Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander & Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander, Yuna Hollander, Rose Landry, Hayden Pike, Svetlana Vetrova, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Additional Tags:

Coming Out, No Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros (Game Changers), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Fluff and Smut, Not Beta Read, Top Ilya Rozanov, Dom Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Sub Shane Hollander, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Humiliation Kink, (nothing major but Shane is easily embarrassed by his own filthy mouth), Anal Sex, Barebacking, Multiple Orgasms, Wet & Messy, Anal Fingering, Sexual Overstimulation, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Aftercare

Language:

English

Collections:

HottestSteamiestHeatedRivalryfics

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-18 Completed: 2026-03-29 Words: 24,382 Chapters: 2/2

Keep Talking

Summary

Turns out Shane was always a chatterbox, he just needed the right motivation. Have you heard the good word about our lord and saviour Ilya Rozanov?

Part one is a series of scenes wherein David Hollander demonstrates his superior emotional intelligence, Rose Landry collects besties like shiny marbles, Hayden Pike does his best (bless him), Yuna Hollander is everyone's momager, and Svetlana Vetrova commands the will of men.

Part two features Shane learning to extend his newfound communication skills to the bedroom, courtesy of some helpful coaching from Ilya.

Notes

This just kept getting longer and longer, so I'm splitting it into two parts. If you are so inclined to avoid smut (is that a thing in this fandom?), part one is roughly rated T, and can be read on its own. Part two is porn.

The story picks up from just shortly after episode 6, and is almost entirely based on show canon or my own imagination. There are absolutely zero TLG spoilers in this fic.

So here's a bunch of fluff and smut.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Shane swallowed around a lump in his throat as he watched Ilya slip through the terminal doors of Ottawa International, immediately disappearing into a crowd of other travelers, out of sight. 

This was torture, the necessary order of events here; the real goodbyes happened two hours ago, before they'd even left the cottage. They'd said goodbye in the car, of course, with Ilya reaching across the center console to squeeze Shane's hand, to brush his fingers over the bare skin of Shane's knee, head rolled against the headrest to look at him, eyes soft and sad. But they couldn't have more than that. It was too public here, way too visible. In the middle of the day at Ottawa airport, Shane couldn't even take the risk of getting out of the car to help Ilya get his bag from the back. The chances of them being spotted rose exponentially if Shane showed his face.

A family hurried across the crosswalk in front of him, herding suitcases and children from the parkade to the terminal. Shane tugged the brim of his baseball hat further down over his face.

He sat there, taking up a spot in the airport drop-off lane, for ten minutes longer than he needed to. He wasn't waiting for anything, he was simply delaying. He had to drive back now, back to the cottage that felt distinctly less like home now that it was missing one massive and undeniable presence.

But that was insane. Shane had owned that property for three years now, had come to think of it as 'home' more than even his place in Montreal, so to say that that had somehow changed in a matter of two weeks was… crazy. Nonsensical. It was also proving to be humiliatingly, gut-wrenchingly true.

He dug his phone out of his pocket, and, before he could check the impulse, typed out a message and hit send.

Jane

I fucking miss you already and I haven't even left the airport

Ilya would probably be moving his way through security now, not watching his phone, which had been set to silent mode for the past two weeks and likely still was. Shane took a deep, centering breath. It felt like he'd experienced the full gamut of human emotion in the last two weeks of his existence, and he was having trouble pulling it all back in now. He opened his group chat with his parents, thumbs hovering over the screen for a few beats before he typed.

Shane

I'm just leaving the airport

Do you guys have dinner plans?

He put his phone down on the vacant passenger seat beside him, then picked it up again.

Shane

I'm going to stop by when I get back

It's okay if you're busy, I can hang out by myself

It was an oblique admission, but an admission nonetheless. He couldn't face his own place right now, the emptiness of it, the quiet. He'd always valued the silence at his cottage, but now the thought of it made his chest feel hollowed out.

He was an hour into the two hour drive back before he even thought to turn the radio on. Ilya's phone had been connected to the Bluetooth, so of course, he'd taken the music with him when he'd walked away from Shane's car.

His parents' SUV was absent from the gravel drive of their property when Shane pulled up, and he sat for a moment after he killed the engine, wrists crossed over the steering wheel. 

Should he have been prepared for this? This sadness? It had blindsided him, and Shane almost felt resentful of his own emotions, the way they had tainted Ilya's last day, lingering in the corners of every thought.

