays.

The harsh reality though was that no one measured up to Ilya. Not even close.

But was it the same for Ilya?

He didn’t dare to ask, afraid of the answer, afraid of getting hurt, afraid of knowing the truth.

And in the end, it wouldn’t change a thing. They would never be able to be in the same city. Even then… would Ilya even want anything more? Probably not. If he wanted something serious, he would have probably gone out and found someone for that.

“Is everything okay?” Ilya asked under him.

Shane hadn’t even realized how tense his body had gotten while he spiraled.

“It’s just…”

What was there to say? 

“You can tell me, solnyshko, is ok.” Ilya was absently rubbing up and down Shane’s back, a clear tinge of worry in his voice.

He couldn’t tell him the truth though without risking never seeing him again, no matter how much he wanted to.

“I just wish we could just," Shane tried to choose his words carefully, "you know… go to a club and dance there with each other. Or go to a restaurant and eat there. I don’t want to be afraid to touch you or look at you the wrong way without someone losing their minds.”

This was the closest he could come to the full truth. It wasn’t hinting at anything more than they were already doing behind closed doors. It was still eating at Shane that it would have been so easily accepted that Ilya would pick up some random girl in the club instead of going home with Shane.

Ilya’s hands went still. He didn’t say anything for a while, making Shane think he overstepped even with part of the truth. He was bracing himself to awkwardly leave the room and probably never see him again, not in private. At least, he had a whole summer to get over it.

“Me too. I really do. I wish I could make this easy for us.” Ilya’s voice was thick, the genuine sadness bleeding out of his words.

Us.

Shane buried his face deeper into Ilya’s chest, not wanting to look at Ilya to avoid showing the pain currently distorting his face.

Whatever this was, easy wasn’t part of it.

Chapter End Notes

ASL:

• Sun . I found a couple of (slightly) different versions, this one I saw the most (I watched like 20 videos).

Russian translation:

• Moy chempion - My champion
• Solnyshko - Little sun, sunshine

French translation:

• Mon ours - My (teddy) bear

Welcome to the newsletter!

• I'm determined to give the teams the dumbest names I can come up with.
• I have sadly not been to Boston, I was purely relying on tourist sites/YT and a lot recommended the duck boats. I considered flying to Boston but the research budget of 0$ said no :( I watched a couple of videos, they do actually chant “Here we go Bruins, here we go.” “QUACK QUACK”.
• A bruin is an English folk term for brown bear.
• The 2013 Stanley Cup playoffs were split into the Eastern and Western Conference until the final. The first round was seed 1 vs 8, 2 vs 7 etc for each bracket side. More recent playoffs were first by divisions (4 per), with the Eastern and Western Conference still on two sides of the bracket. Boston and Montreal are both in the same division and Eastern Conference, meaning they would not meet a Western team until the finals and no Eastern teams in the finals.
• My recipe for peanut chocolate overnight oats: 2 portions, 90g of steel cut oats, 10g of chia seeds, 20g of powdered peanut butter, 50g of chocolate protein powder, a dash of cinnamon (helps negate the protein powder taste imo), 150g of full fat greek yoghurt, 275-300 ml of almond milk. Shake in a sealed container. In the morning, split it in half and cut a banana on top of it. It does look like cement but kinda slaps.
• Some hockey players actually do eat mustard to avoid cramps!
• (This note will be a bummer, you don’t need to read it) The Not Enough portion was heavily inspired by what I was feeling the last week or two. I have never written anything close to this long (no clue how many words my master thesis had), let alone in my second language and without much editing, just flowing out of me. And then people actually seem to enjoy it? My brain still thinks this isn’t enough somehow. But it never does. I saw someone talk about how people with autism and ADHD often have to push and struggle through most of their lives and in an absence of struggle it doesn’t feel correct. Plus the sense of having to achieve more, to bring some sort of value to the table to get even a grain of acceptance will never quite leave you. And then you might fully dissociate when you achieve your success. So... yeah.
• The Muppets and the NHL have a connection: Trading cards from 1994. I only found out after posting the chapter because I got curious.
• Re striptease: This has nothing to do with the SNL skit, I had this idea for a while. First, I wanted Shane to do it as a dare/bet and be surprisingly good at it but then I was like: Nahhhh Ilya would actually love this, get it Ilya!
• In Russia, ballroom dancing and ballet aren't seen as feminine for guys as they are in other parts of the world, the opposite actually. Some of the most macho guys I've met were Eastern European ballroom dancers in fake tan, makeup and rhinestoned shirts. It’s also popular, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable for Ilya to go/be sent to ballroom lessons. Why would he be interested in going? Perfect way to pick up people, fun music, useful skill. 
• Corta Jaca: Dance step for ballroom Samba (sorry Brazilians), one of my teachers described it as “feeling each other out” when you dance it close to each other.
• I haven’t seen anyone “fix” the window part of Vegas. I thought to just make up that the penthouse has mirrored glass. Then I researched and I don’t even need to make it up. Some Vegas hotels do have mirrored or heavily tinted windows. The Mirage recently removed their golden mirrored windows, others still have theirs. Look is one aspect, reflecting the sun to reduce cooling costs is another.

As always, I’m really looking forward to your lovely comments!

Chapter 14: Commander

Chapter Summary

Off-Season 2013 and start of the 2013/2014 season with an interview, a lot of change in Montreal and Ilya in a new position.

Chapter Notes

I’m still in a lot of pain, it was hard to write a coherent chapter.

We got another music integration, make sure to click the links (and if you can, wear headphones to get the effect). It should start where I want it to, otherwise the start for the first one is at 0:41, second one is 1:01.

CW for short mentions of homophobic, xenophobic and racist language.

Sport in Canada

“I don’t know any different.” - Interview with Shane Hollander, Pete Cloffens and Wyatt Hayes about autism and ADHD in the NHL

By Katie Covey

published on 5th of July 2013

We met up with NHL players Pete Cloffens, captain of the Carolina Grim Reapers, Wyatt Hayes, goalie of the Toronto Guardians, and Shane Hollander, latest Stanley Cup winner and captain of the Montreal Voyageurs, to talk about their experience with autism and ADHD.

Thanks to all three of you for sitting down with me. As you know, we originally only planned to schedule this with Shane but he recommended to get you two on board as well. How did that come to fruition?

Cloffens: I talk to Shane quite regularly. We have known each other since his rookie year and he asked me if I was interested in joining.

Hayes: I wrote Shane after the leak. I know there were some others with ADHD in his draft year but I didn’t know if they were in contact. I was a bit surprised when he reached out for the interview but I’m very happy he did!

Hollander: They are both great people and I thought it might be more interesting if you get more perspectives as it is different for everyone. I’m glad you all agreed.

So how did you all find out about your diagnosis?

Hollander [looking grim]: Well, I think you know mine so…

Hayes: I got my ADHD diagnosis when I was eight. Even with all the hockey I was playing, it never fully drained all of my energy. My grades weren’t the best either, so I got sent to the school psychologist who then sent me to a specialist.

Cloffens: I only got diagnosed very recently. I didn’t even know, they were doing that during the combine. I was drafted seven years before Shane, there was no testing back then. But I recognized some struggles Shane and others have described in my own life, so I searched out a specialist. Being diagnosed with both ADHD and autism wasn’t even possible until this year.

And what changed with your diagnosis?

Cloffens: It all made sense to me when I read more about it. I got a therapist and we tried some medications for the ADHD part before landing on one that works well for me. The whole process also gave me a sense of ‘you are not alone with this’.

Hollander: Yeah, I had similar feelings. I have been working with someone for a while to understand my situation better. There are no meds for autism but there is definitely stuff that can make life easier.

Hayes: I don’t remember much changing but it has been so long, maybe we should call my parents. [He pauses for a while before continuing] We tried meds but none of them really worked for me, I had some worrying side effects. My parents decided that therapy was enough. My wife is a doctor and she told me about the advancements since then but I never tried again. Maybe I will at some point if it starts bothering me.

How were the reactions when the information went public?

Hayes: People mostly send me memes about it. [laughs] Goalies have a reputation to be… let’s say different. I mean we volunteer to let people like Shane and Pete shoot pucks at us, so I don’t think anyone was shocked. Some are sending me snake oil type stuff about ‘how to cure ADHD’ which makes my wife furious. If you ever get a detailed response why it’s nonsense, that was Lisa’s work.

Cloffens: The reactions were mixed. Everything from condolences to ‘cures’ to people telling me how inspiring all of the sudden I am. A lot of support as well from people who are neurodivergent and watch or play hockey. It also made it easier that people knew there were other players doing well in the sport, even though that information wasn’t given freely. [looks at Hollander who sighs]

Hollander: The first wave of reactions was overwhelming. One guy thought that autistic people weren’t able to speak and I was faking my interviews, that was the most bizarre one. [Cloffens and Hayes both let out a groan.] Other people called me a burden to my team.

Cloffens: What?

Hayes: Do they have working eyes? I know an optometrist in Toronto if they need one.

Hollander: Yeah that was never a topic before it became public and all of a sudden, people came out of the woodwork with that stuff. Looking back, I of course wish I could have shared the information in my own time but like Pete said, a lot of people are happy to see themselves represented and I’m glad about that. It’s important

How does it affect your hockey?

Cloffens: My communication has always been clear and direct when it comes to the rink and I learned that has to do with how my brain functions, it has made me a good captain from what I can tell. Pattern recognition is also a big one for me.

Hollander: Yeah for me too. I can also focus on one task very well if I like that task. And I know sometimes people joke about me being a hockey robot or whatever because of my intense focus but at the end of the day it’s just that I like hockey so my brain locks in.

Hayes: Oh my brain works overtime all hours of the day, it rarely shuts up. So when I’m on the ice, it gets five thousand things happening at once which my brain loves. It’s like 80% quiet when I’m in the game, it’s almost relaxing to be in the middle of the chaos somehow.

So you think it’s actually an advantage?

Hayes: Not sure about that. I don’t know any different, so… [he shrugs]

Cloffens: In some aspects, certainly. But it brings its own challenges for sure. For example, bear with me, I get dry hands very easily when it’s cold and they give me sensory issues when I don’t take care of them. To someone without AuDHD that might sound like a small thing but my brain can’t focus on much else and my hands start moving slower, which impacts my play. Angela, one of our PTs, recommended a good hand cream and warmers though, so I got that under control now after I kept ignoring it for like a decade.

Hollander: On the ice I think it can be an advantage for me. That doesn’t take away from the struggles we are facing outside of the rink though. It’s a disability for a reason.

Anything else you want to say before we finish the interview?

Hollander: When this interview drops, we will all donate to different charities around autism and ADHD in Canada and the US. You can find the resources on our Instagram or Twitter pages. Make sure to check them out and see what resources they have to offer or if you want to donate yourself.

Hayes: For some, it’s way harder to get a diagnosis than it was for us. I see what my wife goes through daily in the medical field, some resources in certain areas are hard to come by. That doesn’t mean you can’t benefit from online or other resources without an official diagnosis. If it helps you, it helps you. That’s all that matters.

Cloffens: Information, community and support are important. Make sure you got all three.

Thank you all for your time. 

Make sure you check out @shanehollanderhockeyplayer, @hazyinthecrease and @petecloffensofficial on Twitter and Instagram for more information on the charities.

___________________________

July 6th, 2013

Shane was in the middle of packing for a commercial shoot when his phone rang.

Incoming call: Hugo Bouchard (GM)

“Hello?” Shane didn’t really have time but not picking up on your GM during the early days of the off-season was not a good plan.

“Hi Hollander! How is it going?” His GM asked in a light tone.

“Good, I’m on my way to New York for a shoot.” He dropped his toiletry bag he always took for traveling into the suitcase.

“Ah great, always representing Montreal, we love to see that.” 

“Yeah, that’s the goal.” Or making enough money so I can retire whenever I want.

“I saw your interview,” Bouchard dropped in an unreadable tone.

“Oh, is that why you are calling? I cleared it up with our PR team before.” A short flash of panic rose up in Shane. 

“No no. Charity work looks good for us. Would have been more prestigious if you did it alone but there is nothing we can do about that now.” Shane suppressed the comeback he had on his tongue about neither of these things being the point.

“Can I ask what you are calling about?” Shane was fidgeting with the charger he had yet to find a place for in his luggage.

“Yes, of course. Always getting down to business, I like that about you, Hollander. Desjardins had to leave. Something about family stuff, I’m not totally sure.” Bouchard sounded heavily uninterested in the coach that just won him the Stanley Cup.

“For how long?” They had fully hit their stride in the last season. They could get away with a couple of months with an interim coach, Shane thought to himself.

“He asked us to end his contract effective immediately, seemed to be urgent. We will look for a new head coach. As captain, I wanted to let you know before the press release goes out in an hour.”

Shit. “Thank you.”

“We will keep you guys posted when we find someone. Shouldn’t be hard with a cup in hand.” 

The cup the players earned so you can put a picture in the hall and brag.

“And Desjardins is okay?” Shane hadn’t talked to his coach in a week, he seemed fine then.

“Look, I’m not sure, maybe send him a text or something. You can find a way, I’m sure.”

He can’t be serious. “Okay.”

“Have fun in LA.”

___________________________

Cosmopolitan

Ice cold and ultra hot! NHL Sexiest Stars ranked!

By Mara Jackson

published on 9th of July 2013

No NHL games? No worries! We have all the hottest stars ranked in time for the summer season (with pictures of course).

#10 Ronald Reyleigh, Tampa Bay Leaves

[picture]

Petition to make the goalie masks so we can see this hot shot’s face better. No wonder all his teammates touch Ronald Reyleigh’s helmet for good luck. If it brings us anywhere close to this knockout we too are suddenly very superstitious. 

#9 Pete Cloffens, Carolina Grim Reapers

[picture]

If a guard dog in human form is your thing, we just got the guy for you. The gentle giant with the thick beard and smooth voice would bring us penalties for staring at his beautiful face for too long. Pete Cloffens is the captain of our heart.

#8 Troy Barrett, Toronto Guardians

[picture]

He just got through his rookie year and already has a fan club: us! The Toronto stunner with an aloof attitude will pull the rubber matte from under you with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes. We cannot wait to be checked into the boards by him.

#7 Carl Sallinger, Seattle Diving Petrels

[picture]

Even a missing tooth couldn’t stop us from finding Carl Sallinger HOT! The Seattle beefcake is known for fighting (and winning!). Hoowee! If he fights for our honor like that with his broad shoulders and rough stubble, we are all in.

#6 Nick Anderson, Winnipeg Warhammers

[picture]

Anyone called for a daddy? Nick Anderson had us all drooling when we saw how well he takes care of his kids whenever they visit him for his home games. It doesn’t hurt that his dark brown eyes and hair always seem to shine. His divorce was finalized last month, so…

#5 Matthew Baldwin, Vancouver Mountain Cougars

[picture]

Always cool, calm and collected! This Canadian cutie brings a chill attitude and a chiseled jawline to the rink. Matthew Baldwin is the type of guy that would make you hot chocolate and ask about your day while you can just stare at his six pack. A dream come true.

#4 Ilya Rozanov, Boston Bears

[picture]

A tall Russian bad boy with messy curls and a cocky smile, what more do you want? He has been on our radar since day 1 and just keeps climbing up the sexiness scale. His Adidas ads should come with a Caution! Hot! warning.

#3 Scott Hunter, New York Admirals

[picture]

Chris Evans who? We got the real Captain America for you. Scott Hunter, captain of the New York Admirals won’t just woo you with his blue eyes and bright smile but also with his charitable activities all year round. A true catch!

#2 Malte Lundin, LA Golden Crowns

[picture]

Malte Lundin is perfect in the Golden Crowns, have you seen that man’s hair? The Swedish snack has all the ladies swoon with his foreign accent, muscled body and magnetizing personality. A real life prince charming.

And drumroll…

#1 Shane Hollander, Montreal Voyageurs

[picture]

Just… look at him! Canada’s golden boy, the prince of hockey and newly crowned Stanley Cup champions captain is without a doubt NHL’s sexiest star. Shane Hollander has been the face (and body, oh my that body) of so many ads for a reason. He always got a smile for the camera and a goal on his stick. His exotic look and adorable freckles make him the perfect mix to get our number one.

___________________________

Ilya: I’M FOURTH???

Shane: What are you talking about?

Ilya: [link to cosmopolitan article]

Shane: What the fuck is that?

Shane: Oh, I’m number 1?

Shane: Wtf do they mean “exotic”?

Ilya: So weird.

Ilya: They are right about freckles though.

Shane: Fucking hell… My team will have a field day with this one…

Ilya: Your team needs to shut up.

Ilya: I’m behind Hunter!! And who the fuck is Lundin??

Shane: Big blonde Swedish guy from LA.

Ilya: You knew that way too fast.

Shane: I know all the players in the league.

Ilya: I will remember this.

Ilya: Where can I write for correction of article?

Ilya: No way I’m fourth.

Shane: Yeah, you should at least be behind Baldwin.

Shane: He rescued a litter of kittens from a heat stroke last month. People like that.

Ilya: I COULD DO THAT!

Shane: Yeah but you didn’t.

Ilya: Unbelievable!

Celestial_Ink: Are you actually upset?

Crimson_Claw: I get to top number 1, what does that make me?

Celestial_Ink: Oh my god, forget I asked.

Crimson_Claw: I am not upset.

Celestial_Ink: Good, because whoever wrote that article has clearly never seen you naked.

Crimson_Claw: Are you flirting with me?

Celestial_Ink: Depends on how much time you have before the airport.

Crimson_Claw: About seven minutes, should be enough for you.

Celestial_Ink: Hey!

Celestial_Ink: Call me when you are in your condo?

Crimson_Claw: I will.

___________________________

August 14th, 2013

JJ: [link to trade news]

JJ: We are getting a new defenseman and a tandem goalie for Mitty.

Shane: Mitty was in top form last year, why do we need a tandem goalie?

Hayden: Your guess is as good as mine. Did Theriault talk to you?

Shane: No, I only briefly met with him a week ago. Desjardins called me for trades last year.

Hayden: Bummer, would be great to have more insight.

JJ: Do you not normally get a young goalie to pair with an experienced goalie? That guy is older than Mitty and has played less games.

Shane: Yeah, there is a vision in there somewhere that I’m not seeing.

Shane: Has anyone ever spoken to them?

Hayden: Not to Drapeau. Comeau was always kind of a dick, so I avoided him.

Shane: Great, same with Drapeau the two times I actually played against him.

JJ: We can just hope that was on the ice stuff. We don’t want to kill the vibes the Cup brings.

Hayden: We will turn them around, no worries.

___________________________

“Hollander!” Theriault barked across the ice.

Shane skated over to his new coach. The training camp had been chaotic and whatever plan Theriault was implementing, Shane was still not seeing it.

“Yes coach?” Shane asked.

“Make sure you stay with Dagenais and Comeau to get them up to speed,” Theriault commanded.

“Okay, will Price stay as well?” Shane scanned the ice for Ryan.

Theriault let out a grunt. “We don’t need our enforcer here for the new defense pairing.”

Shane's head snapped back to Theriault. “You’re not going to keep JJ and Ryan together?”

“Not part of my plan," Theriault said in an annoyed tone. "He filled the gap for Roy and now we have a real defenseman back for Dagenais to pair up with.”

“Okay Coach," Shane replied.

That was it then. Dozens of hours of game tape, months of working together and weeks in training camp to show how well they worked together and now Ryan was put to the side for some guy Theriault simply liked better for whatever reason.

Shane was furious. He wanted to say more. He had said it before in camp and meetings. And today. He would continue if he saw any signs of being taken seriously as the captain by his new coach. 

Great, I start at 0 then.

___________________________

Ilya stared at the new jersey hanging in his locker.

The back had his number he had since he was 14 and his name still plastered over it, like he was used to. Just the front had a new addition:

C

A big hand crashed into his back. 

“You should probably put it on before we go out there, cap.” Marly grinned widely at him.

“That’s why you are the brains of the operation, Marly,” Ilya countered with an eye roll.

Ilya had been made captain after Kane decided to retire. Zadonsky stayed alternate, Marly was added as an A as well. That was two and a half months ago. He should be used to it by now. He had gone through the rookie and training camp and the preseason games already as captain. But today was the season opener. The arena was sold out. His team was in top form. And to put the cherry on top, Montreal was on the other side.

He pulled his jersey on and then jumped on the bench.

“Okay, listen up you fuckers. Montreal won the cup last year, yes? That is nice for them. But who the fuck cares what happened last year. This year, it is our fucking year. We train hard. We play even harder. And we will start our run for the cup not somewhere in fucking April, no no no. We will not fucking start it next month. We will start it right the fuck tonight. And we will not stop until we lift that fucking cup. Do you understand?”

“Yes captain!” His team answered in unison.

“I asked: DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?”

“YES CAPTAIN!” The collective roar was making the room shake, sticks were banged against the floor, hands found lockers to make noise, someone put his fingers between his lips to let out a loud whistle.

They carried that atmosphere right out into the tunnel where Ilya stood last in line. He was the one holding the team together from now on, no one behind him to take the fall, everyone in his view in front of him, trusting him to have their backs. 

He shook out his last bit of nerves and quieted any negative voices in his head while the line was called on the ice one by one.

“And last but not least. Number 81 and your new Boston Bears captain: ILYAAAAA ROZANOOOV.”

The arena was on fire. The light show was just a touch too much, exactly how Ilya liked it. The crowd was screaming for him. He would never get fully used to the feeling of skating out to 17,565 people who all paid to see him play. He took a second to soak it all up before finishing the pregame procedure.

He was sent out to another roar of the crowd for the first face-off of the game. Shane was already in position.

“Captain,” Shane said in the most neutral tone he could produce while he glanced over to Ilya.

“Captain.” Ilya made sure to keep his gaze just a beat longer on Shane. He was here to play hockey but he could enjoy the view while he was at it.

The first period was relatively quiet. The new Montreal goalie seemed slower than Mitty but the defense wouldn’t let them get through. Ilya was annoyed, he wanted a clear win for his first regular season game as captain. If no one else was able to score, it was his turn then. 

It took all the way to the middle of the second period until he finally found a way around the defense with Marly at his side. He faked the backhand shot, Drapeau moving the wrong direction and Ilya sunk the puck with a quick forehand wrist shot over his shoulder. Drapeau had no defense against his signature move.

The goal siren went off and with it his new goal song. 

Baby, there's no other
Who do it like I do it, yeah

From here on out, I'll be your commander (I'll be your commander)
No fear, no doubt, I'll provide the answer (I'll provide the answer)
Right now I command you to dance
I'll be your commander (I'll, I'll be your commander).

He was under a pile of his teammates but still managed to salute to the hyped up crowd that was clapping to the beat of the song of his choice. The adrenaline rushed through him like a herd of wild horses galloping through the grass. The smile on his face was probably permanently stapled to his face, Ilya couldn’t care less how goofy he looked at this moment.

He locked eyes across the rink with Shane. The intensity of the look he gave him almost knocked him off his skates. He was definitely not the only one that was into the whole captain thing it seemed.

Their third line scored a goal shortly after with Shane getting his own at the beginning of the third period. That scoreline didn’t convince Ilya. He tried every trick in the book with no goals in sight. To his delight, the Montreal defense was getting more and more agitated. Ilya knew when he was under an opponent’s skin and he was about to make it worse when he skated by Comeau.

“Next time let your mother help you with your skates. You must have tied them wrong for you to skate this shit.” Ilya skated as elegantly as he could around him.

“Learn English before you talk to me,” Comeau spat out.

“Clever comeback, never heard that one.” Ilya laughed humorlessly.

“Fuck off you faggot.” Ah there he was, the Comeau he knew. Lovely new teammate Shane had been burdened with there. He could just start a fight with Comeau, he definitely looked ready. But Ilya preferred to keep his face unharmed for tonight, so he just winked at Comeau and went over to the face-off circle. 

Ilya won the face-off and quickly returned into the Montreal defensive zone where Comeau was already waiting. Ilya was too fast for him though, outskating him easily until…

"Ah, shit!" Ilya yelled out.

That fucker had dropped his stick between Ilya’s legs, twisting his left leg before he was laid out flat on the ice.

“What the fuck was that Comeau?” Did Ilya hit his head or was Shane yelling at his own player?

“Fuck off, Hollander,” Comeau barked back.

“Get your shit together, you gave them a free power play. Drapeau was in the perfect position to block.” Shane sounded more and more furious with every word. And he was right, Ilya needed a mistake from them to get a goal or a power play. Comeau handed him the second one.

“I said fuck off!” Comeau skated away before Shane could yell at him some more.

“Fucking hell. You okay?” Shane put out his hand to help Ilya up. Ilya took it and with one strong pull he was visor to visor with Shane.

“I remember that for later.” Shane let out a gasp only Ilya could hear before he let go of his hand and skated away.

Ilya should have probably gone to the team doc first to get his leg checked but now was not the time. He earned that power play and he was not about to give it to someone else. Marly, Vicky and him all took their positions while Montreal had to play with a player down and a seething Comeau in the penalty box. The three of them made quick work on the power play, only taking twenty seconds until Vicky sank the puck in the lower left corner with an assist from Ilya. 

“Should have broken your kneecaps instead,” Ilya heard from Drapeau when he went by him.

“Need to know where my kneecaps are first, I do not think you are smart enough for that,” Ilya said in a sing-sang voice before crashing into Marly and Vicky behind the goal while Alors on danse was playing for Vicky’s goal song in the background.

“Fuck yeah, Vicky, let’s go!” Ilya yelled over the music.

“ALORS ON DANSE BABYYY!” Vicky pushed them off so they could form a dance circle. They grooved on the spot for a second before turning to the crowd and encouraging them to clap more.

Now it’s a party.

The last five minutes went without a goal but the crowd was riding the high of the incoming 3-1 victory for their home team. Ilya barely made it off the ice and into the dressing room before his presence was required from the press.

“How does it feel to be the new captain of the Boston Bears?” a reporter shouted from behind the pile of microphones.

“Kane did good job as last captain, he is missed by the team. But now, we will win the cup this year, yes?” Ilya responded.

“That’s a bold prediction so early in the season, how come you are so confident?” a male voice somewhere deeper in the huddle yelled.

“Have you seen my team tonight? How can I not be confident like this?” Ilya put on his best smile, he could have sworn he heard a little *ting* when he flashed his mostly fake teeth at them.

“Hollander showed great sportsmanship tonight, what did you say to him when he helped you up?” The reporter in question was right next to him, holding her mic just a tad closer when she asked.

“Ah, I told him to get better teammates. Cannot even hold his stick, is like basic requirement for hockey," he said like he was actually explaining it to the reporters before his grin was back.

“Thank you folks, that’s all for tonight.” The PR person freed him from the hoard and he got to reenter the locker room that had a full party going on.

“Great job, cap!” Hammy yelled from across the room.

“Where are we going tonight? Roz? Captain’s choice!” Marly declared to the room before pulling Ilya in for a sidehug.

“Ah no, I cannot." Ilya tried to sound mournful. "I have early meeting tomorrow. Important house stuff before we fly out tomorrow night.”

Some boos filled the room, a wet towel was thrown against his chest. He didn’t need to tell them that the important house stuff was fucking Shane Hollander in every room of his new house and the house had a lot of rooms.

“Whoever threw this, I will make sure you get the dry turkey sandwich tomorrow!” Ilya earned some more boos before he finally got into the shower.

The adrenaline was slowly wearing off while he spread the body wash all over him. He shifted from his right to his left leg when he felt a sting throughout. Fucking Comeau and his stupid stick. Ilya decided it was nothing and got his clothes back on before driving back to his new house. The new contract and the signing bonus made buying a new house with more privacy and a lot of space for his cars an easy decision. 

Crimson_Claw: Back in 30 mins, you got new address?

Celestial_Ink: Yes, I’m there in an hour, I have to yell at some people. Or they will yell at me, we will see.

Celestial_Ink: It was such a stupid move from him, my god.

Crimson_Claw: Was very hot to see you like that. Defending me.

Celestial_Ink: You can show me how hot later :) 

Crimson_Claw: Winner’s choice?

Celestial_Ink: Yes.

___________________________

He hated Comeau. He truly did. Today more than ever. When Ilya arrived at home, he barely got out of his low to the ground Porsche, the curses out of his mouth helping him immensely, it felt like. Hip, knee and ankle all made slight protests when he moved through the leg, all together screaming at him to sit down.

He made his way to the kitchen and roamed around for the ibuprofen he had here somewhere. He swallowed two of them with some coke and plopped down on the couch, angrily snacking on his protein bar and cheese puffs, it was all about balance. Shane would be here in around thirty minutes, hopefully enough time to get the pain killers to work. He put on the post game highlights, showing a replay of an angry kitten faced Shane trying to give his best PR answers to the reporters.

“Yeah, my job as a captain is to help keep everyone in line. That sometimes means correcting your players on the ice. It was a lapse of judgement from Comeau, he understands why I reacted that way.” Shane kept his face stern but couldn’t quite get rid of the slight scrunch in his face.

“What did Rozanov say when you pulled him up?” That was the same reporter that asked Ilya that. Oh fuck, this could be trouble. Ilya gave a joke answer but it could still look suspicious.

“Ah, I don’t think I can repeat that here. Nothing too bad but some things better stay on the ice.” Shane forced a smile on his clearly exhausted face. 

Phew, Ilya forgot there for a second that it was Shane PR Master Hollander he was secretly hooking up with and whispering dirty things to on the ice. He would need to reward him for that save later.

Ilya was lost in thought when his door bell rang out. He jumped up on command, forgetting about his injured leg before he was abruptly reminded that it was indeed injured. He limped towards the door in an impossibly slow pace.

That’s one way to build anticipation.

He groaned at his own thought before opening the door to a disheveled looking Shane that hadn’t taken his time to get out of the arena but had rather fled from the looks of it. He toed his shoes off while he scanned the entrance area and then went into the open living space, completely ignoring Ilya in the process.

“Wow, that’s a great house. Do you know who built this? I have been looking for something like this in Montreal, but maybe I will just build one. I just can’t find something I…”

He stopped when he turned back to Ilya.

“Why are you still at the door?” Shane raised his eyebrows at him.

“Hello to you, too.” Ilya didn’t dare to move, knowing exactly what he would look like if he did. He pushed the door closed from his current spot. Shane stepped closer but still left a good 10 feet between them.

“Hi. Do you just want to stand there, or…?” Shane’s eyebrows had taken the elevator down to pull as close as they could to his big brown eyes.

Ilya took exactly three steps before wincing.

“Ah shit, was that Comeau? I yelled at him twice already, I can call this dickhead and yell at him for a third time.” Shane’s whole face scrunched together furiously. If Ilya didn’t know it was not for him, he might be genuinely concerned that his eyes were about to be scratched out of his head.

Ilya tried to close the distance between them but only got out another pathetic wince.

“Okay, no, you stop moving.” Shane stepped into Ilya’s space and put an arm around his waist to shift his weight to the good leg.

“What? We are supposed to stay like this?” Ilya tried to joke but Shane was actually helping.

“No, I’m gonna carry you to the couch," Shane explained.

“No, you are not.” The limping was humiliating enough.

“Ilya.”

“Shane.”

“Don’t be such a baby. I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself more.” He bent down to hold his arm near Ilya’s knees. “Will you let me carry you or will we have to discuss this longer so I can carry you later?”

"Ok, fine." Ilya was full on pouting but still wrapped his arms around Shane to get lifted into his arms bridal style. Ilya suddenly felt really small and… he didn’t hate it when it was Shane that did it to him somehow. They would usually switch who was holding who while cuddling but this was a whole other level. He kept the pout in place to not let Shane onto this.

The floor plan was open enough so Shane could navigate him to the big sofa without a problem and laid him on it. He grabbed a pillow to put Ilya’s leg on top of it.

“Have you taken something against the pain?” Shane asked.

“Yes,” Ilya confirmed.

“Did your doc look at it?” Shane's eyes roamed over his leg.

“It does not hurt that bad, I did not show him.” Shane gave him a look that said I saw you trying to walk, don’t lie to me loud and clear.

“Is it more your joint or is it your muscles?” Shane inquired.

“I do not know, I do not have X-ray vision,” Ilya quipped. 

“That would be something more for an MRI," Shane corrected. "X-ray doesn’t show the details you would need. Maybe even a CT.”

“You watch too much Grey’s Anatomy,” Ilya grumbled.

“Or my idiot friends tend to get injured and I’m the one driving them around to doctors and shit.” Shane let out an annoyed sigh.

Who else was he taking care of? No, this was really not the time to get jealous of his other… friends. Ilya shook the thought off.

“Can I take a look?” Shane put a gentle hand on his uninjured thigh.

“You want to get me out of my pants, you can just ask." Ilya waggled his eyebrows at him..

“Yes, Rozanov, take your pants off.” Shane sighed again.

Ilya wiggled his way out of his pants and scanned his leg. There were no new bruises or any visible swelling. Shane first moved his ankle then his knee and then his whole leg at the hip joint.

“Did any of this hurt?” Shane ran his finger over Ilya’s shin while looking at him with deep concern on his face.

“Not really, no.” There was at least no pain in his joints.

“Okay, so it’s likely something in your muscles when you’re moving. Probably better if we put something warm on top of it. Or I could…” Shane drifted off.

Ilya gave him room to find the thought he just lost or was spiraling on before deciding he was too curious not to push.

“Shane?” Ilya tried to redirect his thoughts back to the room.

“Do you want a massage?” Shane blurted out.

“That… yes,” Ilya said simply.

Shane’s head snapped back to him before his face softened. 

“Good, I brought massage oil. I didn’t know if you would liked that.” Shane was visibly relieved. He stood up and retrieved a bottle out of his backpack. He went to the bathroom that was next to the entrance and collected a towel to wedge under Ilya’s leg.

“You let me know when anything hurts, okay?” Shane's eyes bored deep into Ilya.

“Okay.” More wouldn't come out of Ilya under the attention.

Shane got to work, fully focusing on Ilya’s leg, carefully working his way along the hurt muscles, trying to find the right pressure to loosen the offending areas.

Ilya was hit by multiple feelings at once. He couldn’t remember the last time when someone so deeply just… cared for him. Imagines of his mother flashed through his memory. How she would pick him off the ground when he had crashed into the floor after running too quickly around the corner or how she would squeeze him close to her chest when Andrei had hidden his skates and had said to Ilya that they were gone and he couldn’t go back to hockey. He had missed this feeling since he had been 12 and was sure he would never get anyone caring about him again.

Right in front of him though… there was Shane. There had been Shane right in front of him for a long time, hadn't there? Showing up for him when he needed it and letting Ilya take care of him in return as well.

When had they grown so close? Had they ever been like this before? Or… had they always been like this?

Ilya swallowed the boulder-sized lump in his throat before leaning back and concentrating on the feeling of being taken care of.

“Are you okay?” Shane had stopped his movement across his leg.

“Mhm, yes.” Ilya kept his head against the couch cushion and his eyes closed.

“Is it better?” Shane gave him space to test out the functionality and Ilya moved his leg without much pain, just some soreness.

“Much better.” Ilya meant it.

He just then realized he hadn’t even kissed Shane so far. That mistake needed to be corrected. He pulled Shane into him and put his lips on him. It started out tender and careful before it turned heated quickly. Shane broke the kiss.

“I really don’t want to hurt you further, we can just chill.” Shane ran a hand through Ilya’s hair. That was not the way to turn him off.

“I had very good doctor, healed me really quickly, need to thank him.” Ilya got up and pulled Shane with him in the direction of the bedroom.

Time to take care of Shane.

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• A diagnosis for both ADHD and autism was only possible to get when the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) was published in its fifth edition in 2013. Before that, you were diagnosed with whatever was more prevalent. Since then, it was found that they have a high co-morbidity, people with autism also have ADHD between 50 and 70% of the time.
• I’m convinced Wyatt has ADHD. Talking about Thunderstruck during a game? Hello? HELLO?
• Shoutout to yellow_wallpapers22 for the idea for the cold hands.
• I thought I had some dumb team names, but here are some actual ones: Savannah Ghost Pirates (ECHL), Macon Whoopee (CHL), Atlantic City Boardwalk Bullies (ECHL), St. John's Fog Devils (QMJHL), Greenville Swamp Rabbits (ECHL)
• I thought I would just mention the Cosmo article. But then it escalated into absolute nonsense. If someone wants to hire me for stupid magazine articles, I’m not available. I fully hated having to write “exotic” for Shane’s looks but that fits in with 2013.
• ESPN on goalie tandems. In simple terms: It was typical to have one goalie in the net for most games but in the last few years more and more teams work with goalie tandems that split the many games between them.
• If you have never seen an NHL team intro, here you go: New York Islanders intro  (Captain actually comes out last). That seemed like a relatively tame production, compared to something like this: San Jose Sharks intro (They had 5 alternate captains here, 1 always and then 2 for home games and 2 different ones for away games, as the max is 3 per game. None of them are mentioned in the intro, goalies come out last). Detroit also sent their captain out last. 
• TD Garden ice hockey capacity was 17,565 until 2019. Current one is 17,850.
• Goal songs are a thing in the NHL but they are per team not per player. I used to be an arena DJ (not for hockey), trust me, those songs work when they are played in an arena to make people clap. I have given other people goal songs in my notes. Let me know if you are interested in those.
• EDIT 09/July/26: Duckperson informed me that when they opened Commander aka Ilya's new goal song, it had 81 million views!!!! 😭😭😭 IT WAS FATE! Here is the proof:

As always, I can't wait to read your comments! Thank you so much for all the love!

Chapter 15: Naked

Chapter Summary

A Calvin Klein campaign, a day off and Christmas

Chapter Notes

Hi :) This was posted in the middle of the night, I will go over it in the morning. Typos aren't real, they can't hurt you.

I changed the final chapter count to 21, that should be accurate now with what I have mapped out.

This includes spoilers for a How The Grinch Stole Christmas. Yes, I'm warning you for spoilers for a movie released in 2000.

CW

CW for a depressive episode and mentions of Irina passing.

Crimson_Claw: [expiring image, Ilya’s Calvin Klein ad]

Crimson_Claw: Thought you might like new ad ;)

Celestial_Ink: Damn… I think I passed out for a second

Celestial_Ink: But also… errr

Celestial_Ink: [expiring image, Shane’s Calvin Klein ad]

Crimson_Claw: You also got ad??

Celestial_Ink: They told me they would have multiple athletes but I didn’t know who.

Crimson_Claw: If I die, your ad is cause.

Celestial_Ink: :)

Celestial_Ink: I found the full campaign.

Celestial_Ink: [expiring image]

Celestial_Ink: They are doing pairs/rivals and guess who they put together...

Crimson_Claw: Mmmm we look good together.

Crimson_Claw: Why did they not shoot us together?

Celestial_Ink: I’m glad they didn’t…

Celestial_Ink: Let’s just say that would be very hard for me.

Incoming FaceTime Call: Ilya Rozanov

___________________________

Ilya entered the suspiciously quiet locker room on their day between two home games.

“Hello?” Ilya said before turning to his cubby just to discover the culprit that caused the collective silence. His Calvin Klein ad printed out, taking over 80% of his cubby.

“Ah, so you saw ad, yes?” He turned to the locker room where everyone suddenly had something very interesting in their cubby except for Hammy and Conny that were snickering in the corner like two school girls that just pulled a prank on their French teacher.

“Who put this up?” He still kept his tone neutral with a hint of danger.

“Do you not like your ad?” Hammy tried to joke, visibly intimidated by a motionless Ilya.

“Sorry cap, we thought we might as well decorate your locker with it,” Conny added, any trace of snickering gone.

Ilya decided he had fucked with them for long enough and started barking out a laugh.

“Finally some good decoration in here. Do you want a signed one? Makes good money on eBay!” He pulled out the marker he had in his locker and signed directly over his crotch. Cliff bellowed out a laugh next to him, the rest of the locker room finally relaxed again.

“Shit, I thought you’re gonna kill them for a second there.” Cliff laced up his skates a second time after losing his rhythm in the first try.

“Oh, I will. Next team hangouts at their places," Ilya declared to the room.

Hammy and Conny groaned but accepted their fate. It was simply a risk you took when you tried to prank your captain, even if Ilya had no problem with his ad hanging in the locker room. He looked unbelievably hot in it, he couldn’t wait to see it together with Shane’s on a billboard. The tiny images on his phone next to each other had already sent him into a horny frenzy yesterday. Thankfully, Shane was on the same page (well, literally and figuratively), the FaceTime call leaving them both more than satisfied. The moves Shane did on his dildo…

“Earth to Captain, hello? I was saying that you and Hollander make a hot pairing,” Cliff told Ilya, then turned to the room. “Imagine if Hammy was the best player in the league. The poor NHL, the maximum he could sell would be ski masks,” Cliff quipped, catching the roll of tape that Hammy threw at him.

“Fuck off, Cliff! Your last ad was for snow chains you fucker,” Hammy countered.

“It made total sense, you need them when there is ice! They drove a fat Mercedes in the arena, it was pretty cool.” A marketing intern from Texas was pretty scared to drive it in until someone explained to him there was no lake under the ice.

“Your body was fully covered and your face was barely visible,” Hammy noted while grabbing his gloves and stick.

“Their sales went up 130%.” It was from quarter three to four, but Hammy didn’t need to know that.

“Don’t act like you know what that means.” Hammy gave him a condescending look.

“I have finished high school unlike you!” Cliff bit back.

“I did finish high school and I’m currently doing night school for a business degree, you dummy. You’re thinking of Vicky.” He pointed to the Frenchman next to him who looked at him furiously.

“I finished school! Just with home schooling for the last year. I swear it counts.” Vicky was gesturing wildly with his stick in hand, almost knocking Hammy straight out.

“Okay, everyone shut up. The important thing is that I am best and hottest player. You are not getting hotter but you can try to get better. So get your asses up and get on the ice.” Ilya made his way out of the locker room.

“Sure, Cap." Cliff trotted behind him.

“Whatever! I did finish school,” Vicky yelled after them.

“Sure, Vicky,” Cliff threw over his shoulder before the locker room door closed in Vicky’s face.

___________________________

Shane was gnawing on his hoodie string sitting across from Kira for their biweekly session. Since Theriault was made the new head coach, most of his sessions consisted of talking about his team and his new challenges with the changes. Kira made it clear she couldn’t discuss what Ryan had told her and vice versa but Ryan was never on the list of his problems anyway.

“They printed out the ad and hung it over my locker, trying to prank me like stupid five-year-olds.” Shane scoffed deeply.

Shane had just rolled up the poster and put it into his cubby. Laine and Comeau had tried to get a rise out of him, teasing him about the shoot but Shane simply asked them how much the printing was, so he could try to sell them. Shane used the moment of dumbfounded stillness that caused to exit the locker room for the weight room.

“How did that make you feel?” Kira was noting down something while still holding eye contact with Shane which he had seen her do before but still took him out of his thoughts because how were her notes legible like that. 

He focused on her left dangly earring instead as he had a hard time speaking while holding eye contact. He made up for it by holding it dutifully when someone spoke to him, though.

“I was furious," Shane felt the fury coming back into his body against his will. "The pranking and teasing is so childish and I know they are not doing it to laugh with me but laugh at me. It’s not something I do. They know exactly that I don’t like that shit. But it’s basically just boys will be boys and no one cares if I don’t like it. Comeau is 31 for fuck’s sake, he hasn’t been considered a boy for thirteen years no matter how much he looks like he will shit his pants whenever a talented forward comes near him.”

Kira let out a chuckle before composing herself. “Sorry, you're too funny sometimes. Go on.”

“Desjardins wasn’t progressive or anything," Shane recounted, "but at least he was smart and just did what was best for the team. Theriault seems to be doing whatever he thinks is the best for him and who he likes. He recently tried out Laine on my line, thankfully he was absolute shit compared to Hayden and not even Theriault could deny that, even though he tried. I don’t understand if he is doing this all on purpose, maybe someone paid him to coach this badly, that would explain why some coaches seem very friendly with him.” 

He was talking at double speed at this point, spiraling deeper and deeper into details that weren’t the focus. So he took a deep breath and got back to what he actually wanted to say.

“If it at least worked on the ice and I had my peace and quiet, I could just ignore them." Shane had done that many times. "But shit like this and… fuck, I feel like I’m carrying the team at the moment. Mitty’s save percentage dropped significantly and is now as shit as Drapeau’s but instead of stopping the whole goalie tandem thing, it just means the forwards aren’t doing enough in the transition phase and we should just put up more goals. I’m already like always top 5 in the scoring race all year round, if I'm not injured. How much more does he want me to score?” 

Okay, the deep breath wasn’t enough. He took about five more while Kira was scribbling down her notes.

“Is there anyone you can talk to about that? Someone as a friend and someone else in the organization?” Kira looked over her notes like she was trying to find someone that could help him between the lines.

“I talked to Ryan and Hayden. Neither of them are happy about it but the coach ignores almost any input from his players. Like he is the king that has the one true scripture of hockey in front of him or something.” He wondered when Theriault would order a throne to sit on during practice.

“And in the organization?” she asked.

“I tried talking to the general manager but he just said it takes time to establish a new system under a new coach." The annoyance was seeping out of his pores. "He told me that I’m too impatient. We were in great shape with minimal change in the team before they did the nonsense trades and now we barely sit in a wildcard spot. It will be a while until playoffs but a weak start is hard to catch up to and the dip after winning the cup feels way too large.”

“I know I asked you this before the leak happened and I’m still not 100% sure if I understand your contract fully, but would you consider switching teams?” Kira hit him with the question haunting him for weeks now.

Shane could do nothing but stare at her for a moment. The moment stretched longer and longer but Kira didn’t move. Shane didn’t either. His eyes dropped to the carpet under his feet, tracing the pattern on it to find an answer.

“I mean, there are ways," he confirmed. "I can hand in a trade request. They could also trade me at almost any point but I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“So those are the facts, how do you feel about that?” Kira wanted to know.

“Like shit, honestly." The fury and annoyance were replaced by a deep fatigue. "I was made captain not even a year ago. I won them the cup in my first season as a captain. I know I’m quite young and some guys just don’t respect young players no matter how much they have achieved in a short period of time. I have built a solid circle around me with people like Hayden, JJ, Ryan, Schneids, Andy, Berty… even Beaulier is kinda okay now with me. I think he’s just always grumpy, honestly. I invested a lot in this team, stepping away would feel like I’m giving up on what I’ve built.”

“Do you want to know what that could be? I’m not saying it is, but just to put a name to it," Kira offered in an attempt to pull him out of his spiral.

“Sure.” He gestured for her to continue.

“It’s called sunken cost fallacy," she explained. "It’s when you are trying to hold on to something you invested in instead of just letting it go. An example would be that you bought a used car and realize how many parts are broken. Instead of buying another car, you just keep exchanging parts in hopes it will drive smoothly at some point.”

“Hmm.” Shane traced the patterns again, trying to form coherent thoughts about what he just heard. “I don’t know how many parts are broken in the car and I won’t really find out. But how do I know the other car won’t break, too? Car salesmen are notorious for making promises they can’t keep.”

“You won’t but you can learn from your old car before you look for a new car,” she continued the analogy.

“There is still the problem that I might not be able to choose the car if I switch,” he countered.

“Yes, that’s definitely a factor.” Kira calmly confirmed.

“I think I will have to observe for longer," Shane decided. "At some point maybe the front office will take charge if things don’t change. They did a lot when I came in, I can’t imagine they won’t step in if we keep being on wobbly feet.”

“Okay, but Shane?” Kira sounded worried, snapping Shane out of his spiral at last.

“Yes, Kira?” he responded.

“Don’t wait too long until you step away," she adviced. "Before the engine explodes, if possible.”

He let out an understanding noise. “I will try.”

___________________________

Ilya stared at the ceiling. He was still mad at himself that he forgot to deactivate his usual alarm. It had been his first real day off after a long roadie with a big win over the Chicago Red Clouds in the end and a tight home schedule before that. His stupid phone had rung fifteen minutes ago and he was still furious at himself.

He should probably get up. He didn’t need to get up. American Thanksgiving meant no meetings, no practice, no games, no nothing. But he really should get up. He was starting to get hungry and his mouth was dry as a desert. But all he could do was stare at his ceiling like it personally offended him for existing. 

He felt the anger drain out of him with every breath. It was replaced by an unwelcome heaviness that he hadn’t felt in a while, not since the summer in Russia. He had been on the move for the last three months, keeping himself busy, no time to feel down.

Here he was. Down.

His stomach gave an angry grumble but Ilya just ignored it. Breakfast would mean getting up, putting on clothes, going downstairs, firing up the stove, grabbing the pan, opening the fridge, grabbing eggs, butter and bacon, closing the fridge, frying everything in the pan, putting the rest of the eggs back, pulling the toast out of the freezer, toasting the toast, putting everything on a plate, getting a knife, buttering the toast, putting the butter back, sitting down, eating and then cleaning everything. That was about nineteen steps too much right now.

He grabbed his phone instead and took a peek at his notifications.

Bears Cave: 17 new messages

Andrei: You forgot to send the…

Marly: This day trip sucks, I should…

Celestial_Ink: Hey, when are you flying…

Hammy: Yes on the 25th? No eggnog this time….

Too many notifications. He opened none of the chats and let his phone drop back on the night stand.

He should probably put something on the ceiling. Maybe a picture of a cute dog. Or some wallpaper. Does wallpaper work for a ceiling as well? He almost laughed at the randomness but his chest was too empty to produce any type of sound.

Was that how it had started for his mother? Singular days off until they were too many to bear. What would have happened if she had just stayed one more day? Would that have made a difference or would she have been even more miserable?

People back in Russia always told him how much he looked like his mother. The dark blonde wild unruly curls, the bright hazel eyes, the lively attitude when she was outside. His father also said he reminded him of his mother, when he could remember Ilya’s mother. That was never a good thing out of his father’s mouth though.

Weak like your mother.

Ilya closed his eyes, having the ceiling burned into his retinas by now. He felt weak lying in his bed like this, unable to move. He couldn’t even get out of bed, how else would one describe the condition he was in.

His mother never felt weak to him though. Exhausted? Sure. On the edge? Sometimes. Beaten down by the world? Constantly. 

But weak… weak would never be the word he would describe his own mother. She was always fighting. Against the strict regiment of his father, against the expectations of her and against herself. All the softness she had for the world and she used none of it on herself, it seemed. The softness she deserved. The softness Ilya was craving every day since she passed. The softness he was denied so often.

Ilya turned to the side. He wasn’t ready to get up so he wrapped the comforter tighter to himself when he curled inwards like he had done when he was little and his mother would lay down with him when a thunderstorm would rage over their house.

The new view was better than the ceiling. His automatic blinds had already opened and the winter sun peaking out behind the thick grey clouds gave him at least something new he could take in while sinking further into his thoughts.

His stomach grumbled again, it sounded like some alien was about to burst out of him. He took his phone again and opened Snapchat.

Celestial_Ink: Hey, when are you flying in on the 5th of Jan? Do you already know?

Ilya pulled up the team calendar.

Crimson_Claw: Will land around 4pm, we practice in Detroit in the morning.

Celestial_Ink: Can you come over that day?

Crimson_Claw: I think so, yes. Why?

Celestial_Ink: That’s the closest we will get to Christmas :) 

Crimson_Claw: You want to celebrate Christmas together?

Celestial_Ink: I know it’s not American Christmas, or New Year’s or Russian Christmas but I wanted to do something.

Celestial_Ink: Is that okay?

Crimson_Claw: Yes, is okay.

That’s all the enthusiasm he could bring up at the moment. Christmas with Shane… 

He gave himself ten more minutes. Another ten minutes then he would be fine.

___________________________

“Okay, so decorations, check, table is set, check, gift under the tree, check, food in the fridge or freezer, check, vodka in the freezer, check, coke and wine in the fridge, check, tea next to the kettle, check, movie in the DVD player, check, DVD player attached to the TV, check, bedroom stocked, check, what else…”

Shane was not panicking. No. He just checked for the third time if everything was in order and it was just to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything. He was definitely not panicking.

Okay, maybe he was panicking a little bit. Just a smidge. Just a teeny bit. Just a little taste of panic in his mouth, nothing to worry about.

“The fireplace!” Shane blurted out into the well decorated room.

He had used his fireplace about three times since moving here, even though it was a modern electrical one that wasn’t even complicated to fire up. He hurried over and put it on. Ilya had already texted that he was on his way from the airport, the fireplace was thankfully the only thing he hadn’t prepped in advance.

Yeah, so he was definitely panicking. He had the idea on Thanksgiving that it was a great choice to invite over Ilya who hadn’t celebrated Christmas properly in at least three years. The dates had lined up, so Shane had made it his mission to give Ilya the Christmas he deserved.

He stood up beside the fireplace and looked around the room. He really went all out. Was it too much? Oh God, it definitely was too much, wasn’t it? Fuck, he and Ilya weren’t even… 

Could he get away with saying he always decorated like this? No, Ilya knew he was never home during Christmas and the decoration was all his dad’s work at home, although Shane took care of the Christmas tree in the Hollander household every year, which paid off for his own one that spread out in the corner of the room. The pine scent had taken over his living space days ago, when he rescued one of the trees shortly before Christmas. It was a bit ugly and crooked, but Shane took a liking to it.

He should take some stuff down. The red and white tinsel was definitely a touch too much. Before he could change anything, his doorbell rang.

He straightened the sweater Ilya got him last year and opened the door.

“Hi!” Ilya’s face was adorned with a warm smile. He had his dark wool coat on, his shoulders and hair were speckled with snowflakes.

“Hi!” Shane stepped to the side and let him in. He took his shoes off and walked over to give Shane their first kiss of 2014.

“Happy New Year!” Ilya whispered against his lips.

“You already wrote me on the first,” Shane said a smidge confused.

“Mmm, does not count, New Year starts with kiss, yes?” Ilya brushed their noses against each other.

“Okay.” Shane pulled him back in to taste him again. A faint hint of coke and protein bar were on his lips, it should not have been as delicious as it was. Ilya let out a soft moan that Shane swallowed down. Shane didn’t want to break the kiss but was forced to by his annoying habit of needing air once in a while.

“Come, everything’s ready.” He gathered his courage and led Ilya down the hallway into the living space. Ilya was abruptly bolted to the floor when the decoration came into their view full force.

“Shane, did you do all this for me?” Ilya’s eyes were wide, his lips were parted in shock.

“Is it too much?" Shane asked with a hint of worry in his voice. "Sorry, I think I went overboard. You can get too much stuff on the internet when you have a credit card and an NHL salary these days, I should have…”

“No, Shane, this is… is beautiful, thank you.” The shock didn’t fully leave Ilya’s face, a sense of wonder was now mixed in, softening his edges ever so slightly.

“I said we are doing Christmas, so you’re getting Christmas." Shane turned back into host mode. "Sit down, I will get the food ready. What do you want to drink? I have vodka, coke, wine and I can make black tea, if you want.”

Shane was over in the open kitchen, leaving Ilya at the festive table he set up for the two of them. 

“Coke is fine, thank you,” Ilya said barely audibly.

Shane pulled out a coke and poured it into a glass before setting it down in front of Ilya. He went back into the kitchen, retrieving the pelmeni he had made and frozen three days ago and gently lowering them into the boiling broth on his stove. He had done a full test run in the last week of December, getting the kinks out of his technique with the help of several Youtube videos.

He used the time the pelmeni would need to put out the salad Olivier and shuba from the fridge as well as the kolach bread from his pantry where he placed it this morning after he went to the Eastern European deli across town. He barely made it out of there, the store clerks all trying to feed him, one saying he was too skinny with his 200 pounds.

Ilya was sitting quietly at the table while Shane was shuffling around him, spreading out everything they needed. He rescued the pelmeni from the broth and grabbed the Russian sour cream from the fridge before finally sitting down with his ginger ale and lighting the candles. Ilya was still not saying anything, his eyes unfocused in the direction of the flames dancing on the wicks.

“Hey, are you okay?” Shane reached over to squeeze Ilya’s hand in his lap. Ilya gave a small nod, his gaze still unfocused.

“Are you hungry?” Shane didn’t know if he had done anything wrong. He had tried to research as best as he could about traditional Russian holiday food and then narrowed it down to things he could get and make, but perhaps he didn’t put enough effort into it.

Ilya turned his head towards Shane and then leaned in to kiss him softly, stroking his cheek with a remarkable tenderness. He pulled away briefly, searching in Shane’s eyes for something before dipping back in for another one. Shane melted faster into the touch than the candles ever could.

“You did all of this for me?” Ilya repeated his question from before.

“Well, I hope I get some of it, too," Shane replied. "The shuba with the herring and the beets was interesting to make, I don’t know if I will like it but I want to try. I really hope I made it correctly. You have to tell me, if it’s how you like it, I have no frame of reference.” 

“Thank you, Shane.” Ilya gave him another quick peck.

“Thank you for being here. Okay, what do you want to eat first?” Shane clapped his hands together before grabbing the bowl with the salad Olivier.

They dug through the different dishes with gusto. There was an overwhelming amount of mayonnaise and sour cream in the dishes Shane made, a fact he maybe should have calculated before, but Ilya didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Ilya was shoveling food into his mouth like it was his last meal on the planet.

Between a mouthful of shuba and a slice of kolach bread Ilya found a moment to speak. “Shane, this is all very good, I cannot believe you did all this. Thank you.” Shane couldn’t help but smile under the praise.

When they cleaned up the table, Shane made them black tea and set the teapot on a tray together with the Russian tea cakes he made.

“The internet said, it’s unsure if they are actually from Russia but they seemed doable. I almost made medovik but that sounded very complicated. Maybe you can show me at some point?” Shane asked.

“I can do that.” Ilya took the tray and they made themselves comfortable on the couch.

“I thought, we could watch a movie together, if you want to?" Shane perked up on the couch. "I don’t know if it’s a thing in Russia but it’s a thing in the Hollander household.”

“What movie?” Ilya let his hand run over Shane's arm.

“Have you seen How the Grinch Stole Christmas? The Jim Carrey one?” Shane grabbed the empty DVD box from the table.

Ilya grabbed it and turned it around in his hand. “I have not seen that one.”

“Good, then let’s watch it together.”

Shane got the TV ready before taking his tea and the plate of tea cakes and snuggling up into Ilya who put his free arm around Shane’s waist. They watched Whoville be terrorized by the Grinch after he was humiliated by the Whos before he returned all the Christmas gifts and they had a feast together, thanks to Cindy Lou Who.

“Do you want your present?” Ilya asked behind him when the credits rolled.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Shane made his way over to the tree to sit beside Ilya’s present. Ilya joined him with whatever he brought hidden behind his back. Shane gave him the box he had wrapped yesterday for around twenty minutes until he was fully happy with it. Ilya opened the big bow and carefully loosened the paper until he could open the box underneath.

“So," Shane started, "you said a couple of times you have neck pain after long flights. That’s a travel pillow you can put around your neck so you can sleep on the plane. And that is something called a Theragun. It’s not on the market yet but you can massage yourself with it. You know if you ever ignore your pain again and I’m not there to do it. Our PT who transferred from LA uses it on us regularly, so I asked if she can get me one and through some contacts, I got you one made.”

“These are great, thank you Shane. Okay, now you open mine.” Ilya handed over a much smaller package. Shane slid off the bow and popped the lid of the little jewelry box.

“You said we cannot have friendship bracelets but I thought key chain is okay?” Ilya sheepishly held up his own keys where a side profile of a golden bear sitting on its behind with its head towards the sky was dangling. Shane looked in the box and found a golden sun glancing down on a key ring. When he looked at the back, there was a little bear paw print that could be mistaken for a logo of a company. Ilya turned his and there was a sun in a similar fashion engraved.

Shane leaped into Ilya’s lap and hugged him as tight as possible.

“You like it?” Ilya was chuckling against Shane’s shoulder.

“I love it, thank you so much."

He pulled his head back just enough to kiss Ilya senseless into the rug underneath them. Ilya let his hands glide over Shane’s body until he reached his butt and squeezed it, making Shane roll his pelvis against Ilya’s.

“Fuck, Shane. You want me to fuck you in front of fireplace, hm?” Ilya kissed the corner of Shane’s mouth before wandering along his jaw with his teeth, briefly deactivating any usable brain cells Shane had. When one came back online he considered the suggestion thoroughly.

“Bedroom? I think we would get rug burns.” He knew his face was scrunching up but he didn’t stop it this time as he knew how much Ilya liked it for whatever reason. Ilya nodded and they moved into the other room.

Ilya sat down on the edge of the bed, Shane stepping between his legs. Ilya’s hands wandered under the sweater, spreading his hands across Shane’s back. His hands were calloused and warm, scratching just enough at his skin to force a soft moan from his mouth. Ilya rucked up the sweater and placed kisses over the exposed skin of Shane’s abs and chest until the first piece of clothing made its way to the ground. 

Shane pulled off the black turtle neck Ilya had looked phenomenal in. His fingers grazed through Ilya’s hair for a moment before he tucked Ilya’s head back to kiss him. The tenderness the whole evening was soaked in was still underneath it all but the desire for the man in front of him rose up and up and up until he had no other choice but to climb into Ilya’s lap and grind down on him.

“I need… fuck, I need….” Shane was panting, desperately trying to get any oxygen into his lungs and words out of his mouth. Ilya was breathtakingly beautiful, looking up at him with hooded eyes, messed up hair and lips that were plumped up even more from all the kissing.

Ilya answered by flipping Shane onto the bed. He pulled off both of their remaining clothes and climbed on top of him. His breath was struggling just as much as Shane’s.

“What do you need, solnyshko?” Ilya was hovering just inches over Shane’s face.

“You. Just you. Please fuck me, Ilya.” Shane pulled him down to join their lips, his tongue demanding entrance into Ilya’s mouth. Shane started to feel jittery, his whole body vibrating under Ilya’s attention.

“Hey, shhh, shhhh. I have you.” Ilya ran a soothing hand over Shane’s side.

“Sorry, I just… I missed you.” Shane looked deep into Ilya's softening eyes.

“Is okay, I missed you, too.” Ilya’s mouth was back on his, while his hand grabbed the lube that was on the night stand.

Ilya rolled on his side, pulling Shane on his side as well. Ilya hitched Shane’s leg up over his hip and pulled Shane as close as possible. He continued to kiss his mouth, his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose, anywhere he could reach.

Ilya coated two fingers of one hand and reached around Shane to open him up, The other wrapped around Shane’s throbbing length, swiping over the head to spread the precum for a better glide. The movement of his hands were entirely unhurried, driving Shane to the brink of insanity with how gentle Ilya was prepping him. 

Ilya added more lube to his fingers and added a third. Shane had his hand now around Ilya’s dick, keeping the same pace as Ilya, who rocked into Shane’s hand. His head was tucked in the crook of Shane’s neck where he was switching between wet kisses and hot breaths on the skin there.

“Oh fuck, Shane, you are so… can I fuck you?” His voice came out as shaky as Shane was feeling.

“Ilya, yes, please, please fuck me,” Shane whimpered out, he didn’t care how needy he sounded. He was needy. For Ilya. Always for Ilya.

“Turn over.” Ilya took his hands off of Shane so that he could turn his back to Ilya. Ilya got a condom on and the lube spread over it. Shane bent his upper leg to 90 degrees and used one of his hands to pull his cheeks apart to give Ilya easier access. Ilya nudged Shane’s hole with his cock. Shane’s head rolled back, his face now towards the ceiling, making it possible for Ilya to see every small change in his facial expression when he entered Shane in one smooth, slow and steady glide until he was fully flush with Shane.

Ilya stayed like this, letting Shane shift around him, accommodating his full length with practiced ease, Shane’s walls gripping him tight and wanting.

Shane had let go of his cheek, his hand now twisted in the sheet. Ilya let his own hand wander over it, intertwining their fingers and pulling their hands to Shane’s chest.

Shane grew impatient, rocking his hips back and forth, fucking himself on Ilya’s cock in slow-motion.

“Fuck, Shane." Ilya was lightly panting into Shane's ear. "Look at you, you need my cock so badly, hmmm? You can fuck yourself better on it. Come on, show me.”

Shane’s hip rocks rose in amplitude on command, slutty little noises now a constant ever growing stream babbling from his mouth.

“Please, Ilya. I need… fuck… I need more.” Shane could feel his lips trembling, his unfocused eyes searching for Ilya’s face behind him.

“You can have everything, solnyshko,” Ilya whispered with an unbearable amount of tenderness.

Finally, finally, Shane could feel Ilya rolling his hips against him, them moving in tandem, Ilya continuously gliding along Shane’s prostate, sending sparks all over him.

“More Ilya please more please Ilya more please please please.” Shane was begging, crying, praying for more.

Ilya got his elbow under him to pepper the side of Shane’s face with kisses, nibbling at his ear and breathing hot air down his neck. 

He untangled their hands, laid Shane’s on Ilya’s hip and snaked his own down Shane’s body until his hand was fisted around Shane’s cock that twitched at the touch. He snapped his hips in time with the strokes.

“Shane… Shane…”

Shane didn’t hear any other word from Ilya’s mouth, no curses, no commands, no pleas that weren’t Shane’s name and Shane’s name only, replacing them all.

Shane felt like he was floating above the mattress. So much of his body was touching Ilya, every inch of it buzzing where they were connected. He lost control of his hands that were digging deeper into what they could grab. The rhythm in what Ilya was pounding into him quickened, Ilya’s hand flying over Shane’s erection in time, until it all fell apart into an indescribable blur of sensations that made his spine curve. His eyes screwed shut while he screamed out Ilya’s name as his cum spurted across the sheets.

Ilya stilled, his cock buried to the hilt in Shane’s ass, riding out his own orgasm with small pulses inside Shane.

Shane’s body relaxed and melted into the mattress. Ilya placed languid kisses on Shane’s shoulders and neck. They were still joined together.

In the distance, somewhere in the corner of Shane’s brain a singular thought formed.

I want this forever.

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• To the person who was excited about the San José mention, have another one: eBay was founded on the 3rd of September 1995 in San José.
• Shoutout to Dead_Mans_Run for the suggestion of the Chicago team name: “In Willa Cather's 1918 book My Antonia the real town of Red Cloud, Nebraska was renamed to the fictional Black Hawk, Nebraska; and the real-life Chicago team is the Blackhawks.” 
• On why I didn’t give Shane an eating problem/disorder (skip if it’s a sensitive topic for you): In the HR book, he doesn’t have a problem. In the show, it’s a throwaway line. We see him eat tuna melts, burgers, fries, pasta and drink alcohol. I don’t know why they chose it but the macrobiotic diet is a fad diet that was sold to people as a cure for cancer (😒) and barely suitable for people who aren't professional athletes. An NHL player needs around 4-6k calories a day from what I read. That’s double to triple what most of us normies eat. I just use calories as an estimate, it’s also important how the food is put together and when he eats it for optimal effects. A fad diet like that is not sustainable in any way for him. In TLG, he clearly does have a problem that I would describe as orthorexia (we can of course disagree here) but that’s not because he is picky but he is struggling to keep control over his life (which he clearly states), which is not the same. Control is a core part of EDs. I would tag it if I ever chose to include that in another fic. That is not to say that I don’t find it important to include and talk about EDs! They are the deadliest type of mental health disorders after all.
• Leaving a quick space to breathe before the next bullet point.
• I tried my best looking for Russian holiday foods, I hope I got it somewhat correct. Shoutout to pescatrice and their colleague for the help. Please check out their fic “The Fake Plant”. It's Ilya’s therapy from the perspective of Galina, written by a licensed therapist!  
• (As all recipes, they have variations, this is what I found) Salad Olivier is a potato salad with veggies, mayo, eggs and sometimes meat. Shuba is "herring under a fur coat", aka herring layered with beets, eggs, veggies, onions, pickles and mayo. Kolach bread is a circular or wheel shaped celebratory bread. Pelmeni are meat dumplings that are usually served with sour cream. They can also be fried. Medovik is a notoriously highly difficult honey cake. Russian tea cakes are simple cookies. Shane gave you the "correct" info that the internet says it's not clear if they are Russian. They are also called Mexican wedding cookie. (Black) tea is very popular in Russia.
• How the Grinch stole Christmas was released on November 8, 2000. I saw it in the theater with my family on Christmas when I was little.
• The Theragun (massage gun) was launched in 2016. It was invented in 2007 by Dr. Jason Wersland in LA though and there were similar much clunkier things before. We just go with “Shane has pro athlete privileges and got one”. Also, I had to go to LinkedIn for the info where that guy is from, I hate LinkedIn so much. If I have to read about one more business consultant talking about their work like they are saving the world via Excel sheets, I might need a new brain, cause the current one will give up.