Would it always be like this, every time? Even with their plan, they were staring down the barrel of a long term, long distance, entirely secret relationship. Stolen weekends here or there, maybe a few weeks in the summers. When they lived closer together, maybe they could manage a few quick overnights, ones they didn't necessarily have to plan out in meticulous detail, if they were lucky. Lucky and careful.

So was this what they were signing up for, this slap-in-the-face loneliness at the end of every visit? Surely it had to get easier. This level of emotion couldn't be sustainable. Shane had to face his empty house at some point.

Maybe he'd stay here at his parents' place tonight. If he had to sleep alone, better to do it in a bed that he'd never shared with Ilya. 

Movement at the top of the path pulled him from his spiralling thoughts, and he looked up to see his dad standing in the doorway, wiping his hands on the bottom of his grilling apron. Shane waved sheepishly and got out.

"Hey buddy," dad smiled as Shane came up the steps. "Perfect timing, I just put the grill on."

Shane followed his father through the house and out onto the back patio, where the grill was already lit, a tray of seasoned steaks sitting on the countertop beside it. One of them already had the fat and gristle carefully trimmed off the sides.

"Where's mom?" Shane asked, accepting the beer his dad held out to him, taking a drink.

"She went into town to pick up something for dessert, she should be back any minute now."

Shane nodded, watching his father place skewers of peppers and onions onto the grill. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped away his email notifications without reading them, before opening his texts.

Lily

Security at Canadian airports is so much faster than in America, I have so much time to kill now

I miss you too. Am downloading countdown app to keep track of days until you visit 

23 days, if you were wondering

Ottawa airport is so small, how is this the capital of this country?

Tim Horton makes terrible coffee and Canadians are bad people for promoting it

I am boarded. Gate agent maybe recognised me, but she said my name very wrong, so I don't think she really knew who I was

Porter Airlines is another national embarrassment for Canadians 

I should have taken the flight with the layover, at least Air Canada has business class

I do not fit in these seats, economy plus is a scam

I will spend this flight trying to keep my elbow out of spleen of tiny woman sitting next to me

Will text when I land 😘

When Shane looked up from the screen, he found his dad watching him, his expression fond.

"Is that Ilya?"

Shane nodded, pursing his lips to try and pull back the smile he hadn't known was on his face until that moment. "He's in the air now, he was texting before he took off."

Jane

Agreed re:Tim Horton's, but don't tell anyone. They'll take my citizenship away

Text when you land, and maybe call when you get home, if you can?

I'm at my parents for dinner

"Sorry," Shane said, making sure the ringer was switched on before he locked the screen and placed his phone face down on the counter. 

"No, it's fine," dad replied, fiddling with the dials on the grill. "It's nice. Seeing you like that."

Shane took another swallow of his beer. "Like what?"

"Happy," dad said simply, closing the top of the grill and motioning Shane over to the bar stools at the island. "I'll wait for your mother to get back before I put the meat on."

Shane took a seat, focusing on his beer bottle as his nail scratched idly at the corner of the label on the neck. "I didn't seem happy before?"

"No, no, I don't mean that. I mean, I never thought you weren't happy, it's just… this is a different kind of happiness. I've never seen it on you before. I wasn't… sure if you really wanted it."

Shane watched the label peel off his bottle, almost as if someone else's hand was doing it. There was a time when he had tried, very hard, to convince himself that he didn't want to be with anyone. That women weren't an option because he didn't want them, and men weren't an option because he couldn't, so the choice was made for him. He liked being alone most of the time anyway, so it really didn't seem like such a terrible life. Some people were happy that way — he knew, because he had spent an entire night reading Reddit posts about what it meant to be aromantic. The fact that his insides squirmed with jealousy over the concept should have been his first clue that it did not, in fact, apply to him.

"He's the only one," Shane said, glancing up at his father to meet his eyes quickly.  "I never wanted this with anyone else."

His dad nodded. "You've known him a long time."

Shane gave a little smile. "Since we were 17," he said, with a little swell of something hard to categorise blooming in his chest. Something like pride?

"So," dad said, taking a drink of his own beer, both labels already peeled and laying in a crumpled ball on the slate countertop. "Tell me about him."

Shane laughed. "You've already met him. You taught him how to play Crazy 8s on Friday night."

His dad shrugged. "That's not the same thing as hearing about him. I want to hear what you have to say. Don't you want to tell me about him?"