 

I say this every chapter but I really love reading every single comment, no matter if it’s a heart or an essay. Before writing a fic myself, I underestimated how much it means. So if you aren’t sure if you should comment under a fic you liked: do it. Leave something nice for the authors, leave a heart, quote your favorite line, or a whole essay, they will in 99.9% of the cases be really happy about it even if they don't manage to answer!

Chapter 16: Herculean efforts

Chapter Summary

Ilya learns that his actions have consequences.

Chapter Notes

Hi, thank you so much for all the love on the last chapter!! All the comments made me so happy, it was insane to get double the comments all of a sudden, I love them all!!! Please keep them coming!
This chapter also make this over 100k words, which is NUTS!
Heads up for angst. The boys are spiraling.

February, 20th 2014

Humiliated in Sochi: Russian ice hockey team out of the Olympics

Ilya was staring down from the highest point of the Iceberg Skating Palace in Sochi to watch the women’s free skating final. Team Russia had lost two days ago in the Bolshoy Ice Dome against Norway in the qualification playoffs after a mediocre performance in the group. They didn’t even manage to make it to the quarter finals.

He was careful not to be spotted by the press or, frankly, by anyone. He opted out of wearing his official Team Russia gear and went with all black attire. The dark corner was enough coverage for no one to spot him if they weren’t actively looking for him. He just wanted to see his mother’s favorite sport in peace.

Disastrous performance: Russia’s hockey team fall early in the tournament

Disastrous wasn’t even beginning to describe what went down in the Russian team. One ego bigger than the other. Their one good goalie hurt right from the start. Things happening behind the scenes Ilya would rather not know about.

Embarrassment on home ice: Russian ice hockey team loses against underdog

Home ice. What home ice. Ilya didn’t feel any connection to the Sochi ice. Hell, there was a beach right around the corner. Ilya still found it bizarre that ice hockey teams existed in warmer climates. Whose idea was it to put on the whole Winter Olympic games in a beach town. And even if they held it in a colder Russian town… The ‘home’ Olympics would always be just one more thing that forced him back to Russia against his will.

A disgrace for the hockey team: Ilya Rozanov leads Russia to first round out

As if Ilya had not tried to organize his team when the coaches had not gotten their shit together. As if the veterans had not been furious that Ilya, the American traitor, had been the captain and not one of the KHL players. As if Ilya had not still outperformed them all.

They might as well have called Ilya’s father for that headline, it was right out of his thorough book of insults. The press blamed Ilya, the team blamed Ilya and most of all his father blamed Ilya. And even Ilya was starting to blame Ilya.

The day after the loss he had been forced to go to a gala with his father. The light behind Grigori’s eyes was slowly disappearing. The worst thing? He was actually bearable when he would forget who Ilya was. Just someone there he could blankly stare at. Sometimes, Grigori was even somewhat friendly to him until he remembered who Ilya was. 

At the gala, Grigori had been lively amongst the other stuffy suits, suddenly perfectly able to recount all of Ilya’s wrong doings while he could not even bind the bow tie on his own that night. Ilya would have laughed if he hadn’t dissociated into another dimension at that point of the evening. Not even the high quality vodka had helped.

He was unsure if he had fully returned from the place in his mind he went to yesterday. He should feel more anger, more disappointment, more everything but it was all stuffed down somewhere leaving his body and mind empty and exhausted.

He pulled out his phone to look at the message again.

February 18th, 2014

Shane: Are you okay? You played very well even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.

He had talked to Shane the morning after their Christmas celebration about Sochi.

“Shane, we cannot see each other in Sochi, okay?”

“Do you mean we can't say hi or like private meetups?”

“No private meetups, is very risky.”

“Yeah, I… I read about the propaganda laws. I don’t know how Joe and the others will do it, it sounds fucking dangerous.”

“No private meetups with any man.”

“... O…kay.”

Shane had been hesitant when Ilya mentioned other men. Had Ilya overstepped? He just wanted to protect Shane.

“Hi…”

Ilya whipped his head around to where the familiar voice came from. Shane was standing there, hands in his Team Canada jacket, his nose and cheeks rosy from the cold in the stadium highlighting his freckles, his hair haphazardly combed and from the looks of it pushed through repeatedly with his hands like he did when he got nervous.

Ilya glanced at him for a moment, soaking him all up before his head went back to the front without saying a word. Shane carefully stepped into his periphery like he didn’t want to spook him.

“Are you okay? I don’t know if you saw my text. Pretty shit team they got you.”

It took Ilya all his strength to not run into Shane’s arms, bury his face into his shoulder and cry until there was nothing left.

“You need to go.” He didn’t dare to look over in fear of what he would find. The softness in Shane’s eyes, the concern, the pity.

Shane was putting his words together very slowly when he spoke again.

“I thought we…” 

“There is no we here. Go.” 

Ilya closed his eyes, trying not to let the feelings boil over. This was just Shane’s version of saying hi. He should have said no to saying hi as well but he had not considered that this was a possible outcome. This needed to not happen, they couldn’t be alone in a dark corner, this was too dangerous.

He didn’t hear Shane leave. Shit.

“Okay, you can text me, if you want to.”

Ilya opened his eyes again, Shane was still frozen on the spot, sunken into himself ever so slightly, fidgeting with the zipper of his pocket while searching Ilya’s face frantically.

“Go.” Ilya swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “Please.”

He forced himself to breathe evenly. He couldn’t break down here. Not in Russia, not after their loss and not in any case in front of Shane.

Shane jerked his head to a nod before he vanished out of Ilya’s view.

Ilya counted slowly to thirty before shaking it off and leaving the arena.

Shane had checked in with him. Between the possible danger, horrible press and Shane still very much in the Olympic tournament on his way to snatch gold, he still had checked in with Ilya. Putting him in front of everything else like Ilya was more important to him.

It dawned on Ilya right then and there. He had been so afraid of losing Shane for so long that he hadn’t prepared for having Shane.

Shane had only ever seen snippets of him. At max, they had been together for three days during All-Stars. It was easy to cover all the shit in your baggage for three days. There was no way Shane would want him, even look at him if he knew what the whole package of Ilya Rozanov entailed.

He had played with fire for too long. He had been greedy for Shane, taking everything he could get from him, luring him into a fake sense of security until Shane had let down all his defenses, trusting Ilya, caring for Ilya, lov… no. 

No.

Ilya had been reckless. He needed to stop. For once in his life, he had to be the responsible one. He had to force himself to step away before he could put Shane in any more danger than he already had. They hadn’t been caught, not yet. This was reversible, Shane could still go on and find actual happiness instead of binding himself to Ilya and his shitshow. 

Shane deserved better.

___________________________

April 27th, 2014

Shane was sitting at the kitchen table, once again staring at his phone.

Two months. 

Nothing.

No text.

No Snapchat message.

No call.

No visit.

Nothing.

Ilya had ignored him since Sochi. Shane came home with a gold medal around his neck and a sourness in his stomach that had nothing to do with the food in the Olympic village.

He had done something wrong at that ice rink. But where exactly did it go so poorly?

He tried to check in with the person he was publicly friends with. Okay, the location hadn’t been the most public one but that was the place he had found Ilya in.

All of Ilya's usual bright and vibrant energy had been forcefully extracted from him, leaving a pale shell of the man Shane had come to adore over all these years.

He should have just left him alone. Everyone took losses differently and some just hit harder than others. But Shane had felt the deep-seated urge to see him, to check in on him, to know he was as okay as he could in his situation and perhaps even to help him.

He had pushed and pushed and pushed until it all broke in two under the pressure. He should have known what he had with Ilya wouldn’t last. He had sunken so deeply in the warmth and comfort he was feeling around Ilya that he hadn’t seen how much he wanted from him. Too much. He was too much. He needed too much. They weren’t even together and Shane put on a whole Christmas spectacle. Of course that had been too much. Fucking hell.

He opened his phone again just to hurt himself some more with his idiocy.

Feb 18th, 2014

Shane: Are you okay? You played very well even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.

Feb 20th, 2014

Shane: Sorry for before. Call?

Feb 26th, 2014

Shane: I’m home. Are you free?

March 8th, 2014

Shane: You looked really good against Detroit.

Shane: Are you coming over next week?

March 19th, 2014

Shane: Can we just talk, please?

Shane: I want to know what I did wrong.

April 12th, 2014

Shane: It’s okay if you don’t want to see me anymore.

Shane: But please at least tell me why.

Yep, still pathetic. He had tried to talk to Ilya on the ice, but he had gotten no reaction. He hadn’t even looked at him.

He hadn’t realized how often he had talked to Ilya before that. It had practically been daily. Even in the most stressful of times, there had always been a message waiting for Shane.

The silence was all consuming. He hadn’t been able to focus on much else. He had barely registered when the GM finally forced Theriault to do the changes Shane suggested. It had helped that Ryan had been called up for the Olympic team after a defenseman had been injured and Shane had used his captain’s leverage to campaign for Ryan to play with JJ. The Olympic coach had been easily convinced by the tapes Shane had gotten him and after their win Bouchard had little arguments left.

They had made it through to the playoffs in a wildcard spot but had fallen in the first round to Tampa. Shane hadn’t played badly by any means but it still felt like he could only lose anywhere he went.

His season was over and all that meant was that he had even more time to perish in his misery. He paced through his kitchen, the rhythm under his feet forcing his thoughts to move with it.

Okay maybe… maybe it would be good to give it one last try. He needed to try one last time. He had almost followed that impulse before.

After the last loss and consequential slightly drunken night at home he was very close to just sending Ilya a pic of his butt because that usually got a reaction out of him. He had found his last shred of dignity to avoid that humiliation.

But a normal message couldn't hurt, right?

“One last try,” he said into the empty living space to no one but himself.

He was in the middle of trying to type out his swan song when his phone started ringing. He had two missed calls from JJ already.

Incoming call: Ryan Price

Ignoring JJ, who was basically always calling someone at all times, was one thing. But Ryan? That might actually be urgent.

“Hey Ryan.” 

“Hi Shane.”

“What’s up?” He forced himself to not sound fully miserable. He failed.

“So… JJ called me. He said something about err… a bar he is at. He wants me to come and he said he couldn’t reach you, so I thought I would try,” Ryan explained.

Ryan had come out of his shell little by little even with Theriault being an ass to him for half a year. The camaraderie around hating their coach’s decisions helped speed the bonding process along. But asking Shane to go to a bar with him was still a big step.

Shane had a quick decision to make: Stay at home and suffer in solitude or go out and… well still suffer but with people around.

“You haven’t been out in a while with us. I don’t know what’s going on but… would be nice to hang out.” Ryan tried to sound casual but there was some underlying concern resonating under that.

Okay, great, the universe found a way to remind him that there were even more things he should have worried about sooner. He had been a shit friend the last two months, hadn’t he? 

He couldn’t even explain to anyone in his team why he was so distant. Hayden had accidentally guessed correctly when he had offhandedly said that Shane looked heartbroken even though he won gold in Sochi. Shane didn’t quench his hunch when he just left the locker room after the comment. There was no answer that he could give. Hayden hadn’t pushed any further but ever since then Shane had been feeling perceived in a way he hated.

“Shane?” 

Right, he hadn’t said anything since the ‘what’s up’.

“Yeah, sure, can you send me the address?” He got an immediate ping with the location. “Do you know who’s coming?”

“I think only a few from the team, Andy, Schneids, Berty. JJ also said something about some actors or singers, I didn’t fully get that, the bar was kinda loud. But it’s a private event, so should be good on people annoying you.”

“Well, and you. We saw what happened on the mini golf course.”

A family from Nova Scotia had discovered them when they had gone there last time. The kids had been maybe five or six and had been so excited to meet them that they had started climbing Ryan before their dad, who had been an enforcer in the AHL for two years, could stop them. Ryan hadn’t looked like he minded the kids too much but it had still been a whole ordeal, drawing even more attention to them so they had ultimately decided to cut their visit short.

“See you there in an hour?”

“See you there.”

___________________________

April 28th, 2014

Ilya’s alarm mercilessly went off. 

Game day. 

Second round of playoffs.

He was exceptionally lucky Montreal played like absolute dogshit. Otherwise, he would be facing them instead of the Tampa Bay Leaves and he didn’t know if he would survive more games against Shane without talking to him.

It had been the right decision. It had to be. It was all Ilya could do. 

Shane would get over him. He would realize that it was for his best and then he would stop trying to text him. He couldn’t bring himself to block Shane. That amongst everything else he had done somehow felt too mean. Or he just wanted to punish himself for getting them as far into this as he had, inflicting pain on the one person that had cared for him.

He blindly searched for his phone to turn off the alarm. He forced his eyes open to check his messages.

April 27th, 2014

Shane: Please Ilya.

He forced a long, shaky breath out. It had been over two weeks, he had really hoped Shane would have hated him enough by now to not write to him anymore. 

This was worse than he thought. He had planted himself so firmly in Shane’s life that he wouldn’t let go of him. He had to know that Ilya was nothing more than a problem when it came to relationships that went beyond the surface. Ilya was pleading to the gods he didn’t believe in to give Shane the strength to leave him behind in the dust where he belonged. 

Ilya was too weak to tell him, taking the coward’s way out. He couldn’t explain it to him without revealing how much he felt for Shane and that would make it so much worse. Shane would try to make a plan on how to make it work but there was no way. Ilya wouldn’t change. The conditions they were under wouldn’t either.

They had been doomed from the beginning and now fate had collected the debt they were in.

He forced himself out of bed to make breakfast and start his pre game routine before looking at the group chat.

There were the usual logistics until he found the message that made his breakfast almost make a u-turn in his stomach.

Conny: Yo, did you guys see this? 

Conny: [link]

Conny: Hollander landed himself a fucking movie star!

Ilya’s hand was shaking when he clicked the link.

___________________________

TMZ

NHL superstar and Hollywood darling out in Montreal!

By Jamie Lancaster

published on April 28th, 2014

Do we finally have a new athlete/actress power couple on the horizon?

NHL captain Shane Hollander and X-Squad star Rose Landry were spotted last night in a Montreal bar, chatting for hours before leaving the venue together.

[Photo gallery]

Landry is in Montreal for the upcoming X-Squad sequel and went out with some of her co-stars to the new hot spot Moi-Moi for a private event where she mingled with the Montreal Voyageurs including their captain, Shane Hollander, who was voted sexiest man in the NHL by Cosmopolitan last summer!

Sources say, the pair was seen in a booth away from everyone else, talking intensely to each other, sharing fries while looking deep into each other’s eyes.

They exited the bar together at around 2 a.m., unclear if they took the same car or not.

[Photo gallery]

Landry has talked in the past about her love for hockey which she shares with her family. And Hollander has always seemed like a calm personality in the high pressure environment of professional hockey.

We are sure: These lovebirds are a match made in heaven!

___________________________

Ilya was leaning over the sink. If he were to throw up, at least the clean up could be minimal.

There. That is what he wanted. Shane happy. With someone else.

Did it have to be a fucking movie star?

Of course it would be a movie star. He had been privy to being close to Shane for years, of course he would immediately find someone like Rose fucking Landry who was the complete and devastating opposite of what Ilya had to offer.

Safety, public acceptance, happiness. None of which were in Ilya’s repertoire.

He pulled a coke out of the fridge, his go to when his stomach was upset. And right now, it felt like his stomach was making its way out of Ilya together with the toast, bacon and eggs he just ate. He sank to the floor against his fridge. He tried to ignore that he still hadn’t taken out the ginger ale he always had on hand for Shane.

He pressed his forehead to his thighs, trying to find any breathing pattern that would not send his lungs flying out of him. How the fuck was he supposed to be the captain of an NHL team on a playoffs run today?

The gods heard you at last. This was your wish.

The tears were soaking his sweatpants before he could stop them.

He never deserved Shane. And now, Shane knew that, too.

___________________________

Articles kept dropping for days, using pictures from different angles of the same scene. Ilya could remodel the whole scene of them leaving the bar in 3D in his head at this point. On the day of game two of the conference final against the New Jersey Blue Devils, new pictures appeared online. A second date.

Ilya swiped through the new material, unable to stop himself. They looked infuriatingly gorgeous together. Shane looked as relaxed and comfy as you could when a hoard of paparazzi was chasing you. Shane was in front of Rose Landry, trying to protect her from the photographers while she had her hand on his back. Someone made a gif from a series of pictures of her smiling while she dragged her hand down his sweater.

Ilya almost dropped his phone when he realized why he looked so comfy. He wore the sweater that Ilya gifted him for Christmas last year to his date with Rose Landry. His hands started twitching, his jaw locked from the pressure he put on his teeth.

He opened his text chain with Shane but stopped himself before he could do any more damage. It wasn’t his place to be angry.

But he was.

The fury was pulsing through his veins like injected poison and made his whole body run hot and cold at the same time. That was the sweater Tommaso had done overtime for as a favor to Ilya. That Ilya had paid triple the normal price for express manufacturing plus the same amount as a tip. That was the sweater he had specifically ordered for him so he could be more comfortable. That was the sweater he had peeled off of him after Shane gave Ilya his best Christmas in over a decade, maybe ever.

The sweater wasn’t his. Shane wasn’t his. He never was.

“Fuck this shit.” He spat out in the empty living space.

He still had hockey. He still had a team to lead, a city to please and a Cup to win. That was what counted right now. That was what had to count right now. 

He had a conference final to win. And then some poor Western team to defeat, whoever made it between the Nashville Arctic Pistons and the San Jose Steel Orcas.

___________________________

They ran over New Jersey with ease in a 4-1 series, ready to take on San Jose in the finals. The team outings had drastically reduced to team dinners only. No bar, pubs or clubs, which was a relief for Ilya. He had no interest in sitting in a club, getting shit-faced drunk just to be depressed that he had zero interest in dancing or taking anyone home anymore.

The press already hailed it to be a legendary run before they even started the Cup finals. If he continued like this, he could break the record for most points in a playoffs run.

He ignored most of the banter these days in the locker room. The boys had stopped teasing him about it when they had seen how serious Ilya had gotten. They had chalked it up to the playoffs, people change under the pressure. 

He didn’t yell anymore than usual. He didn’t snap or make fun of anyone. He was eerily calm and focused on the task ahead and the team followed his example. The only time he let himself a bit loose was in the ten minutes after they won a game. After that his brain went back into reviewing his last game and prepping for the next game while the rest of the team took on the celebration duties.

___________________________

“Remember what I told you before the first game of this season? I told you we are going for the fucking Cup. We started our run at the first game and today will cross the finish line. They are strong. But we are fucking stronger. They are fast. But we are fucking faster. They want it. But we fucking want it more. So remember what fucking got you here. This team. The people next to you. We are winning this as a fucking unit and they will not know what is coming for them. Everything you put into this, the bruises, the pain, the work every fucking practice, every fucking game, every single fucking day. Today is the fucking day to collect your reward. The Cup belongs to us and no one will take this away. So get the fuck out there and take what’s fucking yours, do you understand?”

“Yes captain!”

“I said: DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?”

“YES CAPTAIN!” Twenty-two burly men shouted in unison. LeClaire gave him a nod from across the room, his knowing eyes filled with pride for the teenager he drafted five years ago who developed into a leader for this team. Ilya was not about to disappoint him.

The game was rough and exhausting. The Steel Orcas smelled the blood in the water, fighting for their last chance to turn this series around. But Ilya wouldn’t let them. Marly wouldn’t let them. Hammy, Carmy, Conny, Vicky… they all held their ground. One unit playing like their life depended on it.

When the final buzzer rang, the team piled onto their captain, screaming at him, shaking him, squishing him between him. Ilya’s whole body was shaking. He achieved his goal. All the sacrifices paying off, everything he fought for in this grueling sport came to one conclusion: he was a Stanley Cup winner.

He made it over to the commissioner who he gave an extra sweaty handshake before hoisting the Cup over his head. He tilted his face towards the sky to speak to his mother in the proudest moment of his life.

Thank you mama. This is for you.

He didn’t know when he started crying but he had no ounce of care. He knew the TD Garden ice by heart, he could skate around blind with the Cup over his head to show to the fans that screamed them through the grueling playoffs to the Cup if he had to. And with the amount of tears running over his cheeks, he was pretty fucking close to that.

He handed over the Cup to his alternate.

“For you, Marly.”

“Thank you, brother.”

Marly’s eyes were filled with tears, too, when he nodded to Ilya before performing the same ritual Ilya just did. The Cup was passed around and the ice filled with family and closed ones. Ilya skirted around the periphery, saying hi to the WAGs and some of the kids he met before.

He tried to not think about Shane, he really did. Standing here with his team surrounded by their loved ones made that task impossible. Shane was the last captain to touch the Cup. Had he kissed the same spot Ilya just did? Had he dedicated it to his mother like Ilya? Had he wanted Ilya to be there as well?

“Hey cap, time to go party, eh?” Marly put a hand on his shoulder blade and pushed him towards the exit.

“I can skate, Marly!” He replied while looking playfully mad at his best friend.

“You didn’t look like it tonight.” Marly was honest to god giggling at him.

“Fuck off, I got two goals for us.” Ilya held up his index and middle finger just to make sure Marly didn’t miss the number.

“I got the buzzer beater!” Marly pulled his mouth into a deep frown.

“We were already up two goals.” He held the fingers up higher. Marly had a couple of concussions after all.

“It was still a good goal!” Marly threw his hands out gesturing across the ice towards the opponent’s goal.

“Yes, yes, you did great. I am proud of you. I love you. Now, can we get a fucking drink?”

The locker room was covered in plastic tarp to avoid ruining the walls with champagne, beer and whatever else they got their hands on. They were all dripping in booze in the shortest amount of time. They managed to pour a whole bottle of champagne down their coach’s suit when Hammy tackled him to the wall. LeClaire was laughing the whole time, trying to swat Hammy away with the clipboard in his hand.

The night was chaotic in the best way. They were champions and they were treated as such. Ilya and Vicky were singing some French song neither of them really knew. Ilya taught Marly some of his latin dance moves when the DJ switched to a row of song with Samba rhythms. He played a drinking game he didn’t understand with Conny and Carmy until Hammy explained it to them and then they switched to a different one because they didn’t like the rules.

Ilya could just take someone home. He probably should, it had been too many months. But even with the euphoria of the Cup, the desire to fuck someone without broad shoulders, freckles and a Stanley Cup win from 2013 didn’t come. Fine. 

He scrolled through the congratulatory messages. Nothing from his father. Nothing from his brother. His drunken eyes found a different message instead.

Shane: Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.

Ilya typed out three words and sent them before his intoxicated brain caught up to what his hands were doing.

Ilya: I miss you.

Ilya stared at his own message.

5:02 a.m. Message read

Fuck.

Chapter End Notes

Deep breaths everyone, we will get through this together. I had to stop writing several times and go pet my cats. If you can’t do that, get a cat, hello?

Two of you sniffed out the dooming Rose Landry tag, I am proud of both of you and apologize for the preemptive stress that caused.

You will get Shane’s input next chapter, promise. That will bring some... checks notes... clarity. Roll credits.

Welcome to the newsletter!

• Russia went out in the quarter finals in the Sochi Olympics, so not much better than what Ilya is going through here. Canada won gold and I ain’t giving that the US team, fuck those guys (even though it was a different team and also fiction with a different different team. No.). Ryan can have it instead, he deserves it.
• The dates and places I gave you are correct to when and where the events for figure skating and men's hockey happened.  
• I’m not an expert on Russian anti-LGBTQ laws. From what I understand, in June 2013 a law was passed that prohibits the "propaganda of non-traditional sexual relationships" to minors (it was expanded to everyone later), which is not banning queerness directly but clearly targeted. Officially, you would have to pay a fine, foreigners could get arrested for up to 15 days and deported. There weren’t many prosecutions in the beginning but it slowly rose. The bigger threat would probably have been to be the victim of a hate crime. Please inform yourself, if you want to know more, I can only do so much here.
• The 2014 Stanley Cup playoffs introduced the system where the first round was split by division with the two divisions in the Eastern conference on one side of the bracket and the two divisions in the Western conference on the other. It also introduced the wildcards. Montreal and Boston are in the same division so they would have to meet in round 1 or 2. Round 3 would be the conference final against someone from the metropolitan division (NY, NJ, Philly…), round 4 are the finals against a Western conference team.
• Shane is too deep in his spiral to use Snapchat (exception would be for the butt pic he didn’t send).
• Yes, I named the New Jersey team after the team mascot in Easy A, I have seen that film way too many times and somehow not enough. 
• Orcas are known to attack sailors by bumping into their boats.  In their defence, they are often bumped against by boats, so boats = enemies.
• To add a samba rhythm is not unusual for club music. For latin ballroom dance, it’s most often characterized by a two beat split into 3/4, 1/4, full beat pattern. (There are more possible rhythms, but this is the most commonly known one/you can hear) Examples are Boasty by Wiley, Stefflon Don, Sean Paul, Idris Elba , Kiss and Make Up by Dua Lipa & BLACKPINK  or Şımarık by Tarkan. Again, apologies to the Brazilians. Did I leave you with some happy music here on purpose? Maybe.

As I said in the beginning, all the comments were so great and supportive. Thank you again! I hope you will leave some more.

Chapter 17: What happens in Vegas...

Chapter Summary

Vegas 2014 but they talk.

Chapter Notes

Hello, I’m back to cause you and myself some more emotional distress.

Grab your tissues. Grab your emergency cat. You have been warned.

Ilya checked his watch again. Two minutes left until they were on. He had to get out of this bathroom. He had to get his shit together in the next ninety seconds or this would become even more embarrassing than the script had already planned.

He rearranged his curls just for them to pop back in the direction they were just in. He cursed under his breath and did another time check.

Okay, you got this shit.

He pulled the door open, walked down the dark backstage corridor towards the stage only to see Shane already standing in the wings, nervously tapping his foot, phone in hand.

Ilya stopped right next to him, careful not to touch. Shane scrambled to lock his phone but the damage was done as Ilya had spotted the message he was trying to hide.

Rose: Good luck, babe ❤️

“No phone in the wings, Hollander. So unprofessional,” Ilya snarled coldly before he could stop himself.

“Oh, so he speaks,” Shane answered in the same tone.

The stage manager interrupted whatever was about to come out of Ilya’s mouth next. “You’re on in three, two, one, go!”

Ilya put on his brightest smile and stepped out into the blinding lights of the NHL awards stage. 

“What do you think about first when someone mentions hockey?” Shane asked into the microphone.

“High stick, tripping, slashing…” Ilya listed out using his fingers.

“That’s right, sportsmanship!” Shane interrupted, getting a laugh out of the crowd somehow. “Today, we are here to present the Lady Byng Award to the player who exhibited outstanding sportsmanship and gentlemanly conduct combined with a high standard of playing ability.”

“So why am I here?” Another laugh. These people were so easy, god this script was awful.

“Hockey would not be the same without the moments of camaraderie that can be captured all across the league all season long.” 

“We should capture this moment of camaraderie right now.” Ilya pulled out the phone like the script dictated.

“We have an award to present.” Shane stage whispered with clenched teeth.

“There is always time for a selfie, buddy.” Ilya stepped in close, held his phone out with his left arm and placed his right hand firmly between Shane’s shoulder blades. He could feel Shane’s breath catch ever so slightly under the touch. Ilya had to channel all his energy into stopping his hand from shaking at the contact.

He snapped several photos in quick succession. When he changed the angle for the third time, Shane jumped back into the script.

“Alright, enough moment capturing or we will need a phone sponsor,” Shane quipped.

“Do we not have one?” Ilya couldn’t help himself, he dragged his hand over Shane’s spine just like Rose Landry had done in the pictures. Shane stiffened at the movement, his breath held for a second before he continued as instructed.

“No, so call us! You should be able to do that with you know… the phones you are manufacturing.” Someone started genuinely wheezing in the front row. If they ever decided to stop playing hockey, awfully written comedy seemed to be the right career pivot.

Shane pulled out the golden envelope from his jacket. “And the Lady Byng goes to…”

___________________________

Shane was clasping the edge of the sink in the dimly lit backstage bathroom. He should have just declined to come. But then, he had been conveniently nominated for the MVP award he had been 99.999% sure he wouldn’t get and he still went anyway because that’s what you did when you got a nomination. Show your face.

Shane glanced up in the mirror. The face looking back at him was not one he wanted to show. He let his eyes drop back down. He forced his breath into a steady pattern which was abruptly null and void when the door was opened, closed and locked in rapid succession.

Shane didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. “If you are here to humiliate me some more, I’ve had enough for the whole year.” His hands tightened around the marble counter until his knuckles went white, his breath not cooperating with him.

The hand that had been there minutes before and almost almost made him sprint off stage was back in its place on his spine, now rubbing up and down.

“Ilya, please…” 

Ilya stepped flush behind Shane, laying both of his hands over Shane’s to loosen the grip. Shane followed his lead, still not looking at him. Just feeling him entirely pressed up against his back made everything so infinitely worse though. Shane had to gather himself somehow. He filled his lungs up to their maximum capacity, tensing his muscles with it to turn around to be face to face with Ilya.

Big mistake. Huge mistake. Enormous fucking mistake.

Ilya was only inches away from him, looking like a painting that would have been too scandalous to hang up in the 1800s, smelling like heaven had opened its gates right in front of him, gazing at him like Shane was the sweetest honeypot a bear had ever seen.

Ilya leaned in, their lips now only separated by a singular layer of atoms. Shane just had to let his head tip forward, just let himself fall into the sensation until it would drown out all the noise in his head.

“Stop.” Shane whispering meant moving his lips, meant brushing Ilya’s lips, meant…

Shane retreated as far back as he could against the sink.

“Stop. Please,” Shane repeated. Ilya took a step back then another like someone just slapped him full force across the face.

“Ilya, I can’t do this.” 

Ilya still hadn’t spoken to him here, still stubbornly silent, still holding himself away from Shane. No matter how close he got to him physically, the rest of him was not even in the same room with Shane.

“You have a choice. You can either talk to me and explain why you ignored me for four full months or I’m leaving and this is done. Do you understand that?” Shane laid down the conditions as clearly as possible like he had practised before. He wanted no wiggle room for interpretation of what was about to happen either way.

Shane searched Ilya’s face for any sign that he registered what he had just said. Ilya’s eyes across from him went soft, so infuriatingly soft. Shane wanted to wrap his arms around him and just stay like that for eternity. But that’s what they had been doing, right? Hold each other tightly until there was no air left to use for talking about what was really going on.

That wasn’t working anymore. It led to Ilya running and Shane failing to catch up.

Ilya’s gaze drifted to the floor. Shane felt his eyes dwell up, his emotions threatened to drip out of them at any moment. The quiet was unbearably loud, stretching itself between them like a rubber band ready to snap. Ilya wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

That was it then. Shane pushed himself off towards the door, reaching the lock when his wrist was gripped by the man that had seemingly lost his voice.

“Shane, please…” Ilya’s words came out shaky and rough like he hadn’t used his vocal chords in months instead of sheer minutes.

“If you don’t want me to go, then I need you to talk. Please, I can’t… I just can’t.” Shane was on the brink of breaking apart. He wanted to hold him, touch him, sink into him but he had been hurt too deeply and had to tape himself together with too much effort to even get through this evening to now fall apart and be left alone again without an explanation. He was out of tape to do this a second time.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I will talk but not… can we go somewhere else?”

“Sure.”

Ilya pulled out his hotel key card and laid it in the palm of Shane’s hand.

“Penthouse 1, 10 p.m.”

“I’ll be there.”

___________________________

Shane was so lost in his spiraling thoughts that he hadn’t noticed it was the same hotel room as last year’s NHL awards until it was too late and he was standing in the middle of it. Images of what had happened in this room flooded his brain. The dancing together, Ilya’s striptease, the blowjob on the couch, the… fuck… the window beams he had been clutching while Ilya had been humming praise into his ears and pounding any doubt about himself out of him. Before Ilya had left him on read, Shane had regularly played songs from the night when he had wanted to have fun by himself, reproducing the events in his head like a movie on a loop until it was irrevocably burned into his memory. Afterwards…

“You had fun on your dates?” Shane was torn out of his own thoughts into the harsh reality of here and now.

“What?” Shane spun around to look at Ilya who was still standing by the door a good fifteen feet away.

“You had fun on your dates with Rose Landry?” If Ilya’s tone was meant to be light, he crashed and burned during the attempt.

“You saw the articles?” Shane knew hockey players were notorious gossips, so of course he had.

“Was hard not to see.” 

“Ah, and you believe the tabloids now all of a sudden?” Shane was annoyed. He wanted to personally cuss out whoever invented these idiotic magazines.

“What’s not to believe, Shane Hollander going out with pretty movie star. Makes sense.” Shane could have sworn he could hear him grind his teeth.

“Are you jealous?” Shane was so close to laughing about the absurdity.

“No.”

“Okay, no, I’m not playing this game. Do you know how many articles I had to see from you with some random model or singer or actress and didn’t say a peep about it? And that was never when I was actively ignoring you for months either. So why the fuck do you care about that?” Shane’s voice rose involuntarily.

“Because I did not wear your fucking sweater, Shane!” Ilya snapped back at him.

“It’s the only thing I have!” Shane threw out his hands in desperation.

“Oh, now you only have one sweater?” Ilya crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“No, fucking hell. It’s the only thing I have of you. The only thing that I can actually touch, that I can hold in my hands and know there was anything real. That and the sun key chain I still carry around. I had to throw away everything else. Your curl shampoo kept making me cry in the stupid shower, I still need to fucking shower in peace sometimes.” Shane didn’t care if that was revealing too much, he had suffered for too many months to not let it out.

“Then why did you wear it on your date?” Ilya’s voice had calmed down a tad, his arms dropping to his side.

“Oh god, Ilya, it was never an actual date. I could have told you that if you had answered any of my messages. I wore it because I wanted you close. Did you actually believe those stupid tabloids? The same ones that claim you got engaged anytime they see you with the same girl twice? Or that you got half of Boston pregnant?”

“It looked real.” Ilya’s voice went quiet.

“Yeah, we didn’t deny it because it was really nice to not have to answer the question about why I don’t have a girlfriend for two minutes and for her it was a boost for her new movie. Win-win." Rose and him had agreed to simply not deny it until one of them had a reason which was more than enough for most people to believe the whole dating thing, including Ilya apparently.

“It could have been real.” He could barely hear Ilya anymore.

“No, it never could have been real. Even if I wasn’t super fucking gay and had any interest in her, it would be pretty hard to have an actual date with someone if half of what you talk about is how stupidly heartbroken you are about this guy that has been ghosting you for months. Fuck!” Shane felt exhausted. This whole night was taking everything out of him, his legs were barely holding him up anymore. He staggered to the couch and let himself sink into the cushions.

“You’re gay?” Ilya carefully sat down on the other end of the couch.

“I didn’t think I needed to tell you that,” Shane snorted.

“You could be bisexual. I am,” Ilya added.

“Yeah, well, I’m not,” Shane stated clearly.

“So you and Rose Landry…” Ilya rolled his hand in the air searching for an answer.

“Friends. I needed someone to keep me sane and so I talked with her about you. I didn’t give her any details that could out you but I needed to make sure I didn’t just… make it all up.” 

Shane’s voice broke at the last part. That was what he had been spiraling about during all these months. That it all was a giant hallucination and that there was never any real connection between them. That it was just convenient and as soon as it was gone it was wiped away by the world’s most cruel housekeeping service that left no trace. No crumb on the plate, no dent in the cushion, no wrinkle in the sheets.

Ilya had closed the distance between them, hovering as close as he could without touching Shane. “Oh Shane, I…”

“You what?” Shane turned his head towards Ilya, watching his face crumble right in front of him.

“I am sorry. I did not want to hurt you like that.” Ilya’s eyes danced over Shane’s face like he was taking inventory of the damage he had done.

“You failed miserably.” It was blunt but it had to be said.

“I wanted… fuck… I wanted to protect you.”

“From what?”

“From me.”

“What are you talking about?” Shane’s head was spinning, what in the world…

“I am not… good for you. I cannot be good for you. I try but I am not. There is so much shit I am carrying around with me all the time and I do not know how to handle it. It all goes so quiet when you are around but I do not want to take any more from you than I already did. I was greedy and weak and I do not want to burden you anymore. You deserve someone better. You deserve someone safe. You deserve happiness, Shane.”

“Is that what you actually think about yourself? Is that what it was all about?”

Ilya tried to speak again but all he got out was a choked up sob. He screwed his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks in spades. Shane moved before he could think, seating himself in Ilya’s lap, embracing him with everything he had.

“Hey… shhh… hey… Ilya… it’s okay.” Shane ran a soothing hand over Ilya’s back while the other stroked through his curls.

“It is not… I fucked up so bad. I thought if you just hated me, it would make it easier to forget me. I did not know I would hurt you like that, I should have known. I did not know how to tell you. I’m sorry, Shane, so sorry… fuck, Shane…” Ilya squeezed Shane’s waist tightly, burying his face in his chest and soaking Shane’s shirt with tears.

“You did fuck up. I tried to hate you but I couldn’t. I thought… I thought I meant nothing to you,” Shane confessed against Ilya’s temple.

“You’re not… you mean everything to me. Everything. Everything and more. But I cannot…” Ilya started shaking in his arms, seemingly unable to stop himself. Shane let him ride out the waves of pain pulsing through his body, only speaking when the shaking subsided.

“Is that all? Because we can work on that, you know?” Shane pulled back so he could see Ilya’s face. His eyes were puffy and red rimmed, snot was dribbling out of his nose and his cheeks were wet with the tears he had been spilling. He should have looked miserable, he did look miserable but he was still unfairly gorgeous as ever. Shane used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the tears and snot, the shirt beyond saving for the night even before that.

“No…” Ilya Adam’s apple bopped when he swallowed. “It is Russia. I cannot be out.”

“I don’t need us to be out. I’m not sure if I want to be out, safely not right now.” Shane had thought about coming out to his parents and maybe Hayden but hadn’t gotten that far. Only Kira, Rose and Ilya knew.

“No, that is… If I am outed or come out I cannot go back,” Ilya explained further.

“And you want to go back?” 

“I have to.” 

“Have to?”

“Is my family. They need me to go back. My father is getting worse and my brother… he is useless. He takes my money and does bare minimum.”

“And your mother?” Ilya barely talked about his family, Shane had never heard him mention his mother.

“Dead.” 

“I’m so sorry, Ilya.”

“Was a long time ago. My father has a new wife, she cannot handle it at all. I think she is just waiting for him to die… cannot blame her.” Ilya let out a weak laugh that dispersed into a heavy set sigh that took out some of the tension he had been holding onto.

“So there is no way we can… like… be together?” Shane feared he knew the answer but he had to ask.

“No, not as long as I have to go back. I do not know how long this will be. Years probably. Was already risky but if we were… together, I do not know if I can hold myself back enough to keep us safe. I do not trust myself. And I do not want to make you wait.” Ilya let his thumbs draw circles over Shane’s waist, trying to soothe them both in the process.

“You’re not making me do anything.” Shane held back a scoff.

Ilya shook his head. “I could not live with myself.”

“So, this is…” Shane trailed off, afraid to voice out the rest of the sentence.

“This is goodbye.” Ilya let his eyes drop down, his face twisted in agony over the reality he just unleashed between them.

Shane cupped Ilya’s face with both hands like he was the most precious thing he could ever hold. Because he was. “Can I kiss you goodbye?”

Ilya lifted his eyes back up, shiny and wide, looking at Shane like he just offered him the world. The smallest of nods gave Shane permission. He pressed his lips on Ilya’s, firm and reassuring, of what he wasn’t sure. He tried to pull back but Ilya chased his lips until they were locked again. They moved carefully against each other, lips brushing, kissing, unable to disconnect from each other.

This is the last time.

Shane’s whole body shivered at the thought. He let his tongue brush against the seam of Ilya’s lip who opened for him without hesitation, quickly turning the soft kisses into a desperate battle for survival against the heat they were conjuring.

Ilya’s mouth trailed down Shane’s jawline until he found the sensitive spot over Shane’s pulse that made him buck his hips forward, dragging their erections over each other. Shane moved more deliberately for the next time, grinding down into Ilya’s lap like he had done so many times over the years, reveling in the feeling of having Ilya under him like this, real and solid and all his. Even if it was just for the moment.

“Ilya, I… I need you.” 

“You have me.”

Ilya got up from the couch with Shane still wrapped around him like a koala and walked them over to the bed, where he delicately laid Shane onto the mattress before climbing on top of him.

They undressed each other and with each piece of clothing leaving Shane’s body, Ilya covered the newly exposed skin thoroughly with kisses until every inch had been touched by his lips. Shane’s head was swirling in a thick haze caused by the overwhelming attention Ilya paid to each part of his body like he needed to memorize every last bit of him. This wasn’t foreplay, this was worship and Shane felt drunk on it.

He barely registered when Ilya licked the precum off his stomach where his dick had been steadily leaking out. Shane opened his eyes he didn’t know he closed and gazed down at Ilya who was hovering over Shane’s erection. Ilya’s eyes were hooded and lightly glazed over but still determinedly fixated on Shane’s while his lips wrapped around his throbbing length.

Ilya worked his way steadily up and down while letting his tongue dance from side to side, sending wave after wave of pleasure through Shane’s spine which had a hard time laying flat. His hands were painfully twisted into the sheets, the gliding and twirling and sucking of Ilya’s mouth too much for one body to handle. Another wave, this one pulling Shane down deep with it until there was nothing left but pure unadulterated bliss. The orgasm shattered over him like glass turning back into sand and burying him in satisfaction.

Ilya was kissing his way back up until he reached Shane’s mouth, letting him taste himself in the process. A fire lit up inside Shane, pushing through all the haze to burn him up with need to have a taste of Ilya in return.

He flipped them over so Ilya was trapped under him. Shane grabbed Ilya’s chin to tilt it up and away so he could lick off the sweat from the full length of Ilya’s throat, guiding his tongue over to his ear and sucking in the lobe between his teeth. Ilya’s guttural moans made Shane’s body vibrate in response, blood flooding back into his dick that was just wrung out by Ilya’s mouth.

Shane worked his way down, leaving a deep red-purple mark on the delicate skin just above Ilya’s collarbone on each side before turning his attention to Ilya’s nipples, switching between them with his mouth while the other was flicked by his thumb until both of them had stiffened and darkened in color as well.

He licked along the ridges of Ilya’s abs and left butterfly kisses on the elevation of each one. His lips ran along the deep V of his groin before closing around Ilya’s tip. Over five months of waiting to have the heavy weight of Ilya’s cock pressing down his tongue and tonight he had to savor it all before never having it again.

He took his time taking him inch by inch until he nuzzled the neatly trimmed patch of hair at the base. He gave himself a moment to have him like this while Ilya’s hand was gripping his hair, securing him in place without forcing it. Shane swallowed around him once, twice, three times before pulling back halfway for air. He hollowed his cheeks and bopped his head, sucking him off in earnest.

“Fuck, Shane, so perfect… close… ahhh blyat.” Ilya shot his load down Shane’s throat with a cry that made the bed shake like the earth had decided to implode.

Shane waited until Ilya was writhing from overstimulation before letting him out of his mouth and got himself back face to face with Ilya.

“Are you okay?” Shane ran his hand through Ilya’s hair, Ilya preening at the touch. Ilya sucked in a swish of air before releasing it slowly to ground himself.

“Yes, you?” His hand was anchored on Shane’s waist, holding him close.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He leaned down to give Ilya a tender kiss. They made out languidly, Ilya slowly rolling them over until Shane was pressed into the mattress by two hundred and twenty pounds of pure muscle.

“Can we… do you have anything with you?” Shane was acutely hoping Ilya had been more optimistic than him. Ilya opened the drawer of the side table to pull out a condom and a travel sized bottle of lube. “Thank fuck.” That got a little chuckle out of Ilya.

“How do you want to do this?” Ilya searched Shane’s face.

“Just like this.” Shane had to pause for a second to gather himself. “Just like the first time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Ilya opened him up just like the first time, just like every time. With purpose, with patience, with care. Just like the first time, he was kissing Shane simultaneously, biting his lower lip, exploring his mouth with his tongue until Shane was nothing but puddy under his touch.

Ilya found the bump of Shane’s prostate and massaged over it, ensuing Shane to sink his nails into Ilya’s biceps and throw his head back into the pillow to give the earth-shattering moan space to escape from his lips.

“So pretty, Shane. Fuck. Always so pretty… solnyshko.” Ilya murmured against his throat while continuing to drag his fingers over Shane’s prostate.

“Jesus, Ilya…mon ours.” Shane’s breath was ragged, his words coming out choppy. “I need you. Right now… aahhhh!”

Ilya obliged his plea and got himself ready at lightning speed. He held his cock dripping in lube in place against Shane’s entrance.

“Look at me, Shane.” The command was calm and low. “I need you to look at me.”

Shane focused his eyes on Ilya’s where his pupils were so wide only a thin ring of his irises' hazel gloss was visible. Shane’s lips fell into a perfect O, letting out a drawn out filthy moan while Ilya slid into him in one smooth motion until Shane was filled up to the brim. Shane’s ankles were locked behind Ilya’s back, his hands were buried in Ilya’s curls at the nape of his neck, seeking as much contact as he could. Ilya started rolling his hips in torturously slow fashion against Shane’s ass, blowing out one fuse at a time with each circle.

“Ilya, fuck me…. ohhh… Fuck me with all you got… Il… Ilya… I want you... all of you.” Shane’s litany of pleas urged Ilya’s rhythm on until the rolls turned into full-length thrust, each one accompanied by an obscene smack of their hips that echoed through the Vegas penthouse.

Ilya looked positively wrecked on top of Shane, his head, neck and upper body fully flushed red, his curls wildly tousled by Shane’s hands, his lips bruised, making his cupid’s bow even more pronounced.

“Fuck… fuck… Shane.”

“More, I need… Ilya… more.”

Shane pulled Ilya down, sloppily kissing him, swallowing each of the filthy groans tumbling out of Ilya’s throat right into Shane’s.

Ilya adjusted the angle of Shane’s legs, until he was nailing Shane’s prostate each and every thrust, driving Shane wild with lust. They stopped kissing, their mouths now just on each other, sharing breaths between them, noses pressed to the other’s faces, nothing daring to fit in between them anymore.

Shane’s body felt feverish, the heat building up low in his stomach and spreading through his torso and limbs until every nerve end was on fire, ready to shoot out sparks at any moment.

“So close… Ilya… I’m… fuuuuuck.” Shane’s face twisted into something between pleasure and pain, while his orgasm was threatening to rip him apart.

“Come for me, Shane… bozhe moy... need you…” Ilya couldn’t finish the sentence, it was simply drowned out by the wail coming out Shane’s mouth when his orgasm finally hit him like a freight train.

His hole was fluttering around Ilya who was still snapping his hips against him, rearranging his organs one thrust at a time. Shane was completely lost in the overstimulation, his orgasm seemingly unable to stop, Ilya fucking him dutifully through it. His muscles under Shane’s touch all went tight at the same time, Ilya’s jaw hanging slack, his eyes barely able to stay open when he came buried deep inside Shane with a deafening shout.

Ilya reluctantly pulled out, tying off the condom and wrapping it in a tissue on the night stand. He took another tissue and cleaned up Shane’s cum from their stomachs. He didn’t move away from Shane more than he had too, peppering his face with kisses, one for each freckle, until he needed air and laid his head right on top of Shane’s heart so they both could fulfill their oxygen needs.

Shane closed his eyes, the crown of Ilya’s head that was inches away from his nose providing him with a full dose of Ilya and sex that brought him softly back to earth from where he was floating above. He let the thoughts that were flooding back into his brain wash over him.

This is the end of the road. You will never get him like that again. But at least you got to have him.

The tears he had held back the whole night now silently made their way down his cheeks until they vanished into the pillow. His breath was broken up by sobs, alarming Ilya of the crying. Before he knew what happened, Ilya’s lips were back on his face, desperately trying to kiss the pain away.

“I’m so sorry, Shane. I’m so sorry. Please, Shane.” Ilya was quietly pleading between his kisses. Shane let out a heart wrenching whimper that marked the exact moment where he fell apart a second time, no tape in the world strong enough to keep him together. 

Ilya stopped the efforts with his lips and just wrapped Shane as tightly as he could to his body, talking low to him in Russian, soothing over any tear that the pain had ripped open in his heart. 

It felt like an eternity until Shane finally calmed back down, exhausted and drained to the point of defeat. There was nothing left to fight against or for, just calmness after the tornado that just dismantled his entire life.

Ilya’s voice was dripping in anguish when he whispered. “Please stay.”

Shane gave him one last tender kiss before whispering back. “I’ll stay.”

___________________________

The cold was creeping into Ilya’s body, waking him up to an empty bed. Shane was gone. No trace left behind. Ilya wanted to disappear into the mattress but he knew he had a flight to Boston and then one to Russia tomorrow to catch.

He turned over to grab his phone. Underneath it was a note that was ripped from the notepad on the desk. On it were two dots, sixteen numbers and a singular S. He stared at the piece of paper unsure what he was looking at until it clicked. He let his eyes wander over the message one more time before crumpling it up and dropping it into the bin.

He dropped back into the pillow where Shane’s scent was still clinging onto and let the tears flow freely.

Chapter End Notes

Do not worry about the note. You just need to know that it's there for now. Next chapter will explain it. You can always take a guess!
I tried to turn this out as fast as I could to not leave you hanging too much, just to realize this is leaving you hanging again. Hold on tightly, this will have a happy end, I promise. I had to once again stop multiple times to grab my cat and cry, I recommend you do the same (if your cat likes being grabbed). You had two days to adopt a cat!

Russian translations:

• Bozhe moy - My God
• Blyat - Fuck
• Solnyshko - Little Sun, Sunshine

French translation:

• Mon ours - My (teddy) bear

Welcome to the newsletter!

• Someone clocked in the HR series that Scott used an emoji that wasn’t even added yet. If you want to be one of those people, emojipedia has the emotes and their history.
• Of course, I made a Chappell Roan reference when it got extra sad and hot and gay.
• For anyone asking “where Sveta?”: Svetlana doesn’t appear in the book until after Tuna Meltdown in Jan 2017 and there it says they have been sleeping together for three years, aka somewhere around early 2014. For me, she is mainly in HR to show up as a counter to Shane like Rose for Ilya. Russian woman who doesn’t look anything like him and likes fast cars. Plus, she knows hockey. So, perfect for Ilya, right? Wrong. And it brings up the whole passport thing which leads to Ilya telling Shane it’s only him. I didn’t need any of this in my version of them. Show Ilya has her as support, but his team got him here. I will make her appear in the sequel but not as a sexual partner for Ilya.

I keep talking about a potential sequel and I already have some ideas, so this is now part of the "Therapized Hollanov vs The World series". Make sure to subscribe if you want to get updates on the sequel. Or subscribe directly to me if you want updates on the ballroom AU and some other works I have planned. (This fic has priority, nothing will be written until I get us safely to the end.)

Thank you for the flood of comments last chapter, keep me drowning in them, I love reading and answering each one!

Chapter 18: A summer to get over it

Chapter Summary

Summer 2014 with Shane in Canada in Ilya in Russia.

Chapter Notes

Deep apologies for the tears the last chapter has caused and the cats that were interrupted from their important cat businesses (snacking, laying in the sun, napping). But it had to be done.

CW

This chapter contains Ilya taking care of his father who has dementia. Also use of the f-slur. Happy pride to everyone but Andrei.

The week following Vegas was nothing short of brutal for Shane. After he had flown back to Montreal, the universe gave him exactly thirty-six hours to get himself somewhat back together to go to Schneids wedding where he was one of the groomsmen. Schneids had flown in fifty people from Germany to get married to Celine who he had met in Montreal.

Shane barely held on during the ceremony where they exchanged vows in English, French and German. He knew if he started crying he might not stop again. After the emotionally charged vows, the party turned out to be much more relaxed. Shane got along fast with some of the German folks who were delightfully direct and sarcastic. They also taught him about German wedding traditions like sawing through a log with a whipsaw to symbolize equal work distribution in the marriage or pranking the couple by filling up their apartment with balloons to… well… prank them? Shane wasn’t sure and was too afraid to ask.

Schneids had also managed to organize amazing German beer and food including Bavarian pork roast, bread dumplings, coleslaw and something called Kaiserschmarrn from Austria. JJ was finally convinced of the fries with mayo of it all when the midnight buffet including fries and currywurst was rolled out. It might have helped that he shared them with one of Schneids female cousins from Germany who dropped one of the fries in her dress. Shane learned that it was called a dirndl which pushed her boobs up to a height that should have been physically impossible. Not that Shanw was interested, JJ sure was though.

Late that night, he arrived at his Montreal apartment alone and with a good five German beers in his system, he got the brilliant idea to download Grindr. He only filled out the minimum information he deemed necessary and used a cropped photo of him in a sweat soaked white compression shirt. The messages still came flooding in, requests for pics, more dicks he hadn't asked to see than in the locker room, immediate questions to meet up, at least thirty messages in the fifteen minutes it took him to realize what he had just done and to delete the app again.

Shane turned the key in the brand new lock and entered his finished cottage for the first time. He had been planning to build a cottage close to his parents’ ever since he had signed with the Voyageurs and had finally set things in motion when they had confirmed his extension last spring.

He carried his luggage in and filled the fridge with the groceries he got from the nearest supermarket. This was it then, the place he would stay at during the summers between seasons. He walked out on the deck where the grill, seating area, jacuzzi and big outdoor couch in front of the fire pit were waiting to be christened. He wandered over to the couch and dropped into the thick cushions where he had the perfect view over the lake. The sky was already dripping in the different shades of yellow, orange and pink of the nearing sundown.

Shane pulled his legs up and wrapped them close to his chest. When he had planned the house and ordered the last things around the beginning of February, he hadn’t prepared for being alone here. He wanted Ilya to be here with him. He had made space anywhere he could, more closet space than he needed, a gym where you could work out comfortably with two people and the couch he was currently sitting in perfect for two big hockey players to cuddle in the corner. He had made space and now the space was swallowing him whole, the emptiness on the inside perfectly mirrored on the outside, the beauty of the sundown now tainted by the iciness the disappearing of the sun brought with it.

Shane waited until the lake was covered by a deep indigo blue and dragged himself back into the house. He grabbed a bag of carrots sticks and another with bacon cheddar pretzel bites he had been obsessed with for the last week to get at least something into his system before collapsing into his new bed and letting the exhaustion take over.

___________________________

His father was worse than Ilya thought. The first day he was back, Grigori’s condition was similar to Sochi. Over the following two weeks that Ilya was forced to be back in Russia, back in his father’s house, the severity of the sickness that had been dismantling his father’s strongest weapon was presented to him clearer with each day.

The nurse they had hired tried her best to keep him to a strict routine that was supposed to help people with dementia. Ilya was also instructed to not dispute the reality his father was currently in if not absolutely necessary. Curtains with busy patterns were exchanged for simple ones to not confuse him more, the locks were made more secure and the cleaning supplies were locked out of Grigori’s reach. They even got him sweatpants which he refused to wear, his usual work clothes being infinitely more difficult to get on but the unruffled nurse together with a skittish Polina managed.

Anytime Grigori did remember Ilya, Ilya was catapulted back to being fourteen and in trouble for breathing. His father had never laid a hand on any of them but he had found plenty of ways to torment them regardless. Cruelty was the second language in their household from the moment Ilya was born, fatherly love only words that books had collectively made up to mock Ilya from the pages.

The days where Grigori yelled for Irina were the hardest for Ilya. On occasions, he would mistake Polina for her which diffused the situation to a degree, Polina stronger than she looked when she simply nodded along to whatever insults he unleashed on her. She heard worse, Ilya was unambiguously sure about. Ilya found the closet in the back of the second floor where he would hide to cry on those days before returning to the battlefield of the ground floor where all of Grigori’s care equipment was set up to eliminate the need for stairs.

Andrei dropped in ever so often, quoting work as an excuse for not being around more. The glazed over eyes and the sweaty, pale skin he was sporting certainly had nothing to do with him being gone most of the time. Unfortunately, he still had enough brain cells left that hadn’t been killed by the excessive coke consumption to take over their father’s role to remind Ilya of all his shortcomings.

You only come home when it’s convenient for you and not when you are told to.

You are leaving behind the only family that you have.

Your money comes from dirty American hands.

Only a faggot would run around in the clothes you are wearing.

Our mother would have been embarrassed if she could see what you made of yourself.

The last one earned Andrei a black eye and Ilya a bruised hand. They only stopped, well Ilya stopped, when Polina’s whimpering in the corner snapped him out of his rage, giving Andrei a free shot at Ilya’s jaw before Ilya threw him out of the house for the night.

Ilya used the day where his father was mostly sleeping and Andrei was ‘at work’ to visit his little niece Katjuschka who had turned three in March. She had the same curls as Irina but in the dark coffee brown that ran in Mascha’s family. She was bouncing around with endless energy that poked a small hole into the dark veil which had laid over Ilya’s eyes each time she squealed with joy. He spoiled her with a pile of new toys and sweet treats from America she was happily suckling at.

He tried to not get too sad in her presence. Had Ilya ever been this happy when he was little? He didn’t remember. There were only small fractions of his childhood memories intact, most of them filled with his mother’s face looking ever so gently down on him, filled with warmth and kindness that she had taken with her when she had left. 

The ones including his father would try to violently force their way to the front, attacking Ilya from behind whenever he wasn’t careful enough to shut them down before they fully formed. The yelling and the silence that filled those moments were equally unsettling, equally hurtful, equally damaging as one would usually follow and overtake the other like two race horses with Ilya on the finish line ready to be trampled.

Ilya came back to the house in the evening, like he had promised Polina, to have dinner with his father. Everything on Grigori’s plate was already cut up for him to fit on his spoon so he wouldn’t have to coordinate the fork and knife and also so that he wouldn’t have a fork or knife to throw at someone. Ilya barely dodged them last week. 

“Your coach said you missed practice last week. Were you hanging around with that Sasha boy again?” His father had dropped his spoon onto the plate and had his eyes fixated on Ilya.

Ilya involuntarily stopped his fork halfway to his mouth. His father had never mentioned Sasha before. Ilya wasn’t even sure how his father knew about him since he had never acknowledged the children at any of the countless functions the parents had dragged them to when they were younger.

“No, papa, I was doing homework with Mischa.” Mischa was the son of one of his father’s bosses. He had only talked to him the few times Mischa offered him some of the drugs the other officers' kids had been passing around.

“And I am supposed to believe that. I know Sasha is always making trouble and you are supposed to represent the Rozanov name, not go to parties and do whatever this abomination of a boy is doing with you.” 

Had his father known the whole time? No, probably not. He wouldn’t have had a roof over his head as soon as Grigori realized what he had actually done with Sasha. Grigori had hated Ilya to the core before Ilya had even thought about ever kissing a boy.

“I will not see Sasha again if that is your wish.” That was an easy promise to give, he hadn’t talked to Sasha since Ilya left for Boston the first time.

“My wish? It’s a command. That boy brings trouble everywhere he goes and you need to keep yourself to a higher standard if you ever expect to get an ounce of respect from me.”

“Yes papa.”

“Now eat your food, you are getting thin again, you look like a mockery of the man you’re supposed to be.”

“Yes papa.”

___________________________

“Shane, can you help me with the pasta?” His dad was standing in the kitchen, making lunch for the three of them in Shane’s cottage. Both of his parents had checked on the construction when Shane had been gone on roadies. His father had helped pick out the kitchen appliances which turned the current cooking session into a bragging session about how well everything worked together in the kitchen.

“Sure dad, what do you need?” Shane made his way around the kitchen island to stand next to his dad.

“Can you zest the lemon and then squeeze it out? Only the yellow part of the rind, the white part makes it bitter,” David reminded him.

“Yeah, I know that, thank you.”

“I just remind you because your mother swears she can taste the difference.” David handed him the lemon and the grater and gestured towards the bowl he had already put out. Shane took the grater and twisted the lemon against it like his father had shown him when he taught him how to make the lemon pasta.

“I do taste the difference, David!” His mother yelled from the deck.

“Has she told you, she aced the hearing test last week? Ever since she heard hearing loss is connected to dementia, she makes sure we both go as recommended.”

David finished off the sauce and tossed the pappardelle in the garlic lemon butter mixture with the shredded chicken. They moved it all to the table outside where Yuna had already set up everything.

David handed out the food in the shallow bowls and handed Shane the parmesan. Shane sprinkled it generously over his portion when he was hit with the last time he had shared this dish with another person.

Ilya had stormed into his apartment, clearly disturbed by whatever was going on in his life. That had been the first time Ilya had talked about his father being sick. Shane had tried to get more information out of him but maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough. Could he have changed anything if he had asked more questions or had done more research? Could he have kept Ilya after all if they had been better prepared? Or should he have just kept his mouth shut and continued on with whatever was going on between them, ignoring the pain the uncertainty had caused him for so long?

“Shane, are you okay?” Shane blinked at his mother. He was frozen with the empty spoon over his bowl, for how long he didn’t know.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Shane continued spreading more parmesan over his plate, looking intensely down like distributing the cheese correctly was a matter of life or death.

“You know you can talk to us, right?” His mother didn’t seem to notice the focus the parmesan distribution called for.

“Shane, you have been off for a couple of months now. We thought it might be something with the team because your season was rough. I mean, it could still be that but if there is something else going on, you can tell us.” His father reached over to squeeze his shoulder.

Shane could just chalk it off to the team. The next season was already looming over his head and with the mediocre season behind them, there were some possible changes about to switch up the team dynamics once again, which was always stressful as the captain of a team that insisted on being tainted by a handful of assholes, no matter how much the rest tried.

“No, that’s not…” He broke off. Where was he even supposed to begin? He wished he could have talked to Kira about this. They had talked about coming out to them a couple of times, he really needed the support if anything ever came out. And even if it didn't. Those talks always included Ilya in the picture though, this version was painfully new.

His parents sat patiently waiting to his left and right, bracing themselves for whatever he was about to unleash on them.

“So, there was someone I was seeing for a long time and we… we had to break it off.” Shane decidedly fixated his gaze on the far end of the lake, trying to keep his tears at bay.

“Oh son, I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” David expressed solemnly.

“Shane, that’s… oh come here.” Yuna awkwardly pulled him into her arms over the corner of the table, stroking his hair while Shane was still trying not to bawl. They stayed like that for a minute before Shane moved to be released out of her arms.

“How long were you two were seeing each other?” David asked.

“Four years.” Shane could practically hear the jaws off his parents drop to the bottom of the lake.

“Four years? Oh my… wow, okay.” David was clearly searching for a follow-up question that Yuna provided. “Can I ask why you never told us about her?”

“Him.”

There. The truth was out of his mouth. A simple word that had shifted his whole life on an axis until Shane was no longer sure where up or down was.

“Him?” His dad repeated.

“I’m gay.” Shane closed his eyes, not ready to see his parents' faces.

“That explains why you weren’t dating Rose Landry.” Shane had informed them about the media stunt they were pulling. No one had asked questions about why it had only been a stunt.

“Yuna!” David reprimanded her from across the table.

“What?” Yuna threw her hands in the air before dropping them into her lap.

“That can’t be the first thing you say to him after he comes out. That wasn’t in the booklet.” David whispered like Shane wasn’t supposed to hear even though he was sitting right between them. 

“What booklet?” Shane interrupted.

“So, erm… we might have kinda thought you could be gay for a while. You haven’t brought anyone home since Jessica so we thought it would be good to inform ourselves in case you are actually gay.” David looked apologetic. “So we got a booklet from the internet that told us what to say.” He turned his head. “And what not to say, Yuna.”

Yuna demonstratively turned to Shane. “Sorry, Shane. Thank you for telling us. We appreciated the trust you showed in us. You are safe in our home for however long you choose to stay in it. We love you and appreciate you.” She turned back. “See, I read the booklet, David.”

Shane was stunned. He expected everything and anything but not this. Tears maybe. An explanation from his side, his parents grappling with the concept of him not being straight, never having a wife, never having a ‘normal life’ or whatever. But instead, they were bickering over a booklet for crying out loud. 

Shane started laughing. He couldn’t help himself. He was so afraid of coming out to his parents for so long and all he got was a measly booklet. That would make a great story if he ever had another person to tell about this. He definitely had to tell Kira, she would love that.

His brain reminded him why the fear hadn’t been irrational. He had heard enough stories about parents freaking out over their queer kid, throwing them out of the house, threatening them, breaking off contact, leaving the child that they decided to bring into the world in the dust. Anyone who didn’t want a queer child should just not have a child at all, if you'd ask Shane.

And here his parents were sitting, accepting him before he could even accept himself fully, loving him without conditions, giving him time and space until he found the right time to come forward. He was one of the lucky ones. The laughing was interrupted by the sobs of the happy tears running down his cheeks.

He finally looked at his parents who stopped bickering over page three of this booklet that Shane had to see at some point. Their faces were stricken with concern. He must have looked like a lunatic, crying laughing after coming out to his parents.

“I’m fine, I just love you both so much.” Shane wiped his face with his sweater before David pulled him out of his chair into a hug. His mom pushed her head under their arms to join in on it.

“We love you, too, Shane.”

“Very much so, honey.”

___________________________

Ilya had lost his whole morning talking to the doctors who had been treating his father. None of them seemed to want to give him the full information he needed but he got enough from each of them to draw a good picture for himself. 

Grigori had been declining rapidly for a couple of months and then seemed to stabilize in the last two. The nurse and the general guidelines she and Polina followed, no thanks to Andrei, were enough to give him support. All of this was just temporary though. As soon as anything else like pneumonia or a chronic illness would hit, the need for more pills and the difficulty of getting him to take them could mean he would get worse again.

His father had made him the medical proxy. Not Polina, his wife that was living with him. Not Andrei, who was paid by Ilya to look after their father and who was in the same country as him at all times. Ilya.

That still hadn’t computed in his brain fully. Even then, the doctors who were all old friends of his father wouldn’t tell him the full status report. Thank fuck they were too dumb to coordinate amongst each other.

Ilya used the afternoon to go to the gym. It was the saving grace of the last three weeks that his job depended on him conditioning his body to be in top form and even Andrei liked his money too much to give him shit about it, if he was sober enough to remember that Ilya was financing his life. He went through his warm-up and all of his leg exercises for the day, giving him enough time to sort out everything he heard today. Someone had to take care of his dad and it couldn’t be Andrei. 

When he returned to his father’s house late afternoon, Andrei was already there. His work seemed to have a lot of illicit substances stashed from the bewildered look in his eyes.

“Where have you been?” Andrei was slurring his words and even from far away was reeking of sweat and booze.

“I was at the gym, like every day.” They had gone over the routine so many times, even Andrei had to be able to get it at that point. ”You should try that instead of snorting or swallowing whatever you had today.”

“That’s none of your business you fucking faggot.” Andrei struggled to get up from the worn out leather couch that had adorned their father’s house for a decade.

46326687 74835689

Ilya had repeated the numbers in his mind every time he needed to calm himself down. This wasn’t the first or likely last time Andrei would call him a faggot. Oh how he would love to see his face when he finally heard the truth about his little brother. Andrei was just throwing it out for the fun of it, clueless about Ilya’s preferences just like their father. Maybe that could push them both over the edge and Ilya would finally have his peace.

46326687 74835689

He centered himself one more time before speaking again.

“What are you doing here Andrei? Why are you not with Mascha and Katjuschka?” Here or at his own home, Andrei was of help exactly nowhere. Ilya still preferred to have him as far as possible from himself.

“One of us had to stay with papa. Polina ran away to her mother after lunch and the nurse called me to help her, you weren’t picking up.”

46326687 74835689

He couldn’t blame Polina. Grigori had yelled at her the whole night and she was visibly shaken in the morning. Ilya felt bad for leaving her but he thought his father would be all too exhausted from the night before to do anything again. He was wrong, apparently.

46326687 74835689

“What did papa do this time?” They had secured the most dangerous things away but his father always found a way to make his life more difficult than it had to be.

“Nothing that he hadn’t done before. She just can’t keep it together. Weak woman, can’t stay by her husband’s side when he needs her. I never knew why he married her.” Shit, he thought something like that might happen, Polina had looked like she was on the brink of a breakdown for a full week. They all were, Polina just opting out first.

“You know exactly why he married her. He wanted someone young and vulnerable to command around. That’s his favorite thing in the world.” Any other day, Ilya would have held back the bitter truth he had learned about his father. Not today.

“Ah and you know him so well? You fucked off the first chance you had like we didn’t provide you with everything you need here at home.” Not untrue. The fucking off part.

“What home, Andrei?”

“The home you are standing in right now. I don’t know how often you have had a concussion by now but even you should realize you are standing in the house you grew up in.” Andrei was swaying on the spot, looking like he was about to tumble over. Ilya had no plan to catch him if he did.

“This is nothing but a simple house to me. Mama took anything close to home with her.” Another truth he wasn’t holding back anymore. He was done pretending.

“Ungrateful again. Why are you even here? You have brought nothing but trouble with you. You bring shame on our name any time you open your mouth. I have seen all the articles they print about you. How many bellows are out there with your face on them, hm?” Andrei never let through that he was seeking out anything about Ilya, he must really be out of it. Or today was just simply the day to tell the whole story.

“If I ever put a child into this world, I will make sure to take care of it. I won’t be such a shit father like you and our father have been.” Ilya had already set up a trust fund for Katjuschka when she turned three as he had zero faith that his brother would support her financially any further than he had to.

“Don’t you fucking dare talk to me like that. We are the only family you will ever have, you are lucky we still talk to you. You have no idea what fucking burden you are to this family. I take care of my family and our father and you do nothing but play around like a fucking child. You are a disgrace, I wish I never had a brother in the first place.” Andrei took a step forward, looking like he was ready to charge at Ilya. He could try, Ilya was three inches taller, thirty pounds heavier and sober.

“Ditto.” Two could play the I wish my brother never existed game.

“Fuck the hell off, Ilya, this is the last time I will tell you to shut your ugly mouth before I punch out every last teeth.” Andrei’s hands were already curled into fists at his side.

Ilya had heard enough. He turned around on his heels and fled towards the door.

“And stay the fuck away, you worthless piece of shit.” Andrei yelled after him before the door slammed closed.

Ilya hailed a cap and made his way to his apartment in the city.

___________________________

Shane had taken the jet ski out and zoomed over the lake for a couple of hours before going for a swim. He made his rounds through the lake, enjoying the late afternoon sun contrasting against the cold of the lake. No one was here to interrupt his thoughts, he could let his mind and body drift equally in the water. He had accepted the emptiness around him as it offered him silence he was so rarely granted.

It had been four weeks since the fateful night in Vegas. Four weeks had passed since he had been in Ilya’s arms, wrapped in his warmth, crying his heart out over the loss they had been about to suffer.

He hadn’t slept that night in the penthouse at all. Every minute he had been close to Ilya had been too precious to miss as he had known they were numbered. So he had counted Ilya’s breaths, making sure every exhale had been followed by an inhale. He had memorized every crease, every curve, every crevice of Ilya’s face that had been laying just inches from him in the pillow. The way his lower lip would vibrate ever so slightly when Ilya would let out one of his soft snores. The way his cheek would twitch when he was dreaming of something. The way his face had looked so young when it had been fully relaxed in his most peaceful state.

He could still conjure the image in front of his eyes whenever he wanted to. Sometimes, it appeared against his will but never overstayed its welcome. It still stung furiously, trying to tear at the wounds to open them up again, a lot of them not even close to being healed. But it also reminded him of all the joy Ilya brought into his life, the feeling of safety, the feeling of freedom, the feeling of…

He stopped himself there before something actually broke apart in him again. He left the water behind, went for a thorough shower to get himself warmed up and pulled out clothes to put on for the evening. 

His hands found a simple black hoodie that he didn’t even know he had packed. It was decorated with a black Adidas logo on the chest and a charcoal 81 stitched onto the sleeve. Ilya’s hoodie. The one, he had stolen in Vegas before he could think about it too much. He still felt bad for slipping out like he did but he was certain he would not have been able to take another goodbye. He didn’t know why he left the note but something in him told him to do it. It was pointless but at least he tried.

He pulled on the hoodie and trotted down the steps to the kitchen when his phone pinged with a new notification. His security system alerted him of activities in his driveway. He opened the app and looked at the car. It did not belong to his parents. Before he could zoom in on the black SUV for details, he heard it roll up to his door.

He hurried over to the entrance and ripped it open just in time to see the new arrival jump out of the driver’s seat.

“Ilya, what… what are you doing here?” Shane had the urge to pinch himself to make sure he hadn't drank poisoned lake water and was hallucinating Ilya right in front of him.

“You gave me coordinates, yes?” Ilya had found the note then.

“Yeah but you… aren’t you supposed to be in Russia?” That was the whole reason they had suffered for the last five months. Stupid fucking Russia.

“Yes, but now I’m here.” Any other day, Shane might have made a sarcastic comment about the obvious response but his head was immensely thankful for the confirmation.

“But… I don’t understand. I thought… Ilya…” Shane couldn’t form a clear thought, let alone a full sentence while Ilya was standing right in front of him.

“I was in Russia. But I’m not going there anymore.” Ilya spoke slowly and clearly, likely courtesy of the disheveled condition Shane must have been in. 

“What about your father?” Was he dead? God, Shane hoped he was dead. Was he a bad person for that? He didn’t care.

“I took care of him as best as I could. His wife ran away and nurse could not do it alone. I would have to leave him at some point anyway, so I put him in a care home. Andrei protested but I am the medical proxy, so I get to decide. It is all paid for and I do not have to go back anymore. I have set up lawyers to do anything they need in Russia. They will take care of everything. I have suffered long enough, my family does not get a say over where I have to be anymore.” Ilya threw the car door shut and stepped a few feet closer.

“But what if he dies?” Hopefully soon.

“Then he would have finally done something good for the first time in his life. I do not need to put him into the ground to know he is dead to me.” Ilya was in touching distance. Shane didn’t dare to reach out though, still frightened that Ilya would disappear in a dramatic poof if Shane would attempt to lay his hands on him.

“So you aren’t going back anymore?” Shane was starting to get context clues, his brain not catching up quite yet.

“No. My visa is renewed and I will find a way to not go back anymore or reduce the danger to a minimum.” Ilya had made a plan, it sounded like and the plan was being here.

"And you are not doing this for me?" Shane would never ask him for that.

"I am doing this for us, yes, but more than anything I am doing this for me. There is nothing left for me there." Ilya sounded sure about this.

“Are you sure?” Shane’s brain was smoking at this point, close to the point of explosion.

“Yes.” Ilya sounded really sure.

“I need you to be one hundred percent certain about this Ilya. So I will ask this one more time: Are you sure you’re not going back to Russia and that you’re staying on this continent for good?” This would surely make it clear enough for Shane’s brain to understand what was happening.

“Yes.” Ilya had never sounded more sure.

“So that means…?” Everything was spinning, Shane unable to control anything anymore.

“Yes.”

They both were staring at each other, unable to move from their spots, waiting if the other would say something that would break the spell or run away again. They opened their mouths simultaneously.

“Will you marry me?” 

“I love you, Shane.”

…

…

“What?” 

“What?”

Chapter End Notes

I told you, I would turn this around.

Welcome to the newsletter!

• Kaiserschmarrn ("Emperor's nonsense") was first served for Empress Elisabeth (yes, Sissi got us Kaiserschmarrn). There are three movies from the 50s about her that run or used to run on free TV every Christmas, I basically know them by heart. First movie is on Youtube, they are quite cheesy but I love them. And I’ll give you my favorite Kaiserschmarrn recipe as an apology for the last chapter, how about that? It’s in German, but you are all very smart and can go translate it. Take them seriously when they say don’t reduce the sugar/butter content if you want it to be tasty.
• The dirndl is a traditional Bavarian/Austrian dress that you have probably seen before. It used to be more commonly worn, now you usually only pull it out for going to a local folk festival with beer and music or something like a wedding, graduation. It usually sits tight around the boobs and waist (lots of decoltée in these things) and then flairs out. You also have an apron. There is also a “code” around where you tie the bow of that apron, giving people hints if you are single (left), married (right), a virgin (front middle) or widowed/a waitress(back middle). I wish I was kidding.
• Hearing loss and dementia are actually linked. So make sure to get it checked if you might feel you are having trouble. There are also hearing aids with added bluetooth to take calls or listen to music, we love a good two-in-one device.
• Two of you guessed correctly that those were coordinates, congrats, good job, proud of you! One of you doubted themselves, don’t do that again. The idea of it being their first and last date was brutal, like a little tombstone for their relationship, I had to sit down after that one.
• Initially, I planned to use the coordinates of the cottage used in the show as it is on AirBnB. The problem is that it’s near Toronto, so it's in the wrong direction from where we want it to be. So I triangulated two hours away from Ottawa and Montreal and lo and behold I found the fucking lac/Lake McGill and decided that’s the perfect location.
• I have seen a lot of fics where he only cuts ties with Russia when his father dies, which is totally valid. I really, really wanted him to choose and set his father and everything else up so it was all sorted out and he could (relatively) freely be with Shane.
• I had planned the very last bit of the conversation for a long time now, popping into my head randomly. Of course, Shane would jump five steps ahead.

 

Thank you for all your comments. I know the last two chapters before this one were rough, and some of you were kind of mad at me, probably just in a playful manner. But please remember, tone is hard to read on the internet, so stay as kind as you were before. Thank you. 

The next update might take a while (aka longer than two days which is a bit crazy with three jobs) as I have worked myself to the bone and paying for it with a chronic pain flair up. But it will be cottage time!!

Chapter 19: Together

Chapter Summary

Cottage Part 1

Chapter Notes

Talking and smut incoming. So much of it. You earned it. I split the cottage chapter into two, I was at 3 out of 7 planned scenes and already at a lot of words, so this is part one. The chapter count is corrected to 22.
I ran out of tag space so here are the NSFW things for what is about to happen that hasn’t been tagged.

Details

Unprotected sex (with previous discussions around safety!), felching, light consensual spanking (no degradation), overstimulation.

"You want to marry me?” Ilya had been traveling for so long, he wasn’t sure if his brain had just tricked him.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Shane took a deep, steadying breath and locked eyes with Ilya.

“I’m not going to let anyone come between us anymore. Not the league, not the public, not your family, not Russia. This… you… me… this is it for me. This has been it for me for a long time. I thought about it at Christmas that I want this forever. But I felt it a lot longer. Do you remember the first night you were at my place?”

“Yes, of course. How could I forget?”

“You almost got in trouble with your coach because you didn’t want to go and I didn’t want you to go, I’ve never wanted you to go and I don’t think I will ever want you to go.”

“Oh, Shane, I…”

“There is more, let me finish, please.”

“Okay.”

“You have always been there for me no matter how bad it got. I don’t think I would have survived the morning of the leak if you hadn’t barged into my hotel room and held onto me. And even when you weren’t there, I knew you would find your way back.”

“The coordinates helped.” Shane chuckled at that and gave him a soft shut up that had no heat behind it.

“I know we were never officially together and I don’t know if you want to get married, but I want a forever with you and I wanted that for a long time, marriage or not. Something always pulls me towards you. How else would I’ve gone up to you to shake your hand at seventeen?” 

Shane took Ilya’s hands in his before continuing.

“I mean, let's be honest, we both know I don’t particularly like meeting new people but something in me told me I needed to meet you. I haven’t regretted it one bit since then. And I want to follow that feeling again. If that’s too fast to you, I understand but I need you to know that’s where I'm at because I’ve held back for so long and I’m not doing that anymore. I love you too much for that. Saying this all out sounds a little crazy…”

“Yes-”

“So you think this is crazy?” 

“No.”

“I’m confused.” 

“It is a yes. I want to marry you.” Ilya gave Shane’s hands an encouraging squeeze. Even the simple touch of their hands gave Ilya a rush.

“You do?” A glimmer of hope was kindling in Shane’s eyes. Ilya’s heart sank a little when he realized how unclear he had been before. It was about time he changed that.

“Shane, I held back for so long, too. I was afraid and my first instinct was to run. Not just from you but the truth that I felt for a long time. You showed me love like no one else has. You offered me care and kindness and patience that I never allowed myself. You are so strong and warm and honest, I always loved that you are all those things at once. I meant what I said in Vegas. You are everything to me, everything and more.”

“Ilya.” Shane’s eyes went incredibly soft, Ilya so close to kissing him but he wasn’t finished and he wanted Shane to hear it all.

“I have not fought with all that I have for four weeks to get back here to do this halfway with you. I have not loved you for four years and more to do this halfway with you. Did I think you propose to me today? No.”

Shane bit his lip. Clearly, he wasn’t planning on it either but Ilya already got that. It didn’t make a difference.

“Does not mean I am not very happy you did. We have been together for a while, yes? Even if we both did not realize. I have thought of you as my partner more often than not, I just did not say it out loud like I should have.”

Shane’s eyes were shiny, he was sniffling against the tears collecting. Ilya could feel himself well up right with him.

“They can try to get between us, but we will not let them. I want to do this together. Everything else around us is not easy but us? That is easy for me. Loving you has always been the easiest thing for me. It just took me a very long time to see that. So yes, I would be honored to be your husband.”

Ilya took Shane’s face into his hands and kissed his fiance with all the love he had to offer. Shane stepped into Ilya, pressing up against him, placing his hands on his waist to anchor them both in place. Shane broke the kiss to look at Ilya with a wide grin, both of them profusely shedding tears. Shane took the sleeve of his hoodie to dry Ilya's face then his own.

Ilya spotted the 81 on the sleeve. “Hey, I was looking for that hoodie!” 

“I stole it in Vegas before I headed out.” Shane blushed ever so slightly while still beaming at Ilya.

“You thieve!" Ilya dramatically put his hand on his chest in fake outrage.

“Get used to it, what’s mine is yours and all that.” Shane said with a remarkable casualness for someone who just impromptu proposed.

“Mmm, I think I will have to get you out of that hoodie.” Ilya dipped back in to steal another kiss, before Shane broke the kiss again, to Ilya’s chagrin.

“Oh shit, I didn’t even get you a ring or anything.” Shane looked around them in distress as if the middle of the wilderness would offer him an engagement ring up.

“It’s okay, it was very… spontaneous, yes?” Ilya had better plans in mind than looking for non-existent jewelry.

Shane turned to him, his face lighting back up. “Do you still have your bear key chain?”

“Of course.” Ilya retrieved his backpack from the car and fished the keys out, the golden bear dangling off of it. Shane pulled his keys out as well.

“It’s not a ring ring but it does have a key ring on it and we can exchange them. So I always have you with me and you always have me with you.” Shane started fidgeting with the key chain.

“I like that.” Ilya took a deep breath to not start crying again and separated the bear from the rest. Shane clipped on the bear and handed the sun to Ilya who secured it in place.

“Do you want to see the house?” Shane was already pulling him inside.

“Do you mean our house?” Ilya was trying to tease Shane back for the hoodie but was received with genuine glee and Shane mumbling our house to himself.

“Where do you want to go first?” Shane stopped them a couple of steps in where he could see the deck, the kitchen and…

“Where are the stairs going?” Shane got the clue and they raced upstairs until they were in the enormous master bedroom that looked over the lake. Ilya dropped his backpack to the side of the bed before tackling Shane into the mattress, both of them giggling and kissing.

“Hi.” Shane whispered against Ilya’s lips.

“Hi.” Ilya whispered back.

“You love me.” Shane sounded out, still in disbelief.

“You love me, too.” Ilya responded confidentially.

“We’re engaged.” Shane said in wonder.

“Yes, very much so.” Ilya had gotten used to Shane needing to verbally process what was happening in his mind at times.

Shane narrowed his eyes at him and said in a playful tone, “then why do we still have clothes on?”

Ilya took it extra slow to get Shane out of his clothes, unwrapping him like it was Christmas in July. Shane sank into the tempo Ilya had set, each new unveiled body part of Ilya meticulously explored as if he was touching him for the first time. When there were no more clothes to take off, Ilya positioned himself upright against the headboard with a pile of pillows. Shane climbed on top of him, kissing him over and over again, every new angle that he tried giving Ilya a new flutter in his stomach. 

Suddenly, he froze just an inch away from Ilya before leaning back. “Shit, I didn’t bring any condoms, I only have lube.” Shane’s mouth pulled into a deep frown.

“Backpack,” was all Ilya got out, too distracted from a naked Shane right in front of him. Shane bent to the side and pulled out the pack of condoms.

“A hundred condoms? How long are we staying?” Shane placed the box on the side table and got the lube out of the drawer.

“Until I fucked you on every surface and then we continue outside. Will take a while, hockey season is cancelled.” Shane was laughing on top of him, Ilya could feel the vibration right in his groin. Ilya spat in his palm before he reached between them to take their half-hard erection in his hand, getting a satisfied groan out of both of them. Shane rocked his hips back and forth while Ilya let his hand glide over them both, building up until they were both throbbing with need.

“Open yourself for me,” Ilya requested.

Shane poured lube on his fingers and Ilya got to watch Shane finger himself open on top of him. Shane’s eyes fell closed, his lips were parted, his brows knotted together in focus. Ilya kept absently stroking them while drinking in the picture in front of him. Shane, his Shane, gorgeous in the warm glow of the golden hour, deep in focus over the task he had been given, his breath hitching every time his or Ilya’s hands found a sensitive spot on him.

Ilya let his free hand roam over Shane’s sculpted body that would make any renaissance painter jealous of missing out on the perfect muse. Ilya scraped Shane’s nipple with his blunt thumbnail, and felt it harden up under the touch. Shane hissed at the sensation and tucked on Ilya’s hair in response, forcing a groan out of Ilya. Ilya did it again, earning him a stronger tuck that sent a bolt of heat down his spine.

Shane opened his eyes back up and pulled out his fingers, looking at Ilya for the green light. Ilya gave him a small nod of encouragement. Shane grabbed one of the condoms, rolled it onto Ilya’s dick and spread lube over it. He scooted forward until his ass was hovering over Ilya who held himself in position for Shane to sink down onto. The first breach linking them back together felt more like a conclusion rather than an exposition. The familiarity of being inside Shane that Ilya loved so much wrapped itself tight around him while Shane sank deeper and deeper until he was completely seated.

Ilya put his lips on Shane’s who parted them to let Ilya’s tongue enter into his mouth to greet it with his own. Shane rolled his hips in filthy little circles, both of them moaning in approval. Ilya’s hands were on Shane’s ass, guiding Shane over him in a grind that made Ilya’s eyes roll back into his head. 

“Fuck, I love the way you feel… I love you, Shane.” He bit Shane’s lower lip and pulled, Shane clenching around him in response.

“Oh god… I want you... ahhh... I love you... so much... fuck, Ilya.” Shane lifted himself up slowly to drop back down and punch a moan out of himself. He quickly built up a rhythm while Ilya kissed any part of Shane he could reach. All Ilya could hear, all Ilya could see, all Ilya could feel was Shane, taking over every sense until there was nothing left but pure ecstasy of having Shane.

Shane was starting to lose his rhythm, both of them already on the edge from everything that had built up. Shane yanked at Ilya’s curls to get him off his neck and back onto his mouth, where they frantically made out until they were just breathing into each other’s mouth.

“Ilya… I’m so…” Shane was struggling to get anything out, all his focus needed to ride Ilya into oblivion.

“Yes… fuck… Shane.” Ilya grabbed Shane’s ass more firmly, supporting the motions that were clouding up his brain and electrifying his body. Shane’s orgasm shattered over him first, his rhythm fully toppling over, his body twitching and writhing in Ilya’s arms while spurting cum all over their torsos. Ilya’s vision whited out, everything lighting up in bliss when his own orgasm overtook his body, shaking him to his core with the amount of desire and affection he was hit with.

This is my forever.

Shane stayed seated until they both found something resembling a breathing pattern. Ilya helped Shane out of his lap, got rid of the condom and grabbed his shirt that was the closest clothing item to clean them up, not willing to leave the bed. He wrapped Shane closely to his chest, who let out a content sigh.

“I like listening to your heart beat.” Shane sleepily mumbled.

“It’s all yours.”

___________________________

Ilya woke up the next morning in the same position he had been in after they had showered together, had eaten dinner and Ilya had detailed how he had gotten out of Russia: entangled to the point of not being able to tell which limb belonged to who. Shane stirred next to him before blinking his eyes open.

“Good morning, solnyshko.” Ilya’s voice came out thick, his vocal chords still covered in sleep.

“Good morning.” Shane snuggled even closer and Ilya kissed his temple in response. 

“What do you want to do today?” Shane asked, yawning half way through.

“I have to make up for last couple of months.” Ilya stroked Shane’s back, enjoying the silky touch of Shane’s skin under his hands.

“You already apologized, I’m fine.” Shane sounded fine but that wouldn’t stop Ilya.

“Ah, but you did not hear my plan of how I want to make it up to you.” Shane lifted his head to directly look at Ilya. “Okay, shoot.”

“A morning blow job every day we are here. And I will make you pancakes as often as you want.” Ilya peppered Shane’s face with kisses to wake him up so more.

“I will accept the deal. How long can you stay by the way?” Shane gently massaged Ilya’s arms that were wrapped around him.

“I have to be back in Boston on the 9th of September.” Ilya had already managed to push any sponsor responsibilities to the preseason and close to Boston.

“Oh great, I have to be back in Montreal on the 10th.” Shane ran his hands up into Ilya’s hair where he scraped over his scalp, Ilya practically purring from the attention.

“Six weeks?”

“Six weeks.”

Ilya untangled himself as best as he could to give the promised blowjob. Then, he trotted down into the kitchen to start the banana and chocolate chip pancakes he had in mind. He had checked in the evening that everything was there for breakfast, including maple syrup.

Shane came back down a few minutes after him, dressed in the hoodie he stole (and that Ilya decided he would just let him keep) and boxer briefs. He velcroed himself to Ilya’s naked back while Ilya was cooking the pancakes two at a time.

“I still can’t believe you’re here. My brain will need a couple of days to understand what’s going on.” Shane spread his hands across Ilya’s front, getting as much contact as possible.

“Oh, I will remind you that I am here, do not worry.” Ilya flipped the last pancake to the plate and carried them over to the table.

They spend the next couple of days rotating between eating, resting, getting each other off, working out and more resting. Day four was when they finally decided they should do something else and put on a movie. 

Ilya was too focused on Shane pressed against his chest to really follow the plot but it didn’t look like it had a lot of plot, just some fast cars and explosions that could indicate any Michael Bay movie. Shane seemed similarly distracted.

“So…” Shane started the conversation between two explosions.

“So?” Ilya was already intrigued by the start.

“Okay, this might be a dumb question but us being engaged means we are exclusive, right?” Shane nervously asked him.

“Exclusive?” Ilya wasn’t sure what that entailed in that context.

“Yeah, it means we aren’t sleeping with other people anymore. Would that be okay with you?” Shane was fidgeting with his hoodie string, not looking at Ilya.

“I have not slept with anyone in a while.” Ilya placed a gentle but firm kiss under the hinge of Shane’s jaw. Shane’s sucked in a surprised breath before he continued. “Can I…uhh… can I ask you when?”

“May.”

“May, okay.” Shane stiffened in his arms, failing at not letting the date irritate him.

“2013.”

Shane whipped around, almost knocking his head against Ilya’s. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, is boring to fuck people after you slept with Stanley Cup champion.” Ilya went out plenty of times, he tried picking up someone twice but ultimately decided he wasn’t feeling it before it went anywhere beyond dancing. God, he was really dumb looking back, wasn’t he?

Shane was perfectly still for a good twenty seconds before breaking out into a full body laugh. He barely got enough air through the wheezing, tears streaming down his face.

“Very funny, yes.” Ilya’s stomach dropped ever so slightly. That was not the reaction he thought this would get.

Shane took several big breaths to calm himself before turning around to sit in Ilya’s lap. “Ilya, ask me when the last time I slept with someone else was?”

“When was the last time you slept with someone else?” Ilya parroted.

“April 2013.” Shane was grinning from ear to ear.

“You are serious?”  Ilya really hoped he was.

“Yes. Which means, we have been accidentally exclusive for over a year now. We are such idiots, oh my god.” Shane grabbed Ilya’s jaw and gave him a searing kiss that quickly intensified until Ilya had Shane on his back and pressed into the sofa cushions.

“Wait, did you get tested since then?” Shane asked when Ilya dipped down to place kisses down the side of his neck.

“Yes, all clear.” 

“Same for me. So… we could go without?” Ilya’s head snapped up at Shane’s words.

“Do you want to?” Ilya knew, he really wanted to.

“Fuck, yes, I thought about it a couple of times. The thought of you…” Shane trailed off, his eyes wandering over the surroundings in search of an anchor.

“Do you want to finish your thought out loud?” In situations like these, Ilya sometimes needed to remind Shane that he couldn’t read his mind. Or not yet, Ilya was trying his best.

Shane blinked and looked back at Ilya. “I want you to come inside me. Would you like that?” 

“Fuck, Shane. Yes… fuck.” Ilya pressed his lips on Shane’s, his dick already very interested in what Shane suggested.

Ilya stripped them both off their clothes and positioned Shane on all fours on the couch. He retrieved the lube bottle they had placed in the coffee table drawer after the first time fooling around on the couch and got to work on opening Shane up with his fingers and his tongue.

Shane was cursing and moaning under him. Ilya always thought of Shane as being quite vocal but it had been nothing compared to the freedom the cottage gave him. Ilya wished he would always be this unleashed, his dick twitching every time Shane let himself audibly go.

The prep was getting easier with the practice of the last couple of days, Ilya still made sure to stretch out Shane enough to not cause any major pain.

“Ilya, please, I’m ready.” Shane was impatiently twitching his hips under the attention Ilya was giving his hole.

Ilya pulled out his fingers and gave Shane a loving smack to his butt, making him groan in response. Ilya perked up. He rubbed the place he just hit.

“You want another?” He lifted his hand off the cheek, holding it out until he got a response.

“Mmmmyes.” Shane’s head that was hanging between his shoulders was thrown back when Ilya made the second slap a real one, the noise echoing through the living room. Ilya soothed the sting with gentle strokes.

“One more,” Shane pleaded. Ilya followed Shane’s wish and spanked him again. Shane jerked forwards before pressing back into Ilya’s hand which was calming the reddened skin.

“You like that?” Shane showed him that he liked it but Ilya preferred to hear it out loud.

“Not as… punishment… I like the sensation.” Shane craned his neck around to look at Ilya. His face was deeply flushed, his eyes hooded with wide pupils, everything underlining that Ilya should and would do it again for him. “But, can you fuck me now? I want to feel you inside of me.”

“Hold yourself open for me. I want to fuck you as deep as possible.” Ilya put a tube shaped pillow under Shane’s chest so his head and neck wouldn’t get uncomfortable and slicked his dick up with lube. Shane pulled his plump cheeks apart and revealed his pinkish hole, that was slightly puffy from all the fucking, in all its glory to Ilya. Ilya collected moisture in his mouth and spat directly on it. Shane shuttered through his spine, gripping tighter at himself while Ilya was spellbound watching it drip down. 

Ilya grabbed his dick and rubbed it against Shane’s entrance, getting himself used to the skin on skin contact. He smacked the tip to the center, making Shane quiver. He did it again to the same response, the third time earning him a rumbling groan out of Shane.

Ilya placed the blunt head of his cock and pushed in slowly, wanting to feel every inch of Shane’s velvet tunnel shift around him. He slid in with ease and, as promised, deeper than he had ever before. It shouldn’t be that different. Condoms were thin, Ilya knew which brand fit best on him and he never thought he was missing out on anything by not fucking someone without one before. But it did feel different. He could feel any movement, any ripple, any tensing around him so much clearer. Shane’s heat was much more direct around him, making him pause for a second to get adjusted or he might bust right then and there. 

“You okay?” Shane asked into the cushion where his head was laying. Okay, maybe Ilya had paused for a little longer.

“Mhm, yes.” Ilya ran his hand across Shane’s back to land in his hair. Ilya tenderly tucked it so his face was better visible and bent down to hover over it.

“You look so perfect from here, I want to spank you again.” Ilya was growling into his ears.

“Fuck… yes. But I need you to move.” Shane let out a whimper. “Want to feel you.” 

Ilya rolled his hips against Shane’s ass to see his face twisting up in pleasure right under him. He pulled Shane’s hands off and gave him another slap. He could feel Shane clench around him.

“Bozhe moy! Shane!” Ilya thrusted in and out of Shane, relentlessly nailing his prostate in the process. Shane screwed his eyes shut and let out a lustriddled whine when the next smack landed right at the sensitive skin where his ass met his thigh. Ilya growled at the feeling of Shane fluttering around him, everything heightened, making him float in the golden clouds that were swirling around his head.

“Fuck me… harder… Ilya…”  Ilya sank his thumbs into Shane’s hip dimples, grabbing him firmly to jackhammer into him with all that he had, threatening to lose his rhythm as he could feel his orgasm build up rapidly under the firework of new sensations.

“I’m… fuck, I’m close…” Ilya held on for dear life, the wanton noises that he was pounding out of Shane not helping his situation.

“Fill me… ahhh fuck… Fill me up... uuuuhhhnn.” Shane sank his fingers into his own thighs before letting out a euphoric wail that shot sparks into every last cell of Ilya’s body.

Ilya lost any sense of reality, pleasure taking over in spectacular waves, tingling through his body until it all collapsed into itself before exploding through his body. His hips stuttered, filling Shane up like he wanted to. Shane came right then, Ilya feeling the pulsating clenches milking him forcefully. Coming together like this felt incredibly intimate and so unbelievably satisfying. Ilya wanted to stay right where he was until he was able to go again but his thigh muscles were threatening to give out on him.

He placed soft kisses on Shane’s shoulders to apologize for pulling out so soon and settled behind Shane, who still stayed in the same position. After a couple of minutes, Ilya could see himself dripping out of Shane’s hole. Ilya leaned his head back in without thinking and licked his cum off of Shane’s ass, Shane moaning at the action. Ilya went for another lick, Shane moaning choked back in his throat.

“Too much?” They had played with overstimulation before, that didn’t mean Shane wanted it right now.

“It’s… a lot, but I think I can come again.” Shane was panting, the words slurred against the cushion.

Ilya took his cue and suckled his own cum out of Shane’s ass, shoveling it out with his tongue. He slicked up his hand with more lube and wrapped it around Shane’s dick which had been untouched so far. It was still rather sensitive from the previous orgasm, making Shane hiss at the touch. Ilya used his other hand on himself.

“Don’t stop, Ilya.” Shane sounded out lust drunk and fucked out but still determined to come again.

Ilya worked his hand and mouth simultaneously on Shane, whose whole body started shaking, his moans filling the room together with the wet, sloppy noises Ilya was producing. Ilya was rock hard again already from the high he got from pleasuring Shane like that, never even going fully soft in between.

“Can I fuck you again?” Ilya was desperate to do it again, no matter how much his muscles were protesting.

“Yeah… yes, fuck me, Ilya,” Shane whined out.

Ilya put more lube on his dick, the bottle emptying quickly, and slid right back in. He picked up the tempo until he found a rhythm they were both reveling in, fucking the rest of his cum further into Shane.

Ilya had the overwhelming urge to get Shane closer, so he used his immense upper body strength to haul Shane upright with him, one hand across the chest, the other right under his jaw to turn his face to kiss him. It was all messy and chaotic and everything Ilya needed. He leaned further back so Shane could rest easier against his chest and took the hand from his jaw to jerk Shane off furiously while he was pounding his cock deep into Shane’s ass in a feral frenzy. Ilya had never felt such an intense high before and he didn’t want it to end.

“Ilyaaaaaa…” is all that Shane got out before his cum shot out in ribbons over the leather couch under them right where his previous load had landed. Ilya had the perfect view of Shane falling apart for him over his shoulder where he sank his teeth in when his own second orgasm hit a minute later, painting Shane’s inner walls white spurt by spurt.

They collapsed backwards, Shane lying on top of Ilya who was still inside him. They got their legs out under them and Shane reluctantly moved off to lay on Ilya’s side so they could gain back full consciousness via breathing.

“Wow that was…” Shane was still too short-winded to finish the sentence.

“Very hot.” Ilya nuzzled Shane’s hair. They laid there in silence for a while just coming down to earth. Ilya’s stomach grumbling disturbed their well earned peace.

“You hungry?” Shane turned his head to give Ilya’s pec muscles a kiss.

“Yes.” Ilya was too exhausted for a full sentence.

“Burgers?” Shane had found a recipe online he had wanted to try.

“Give me five more minutes. I am dead.” Ilya wasn’t sure if he would ever get off this couch again but burgers did sound enticing.

“You are not allowed to die, okay?” Shane declared sternly.

“Okay.” Ilya wouldn’t dare to deny him.

___________________________

They showered and ate all eight burgers Shane made, hungry from the afternoon activities and then made their way over to the couch where Shane started a fire in the steel pit. The sun was already halfway gone, the cold of the night making itself noticeable. Ilya got them blankets from the living room and cuddled up to Shane who had successfully gotten them entertainment for the night.

“So we just look at it.” It was more a statement than a question from Ilya.

“Yeah,” Shane had always loved to watch the flames dance right in front of him while the crackling of the wood would fill the air. They sat there in silence for a while, Shane scraping through Ilya’s curls which he knew he loved and Shane loved it just as much.

“My mom asked me to come over some time this week.” Shane had texted his parents that he wanted a couple of days undisturbed in his cottage to get used to it, not revealing he had a visitor.

“What did you say?” Ilya turned his head to look up at Shane.

“I said, I will think about it. They aren’t far from here, just one lake over. I can go there for lunch and then come back.” He wanted to see his parents and it would be suspicious to not go but leaving Ilya hidden at the cottage felt like a step back for Shane. He still wanted to give him a choice.

“Hm, okay.” Ilya sounded too neutral for Shane’s comfort.

“There is always the option that you come with me, if you want to?” Shane tried to not sound too hopeful.

“You want me to meet your parents?” A small smile hushed over Ilya’s face.

“Technically, you already talked to my mom before. It was in the middle of a crisis, but it’s not like they don’t know who you are. I want you to meet them but it’s okay, if you don’t want to right now.”

“No, Shane. I want to meet them.” Ilya paused before asking his next question. “Do they know about you?”

“Yeah, I told them like two weeks ago that I’m gay. I also told them that there was someone and that we aren’t together anymore, so you would be a surprise.” Shane could pack some confetti to lunch if needed.

“I love surprising Hollanders at their cottages.” Shane deeply groaned at that.

“You’re such an idiot.” He tucked Ilya’s hair, just for Ilya to grin at him in delight.

“I am your idiot.” Ilya hummed.

“Yes, my favorite.” Shane let his hand wander down Ilya’s body until he could entwine it with Ilya’s hand that was resting on his waist.

“Can I ask about your family?” Ilya turned his face back to the fire, some conversations were easier without looking at each other. “Yes.”

“Were your father and brother always this awful to you?” Shane had already gathered some information but he wanted the full picture.

“My father, yes. It was even worse when he had… how do say… all his marbles. He was a military officer, even at home. I never… he never… I tried to make him proud but it was never enough for him. And my brother… he wanted to be just like him, so he took any chance he got to be shit to me as well.”

“Oh Ilya, I’m so sorry your family sucks so much.”

“They do. My mother though… she was so beautiful and funny. She was always so warm and tried to protect me from them but she was so sad. I never knew if it was a good day or a bad day when I woke up and with more bad days I got scared to wake up.” Ilya’s voice got more strained, Shane heard him swallow against the constriction of his throat

“How did she die?”

“Accident. She accidentally swallowed a whole bottle of pills. This is what my father made us tell everyone. It would be too shameful to have her do it on purpose. But I saw her every day and she…” Ilya’s voice broke. Shane didn’t know where the sentence would lead to but he also didn’t want to push.

“How old were you?”

“Twelve. I found her.” Shane could feel Ilya shake under his hands, his breath coming in fast now.

“That’s horrible, Ilya. I’m so sorry.” Shane felt even more rage than before over how Ilya’s family had treated him. He didn’t ask any more questions about his family for now. He had other questions, though.

“Have you ever told anyone this?” Shane asked after Ilya calmed back down. 

“No.” Ilya’s response came quickly. 

“Can I suggest something to you and you think about it?” Shane stroked Ilya’s hand with his thumb.

“Okay.” Ilya laid totally still now.

“This is a lot to happen to someone. You are so strong and I’m so happy you made it out of there. You handled it as best as you could on your own but maybe it would be good to talk to someone? I know Kira helped me a lot to handle my stuff, it’s not the same what you went through but talking to someone could be good. I’m always here to listen if you need me but that doesn’t replace someone professional. Only if you want to, of course.”

Ilya didn’t say anything for a while and Shane was getting worried he overstepped.

“I… I sometimes have bad days where it is hard to get up or shower. I do not know if anyone can help.” Ilya’s exhaustion was palpable with every word spoken.

“You could give it a try and if it doesn’t, you can stop again, okay?” Shane was lucky with Kira but he heard some horror stories of awful therapists. They were people after all.

“Okay.” Ilya pressed the side of his face firmly into Shane’s thigh.

“And if it gets bad and I’m not there, you can always call me.” Shane made a mental note to let Ilya’s number through the do not disturb.

“Thank you.” Ilya pulled their entwined hands to his mouth and kissed the back of Shane’s hand before letting it rest against his chest.

“I love you no matter what.”

“I love you, too.”

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• Shane was busy winning the Stanley cup in May/June 2013, that’s why I timed it to be a month before Ilya, who was out of the playoffs at that point. Shane had a more active sex life here than he had in the book as the therapy made him more comfortable with his sexuality but still had to be careful.

That was a short newsletter but I had nothing to add here.
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Chapter 20: Meet the Hollanders

Chapter Summary

Competitive Hollanov, they make a plan and Ilya gets to meet the (other) Hollanders.

Chapter Notes

Welcome back to the cottage.

No particular warning for this one.

Shane was not losing. He was 1-3 behind in their best of seven NHL 14 series but he was NOT losing. Not with him on the cover. Not with him stealing the Bears right under Ilya’s nose just for Ilya to pick the Admirals so Scott Hunter can win for once.

And if he was implementing some tactics on the more questionable end like putting on one of his shorter pairs of shorts or that his frustrated moans sounded a bit more sensual than they strictly needed to be, then that was between Shane and NHL 14 cover Shane.

He was close to losing though. They made their usual winner’s choice rule and Shane already had some ideas but for that he had to win first.

Ilya next to him had a smirk on his face as if he had already won.

“No wonder you are losing if you stare at me the whole time.” Shane could see the smirk grow wider in his peripheral.

“Fuck off, I’m about to destroy you.” Shane smashed the buttons harder for good measure.

“You got the best player of the league on your team and you are losing to Scott Hunter. This is bad bad, kotenok.” He had a point and Shane hated that he had a point.

Shane had a quick decision to make: keep to the rest of his morals for a video game and lose or…

“What are you doing?” Ilya briefly glanced down before turning his focus back to the game.

“Nothing,” Shane replied nonchalantly while his leg was stretched out to the side and his foot was rubbing over Ilya’s clothed dick.

“If you need dirty tactics, you already lost,” Ilya noted with amusement.

“I’m just stretching out my foot, it was cramping.”

“Ah and you thought you need to do this in my crotch?” 

“Is that where it landed? I didn’t know. Do you want me to pull away?”

“No… you can try all you want, you will still lose.” Ilya spread his legs further, giving Shane even better access. Shane could feel Ilya grow hard under his touch but to his irritation Ilya’s playing only improved.

“Is like playing against you on the ice. Horny only makes me better.” Ilya leaned back, relaxed as ever.

“Is that why you sometimes sext me before games?” Shane almost forgot to smash more buttons.

“Maybe.” That was a very thinly veiled yes if Shane ever heard one.

“I will remember that!” Shane needed to run the numbers if their sexting actually improved Ilya’s performance on the ice.

Shane fought tooth and nail but nothing could stop Ilya. Shane took the defeat graciously as he hurled the controller into the corner of the couch and threw himself back into the cushions with a scrunched nose.

“Not even your slutty shorts helped you. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” Ilya made his way into Shane’s lap. Shane was still mad but not mad enough to stop him.

“They are not slutty!” Okay, maybe a little.

“Do I get my price or do you want to be mad?” Ilya laid his arms on Shane’s shoulders. 

“Can it be both?” Shane reached up to squeeze his biceps.

“I do not think you will be mad for long with price.” He was right again, being thoroughly railed by Ilya was a sure fire way to improve his mood.

“Fine, what do you want to do?” Shane lightly caressed Ilya’s arms, the hair standing up under his touch.

“Ah, is surprise. You can always say no,” Ilya assured him. 

Shane trusted Ilya to make it enjoyable for them both and even more that he would stop at any sign Shane didn’t like something. Looking more closely, Shane realized they probably got more off on pleasuring the other person than themselves.

“Okay, you get your price.” Shane not so subtly let his eyes flicker between Ilya’s eyes and mouth until Ilya went in to kiss him. They made out for some lazy minutes, Shane already half gone from just the colliding of their mouths. Whatever time had passed, it was way too soon when Ilya moved away from him.

“Come, we go to bedroom.” Ilya pulled him off the couch and walked them up the stairs into the master bedroom.

“Clothes off and I want you on all fours, your side close to headboard. Okay?” Ilya kissed him once again before waiting for an answer.

“Okay.” Shane didn’t have the slightest idea of what Ilya was planning which made his stomach do a little swoop. Nerves or excitement, he wasn’t sure, probably a bit of both.

“You say stop or tap me if you do not like, yes?” Ilya grabbed his chin to make eye contact with him.

“Yes.” Shane loved how safe they made playing around for each other. He still got nervous from time to time but never anywhere close to being afraid. Shane took off his clothes and positioned himself as instructed. Ilya rummaged through the drawer behind him. Then, the mattress dipped behind Shane and Ilya leaned in close to his ear.

“Were you hiding this from me, kotenok?” Shane’s dildo appeared in front of his face.

“You literally saw me use it several times on FaceTime. And I wasn’t trying to hide it in my ass those times.”

Ilya chuckled. “Yes, but you did not say you have it with you.”

“Why does it matter? Your dick is at least like a hundred times better.”

“Because we can use it together.”

“Oh.” Shane somehow always just thought of it as some mediocre replacement for the real thing.

“You will see.” Ilya purred into his ear.

Ilya let his hands and lips glide over Shane, waking his skin up, sending warm rays all through him. Shane shut his eyes to fully immerse himself in the map that the contact was drawing over his body. Ilya popped the lube bottle open and spread some of it over Shane’s hole. He massaged the ring of muscle until he could work in one finger then two. Shane always deeply enjoyed that part even though he tended to get impatient as Ilya’s skilled digits were working him up fast, faster than his own ever could.

Ilya pulled out his fingers and replaced them with the lubed up dildo, Shane’s spine arching at being filled up like that.

“You are so gorgeous when you get fucked like this.” Ilya pushed and pulled at the dildo which had a little bump to one side at the top to hit the prostate better. Ilya found the exact interval over it to make him quiver, the twisting motion he added drawing moan after moan out of him.

“Fuuuuuck… Ilya… don’t stop,” Shane slurred out.

“You still prefer my dick?” Ilya asked after a particularly well angled thrust that made Shane want to collapse.

“Yeah… fuck… still…very much.” Shane’s brain was getting fuzzy around the edges but he still remembered that much.

Ilya pulled out the dildo but instead of placing himself behind Shane, he kneeled in front of him, holding his dick against Shane’s lips. Shane’s gaze slowly wandered from the dick right in front of him over the ripped abs, the obscenely huge pecs, the sharp jaw, the plush lips to the sparkling hazel eyes before opening his lips to welcome Ilya in his mouth. Ilya pushed his hips carefully forward until half of his dick was flattening Shane’s tongue. Shane tried to take him deeper but Ilya’s hand in his hair held him firmly in place.

“Ah, not yet. Stay.” Ilya’s voice was seductively dripping like honey from his tongue, Shane moaning around him in anticipation.

Ilya bent his body at the waist over Shane, one hand on the headboard to stabilize, the other reinserting the dildo half way. Shane was practically trembling from excitement, the stimulation on both ends overwhelming his brain close to the point of going completely quiet. He was about to be fucked by Ilya two ways and he couldn’t fucking wait.

Or was he? Ilya wasn’t moving, neither his hand nor his hips.

“Is choose your own adventure. Move forward and take my dick deeper or move back and fuck yourself on the dildo. I am just here to enjoy view.”

And fuck, if Shane was turned on before, this heightened everything to the n-th degree. He loved when they just went at each other without a plan. He loved it even more when they had a plan and the plan included taking the time to explore new sensations.

He tentatively moved backwards to let the dildo fully glide in, so he could give the head of Ilya’s dick a swirl with his tongue and lick up any precum that had already collected in the slit. He then tested the range in the other direction until his face was pressed against Ilya’s abs and he could swallow around him. Ilya cursed in Russian over him and circled the dildo around, stretching out the first inch or two of Shane’s entrance. Shane let out a deep and desperate moan, his throat vibrating around Ilya’s thick cock, making Ilya groan low in response.

“Bozhe moy! You are doing so well... so hungry for my cock, not caring if you choke on it... Fuck!” Shane’s arms were threatening to buckle under the praise Ilya was giving him. He backed off of his dick to make breathing easier, impaling himself on the dildo once again. There was no backing up from arousal, either way kindling the flame that was burning his body up with desire.

Shane rocked his body back and forth, Ilya holding still as promised, letting Shane set his own pace, continuing his litany of praises, only occasionally twisting the dildo in the right moment or slightly twitching his hips when Shane would let out a particularly loud groan around him and he couldn’t help it. You only have so much control over yourself.

Shane’s body was a life wire, sparks being sent through it from both ends. They spread out from his sternum to the very last corners until his whole body was vibrating from the current running through him. 

He would come from this and it was about to happen very soon, he realized. Over the years he had closely catalogued how he would know that Ilya was close, too. His face, involuntary movements, pace picking up, rhythms faltering or straight up confirming it out loud but he was holding perfectly still, his beautiful face was out of view, Shane was setting the pace and he had no way of asking. Ilya’s voice sounding rougher each glide and his hips desperately trying not to twitch were the only indicators Shane had that Ilya was right there with him. He doubled his efforts, sucking Ilya off as best as he could in his delirious state, drooling in the process but he didn’t care.

Those were the last thoughts Shane actively registered before his mind went blank. The sparks ignited into fireworks, his arms and legs shaking, his mind, body and soul ready to fully fall apart. There was no escape, no brakes, no going back, his body trapped in an avalanche of lust that let him tumble down deeper and deeper, lost in the sensation of fucking himself on both ends until his orgasm plowed through him.

Shane could feel Ilya shooting cum down his throat, the hand that was on the dildo shakingly extracting it from him. He was pulled to Ilya’s chest, barely registering the movement, his mind only slowly coming back online. Ilya was stroking his back and murmuring sweet Russian nothings into his hair until Shane found the last ounce of strength in his body so he could crane his neck up to collect a kiss from Ilya.

“You are okay?” Ilya asked softly against his lips.

“Yes, you?” Shane let his head drop back down into the crook of Ilya’s neck, too tired to hold it up any longer.

“Yes,” Ilya confirmed.

They both basked in the afterglow for a while before Ilya spoke again.

“Did you like it?” His voice still sounded rough.

“Very much.” Shane pressed his lips to Ilya’s clavicle to underline his statement.

“We could find third person next time,” Ilya dropped casually.

“What?” Shane’s head snapped up, post-coital fatigue be damned.

“So you can get that with two real dicks,” Ilya continued calmly like he hadn’t just set off multiple alarm bells in Shane’s mind.

“Would you want to do that?” Shane asked dejectedly.

Ilya’s cool facade crumbled, his voice coming out quieter than before. “Not really, no.” 

“Then why did you ask me?” Shane searched his face, he looked like he was trying to hide.

“If you want to do it, I will try,” Ilya looked everywhere but at Shane.

“But you don’t want that.” Shane had trouble processing what went wrong that they had this discussion in the first place.

“No.” That one was clear. Shane tried to sort his thoughts out that were covered by a heavy fog.

“Ilya, that’s not how this works. If one of us doesn’t want to do something, that's enough to not do it. That’s a rule for both of us. You don’t want it, then we don’t do it. I don’t want it either by the way. I liked it because it was all you. You’re all I need. You know, I have slept with other people, right? I know what I did when I chose to only sleep with you, even before we said I love you and got engaged. I’m not interested in anyone else. Why the fuck would I be?” Shane could feel panic rise in him.

“Okay.” Ilya let out a tense breath to steady himself while a horrifying thought crossed Shane’s mind.

“Did you ever do something in bed just because I wanted to do it?... Fuck, I’m so sorry. Did I ever… I’m sometimes not good at reading signals. I try to check in but if I ever got carried away…” Shane’s breath went aggressively shallow, his head already running through all their meet-ups to examine if he missed anything. The well-known shame of not getting social cues as well as it was expected rapidly rose in him.

“Shane, hey… hey!” Ilya rolled Shane on his back, trapping him under his weight in an attempt to calm him back down. “You never forced me into anything, I always enjoy sex with you very much. And you check in and ask what I want more than enough times. I appreciate it very much. I do not want to add someone, was stupid question. I am sorry.” Ilya reached out to grab Shane’s hand and squeeze it tight.

“You need to promise me, you tell me if you don’t want to do something. It will never be important enough to try over your discomfort, okay?” Shane made sure to study Ilya’s face as close as possible to not miss any cues this time.

“Okay, I promise. You can stop panic.” Shane’s panic was already subsiding but it was a good reminder to force his breathing into a steadier pattern.

“Okay, sorry, I just… your well-being is important to me.” Shane used his free hand to brush Ilya’s curls out of his face.

“Yours for me, too. We will not do something we do not want to do.” Ilya sealed his promise with a tender kiss.

“Good. And for the record, I have no intentions of sharing you or sleeping with anyone else even if you’re there.” Shane thought that had been clear with the exclusivity talk but he would say it until he was blue in the face if that was what would reassure Ilya.

“Good. Same for me.” A small, private small darted over Ilya’s face.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

___________________________

“She said, we can come over tomorrow for lunch.” Shane sank back into the couch where Ilya had been waiting during the phone call with Shane’s mom.

“Ah and you did not tell her, it is me?” Ilya pulled Shane close to him.

“No, I just said, I’m back with the person I told them about and that I will bring him.” Shane sighed and rested his weight back onto Ilya. He was all warm and soft like this and Ilya couldn’t get enough of him.

“Okay, thank you.” Ilya nuzzled his hair and inhaled a big huff of his scent.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to give them the information beforehand?” Shane reached over to the back of the couch to pull a blanket over both of them. The rainy day forced them to stay inside and cuddle most of the day to the chagrin of neither of them.

“No, is better to do in person.” 

“Okay.”

Ilya knew about his reputation. Not that he cared much or tried to change it. Even though it somewhat mellowed out since he became captain - a really well suited captain which his team kept emphasizing in interviews no matter how hard the interviewer tried to switch up on them - the dominant narrative about him was still that he was a menacing heartbreaker, the bad boy of hockey, the untameable Russian bear or whatever. None of these were convenient in the face of officially meeting his fiance’s parents for the first time. So he insisted on keeping it a secret until they would actually see him so Ilya had a chance to charm them in person instead of them potentially hatching a plan against him. If his parents were anything like Shane, they would love a good plan.

“Do we want to make a plan of what we will do after the cottage before or after tomorrow? Not that it will change anything for me. I don’t think they will make it a problem but if they do I will make it clear that you are my priority.”

Ilya’s heart clenched from the notion of Shane having to choose one over the other. Ilya technically did the same thing but his remaining family treated him like garbage and Shane was just the last drop in the bucket to make it run over. He didn’t want Shane to do the same but knowing him, it was hard to stop him once he set his mind on something.

“I will be my best self, they will love me, you will see.”

“I’m sure they will. So… the plan?” Shane asked again.

“I think now is good.”

“Okay, so I think the first thing is citizenship, if you want that to change. That will determine some of the other stuff. You said you don’t want to go back, so citizenship is the best option for that. I looked into US and Canada, I think both might be somewhat doable. The US one was more complicated but we can always get you an immigration lawyer from both countries and then you can decide.”

Ilya shouldn’t really be surprised that Shane had looked into it. He wondered when he had the time or if he had done that before Ilya even showed up at the cottage.

“I do want it to change. I think Canada is better. USA is not the best place for Russians. And if we live in Canada after we retire, I do not need visa or switch again.”

Shane was beaming when Ilya dropped that he was planning to stay with him for the long haul. Although they both made their intentions clear, it was nice to hear again. It made Ilya feel more content when he spoke it into existence, too. 

“Would you want to switch to a Canadian team? That’s the easiest option.” Shane explained.

“Not Montreal.” It came out faster than Ilya intended. The beaming was gone, Shane sank into himself right in front of him. “I want to play on same team with you if we can, but not Montreal.”

“No, definitely not Montreal, not how it is right now. I keep pushing it out of my head but I fear it will only get worse this season. Schneids’ wife Celine is pregnant and they decided to move back to Germany to be close to his parents and her parents aren’t far away in Switzerland either. Andy handed in his trade request after that. I’m just waiting for Mitty or Ryan to also get fed up by the nonsense they are fabricating. I will try to sit it out for another season or two but I’m not going to stay there long term if they don’t change anything.”

“So what teams are left in Canada? Toronto is Kent’s territory, I would rather pull my eyeballs out.” Ilya just about kept his gag reflex in check even mentioning that pile of trash in human form.

“Same. Winnipeg and Calgary have no cap space.” Shane continued the list. “They also have relatively young rosters, no one with a high salary close to retirement.”

“Edmonton and Vancouver have horrible management, they trade players like GMs are bored every two months on the dot.” Edmonton recently got the season’s unofficial ESPN award for worst trades. Last year’s went to Vancouver.

“Ottawa?” Shane seemed hesitant to even mention them.

“Ottawa. Team is horrible but they have cap space. Management seems nice but no players are interested in rebuilding so they are not getting anyone. We can change that.” Ilya thought about going to Ottawa, it was only two hours away and any team could be good with him on it, ignoring the Olympic team.

“But then we have to rebuild Ottawa.” Shane sounded exhausted just thinking about it.

“We already did that with Montreal and Boston,” Ilya reminded him. The teams got first and second draft picks in their year for a reason.

“True. But I’m not sure if we want to do that again in the prime of our careers. Your team is good in Boston, right?” Ilya rarely told him anything about the team as he feared that Shane would feel bad about his own team. He did get to know some of them on a couple of outings after the bar though.

“Yes, we had three people retire after cup but rest of the team is still there, they are all good.” And if they weren’t there were enough people to keep them in check. One trade only survived for a week as he kept making fun of the children’s hospital visits.

“So Boston has cap space?” Shane tried to clarify.

“Not enough for you directly but close.” Ilya would have to lie to know the exact number but they had a bunch of promising prospects they wanted to try out during rookie camp.

“Hm… but there is like zero chance Montreal would trade me to Boston. Fuck, I would have to wait until free agency, that would be another three years.” Shane lost all his steam at once.

“Boston is not in Canada, why are we considering this?” Ilya was not the best at North American geography but that much he knew.

“If I read it correctly, traveling with your spouse counts towards the days you would have to stay in Canada to get citizenship. And we have the summer and whatever days you are in Canada for games to count towards it as well.” Shane had really thought this through. If he hadn’t already proposed, Ilya would propose to him right now.

“You would come to Boston? You would give up captain?” Ilya remembered how happy Shane was, when he got captain.

“One of us would have to. I wouldn’t want to take away the C from you. I can always earn the A. We would have to duke out who gets to play first and second line though.”

“I can go wing, centers are not supposed to fight, is boring.” Ilya had played wing in Russia before and at All-Stars, he could score from anywhere. He kept trying to make LeClaire put him in as goalie to shoot a goalie goal but somehow LeClaire thought it was a joke.

“You fight anyway.” Shane always reprimanded him after an unnecessary fight but it somehow often ended in phone sex, so Ilya got mixed messages on that one.

“Yes, but coach is mad every time.” Ilya could give that speech by heart.

“And he wants his wings to fight?”

“No. But he is less mad at Marly.”

“So you would be okay with giving up center?”

“Yes or we switch. As long as I can play with you.” Ilya said truthfully. The thrill of playing a singular All-Stars game with Shane still regularly appeared in his dreams.

“I want to play with you so bad. But with the whole Montreal probably won’t trade me to Boston it might take a while if we’re not going to Ottawa.”

“Is okay, we figure it out.”

“Yeah.” Shane paused, probably going over his bullet points in his head. “I know it would be pretty fast but I would want to get married before the season. How about you?”

“I do not want to wait, we can get married tomorrow.” Any day without calling Shane his husband was a waste in his book.

“We have lunch with my parents tomorrow.”

“Right, so they are free.”

“Funny. We at least need a bit of planning like where we are going so no one will blabber. Marriage records aren’t public in Canada, doesn’t mean someone won’t open their mouths. I can ask Farah for help.”

“Do you think Farah needs a new client?”

“You want to switch?”

“Can’t stay with my Russian one and if I switch to Farah, we only have to tell one agent we are married.” Plus, Farah had a proven track record of getting the best deals in the league, no matter how much the other agents try to diminish her work.

“We can call her together, I will message her.” Shane pulled out his phone and sent off the email.

“Thank you.” Ilya had already drafted the email to fire his agent if Farah took him on.

Shane seemed to jump to a different part of his list. “We will need witnesses for the wedding.”

“What about your parents?” No matter how scared he was of meeting Shane’s parents he still hoped at last one side of their families would come.

“Yeah, maybe, but then you don’t have anyone. Is there someone you would want there?” Ilya didn’t have to think about that for long. “Marly. He is the closest person I have.”

“Good. He seems like he would be okay with this.” Shane twirled the fringe of the blanket through his fingers. “Would it be okay, if I ask Rose?”

“You don’t want Pike?” Ilya taunted Pike like he did the rest of the league but Pike was one of the guys who took it more personally when Ilya called him slow. But Pike had been Shane’s friend from the start.

“I’m not ready to come out to anyone on my team, not even Hayden. He is a bit bad at keeping secrets, I basically knew one day after they found out that Jackie is pregnant.” 

“Okay, get Rose.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. So she can see that you are marrying me.”

“I’m still very gay, Ilya.”

“Will not hurt to make her see in person, Shane.”

“We will have to coordinate a date with them then. But that can wait after my parents and Farah.”

“Is that enough plans?”

“Yes, that is it for now on my agenda. Why?” 

“Because I love you and I want to kiss my fiance.”

“We can put that on the agenda.”

___________________________

Shane's hands were clammy against the leather steering wheel. It was only a ten minute drive (if you knew which side roads to take) but that felt like an eternity and simultaneously like nothing at all when you were trying to prepare yourself for springing a fiance onto your parents. And that fiance being Ilya Rozanov from Boston, the team that his mother hated.

You can do this. They know that you have been together for four years. They know you are gay. They know Ilya. It will be fine.

“Will be fine, solnyshko.” Ilya needed to stop reading his mind or at least Shane needed to start learning, too.

“I’m fine.” Shane blatantly lied for his own sake.

“Did the steering wheel kill your hamster?”

“What? No. Why?”

“It looks like you want to strangle it.”

Shane looked down onto his hands, knuckles white, his nails digging in, thumbs drumming. “Oh.” Ilya reached over to pet his knee and left his hand there as an anchor.

“We can turn around if you need to.” Ilya offered him kindly.

“Do you not want to go?”

“No, I want to but I prefer you not having a panic attack over it.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Tell that to the steering wheel.”

Shane sighed in deep agony. He had tried to run scenarios on how the visit could go to calm himself but there were too many factors, so he just went into one huge spiral last night. He got himself halfway out of it. Ilya helped him with the other half by talking through it but the spiral was still looming under his feet, ready to take him down again.

His parents' cottage came into view. They had inherited it from his mother’s side, it was around half as big as his own but Shane wouldn’t trade it for the world. He had lived here a lot of his summers as a child, getting to play outside, discovering nature together and just enjoying the peace and quiet of not having to constantly interact with people that he had to mask for.

Heat was rising up his face, forming a thin layer of sweat under his hair line. He could just take Ilya’s offer, be a coward and turn around. Or his parents were already standing outside and ready to greet them. It would be ridiculous to turn around now, Shane still considered it for a millisecond.

He parked the car, took one last deep breath and looked over to Ilya who waited for him to be ready.

“Okay, let’s go.” Shane exclaimed.

They swung open their doors and as soon as Ilya was next to him, a row of bizarre events happened. His mom was grinning from ear to ear, his dad tried desperately to not look annoyed and then he handed her something that Shane couldn’t see. He stopped in his tracks, Ilya looking as confused as he felt.

“Hi?” Shane got out.

“Oh hi, come in!” His mother replied full of glee. Shane didn’t even get to introduce Ilya before she vanished into the house.

“Yeah, come in! I’m David.” His dad held out his hand for Ilya who shook it. “Ilya.”

“Well, I know who you are, nice to have you here.” His dad followed his mom and Shane felt like he was in a fever dream. Ilya furrowed his brows at him but Shane had nothing to offer but a shrug of his shoulders and a hand to lead him into the house.

“Oh yeah, you can call me Yuna.” His mom yelled from the kitchen. “Sorry, I didn’t want the meat to go over.”

What the fuck was going on? His parents were acting like they had met Ilya hundreds of times.

“Come sit down, I’ll help Yuna. What do you want to drink?” David gestured towards the dining room table that was already neatly set including a bouquet of wild flowers Shane was sure his dad had picked for his mom. They opted to sit next to each other in view of the hallway.

“Water and a coke for Ilya.” Shane shouted after him as he was already out of view.

“Shane, are you parents okay?” Ilya whispered.

“I have no clue.” Shane whispered back.

His parents came bustling back, putting a roast, gravy, mashed potatoes and princess beans on the table. They were gone again immediately to grab everyone’s drinks and then they sat down across from them.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Shane burst out.

“What’s wrong, honey?” His mother had the audacity to ask.

“You barely greeted Ilya, then you disappeared into the kitchen without any questions and now you act like I didn’t just bring Ilya fucking Rozanov into this house as my partner.” He turned to Ilya. “Sorry, that wasn’t… it didn’t mean…”

“Is okay.” Ilya took Shane’s hand into his own and put them on his thigh.

His parents went quiet. Really, really quiet.

“I’m sorry, honey. We weren’t trying to upset you. We were trying to be as casual as possible and we might have overshot it.” Yuna looked apologetic at them both.

“And we might have had a hunch,” David added under his breath.

“I had a hunch, you thought it was one of the Voyageurs PTs,” Yuna corrected him, slightly irritated.

“Which PT?” Shane asked before he could hold himself back.

“Not relevant,” his father tried.

“Patrick,” his mother provided at the same time.

“Patrick has a wife and three small children, all born in the last five years.” Shane had sent a bunch of stuff from their baby registry. Melinda, Angela and little Damian were all very grateful for Shane’s contributions.

“Oh, well, not Patrick then.” Yuna responded.

“Obviously not.” Shane wanted to bury himself in the forest. His parents couldn’t be serious. “So what happened when we arrived?”

His parents at least had the decency to look slightly ashamed when his mom fessed up. “We may have made a bet. I was saying it would be Rozanov, your dad bet on Patrick.”

“Ilya.” 

“Sorry. Ilya.” His mom corrected.

“We’ll need a moment.” Shane got up from the table and pulled Ilya with him outside. He rounded the corner of the house to make sure they were out of earshot before he turned to Ilya.

“I’m so sorry, of all the things I thought they would do, it wasn’t this.” Shane had no blueprint of what to do. He was prepared to explain the whole situation. He was prepared to argue with them. But once again, his parents did the thing he hadn’t prepared for: radical acceptance to the point of absurdity.

“I like them.” Ilya simply stated.

“What?” Shane thought it couldn’t get more confusing. He was wrong.

“They seem funny. I know where you get it from.” Ilya shrugged.

“Are you serious?” Shane’s head was spinning, he was so close to laying on the floor.

“Very serious. Unlike your parents.” Ilya chuckled like he was having the time of his life.

“You are not mad or sad?” Shane was pretty sure he could read Ilya’s current expression but everything was upside down.

“No, only sad that the roast is getting cold. It looks good.” Ilya was somehow cool, calm and collected.

“Not even the bet?” Shane asked.

“Patrick never stood a chance.” Ilya answered in a triumphant tone.

“Oh my god, good thing I already have a therapist, all three of you are insane.” Yep, floor time.

“Shane, this is the best I could have hoped for. I thought they would hate me, that you would have to explain why you are with me or comments about how I will ruin your image. Or worse that I only want to marry you for citizenship. Your mother of all people being so confident that you chose me that she would bet on it? That is the best thing. Will also be fun story to tell Cliff.” Ilya was grinning over his whole face.

“Shane?” His mother’s voice rang out.

“Are you good?” Ilya asked, pulling him back up off the floor and patting the dirt on his back away. They stepped around the corner.

“Yeah. You can go back inside, you can help dad with the food. I’ll be right in.” Shane watched Ilya pass his mom with a cordial nod and disappear into the cottage.

She waited until Ilya was back in the house. “I’m sorry again.”

“How did you know?” Shane spoke before his brain caught up what he was actually most worried about.

“You said four years, right?” Yuna recounted from the coming out talk.

“Yes.”

“So that was your rookie year. We thought it just made sense it was someone that you met in the NHL. That’s why your dad thought it might have been someone from the Voyageurs staff. But I heard how Ilya spoke on the phone when you were having your panic attack. That’s not someone who just casually walked in and helped you a little. That was someone who was holding it together for someone he at least really liked. You always defended him when anything negative came up about him, even if he was just out of form and playing against you. So he made the most sense from the info I had.”

That… made a surprising amount of sense. And only his parents had this information, so there were no worries that someone would find out right at this moment while everything was still up in the air about their joint future.

“And you don’t have any questions?”

“Of course, I probably have too many but I wanted you to be able to eat first and then I would have asked questions.” She made so much sense, it was almost infuriating.

“Okay, sure, I get that. It’s just… I ran through a lot of possibilities and this wasn’t one of them and I didn’t know what to make of it. It felt like you didn’t care that I was bringing my fiance over.” He didn’t expect fireworks, he was pretty sure they were banned near the woods in the summer, but there could have been at least something.

“Fiance?” 

“Yeah, I proposed to him when he came to the cottage. We broke up because of Russia and his family and then he managed to get out, so I proposed and he said yes.” He left out the part where he didn’t plan on proposing.

“Oh honey, he left Russia behind for you?” She stepped closer and squeezed his arm.

“He said it’s more for himself and I believe him but yeah, also to be with me. So this isn’t casual, he’s all in and I am too.” Shane said confidently.

“I’m sure it’s not. I saw your face when you told us you broke up.” A tinge of sorrow swung in her voice.

“It took us a while to realize that.” Shane let out a humorless laugh.

“But you’re together and happy now, right?” Yuna asked.

“Very happy.” Shane confirmed.

“Good, let’s go eat then.”

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the newsletter!

• NHL 14 was released on September 10, 2013.
• We never saw the conversation about sleeping with other people in the book, so this is their version of it. They had the brief exclusivity talk but sometimes you say dumb things after you saw your partner going crazy over being penetrated on two ends and then your partner has a small neurodivergent meltdown over missing something important. They are figuring it out.
• TL;DR on draft: The worse you are the earlier you are able to pick. There is some lottery stuff and some other rules/possibilities, that’s just the general guideline.
• Here is the website that says that travel days count towards permanent residency. I might take some liberties on citizenship laws in the future, depending on how the sequel will go. Fiction, yay!

Thank you once again for all the love, keep it coming!

Chapter 21: The Rise and Fall

Chapter Summary

A wedding and somewhat of a funeral.

Chapter Notes

Hello, took me a bit, life sucked, oh well. I post this late, I will do another edit in the morning (two edits as always before but there is always little things). I just want to get this out and not let you wait longer!

CW for the end. Do not open if you don’t want spoiler!

Homophobic, ableist and racist language/slurs, brief physical violence

Shane left Ilya in their bed for his after workout nap and went down to the living room couch. He pulled out his phone and pressed the call button.

“Shaney! What’s up?” Rose answered after the third ring, sounding breathless.

“Hey… uhm… are you alone by chance?” Shane had a feeling, she might react to what he was about to tell her.

“I just got back to my hotel room. God, it was an awful shoot day. No chance I will get out of Montreal before October.” She made an oof sound when her back hit the hotel bed.

Shane decided to rip the band aid off. “Remember that guy I talked to you about?” 

“Yeah. Hard to forget your mystery man.”

Shane had talked about Ilya for hours on end. He braced for impact before continuing. “He’s back.”

“WHAT? But I thought-” Rose's voice hit a new octave.

“Yeah.” 

“But now he’s-” 

“Yeah.”

Rose took a second to gather herself. “Are we happy about that?” 

“Very happy.” Shane smiled like a fool in the otherwise empty living room.

“Oh Shane, yay! You have to tell me everything.” If Shane had heard correctly, some sort of snack bag had been opened at the other end of the line.

“Sure but first… would you like to meet him?” 

“Are you serious? Of course I would like to meet him. When and where?” 

“September 6th, I’ll send you the address. You will probably need a dress or something.” Shane had planned the phone call for two days but right now he was getting it all out of order.

“What why?” Rose said between crunchy bites.

“I need you as a witness.” 

“What?” Rose laughed then coughed a little. “Shane, if you try to commit a crime it’s usually advisable to not have a witness.”

“I’m marrying him.” There, he finally made it to the important point.

“OH MY GOD!” Rose was audibly pacing through the hotel room. “Are you pranking me? It’s illegal to play with someone’s heart like that. I don’t even know the guy, how would I know if I approve?”

“Oh, you know him.” Great, back to being vague.

“You really need to get your order of telling me things under control, babe.” She sounded reasonably stressed.

“It’s Ilya Rozanov,” Shane said as clearly as possible.

The line went devastatingly silent.

“Rose?” He asked apprehensively.

Still nothing on the other end. Shane was starting to panic that she might have choked on her snack.

“Are you still there?” Shane unbeknownst to him had started to dig his fingers into the couch cushion, the leather squeaking under the touch.

Rose was very quiet and dead serious when she spoke. “I will never forgive you if you are pranking me."

“I’m not.” Shane relaxed his hand that had left a sweaty print. “I’m going to marry Ilya and I want you there as my best man. Best woman? You know what I mean.”

“Holy shit! Holy fucking shit... I need to lie down.” A small thump and she was back on her bed. “I would have guessed that your guy would be hot. But Ilya Rozanov? The hottest hockey player on the planet?”

“Hey! Okay you are kinda right but hey…” Shane had gotten to see Ilya work out shirtless in the early afternoon and then had made out with him for half an hour so there was very little to protest.

“Okay, you're both the hottest, whatever. Your relationship is hoarding hot hockey players is what I’m saying. Good for you!” Rose sounded giddy to Shane’s relief.

“So, can you be there?” Shane asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, are you kidding me?” At that moment, Shane was immeasurably happy that he trusted his gut and decided on Rose. The level of excitement out of Rose brought a sense of calmness to the whole thing for him.

“I’ll send you the address.” Shane briefly took his phone away from his ear to send the pin he had already typed out in their chat.

“Okay, now tell me everything and this time in a sensible order, please. A girl can only handle so much.”

___________________________

“He’s alive! How’s Russia?” Marly exclaimed when Ilya had almost hung up after the fifth ring.

“I am not in Russia.” Ilya had completely neglected to tell anyone. Too many questions would have been asked.

“You came back to Boston and didn’t tell me?” Marly asked him playfully insulted.

“Not in Boston.” Ilya was starting to like the cat and mouse game.

“My geography knowledge isn’t good enough to take more guesses.” The Bears had once tried to map out a roadie on a blank map with just the country borders. It did not go well.

“What are you doing around September 6th?” They had picked the last Saturday before they had to go back to their teams.

“Nothing so far, why?”

“Okay, I will need you to pick up suits from Tommaso and bring them to this address.” Ilya sent him the pin to the cottage.

“Dude, why do you want me to bring you suits to the middle of nowhere Canada?” Marly was clearly confused which heightened Ilya’s amusement.

“There is also a suit for you.” It was a present and a safety measure all in one. Marly had some interesting choices in his wardrobe.

“Are we getting married or something?” Marly joked.

“You? No. Me? Yes,” Ilya stated flatly.

“Roz, what the fuck is going on?” Marly started spiraling and Ilya couldn’t blame him.

“I will explain when you are here. Do not tell anyone about this or I will send Yuna after you.” It had taken Yuna about halfway through the roast to claim Ilya as their own.

“Who the hell is Yuna?” Ilya ignored the audacity to ask that about his future mother-in-law as he was the one that got Marly that far down the spiral.

“I will send you your flight details, someone will pick you up.” David had volunteered, fearing Yuna would scare away Marly with her hockey knowledge. 

“Roz-” Marly sputtered.

“Bye.” Ilya hung up.

___________________________

Shane checked the list that he made for the day. Cliff would arrive with David at noon, suits already collected from Tommaso. Rose insisted on getting the flowers and would also arrive in time for lunch. Yuna would bring food and drinks. Then, they had enough time to get ready before the officiant would arrive at 4 p.m. She had also already picked up the wedding rings  they had ordered. 

David had gotten them contacts to some old buddies of his that worked in the local government to get their marriage license. Farah, after happily taking on Ilya as her new client, had worked on NDAs for the officiant and anyone processing their marriage to make sure nothing would get out. Farah had also promised to search for an immigration lawyer for Ilya as she had some connections already.

“Everything is fine, Shane.” Ilya wrapped his arms from behind around Shane who was leaning against the kitchen counter.

“I know. I just want to make sure.” He shifted his weight back into Ilya and was once again caught off guard by how easy and natural it all felt, like he belonged there, like he had always belonged right in Ilya’s arms, two puzzle pieces slotting together perfectly to complete the picture they had been drawing together for four years and now everything fell into place. The constant buzz in his head turned into a melodic, low volume hum which made him float rather than drown. Here he felt safe, tranquility delicately washing over him until serenity made its nest right in the middle of his chest.

Ilya pressed his lips right on top of his shoulder and let them wander until they found the spot right under his jaw that made Shane shiver. 

“We have about thirty minutes until someone arrives here,” Ilya muttered into his ear.

“You wanna go again?” Shane had already gotten his daily morning blowjob and when their sleepy brains had caught up to what day it was, Ilya had tried to fuck him right through the headboard to Shane’s delight.

“Yes, have to fuck you before you get locked down.” Ilya’s hands made their way under Shane’s clothes.

“You are locking me down.” Shane tried to remind him but all he could do was grin from ear to ear.

“Mmm, details.” Ilya’s fingertips just breached Shane’s waistband when they heard a car arriving. “Shit.”

“Keep in mind what you wanted to do. We have the whole night ahead of us,” Shane said before pushing off and heading over to the door.

“Evil. I am marrying an evil man.” Ilya scowled at him while adjusting himself.

“You like it.”

“I do.”

Shane opened the door just in time for Rose to fling his arms around him.

“Shaney!” Rose exclaimed.

“Hi Rose,” Shane replied, muffled by Rose’s hair in his face. She peeled herself off of him and turned her head towards a suspiciously relaxed looking Ilya.

“And you are the future husband,” Rose noted like Ilya wasn’t an infamous NHL superstar but simply Shane’s partner. Something about that made Shane’s stomach do a little flip.

“Ilya.” Ilya had moved to stand next to Shane, one arm around his waist, the other stretched out to greet her.

“Oh, I’m aware.” Rose flashed him her perfect teeth before shaking his hand. “Can we talk alone for a second?”

“Rose,” Shane said in a warning tone.

“What? Just a little shovel talk so he won’t pull anything like Sochi again. You get the flowers out of my car, okay?” Rose had already grabbed Ilya’s arm who went willingly with her to the deck.

“We already cleared it up. Rose? Rose!” Shane yelled after them.

“It's fine, Shane,” Ilya yelled back before Rose closed the glass sliding door. 

Shane sighed and decided to tick off Rose and Flowers from his list. He barely got the bouquets, boutonnières and garlands out that they would put around the arch his dad had put up yesterday before the next car arrived. This time, it included his dad and Cliff Marleau.

“Hollzy, what are you doing here?” Cliff shouted as a hello. So Ilya really hadn’t told him anything and neither did David in a two hour car ride somehow. Great. Shane opened his mouth to answer but Cliff had spotted Ilya and Rose. “Is Rozy marrying Rose Landry? I thought you were dating her?”

“Hi dad.” Shane apologetically waved to his dad who just looked as amused as ever. Something told Shane that Ilya might have had a hand in the lack of information from his dad. He strolled into the cottage, grabbed the garlands and went outside to the arch to place them.

“Wait, why did your dad pick me up? Why are we in Canada? I thought Rose Landry was from Michigan?” Cliff sounded like his brain was about to melt.

“Give it a second, Cliff.” Shane could help him but he knew Ilya would like this better.

Cliff’s face went through every emotion twice before his eyes went so big, Shane was afraid they were about to pop out of his head.

“Are you serious?” Cliff was staring at the distance, Shane not sure if he asked him or the universe.

“Yeah, getting married is kinda serious,” Shane supplied.

Cliff’s eyes flickered between Shane and Ilya for a good minute in total silence before his whole face lit up.

“Oh that makes so much sense.” Cliff’s hand shot into his hair while his brain was still working overtime. “What the hell? How did I not notice? He’s like low-key obsessed with you.” 

“Same.”

“I was joking when I said he was this close to marrying hockey when I saw him on his playoffs tear.” Cliff barked out a laugh. “Now he is marrying hockey.”

“Uhh, thanks?” Shane wasn’t sure how to take that but Cliff’s features mellowed.

“He couldn’t have picked a better one," Cliff said. "Seriously! You always vibed so well, I should have sniffed it out sooner. I guess you are also the reason why he always disappeared after Montreal games.”

“Yep. You noticed that?”

“Was hard not to as his roommate. I didn’t say anything but nowhere else was he gone all the time like immediately. We got the single rooms this season, so I lost track but he went out way less last year. Team chalked it up to him being captain and responsible now and shit.”

“Yeah, we accidentally went exclusive about a year ago.” Shane tried not to let the images of what they had done after they had found that out distract him.

“So you and Rose Landry?” Cliff made a similar gesture to Ilya in Vegas when he realized.

“All made up by tabloids. We are friends and I’m gay.” I got a little easier each time he said it out loud but he still was suddenly worried.

Cliff fully ignored that Shane came out to him. “So you wouldn’t mind if I hit on her?”

Exactly two people here that weren’t his parents or the officiant, of course one would try to hit on the other. He couldn’t blame him, even Shane could see how gorgeous Rose was, no matter how gay he was.

“Uhhh, sure. But maybe wait until after the ceremony?” 

“Alright, I’ll behave.”

___________________________

Ilya spent around forty-five minutes until his curls were finally in the shape he wanted to. Getting the suit on was way easier in comparison even though he struggled with the cufflinks for a minute. He inspected himself in the full length mirror of the guest bedroom.

He looked good. The dark emerald suit with the satin lapel made the green and gold tones in his hazel eyes pop even more. The crisp white shirt underneath with the plum colored buttons fit as perfectly as any of the clothes that Tommaso had made for him. He straightened his color coordinated bowtie for the third time when a soft knock at the door took him out of his thoughts.

“Can I come in?” Yuna’s voice came through the door. Ilya opened and stepped back to let his future mother-in-law into the room.

“I’m just here to bring you your boutonnière.” She looked him up and down. “Wow, that’s a great suit you picked out, you look almost perfect.” She stepped forward and pinned the plum and white colored boutonnière to his lapel. “Now you’re perfect.”

“Thank you, Yuna.” Something inside him that had been twisted all morning slowly relaxed. “And thank you for being so… accepting of this… of me.”

“Of course, honey. I wasn’t sure what to make of you in the beginning. Shane worked so incredibly hard to be at the top of his game and any other year he would have been the first draft pick but then you came along and suddenly his name was always attached to another player, no matter where he went. I thought it was taking something away from him and I knew he hated it. But it took me a while to notice it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be connected to you but because he hated how they connected you two in such a negative way. After that I started realizing how much you actually needed each other.”

Ilya’s vision was starting to get blurry. Yuna handed him a tissue without commenting. 

“I always tried my best to support him," Yuna continued, "to make him visible so that they had no choice but to make him a household name and that no one could deny him anymore. I doubt I always did the right thing but I tried. And I have a feeling you did something similar for yourself. Make yourself entertaining and irreplaceable so that there was no doubt you belong. I could never fault you for that.”

Ilya only nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. It was easy to get rid of a good player if they would ever inconvenience you. It was way harder if they brought publicity and therefore a ton of money. Both Boston and Montreal kept breaking visitor records since he and Shane had joined them. They had topped the jersey sales ever since they played their first All-Stars game. If someone didn’t know anything about hockey, they most likely had either seen or heard about at least one of them. It secured them a permanent spot even though their skills should be enough.

“I’m really glad you found each other. He is always so on guard when there is anyone else but us. With you though, it seems like he can finally be fully himself and I don’t know how to thank you for that.” Ilya could see Yuna’s eyes threatening to spill tears as well.

“He does the same for me. He is the best person I have ever met. I love him so much.” That did it for them. Thankfully, Yuna had enough tissues for both of their waterworks.

“He really is. Thank you for taking care of him.” Yuna reached out to squeeze his upper arm. “It’s probably very hard that none of your family members are here but just know you are part of the Hollanders now if you want to.” 

“I want to.” Ilya’s voice came out quiet but determined.

“Good, because David already started planning your Christmas stocking and I don’t know how to stop him.” Yuna stepped into his space and wrapped him tightly in her arms. For a relatively small looking woman she gave one fierce hug. She only let go when Ilya moved back after a long while.

“Can we go?” She asked, smiling brightly. He mirrored her expression. “Let’s go.”

He offered her his arm and they walked down the stairs where David, Marly, Rose and their officiant Vera, who was an ample Swedish woman with a shoulder length white blonde bob colored pink and orange at the tips, were waiting for him. Everyone except Shane and him were dressed in midnight blue with white, plum and green accents.

And then he saw him. He froze on the last step and almost made Yuna trip. Shane was absolutely gorgeous. He had a three piece plum suit on without a tie, his white shirt with the emerald buttons open around the collar. He had a green and white boutonnière on his lapel, his jet-black hair was loosely styled back, his freckles standing out even more after their six weeks in paradise together. Ilya was convinced he had forgotten how to breathe but if Shane was the last thing he saw before he died, he would be at peace with death.

“We’ll give you a minute.” Yuna shooed everyone outside.

“Remember boys, this is all glass,” Rose noted in an amused tone before it was just him and Shane.

“Hi.” Ilya had trouble breathing so close to him.

“Hi. You look so beautiful. I can’t believe I get to marry you.” Shane took Ilya’s hand into his.

“Right back at you. Can I kiss you?” Ilya asked.

“I think if I kiss you now, I might never stop.” Shane swayed closer.

“Is that a promise?” Ilya closed the distance and gave Shane a delicate kiss that felt like a promise all on its own. He pulled back before they could deepen the kiss because yes there was just glass between them and the rest and no he did not have enough self control to stop otherwise.

They stepped outside, still holding hands. Vera was standing under the arch, Ilya and Shane positioned themselves to her left and right. The other four were standing in a loose half circle a couple of feet away, David with his camera out.

“Dearly beloved,” Vera began, “thank you all for being here. We are gathered today to witness Shane and Ilya entering into the union of marriage. The grooms have each prepared vows that they will read now.”

“Shane, the first time I saw you, you told me not to smoke like I did not see the giant No smoking sign, I had trouble finding any English words. I knew who you were from tapes but it did not prepare me to see you up close with your cheeks pink from the cold and your freckles standing out, to hear your voice when you told me your name, to touch your hand when you shook mine twice, to see you smile when I told you I would beat you. You found me and I did not know I was lost. And you kept finding me, all of me, even though I tried to hide and I cannot thank you enough that you kept on going no matter what. You are my favorite person in the world, so unbelievably strong yet still so kind, so earnest and funny. You are so incredibly dedicated to the things and people you love. I am in awe of you every single day. Everything about you helped me to get better and I promise to keep getting better so I can be the best husband like you deserve. I love you, solnyshko, my sunshine, and I will keep loving you as long as I am alive.”

“First of all, unfair that you got to go first again." They huffed out a laugh. "Because it was already hard to keep it together but that was so beautiful. I’ll need a second.” Yuna, the tissue supplier of the day, handed one to Shane. “Thank you, mom.” Shane patted his face dry and then continued with his own vows.

“Ilya, I don’t know how, I don’t know why but everything in me screamed that I needed to meet you. I told myself that it was just because I wanted to make a connection to a future competitor and not because even the pixelated tapes of you had me entranced. I barely remember what I said but I do remember how seeing you in front of me made me feel. Like I found my equal, like I found someone that would be in my life one way or another for the rest of it, like there was a missing piece and that was you. You are loud and brazen when you need to be but you also know when to just hold everything still and make me feel so incredibly safe. You gave me the freedom to explore who I want to be and never judged or pushed but just supported me through all of it. You are my favorite person in the world, you keep me on my toes, you are charming and daring and I have never seen anyone care so deeply like you do. Your warmth and your heart always draws me in like a moth to a flame. I could not be more honored to become your husband and I promise to show you how much I love you every day until my heart gives out. Ya tvoy. Ty moya. Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“Fuck, Shane… I… how did you learn that without accent?” Both of them let out a wet laugh. Ilya turned to Vera. “Can I marry him now, please? I need to kiss him.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Shane shook his head but his smile betrayed any annoyance he feigned.

“Okay, then can we have the rings, please?” Vera continued with a smile of her own. Marly pulled out the ring box from his pocket. “The grooms have asked me to do a ring warming with you all. You hold the ring box in your hands and put all your well wishes into the rings. These will continue to accompany them wherever they will go, even if you cannot be around all the time.”

“Oh shit, that’s beautiful,” Cliff exclaimed, Ilya lightly chuckling at the brazenness of his best man. “Can I start?”

“Yes, as you are already holding it, you may go first,” Vera confirmed in a patient and gentle tone.

Cliff held the box in his hands, closed his eyes and focused everything he had into the rings. His shoulders started to shake a bit while a tear rolled down his cheek.

“You okay?” Rose asked next to him.

“Yeah, sorry, just very happy for them.” He handed the box to Rose who looked between them while she silently added her own energy into the rings. She let out a long breath to keep the tears at bay and handed the rings to Yuna. David folded his hands over Yuna’s, both of them warming the rings at the same time with a loving smile towards each other. At this point, even Vera had trouble holding it together. David handed the rings to Vera who popped the box open.

The rings inside were two simple bands, gold on the inside, black on the outside with two golden lines running mostly parallel around the edge but would cross twice to show them being drawn towards each other no matter where they went.

The inscription read ab imo pectore, a latin phrase that was often translated to from the bottom of my heart but more literally translated to from the depth of the chest and that’s exactly where the deep pull towards each other was planted and where the other would always find a place to be safe.

“Ilya, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Shane, to have and to hold him, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do.” Ilya slipped Shane’s ring onto his right hand.

“Shane, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Ilya, to have and to hold him, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do.” Shane did the same with Ilya’s ring.

“I hereby declare you husbands. You may kiss-” Vera didn’t make it to the end of the sentence as Shane already grabbed his husband and kissed him deeply, audience be damned. Ilya faintly heard the click of the camera and decided to make the moment picture worthy by dipping Shane backwards, earning him a warm chuckle from Shane and a wolf whistle from Marly and Rose.

“I love you so much,” Ilya whispered against his lips.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane whispered back. 

Ilya put him back into balance, just in time to be pulled into a firm hug by Marly. “Congrats brother. Thank you for letting me witness this.”

“Thank you for being here,” Ilya responded. As sad as it might have sounded at first, Marly did feel more like a brother than Andrei has felt for a long time and Ilya was glad he had one brother here.

There were hugs all around after that, even Vera was involved. They signed the papers Vera brought while she let subtly slip that her wife and her also got married at a cottage right in 2003 when same-sex marriage was first legally recognized in Ontario.

Vera said her goodbyes and their little wedding party went in on the cake and champagne. They sat down outside and Marly saw his chance to work through the list of questions that had formed since he had found out hours ago.

“So, when did this happen?” He asked, barely swallowing his cake.

“Rookie season,” Shane supplied.

“Ah, no, summer before,” Ilya corrected him.

“Summer before?” Yuna asked, her face scrunched up for a moment until her eyes went big, staring directly at Ilya who had nothing else to do but look back, deeply mortified. So he wasn’t the only one that remembered the elevator.

Shane was thankfully oblivious to the exchange and continued. “Well, I almost kissed you on draft day.” He suddenly realized that he had never said that out loud. “Oh… uhhh… ignore me.”

“What happened on draft day?” Rose inquired.

“Nothing, really. I couldn’t sleep after the stress of the whole day so I went to the gym and suddenly Ilya appeared as well. We were on the bikes, competing until neither of us could breathe and then we talked a little. He helped me up and there was a moment but then a door banged and I got scared and ran away.” Shane looked down at his cake, Ilya would guess that he omitted some details he didn’t want to share with everyone.

“So you did want to kiss me.” Ilya waggled his eyebrows.

“So did you,” Shane responded.

“Yes, I did. Stupid door bang, I was so mad at whoever did not learn how to close doors quietly.” Ilya pulled his mouth into a pout, Shane leaned over to kiss it away.

“Aww, you two are so cute.” Rose practically squeaked.

“Yeah, even if you didn’t tell me to keep my mouth shut, I don’t think anyone would believe me anyway. Look how adorable our captain can be.” Marly snorted.

Ilya slapped him right in the middle of his chest. “We can talk when we find you someone, see how adorable you are then.”

“I will be even more adorable, you will see,” Marly proclaimed with his full chest.

After the last round of pictures, they all got into more comfortable clothes and Marly had the brilliant idea to race across the lake with the jet skis Shane had accidentally mentioned. What he didn’t see coming was that Yuna would take him up on it and beat him five times in a row until Marly gave up.

They ate dinner together and after some more stories about them together (the Christmas story was a particular hit) and little Shane by his parents (the time he tried to glue his skates to his feet got a solid five minute fit of laughter out of Ilya), the day started to wind down. David dismantled the arch and hung the garlands under the canopy, Marly asked for Rose’s number and Yuna made sure that she got the food all divided up.

“We’re gonna head out, it’s getting late,” David declared.

“Yeah, we’re heading out, too,” Rose added.

“You’re not going to stay?” Shane was confused, he had prepped the guest bedrooms.

“No, we wanted to give you some privacy. Ilya got us a cottage not far from here.” Rose had a distinct twinkle in her eyes.

“Did he?” Marly was once again not informed.

“He did. We will see you for brunch before we go back to Boston, Montreal and Ottawa, yes?” Ilya moved to hug everyone, Shane followed him and after some more itinerary clarifications, they were suddenly all alone again. Ilya quickly threw Shane over his shoulders in a firefighter’s carry.

“Hey, I can walk on my own,” Shane protested.

“Ah, no, you will never have to do simple tasks like walking anymore. Is your husband’s task now.” Ilya walked them up the steps with ease and threw him down on the mattress in the master bedroom.

“I don’t think this is how it works.” Shane couldn’t help but giggle when Ilya jumped on top of him.

“Ah, you were never married before, you do not know that.” Ilya had him caged between his arms and legs.

“You weren’t either.” Shane reached up to rake through Ilya’s curls which during the day had slowly gone back to having a will of their own.

“So we make our own rules.” Ilya closed his eyes and let himself enjoy Shane’s touch in full.

“I like that.” Shane dragged Ilya down to kiss him. 

They started out slowly, dipping in and out with their tongues, searching the other’s lips out with their teeth, letting the new reality settle into their bones. Shane’s hands rucked up the shirt Ilya had changed into to explore the warm skin underneath. Ilya could feel goosebumps forming a trail behind the calloused touch. He briefly broke contact to get rid of his shirt and do the same with Shane’s shirt. His lips wandered over Shane’s throat down to his clavicle until he reached the sternum. He traced the ridges of Shane’s abs with his mouth, Shane melting under the simple touch.

“Come ‘ere.” Shane pulled him back up to kiss him again, more desperate and wanting than before. Shane flipped him on his back and followed the same path but didn’t stop at the abs. He took off Ilya’s pants and underwear and seated himself between Ilya’s legs. He dragged his blunt nails over Ilya’s thighs, pressing them into the sides and leaving little red half moons there.

Ilya felt himself already drift, too lost in the sensation to form coherent thoughts when Shane wrapped his lips around his dick. He looked up, he had to look up, he needed to see Shane sinking down on him, taking him in until his dick had disappeared in his throat where he swallowed around him.

“Bozhe moy! My husband is so fucking good at swallowing my cock. I can shoot my load right down your throat, would you like that?”

Shane only answered with a resounding groan around him, making it close to impossible to not do what he just offered. Shane backed off and used every trick in the book to drive Ilya insane. He had trouble keeping his eyes on Shane as they kept rolling back into his head every time Shane found a new way to tease his most sensitive spots. It should be illegal to look this beautiful and suck dick that well, how the fuck was someone to hold back longer than a couple of minutes.

“So… fuck, so close! Uhhggnnnn.” 

Shane stuck out his tongue and put the tip of Ilya’s dick on it while stroking him vigorously. Ilya felt his abs tense and next thing he saw was his dick spurting cum right into Shane’s open mouth and a little against his lips. No eight hours into his marriage and he might die from his husband being way too hot for one person to handle.

Shane gave Ilya’s head one last consummate lick and crawled back on top of Ilya to let him taste himself. Ilya enjoyed the fuzzy feeling of his husband kissing him like he wanted to fuse into one before rolling him on his back and returning the favor. He also grabbed the bottle of lube to simultaneously get to work on opening him up. 

Shane moaned so pretty for him while Ilya worked his mouth and hand in tandem. Ilya had given him a blowjob every day they were here and he was already dreading having to wake up without the immediate joy of having the heavy weight of his husband’s cock in his mouth, his girth stretching out his jaw ever so pleasantly. Shane held his own legs up by his knees, wrapping himself into a package for Ilya to unravel. Ilya found Shane’s hand on his knee and interlaced their fingers for even more points of connection.

“Jesus, Ilya…. ahhhh… gonna… fuck…” Shane’s hole pulsed around his fingers while Ilya swallowed his dick down and with it the load that was shooting down his throat. Ilya waited until he could feel Shane’s dick stop twitching before letting it glide out of his mouth.

He sat straight up and back on his heels, one hand putting lube in the other and stroking himself back to life which was really not that difficult with a wrecked Shane still holding himself in position for him.

“Fuck, you’re ready again?” Shane’s unfocused eyes landed on Ilya’s throbbing length in his hand.

“Always ready for you.” Ilya scooted closer, the other hand now on Shane’s thigh.

“Oh god, please fuck me. I need you so bad.” Shane dragged his lower lip through his teeth, still trying to focus on Ilya stroking himself.

Ilya pulled Shane halfway up his thighs, placed Shane’s ankles on his shoulders and guided himself into his waiting hole. He was as tight and hot as ever, Ilya sliding home in one go with ease. Ilya kept them in this position, reveling in the feeling of being intimately connected. He placed kisses up and down the inside of Shane’s ankles and calves.

“Could just stay like this. Buried deep in your ass, nowhere else I want to be. Would you want that?” Ilya pushed just a tiny bit deeper and let his hips circle ever so slightly against Shane’s ass.

“Fuck, now I want nothing else… ooohh… Ilya!” There was not much range of movement that Shane had in their position but that’s what Ilya wanted. Take full control and take care of Shane in the process. Or at least as much control as he could take when Shane was crying out his name like the last bit of restraint was leaving his body for good.

Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane’s thighs and let his knees slide to the side so Shane’s lower back was hanging in the air. Ilya rolled his hips against Shane’s ass, careful to build it up slowly, dragging his cock in and out of Shane in a continuous glide that earned him borderline pornographic noises. Shane had fully surrendered to the sensation, his head rolled back, his mouth not able to decide between sharp inhales and drawn out whines that spilled right from his lips to Ilya’s ears.

He could do this for hours. Just fucking Shane slowly, letting them both forget there was anything or anyone else in existence. Just them moving as one, tension rising up and up until there was nowhere to go but to crash down where they would securely land in each other’s arms, ready to start right from the beginning again.

“So good… fuck… I need…” Shane slurred out his words, barely able to speak at all. Ilya loved when he would get Shane to the point where he would give himself fully over and trust Ilya with getting him where he wanted to be. Fucked out and dick drunk to the point of no return.

Ilya tilted his upper body forwards, rising up from his heels, rolling Shane up tighter until Ilya had both of his hands placed besides Shane’s head. In this position, he was deeper inside than he was ever before, almost sure Shane could feel his cock up in his throat. 

“Oh God, yessss… fuck me hard like this.” Shane’s jaw was hanging slack, his eyes glassy and hooded, ready to take even more.

Ilya thrusted his hips forward and down, trying to fuck Shane right through the mattress with each thrust, pounding and pounding relentlessly into his husband, the air filled with the slapping noises their skin on skin collision made. Neither of them were in control anymore, something animalistic taking over. Ilya drove harder and harder into Shane, right on the precipice between pleasure and pain, something they would both feel for days and remember for years. Shane’s face was twisted in ecstasy, beautiful as ever, one hand flying over his own dick. He was only able to shout a litany of fuck, yes and Ilya, crying out from the overstimulation until his dick painted his chest and neck with white ribbons.

Ilya’s body was lit up bright through every move, through every muscle, through every single fiber. He was flying high, each noise, each contact, each move out of Shane pushing him closer to the sun until his whole body was on fire, burning him alive with need. His muscles moved without his guidance, each smack of his pelvis against Shane’s ass driving him closer to the edge. His brain was solely filled with the feeling of Shane rippling around him, needing to fuck him all the way through his orgasm before his own body let go and shot cum so plenty and deep inside his husband that he was convinced it would dribble out of him for hours on end.

He slowly entangled them, Shane at the end resembling a pretzel more than a human. When their limbs were all back in order, Ilya got up to grab a washcloth and cleaned them both before cuddling up to Shane’s side.

“I’ll miss you so much," Shane tiredly murmured against his temple.

“Me too. Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya responded, equally spent.

“... tebya lyublyu,” Shane mumbled before his breath evened out.

___________________________

Shane hated it. Shane hated all of it. Saying goodbye to the cottage, having to part with his parents, Rose and Cliff and worse of all to no longer have Ilya around 24/7. He was back to the agony of only seeing him once a month or so. He held it together at the airport drop-off, only getting a tight hand squeeze as a last touch. He broke down around ten miles down the highway where he had to pause right at the next rest stop to not risk any crashes while crying his eyes out. At least Ilya had Cliff with him so Shane didn’t feel as bad sending him back to Boston. 

He had hardly any time to get used to his old rhythm when training camp and preseason rolled around. Schneids and Andy gone meant Laine and Gagnon moving up the lines, meant them feeling more confident in being dicks, especially to the rookies that were, in Shane’s humble opinion, about to play better than both of them in about four to five months tops. He, JJ and Hayden had to step in multiple times just for either Comeau or Drapeau to play it all down as a tradition of hazing rookies, even though neither Shane nor Roy before him had really ever tolerated it.

The room was a weird mixture of the lingering anger of Drapeau and Comeau not being able to have as much ice time as they wanted, Laine and Gagnon testing out their new limits as they were now hire up in the internal team ranking and everyone that wasn’t a captain trying to keep their heads down.

Shane knew they were talking behind his back as well. Every time he came close to a cluster of assholes, they shut down real fast or acted like they were just talking about a movie clearly none of them had seen. He ignored it. Or he tried to. But he noticed. He noticed it all and he couldn’t stop noticing it. He kept it quiet. Or he wanted to.

October was in full force and finally Boston was in town for a game. He had already seen Ilya the night before and he would see him again tonight. So after keeping his head down for a month and dreading each night alone in his bed, not even falling asleep with Ilya on the phone helping much sometimes, Shane was finally back where he belonged. In Ilya’s arms.

His mood took a nose dive after his team basically decided to fully forget that they had all been skating since they were three. Drapeau was in, yelling at JJ and Ryan who were the only functioning d-men pair. Shane’s line managed to get two in through Beaulier and Hayden with Shane’s assists but Boston did remember how to skate and sank no less than five goals behind Drapeau. 

Shane was furious, the press conference a masterclass in masking and a nightmare all rolled in one. He just wanted to get his stuff, get out of the arena and into Ilya’s arms. He busted through the door right on time for another asshole pile to quiet right in front of him.

“What?” Shane spat out, fed up by the weeks filled with bullshit.

“Nothing,” Laine had the audacity to answer.

“I know you keep talking shit about me. Stop being fucking cowards and say it right to me face.” Shane had enough of the games, if they wanted to fight, he was ready to.

Comeau got up from the bench, trying to intimidate Shane with his height but Shane had seen him stumble over his own two skates too many times to feel any sense of fear around him.

“We were just wondering who you had to suck off to get captain because you are the worst captain in the league and everyone fucking knows it,” Comeau snarled.

“Oh, you are questioning my abilities? Me, the one that keeps having to score with his line because you and your buddy Drapeau couldn’t stop a puck if your life depended on it. The one who captained the team to a cup before you showed up here and acted like you deserve the world just for existing. And who are you to question me? I’ve wondered from day one who you blackmailed to even get on the team, let alone trying to replace Ryan. The only reason we didn’t fully tank the last season is because your ice time was drastically reduced. Instead of putting in the work you complain and look for faults in everyone else’s game and then continue to divide the team as best as you can because that seems like a genius idea in a fucking team sport.” The locker room had gone fully quiet.

“I’m so done with this bullshit. I’m going home. See you at practice tomorrow.” Shane snatched his duffle bag and stormed out of the locker room. He could hear voices behind him, then footsteps but ignored it all. Since when were the hallways so long in this stupid building. He rounded a corner when he suddenly heard a commotion behind him. He turned around just in time to see Comeau lunging at him but being held back in the air by something, snapping him right back to his feet out of reach to punch Shane which he originally seemed to have planned. Shane spotted Ryan as the one who saved him from the assault.

“You fucking coward, did you really try to attack me from behind?” Ryan moved over to stand besides Shane.

“Yeah and next time there will be none of your bodyguards to protect you.” Comeau’s head was beet red, his fists still ready to throw a punch but too cowardly to do it face to face like with everything else.

“What the fuck is your problem? Can’t you just play hockey like a normal person and leave me the fuck alone?” Shane was shouting but didn’t care a single bit.

“I’m fucking tired of being bossed around by a fucking retard. What? Could you parents not produce anything better? Of course not. The guy with the yellow fever and his geisha wh-”

Comeau didn’t get to finish the sentence, Shane driving his fist right through Comeaus’s face instead, a satisfying crunch of his nose under Shane’s knuckles before he landed flat on the ground.

“If you ever talk shit about me, my family or my friends again, I swear to the hockey gods I’ll make sure you will never see the ice ever again. That’s not a threat, it’s a fucking promise, do you get that?” Shane’s blood was rushing through his ears, the anger pulsating through every last vein. He bit back the urge to spit right into his face, hanging on to the last thread of self-restraint.

“Hollander!” Theriault’s voice echoed through the hallway.

Shit.

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation: 

• Solnyshko - little sun, sunshine
• Ya tvoy. Ty moya. Ya tebya lyublyu. - I'm yours. You're mine. I love you.
• Bozhe moy! - My God!

Welcome to the newsletter!

• I picked September 6th as it fits in the timeline I set up but also because the digit sums of their jersey numbers are 6 (2+4) and 9 (8+1). It was also conveniently a Saturday in 2014.
• Here are the suits. This is pretty much exactly like I imagined them (but with better fits, because… Tommaso) and of course the color coordinated buttons
• Here are the rings. I couldn’t find exactly what I wanted but similar to these just with the lines crossing
• Ring warming has its origin in Celtic and Nordic traditions. I have only had this once at a small wedding, but we were all bawling, it felt so special.
• More info on same-sex marriage in Canada. Canada was pretty early in the whole marriage equality, yay Canada, happy pride month to you.
• Just to be clear, I do not condone violence but sometimes a fictional bigot that goes after the Hollanders needs to be punched.

 

Only one chapter left! It will be hopefully posted this weekend! But this is just the first part of the series, make sure to subscribe to me or the series if you want to read more in the future about therapized Hollanov!
Thank you everyone who is along for the ride, no matter if you joined in the first chapter or at the last. I appreciate all the comments, they bring me a lot of joy!

Chapter 22: Home

Chapter Summary

Shane sorts out his team.

Chapter Notes

Last one 🥲

“I really need to get up.” Ilya was completely wrapped around Shane’s body like a Burmese python, keeping him warm and cozy in Shane’s bed.

“No,” Ilya grumbled into Shane’s neck.

“You really need to get up.” Shane tried to wiggle out of the constriction without any luck.

“No.” Ilya traced his lips along Shane’s skin.

“Ilya.” Shane fought to suppress the moan forming in his throat.

“Tell me again how you punched Comeau.” Ilya had found his ear lobe and was rolling it gently between his teeth making Shane’s brain momentarily unusable.

“You will miss your flight,” Shane retorted weakly.

“I do not care.” Ilya rolled on top of him to have access to more places to kiss.

“You’re already down Marleau,” Shane reminded him.

“Is not my fault he got world’s worst flu in fucking October.” Cliff had texted both Shane and Ilya a lengthy, flu medicine induced review of the game which was entirely composed out of emojis.

“Come on, captain, your team needs you.” Shane made another feeble attempt to get out from under Ilya but just sank deeper into the mattress.

“You cannot call me captain and then make me leave the bed,” Ilya scoffed before continuing his war against Shane’s willpower. 

“I have to. I have the meeting in an hour.” His whole body was screaming Meeting? What meeting? at him.

“Still nothing on what will happen?” Ilya asked

“No, nothing." Shane let out a sigh. "I know what Ryan, JJ and Hayden said but nothing else.”

“If you don’t go, you will never need to know.” Ilya knew how to tempt him. They wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

“I’ll make pancakes.” That usually did the trick to get Ilya out of bed.

“But I made oats yesterday.” He had meticulously prepared Shane’s usual oats last night while Shane had been on the phone with Farah and his mom. He had even ordered bananas.

“Either way, we have to get up.” Shane put on the most stern voice he could conjure under the conditions.

"Ugghh, fine," Ilya groaned.

Shane, under Ilya’s continued protests, managed to get them out of bed and into the kitchen. After eating their oats and another attempt from Ilya to get them back to bed, he sent Ilya to his team but not before thoroughly making out against the apartment door.

“Call me when you know anything, okay?” Ilya was leaning in the frame way too handsomely.

“I will. Now go.” Shane lovingly shoved him out of the apartment. 

“I love you.” Ilya gave him one last kiss before turning to the private elevator.

“I love you, too.” Shane closed the door with a mournful grumble.

With that, Shane was alone in his apartment and had exactly ten minutes to get ready for the meeting. The little time should have stressed him but it just resulted in him being unable to spiral and using all of his time to get properly dressed, pack all his stuff and head out.

He knew the way to the arena by heart, otherwise he would have probably not made it there, his head still too deep in a haze from the day before. He parked his car and treated himself to another sixty seconds of blissful ignorance before heading to the conference room where Montreal’s GM Bouchard and Theriault were already waiting for him.

“We reviewed the incident from every angle. You are going to get a three game suspension, a fine and you have to take the HR seminar again.” Bouchard was leaning on the table, some sort of paper in front of him. Probably something HR gave him.

“Fine.” Shane didn’t move a muscle.

“We cannot tolerate behavior like this, your captaincy is under review. Assaulting your teammate could get you kicked. Consider this a courtesy.” Bouchard sounded like a hollow PSA come to life.

“Sure.” Shane didn’t even care enough to blink.

“You can be glad that Theriault interrupted you before anything worse happened. If anything like this ever happens again, you will be off the team,” Bouchard threatened.

“What will happen to Comeau?” Shane asked coolly.

“What do you mean?” Bouchard looked, sounded and somehow even smelled confused at the simple question.

“You heard what he said to me last night and over the last several months. Not just from me but from several other people. You heard from Ryan and me that he tried to attack me from behind. So what happens to him?” Shane wouldn’t let them get out of this, no matter how much they would tried.

“Well. Sometimes emotions run high after a game and you say stuff that is out of line. He had a talk with HR yesterday and is out until he is medically cleared,” Bouchard explained like that was a sound and logical conclusion to what happened.

“He used highly offensive slurs against me and both of my parents. He tried to attack me from behind. The only reason I’m not in the hospital is Ryan. How the fuck do you think that is okay?” Shane pressed his shoes harder against the carpet in an attempt to ground himself.

“Well, that’s your story,” Theriault piped up.

“Pierre, let me do the speaking.” Bouchard threw him a stern look you would throw a misbehaving child.

“What do you mean by that?” Shane asked.

“You and Price have been conspiring to take over this team for a while, tearing it apart in the process. Who says you didn't plan this whole thing just to get Gil off the team. You clearly never liked him.” Theriault scowled at him as if Shane had stolen his favorite toy soldier.

“Oh, I’m the one who is trying to tear this team apart? Me? The one that led this team to their first cup in decades?” Shane let out a cold laugh. “Unbelievable. I've gotten nothing but shit from the untalented bunch of assholes you favor so much despite their lack of any usable skill. Ryan needed to win a gold medal at the Olympics for you to finally back down and pair him with JJ which pulled us into the playoffs like I told you it would.”

Shane felt the heat rise up through his whole body, ready to burst at any moment. He centered himself and straightened his spine before continuing.

“I kept my head down because I, in contrast to the asshat brigade, actually want to play good hockey and don’t put all my time and effort into making people’s lives miserable just because they are better or different than me. I know exactly what they say behind my back. I’ve ignored shit like that since I was five. Don’t you fucking dare tell me that it was just one time and that I’m the problem here. And if you don’t believe me, ask Yang, ask Ramirez, ask Vaughn, JJ, Hayes, Cloffens, ask any of the players of color, the players from other countries or the disabled ones what your one-time-freakout guys have to say on the ice to them. I can give you their numbers, if you want, because I actually value surrounding myself with talented team players.”

“You have to have thicker skin than that.” Theriault waved him off. “If that bit of chirping flusters you that much, it’s your problem. It’s just part of the culture. If everyone was that sensitive we would have to get rid of half the league then.” 

“Oh, what a fucking tragedy that would be. Whatever would we do without all the hateful jerks that contribute nothing to the sport. If you call that chirping, then what I did to Comeau’s nose yesterday should be called tickling.” Shane would really like to tickle some more faces right at this moment.

“Just take the penalty and we can all go back to doing our jobs.” Theriault threw his hands up in annoyance.

“I don’t think you know how to do your job, judging from last year.” Shane tilted his head to the side, pitying the man in front of him.

“How fucking dare you?” Theriault was huffing and puffing, very close to attacking the third little piglet's brick house.

Shane turned to Bouchard, reigning in the emotions that were bubbling under the surface to get him where he needed to be. “Just to make absolutely sure, you are going to keep Comeau and all the other people including Theriault that make the team demonstrably worse?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that. We are building something here.” How Bouchard could convince even himself with that was a mystery to Shane.

“Then I’m out,” Shane stated, something deep in his chest settling at that exact moment.

“What?” Bouchard said befuddled, his face hitting an interesting shade of green, building an excellent contrast to Theriault's face flipping through deeper and deeper shades of red by the second.

“I’m out,” Shane repeated matter of fact. “I’m not going to play a single game for Montreal anymore. Besides it being embarrassing to have to show up with a bunch of bigoted blockheads, I am in immediate physical danger. I was threatened and I have a witness for that. There is also CCTV footage. I already contacted someone from the staff that got me the video with audio. You can't force me to play under these conditions. So you have a choice: Trade me out immediately or I will make sure this will get in the right hands, lawyers, journalists, there are a lot of takers.”

“You will regret that.” Theriault spat halfway across the table while yelling at him.

“You can’t be serious.” Bouchard's facial features couldn’t decide between utterly perplexed and deeply livid.

“I’m very serious.” The more frenzied they got, the calmer Shane felt. “I’m not going to give someone permanent access to me that attempted to attack me and then threatened me. And I will also no longer tolerate how these pea-brained pricks speak about or to me. I would say it was nice working with you but I prefer not to lie like some others here.” Shane pushed his chair back and stood up, duffel bag already in hand.

“Hollander!” Bouchard sputtered.

“Talk to my agent!" Shane strolled out the door like nothing happened.

“HOLLANDER!” Theriault screamed as Shane slammed the door in their faces.

Shane rounded the corner, then hurried down the halls, making sure no one could catch up to him. He got to his car and slammed the gas pedal. Similar to before, he barely noticed when he was back in the garage of his building. His whole body was vibrating from the adrenaline.

That was not the intention he went in with and he felt terrified by what he just did. Quitting his team without a plan, without any security on where he would be sent, without even talking to anyone about it. But he also felt so fucking free right now. He knew it had been bad but the relief of never having to work with these people hopefully ever again felt like the shackles on his ankles bursted off, giving him a rush that was making him dizzy.

He made his way up to his apartment on shaky legs. The door clicked shut, Shane sliding down against it. His phone rang.

“Farah, hi! "Shane answered, his voice coming out heavy.

She cut right to the chase. “What happened?”

“Did Bouchard call?” Shane asked. Bouchard did his job poorly but apparently pretty fast.

“Call is a nice word for what he just did,” Farah responded.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I was just about to call.” He had made a mental priority list in the car: Farah, Ilya, his mom, then anyone else.

“No, don’t be sorry. Excuse my French but what an asshole.” Farah was never one to sugarcoat stuff which Shane really appreciated.

“What did he say?” Shane stretched his legs out and rolled his ankles.

“Said you were losing your mind and that you tried to quit the team,” Farah recounted unimpressed.

“I didn’t try," Shane corrected. "I quit. They are keeping Comeau and the rest.”

Farah had warned him about the possibility that they might do that, making Shane insistent in the meeting to get answers.

“So they aren’t just assholes, they are stupid assholes, great.” He could hear her eye roll through the phone.

“I told them to trade me or the tape of Comeau and some other stuff will get out.” He already had a list of journalists he knew he could trust with it.

“And you recorded the meeting like we talked about?” Both Yuna and Farah had insisted he would record the meeting. It paid off to be surrounded by smart women.

“Yep, I’m going to send it to you when we hang up,” Shane replied.

“Great.” Shane could hear her rummage in her notes. ”I will have to work mostly in the background, so no guarantees here but can you give me a list of where you want to go and where you don’t want to go.” 

“Anything that keeps me in the East conference with Ilya and has a decent team. Boston is number one, then Admirals or Reapers. If I have to, I will take Ottawa. I already talked to Ilya that he would move to Ottawa with me and we can rebuild the team.” He would definitely be better at it than the clown fiesta of the Montreal management. Someone just needed to hand him a pile of money and let him do the rest.

“And teams you don’t want to go?” Farah asked.

“Toronto would be the worst," Shane supplied without a second of hesitation. "Buffalo, Detroit or Washington are also high up, they heavily target me on the ice.”

Target was a nice way to say they were full of bigoted dickheads that checked him for no reason and hurled any slur under the sun at him.

“I don’t trust the Vancouver or Edmonton management," Shane continued, "but that might just mean they trade me again to somewhere I want to go.”

“Okay, got it," Farah confirmed. "Again, I can’t promise anything, but Bouchard has never made the smartest decisions, it’s time that we take advantage of that.”

Farah sounded up to the task, but Shane still felt remorseful. “Really sorry that I’m springing this on you like that. I didn’t want you to have to sort out this mess.”

“Shane, this is my favorite part of the job." She let out a small laugh. "You are also my favorite client. And you got me Ilya, now I have both of the best players in the league under contract. Trust me, I’ll be more than fine.” 

“Thank you. You’re a life saver," Shane said, another dose of relief flooding his system.

“Thank me when I get you a proper team and not three raccoons in a trench coat on skates," Farah joked, not far off from the truth. "Go call your husband, I have calls to make.”

“Bye Farah," Shane responded before handing up.

He moved himself to the couch with a bag of his favorite bacon cheddar pretzel bites and called Ilya next. He caught him at the airport heading towards Washington DC for his next game tomorrow and gave him a rundown of the events with Ilya intently listening to him.

“Good,” was the first thing that Ilya said after Shane had finished.

“Good?” Shane repeated.

“Yes." Ilya let out a pleased little hum. "They do not deserve you and you are not safe with them.”

Ilya had apparently held himself back this morning when they discussed what would happen, leaving it mostly to Shane to decide.

“But what if I get traded somewhere where we can’t see each other as much?” Shane really didn’t want to land somewhere he couldn’t see Ilya for months on end.

“We will survive,” Ilya assured him. “Your safety is more important. And I will love you no matter where you are.”

“Okay… okay.” Shane’s brain was trying to process his reactions.

Someone yelled Ilya’s name in the background. “I’m sorry, I have to go, we are boarding.”

“I love you. Call me when you are at the hotel?” Shane aked.

“Of course,” Ilya said before the line went dead.

Last on his call list was his mom who had a similar reaction to Ilya. 

“I don’t care how long I’ve been a fan of them,” his mother scoffed. “They can rot in hell for all I care with the way they treated you.”

“Oh they will, seeing how they plan to form their team, hell will be inevitable. I really need to get out of Montreal. Fuck, I should have taken action sooner.” Shane ran a hand across his face. He had talked to Kira so many times about not letting it get out of hand and now here he was.

“You did now, that’s all that counts,” Yuna provided in a compassionate tone. ”What do you need from us?”

“I trust you with the brand stuff. Other than that, I don’t know. Just keep me updated.” Shane hadn’t had the time to make a plan yet. His brain was screaming for one.

“Dad can take off if you need help with packing and I can call the real estate agent if you want to sell your apartment. Or you rent it out. We can take care of that, you focus on whatever is next, okay?” Yuna too loved a good plan or five.

“Thank you, mom," Shane replied sincerely.

“We love you, Shane," Yuna responded. "If you need anything, call us sooner rather than later.”

“I love you, too. And I will. Bye mom.” His body finally relaxed, the exhaution already knocking on his door.

“Bye honey.” Yuna ended the call.

He opened his messages. His group chat with JJ, Hayden and Ryan was going nuts. He found the culprit of the frenzy.

Gil Comeau has removed you from “Voyageurs GC”.

Hayden Pike has added you to “Voyageurs GC”.

Gil Comeau has removed you from “Voyageurs GC”.

He sent off a long message to the group chat he was still part of, turned his phone to do not disturb which could only be surpassed by a couple of people and put on Grey’s Anatomy. Now his only task was his least favorite: waiting.

___________________________

“Coach, can we talk for a second?” Ilya asked. They were high up in the air, perfect time to ambush LeClaire.

“Sure, let’s go to the back. Is this about Washington’s defense? We still need a solution to get around Gobovich.” LeClaire was deeply immersed in his tablet.

“I have a solution for that but I need to talk about something else.” They reached the empty back of their charter plane. “Hollander will be traded soon.”

“What?” LeClaire’s head snapped up from the clip currently playing in a loop. “How do you know that?”

“From Hollander. We are friends, remember?” People tended to forget or not believe them, no matter how often they publicly went out together. Last time, they had gotten ice cream together with half the Bears for crying out loud.

“And you are telling me this because?” LeClaire asked.

“You could use him on the team,” Ilya said with as much composure as he could muster up.

“Do you want to be traded to Montreal?” LeClaire’s usual calm facade showed a bunch of question marks cluttering his brain.

“No," Ilya responded, "I would rather use the emergency exit without a parachute than go there. We could both be on the same team.”

“He would never be okay with second line,” LeClaire countered.

“He would. I asked. I could just go to wing.” Ilya shrugged.

“Roz, you are one of the best centers this league has ever seen.” LeClaire put his tablet down to place his hands on his hips.

“We will find a solution," Ilya assured him. "First line, second line, wing, goalie…” 

“I will not put you on goalie for a game just for your stupid goalie goal dream.” LeClaire narrowed his eyes at him. A man could try.

“Okay. Just… we need him on the team.” And Ilya needed his husband in Boston.

“We don’t, really. We are fine with you.” LeClaire’s eyebrows looked irreversibly knotted together.

“We could be great with him. We could use more depth. And it’s Shane Hollander. Do not tell me you could not use Shane Hollander on your team.” Ilya put his hands on his hips as well, challenging him.

“Yeah, okay fair point. We just never thought about the possibility of getting you both on the team. We did leave some cap space in case something like that would happen. And if the All-Stars game was any indication…” LeClaire got lost in his own thoughts.

“Please.” Ilya was down to beg if needed. He rarely asked for anything on this team, just a little trade that would put the whole league into a spiral would be no big deal, right? 

“Why is this so important to you? You know you could stay the sole star of this team and let Hollander go wherever.” Yeah, those eyebrows wouldn’t separate anytime soon.

“I think winning cups is more important. Hollander makes that a lot easier. And we take him away from other teams.” Ilya had weighed his options before he approached LeClaire and decided not to do something in haste like outing them without talking to Shane. He was really close right now though. Anything to get them to the same city.

“I will talk to Sullivan. If Hollander’s agency is any good they probably already called the GMs they want to but it can’t hurt if we give our input.” LeClaire made a note on his tablet.

“Thank you coach.” Ilya almost dared to have some hope after the talk.

“Anything else?” LeClaire was already fixated on his tablet again.

Ilya hovered over it as well. “Yes, so about Gobo…”

___________________________

Three days had gone by and Shane had still heard nothing. Well, not nothing. His mom had sorted everything out with his sponsors, most of them either not really caring about it or thrilled for the potential media attention the trade would get. Some rumors were already spreading. The only one concerned was Tim Hortons and that was solely because their contact was a Voyageurs fan, probably for not much longer, it had sounded like. 

Farah had given him regular updates. She only had time to call two GMs on her own before her phone would not stop ringing from other front offices across the league asking if Bouchard was actually trying to trade him or if that was all a weird prank he was pulling. The buzz had carried through to the players. Shane had been flooded with DMs and messages, everyone trying to get information for the rumor mill out of him. The same guys that kept complaining about the WAG chats being so centered around gossip. He replied to exactly two people: Cloffens and Scott as they were the people he actually trusted and the captains on the teams he would prefer to go to if Boston didn’t work out.

Shane turned on the TV, ready to watch Ilya destroy the Florida Smilodons and the Admirals doing the same to Montreal afterwards. Scott might or might not have gotten a list of the people that had treated Shane like shit and Scott might or might not be planning on using the list. Shane had lost all interest in keeping his integrity intact for these turds.

The Bears ran over the Smilodons with a 4-1 victory, two beautiful goals by Ilya. Shane would make sure to tell him all about how beautiful they were as soon as Ilya was back from celebrating. The real joy came as the Admirals brutally dismantled a disorganized Montreal. Gagnon was put in Shane’s position on the first line and both Hayden and Beaulier were simply too fast for him to get anything going as they were used to Shane. Hayden managed to score one off of Beaulier but that was it. The checks against the people on the list kept coming, all of them clean but merciless. Vaughn and their defenseman Breezy, who was born in Montreal, looked like they were having the time of their lives.

There was a kerfuffle in the middle of the second period and the next time the camera showed the bench, Ryan was gone. He wasn’t on the ice either. The commentators were as confused as Shane but moved back to the game quickly.

Shane was sitting on hot coals the whole way through the rest of the game, which the Admirals won in a humiliating 6-1. He calculated in his head how long Ryan would need to be able to take a call and decided on an hour. His phone lit up with a call five minutes before his timer would have gone off.

“What the fuck happened?” Shane blurted out before he could even think about greeting Ryan.

“I got traded. Middle of the game. They didn’t even let me finish it.” Ryan sounded neither mad nor sad but was simply recounting the events.

“How do they keep on making the worst decisions?” Someone had to be blackmailing the owners for any of them to still have their jobs.

“I jokingly asked if I could keep my jersey as a keepsake. Bouchard said sure, I just need to pay him 1250 dollars.” Ryan let out a humorless laugh.

“Fuck, Ryan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want this to affect you, too.” Shane sank his hand into his hair, trying to sooth the guilt that was coming out of his pores for pulling Ryan into his mess.

“I think they have been looking for me to be traded on and off for a while. It’s not your fault. And it’s not like I want to stay with that team either. I’ll miss JJ though.” As different as their characters were, they still found a bunch of stuff they both enjoyed. They had gone to concerts of so many artists Shane hadn’t even heard of in the last year.

“Where are you going?” Please don’t let it be Toronto. Or Buffalo. Or Detroit.

“Seattle. On defense not as an enforcer. I already texted with their captain Halonen, seems like a nice dude. I always wanted to live in the Pacific Northwest, lots of artists, lots of queer culture, it will be nice.” Ryan had a little smile in his tone.

“Wait, why do you care about queer culture?” Shane asked confused.

“Uhm… I’m gay,” Ryan answered promptly.

“What?” Shane was glad he was already sitting down.

“I wasn’t exactly hiding it. I wasn’t exactly advertising it either. But I did tell you about the date I went on,” Ryan reminded him.

“I just know that the person's name was Taylor and you didn’t hit it off.” Fuck, did Ryan use pronouns and Shane just didn’t pay attention?

“Yeah, Taylor was kind of a jerk, unfortunately.” Ryan made a little hmpf sound.

“I’m gay, too,” Shane said before he could spiral into what ifs.

“What?” Ryan bursted out.

“No one knows from the team. Just a handful of people outside, so please keep this between us.” Shane trusted Ryan but it was better to make certain things clear.

“Oh… uh sure.” Ryan was quiet for a second, processing the information. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Right back at you," Shane let out a long breath

“Feels good to not be the only one,” Ryan said.

“Definitely.” Shane somewhere in the back of his mind had always thought that Ilya and him might not be the only ones but it was really reassuring to hear it out loud.

“I have to call my agent back." Shane head Ryan shuffle around on the end. "Seattle wants me there pretty quickly.”

“Keep me posted,” Shane requested.

“You too,” Ryan requested back.

___________________________

The call was clear. The email that followed was clear. That didn’t mean it was reaching Shane’s brain.

San Jose.

He was a Steel Orca now.

At least, they were the first team to host a pride night.

Shane huffed out a laugh at his own thought. When he had first gotten the call, his initial thought had been that he would be traded for their current first line center and captain, Ramirez, immediately bringing back the guilt he felt with Ryan. Putting another person of color into this mess was his personal nightmare. He would rather see the Bell Centre burn down and the whole franchise with it. He would light the match if needed.

San Jose, though, had managed to get him for the equivalent of a wet handshake in the form of their annoying third line center and two prospects Shane had never heard of. The press was having an absolute field day, calling it the worst trade of the century. Montreal refused any press, not out of the goodness of their hearts but simply because Farah made it clear what the consequences of blaming it all on Shane would have for them. These fucks still managed to trade him as far away from them as possible which felt enraging all over again.

The flight was booked for tomorrow. He had used his plentiful free time of the last couple of days to get the most important stuff in close proximity so he could leave whenever. Everything else would be packed through a professional service that his mom had vetted.

This was it then. The last night in his apartment. The apartment he and Ilya had their first night together, actually sleeping together. All because of Ilya's phone battery running out. How would it have all turned out if it hadn’t? Would they still meet up every once in a while and still ignore their feelings? Would they have stopped as they might have never gone beyond the surface? Shane didn’t even want to look at it too closely, so many times it could have all gone wrong.

But it all went… right. Ignoring the San Jose of it all. And even that didn’t deter Ilya from being committed to them in the slightest bit. They would make it through this, even though it would absolutely suck, there was no sugarcoating that. His heart twisted at the thought that he had just gotten Ilya so close and now they would be ripped apart even further than they had at the beginning of the season.

He called Ilya who just arrived late in his Tampa hotel. Shane listened to his voice rumbling in low, soothing Russian while drifting off, the tears in his heart closing a little.

___________________________

Ilya played like absolute garbage against Tampa. He tried to keep it together for Shane last night but the thought of being so far apart from him was eating him alive.

They had been through worse he kept trying to tell himself. They would survive this, he knew that much. But he was so tired of surviving. He wanted to actually live his life and not have to wait for it to fully be how he wanted it to be. There was just hoop after hoop they had to keep jumping through and Ilya was emotionally drained to the point of a full blown, Vegas desert level drought. He would retire on the spot if his stupid visa wasn’t depending on it. Shane would probably not accept it either as he didn’t want Ilya to sacrifice even more than he already had, even if Ilya didn’t see leaving Russia behind as that much of a sacrifice. And Ilya would eventually hate it as well if he was honest, being forced out of the game like that. His team had been a bright spot in the chaos and he was not someone who would quit on them.

It felt like quitting on them though, the way he played right now. He kept missing passes from everyone, especially from Conny who moved into the first line wing position in Marly’s absence. Their second line scored a goal and their goalie managed a shutout, so they still won but the win felt as hollow like the rest of Ilya.

No one asked directly what was going on but they also didn’t avoid him. Conny squeezed his shoulder, Vicky offered him his preferred post game snack and Hammy told everyone Ilya’s favorite story about Tampa in which Hammy in his first season managed to get lost no less than four times in one night just to be shown back to the hotel by a drag queen Hammy swore looked exactly like if Kylie Minogue and The Rock had a baby.

He looked for a quiet spot in the private terminal to call Shane who was at the Montreal airport way too early to fly to San Jose. Counting that as an international flight was a stretch in Ilya’s opinion.

“When is your flight?” Ilya in his low mood lost track of all time.

“Two hours from now. I may have overshot it a bit,” Shane admitted. “In my defense, the taxi showed up super fast.”

“I miss you so much.” Ilya couldn’t hold it together any longer.

“I miss you, too. You play in San Jose at the end of November, right?” Shane asked.

“Yes and we see each other on Christmas and hopefully All-Stars.” Shane had mapped out when and where they would see each other until next summer. Seeing the few dates in the calendar, seeing the reality of the situation made it all so much worse. Ilya didn’t have the heart to tell him that.

“Yeah.” Shane sounded so defeated, Ilya wanted to scream.

“Hey Rozy!” Someone squawked behind him. He took a step to the side to turn, just in time to fully crash into a sprinting Conny. His phone was catapulted out of his hand right on the stone floor, shattering into pieces.

“Oh shit, sorry," came out of an apologetic looking Conny.

Ilya wanted to yell. It was just a phone. He could buy a new one. He could a hundred new ones. Not here, because the private terminal didn’t have any shops. The fact that it was the only thing connecting him to his husband wasn’t something Conny knew but the rage building up through Ilya’s body ignored that fact. He closed his eyes to gain back his composure while he heard Conny picking up the pieces of yet another thing slipping from his hands.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Conny handed him the pieces before slowly backing off.

He could have called Shane from another phone but he didn’t have his number memorized and the only other person that had his phone number was currently in Boston high on DayQuil for his flu. His sim card was also bent in two, his contacts backup on his laptop at home. Three hours on his flight to Boston and probably around an extra hour until he was in his house to message Shane via Instagram from his laptop but Shane would be in the air for over five hours, possibly without WiFi.

The spare Rolex that Shane had simply handed him was mocking him with the hands moving extra slow while he was up in the air again. He had confiscated Conny’s iPod touch as he owed him not just a new phone but entertainment for the flight. He tried to sleep without any luck, his thoughts turning over and over in his head, trying to find a solution.

There was none. He could fight, he could scream, he could cry, the around 4300 kilometers wouldn’t just disappear between them. He pulled his keys out to let his finger run of the waved edges of the sunbeams of Shane’s key chain, allowing himself to sink deeper into the grief of being so far away from his husband, the love of his life, the only person around whom he ever felt like a complete person and not just a never ending row of snapshots from different performances he would put up for other people.

The flight was miserable, the drive back was even worse. It was late but somehow there were traffic jams, accidents and roadblocks everywhere all of a sudden. He never felt so much road rage in his life and the business guy on his phone in front of him missing the traffic light turning green definitely didn’t help.

It took ninety full minutes until he finally, finally arrived at his big, empty house that would just remind him of Shane more. He hesitated to even go in. He could just drive to Marly, catch his flu and maybe get delirious on DayQuil with him. That sounded better than whatever his night would bring.

He typed in the code of his front door and swung it open. He stopped in his tracks when he realized that several lights were on. He always made sure to turn everything off and the cleaning service only came during the day. If Ilya on top of all of that had to deal with a burglar…

“Ilya?” A familiar voice rang out.

“Hello?” Ilya didn’t trust his brain. Was he hallucinating? Was he already high with Marly and dreaming it all up?

“Hi.” Shane sprinted into his view at the end of the hallway.

“What… what…… what?” Ilya was bumbling like a buffoon.

"I tried to call you, what happened?" Shane asked

"Conny broke my phone. Why are you here?" Ilya responded.

“San Jose traded me again.” Shane carefully approached him, looking like he didn’t want to spook Ilya. Ilya couldn’t blame him, he was still not convinced Shane wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.

“Why?” One team being dumb enough to trade Shane? Fine. But two? Yep, someone was on DayQuil, Ilya just didn't know who.

“They never needed me with Ramirez and Langdon in the center but traded for me anyway because Montreal took their weak deal to send me as far away as possible. So San Jose made an actual sensible deal,” Shane explained, still taking every step like Ilya would vanish into thin air if he moved any faster.

“Who did they trade you for?” Not that Ilya cared, they could trade a whole team for Shane and he still wouldn’t get it.

“A draft pick, a prospect and Zadonsky,” Shane simply listed.

“Zadonsky? Our Zadonsky?” Were there more Zadonskys in the league? Fuck, Ilya never paid too much attention to players’ names if they didn’t cause any problems for him.

“Yes, Boston’s Zadonsky.” Shane was in touching distance. “He handed in a trade request a while ago with only the Californian teams on it to be closer to his parents and Boston went ahead with the trade. Someone apparently put in a good word for me.”

“That means…” Ilya was too scared to speak it into existence.

Shane was not. “I’m a Bear now.”

“Please tell me this is real,” Ilya pleaded, more to the heavens above than to Shane.

“This is very real," Shane confirmed with a smile. "Farah made it happen. She barely slept for a week, I think I need to get her a new car or a house in the Bahamas or…”

Ilya interrupted his rambling by pulling him in, kissing him with all his might, feeling Shane under his touch, real and warm and solid and here. Ilya’s whole body was shaking, Shane running his hands over his body to calm him, his hands shaking as well.

He was here. Shane was here.

They would be together on the same team, hang out together, train together, travel together, simply be together. They could finally live.

The kiss softened but they were unable to detach from each other, breathing be damned. Shane’s hands had found their way into his curls at the nape of his neck, keeping him as close as possible when he whispered against his lips.

“Welcome home, Ilya.”

“Welcome home, Shane.”

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the last newsletter!

• You don’t know what a Burmese python looks like? Oh yes, I think you do, at least an albino one. That’s the snake they put around Britney Spears for her VMA performance of I’m A Slave 4 U. 
• An NHL player (or other pro athletes) refusing to play (aka hold out) is not unheard of. It’s mostly done for contract reasons at the beginning of the season or players not wanting to play with the team that drafted them but sometimes it’s done to force a trade. 
• There have also been instances where players were traded twice in a very short time (There are also players that have been traded twice for each other e.g.  Chris Pronger & Joffrey Lupul) 
• Ryan’s trade was inspired by Mike Cammalleri who was traded mid game by drumroll Montreal during a game vs Boston And the jersey thing? Yep apparently happened  
• This is all to say that there have been similar instances for one of these things to happen, not that it would all happen exactly like that. It’s fiction and I’m not claiming to put reality onto the page 1 to 1. This fic has the inaccurate hockey tag for a reason!
• Why did I choose this way? Montreal is dumb but they still wouldn't trade him to Boston (like he stated in Ch 20). They would try to get him out of the conference. San Jose was in the cup finals, so most likely for me to not keep him (Montreal didn't think that far). It was more result driven than trying to "get" you as a reader. I did not expect so many people to panic over this, my bad.
• Smilodons are a well known type of saber-toothed predatory cats.
• The San Jose Sharks (NHL team for San Jose) were the first to host a pride night on March 30, 2011 against the Dallas Stars. They were also the first to use rainbow tape in February 2017. 
• Instagram was released on October 6, 2010.
• The iPod Touch was in its 5th generation in 2014.

All done! First part is wrapped up. I had the last words written for weeks, it was so important to me that Ilya and Shane got their home 😭 Home is where the heart is after all 😭😭

As I mentioned in other chapters, this is part of the series Therapized Hollanov vs The World you can subscribe to. The sequel is in development but I'll need to take a break for several things, including letting this thing sink in and give this story its moment before continuing. I also have other pieces outside of this planned (like the ballroom AU), so you can also subscribe to me.

I also need to get back into the swing of things of general life (need a new apartment, take care of my health etc) which I neglected while writing for dozens if not hundreds of hours in the last two months. Nothing was prewritten, I only scratched a single scene where Shane accidentally came out to Hayden in his house but Ryan was there, overheard it and also came out. Then, Hayden felt the need to come out as straight, lol. I just had a very rough outline and a dream.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the ongoing and loving support, for all the comments, no matter if you left one or one on each chapter, kudos, bookmarks, recs in other places, I am truly grateful for it all. I did not think this would be getting even close to the feedback it got and I am immensely grateful and proud it did. Most happy of all is that several people wrote to me that they got to see someone neurodivergent accepting themselves and being loved for it.

May the love and support they have for each other hit you like a freight train.

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Cover Design for Clarity by minormajor by rolocat11