Shane opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, feeling suddenly and utterly overwhelmed. It wasn't that he didn't know what to say, but rather the opposite: eight years of knowing Ilya Rozanov in secret had rushed to the tip of his tongue, eight years of revelations and uncovered quirks and little smiles that had made Shane's belly swoop in ways he wouldn't understand until years later. And Shane realised, with a pang that reverberated through his chest, that he had never been allowed to talk about Ilya, with anyone. Ever.

"Yeah," Shane said, the word breaking a little. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I do."

His dad seemed to recognise the difficulty Shane was having in trying to decide where to start, because he let Shane sit there for nearly a minute, allowing him space to sort out his thoughts before Shane finally said, "He's one of the nicest people I know."

He glanced at his dad, who was simply watching him, his expression open as he waited for Shane to go on.

"Most people wouldn't believe that, because he doesn't want people to know it," Shane continued, smiling to himself. "The people, I mean, and the press. It's not what his reputation is supposed to be. Anyone who's actually talked to him knows it, though. He can't hide it, because it's who he is. It's not an act."

"I believe it," dad said. "He's a good man."

Shane nodded, relieved to know that his dad could already see that. "He's always nice to people. Everyone. Hotel staff, cab drivers, fans — especially the little kids. He's… He listens to people, and he understands them, even when they're so different from him."

"And he understands you."

Shane felt his cheeks flush, not with embarrassment but with a giddy sort of happiness. 

"Yeah, I think–" his voice broke again, and he took a sip of his beer to clear it. "I think he maybe always has. Even when we weren't…" he trailed off, hoping his dad heard enough at the kitchen table last week to be able to fill in the gaps, "I think he always got me, right from the start. I didn't really understand how much until this year, but yeah. He gets me."

"He sees you," dad said softly, and Shane looked up to see him smiling. Of his parents, his father had always been the sentimental one. Romantic with his wife, affectionate with his son, open about everything. Always wanting to talk, talk, talk, about his own feelings and everyone else's. When Shane was younger, it used to make him uncomfortable. The big emotions that he couldn't process but came so naturally to his dad. It was always easier to be his mother's son. Practical, pragmatic. Cool headed, everything contained. Maybe being with Ilya was showing him how to find a balance. The emotion in his father's eyes didn't make him squirm anymore.

"Yeah, he does," Shane nodded. "In a way that I… I didn't think I was ever going to get."

Dad took a deep breath and let it out, his expression shifting into something more complicated, though he was still smiling.

"Come here," he said, his voice a little thick, as he wrapped his arm around Shane's shoulders and pulled him in close. "My baby," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Shane's head. "I'm so happy for you, Shane."

Shane let his dad tuck him in under his chin, pressing his cheek to the rough fabric of his apron. The lump was back in his throat, the one that had been threatening to return at a moment's notice since he had watched Ilya walk away from his car at the airport.

The sound of the patio door sliding open lifted Shane's head. His mother stepped outside, holding a pastry box tied with twine.

"Profiteroles from La Petite Perruche," she announced, holding the box aloft. She stopped walking as she took in the scene before her, her expression softening. "What's going on?"

Shane's dad squeezed his shoulder bracingly before he stood. "Just having a heart to heart with my son about his new boyfriend," he said, crossing the patio to take the pasty box and kiss his wife's cheek.

"Well he's hardly new," mom pointed out, reaching up to swipe her thumb across dad's cheek. "My big softie," she said fondly, her gaze shifting over his shoulder to catch Shane's eye.

"Hi mom," Shane said, feeling distinctly sheepish, his cheeks warm. He was running through a lot of feelings today.

"Hi honey," his mom said, coming over to pick up dad's beer from the counter, taking a sip.  "Did I miss the gossip?"

"Just the mushy stuff," dad chuckled, casting a fond look over his shoulder at Shane as he picked up the plate of steaks from the counter. "The gossip's all yours."

Mom laughed, leaning in to kiss Shane's head in the exact same place his dad had a minute earlier. "I'll take that deal," she said, stroking her fingers lightly through Shane's hair before joining dad at the grill.

Shane stepped out of the shower as his phone vibrated on the edge of the sink, and he snatched it as it threatened to tip off the side. When had he become the kind of person who couldn't be more than five feet away from his phone?

Rose

Okay it's been three days

I think that's the appropriate amount of time to wait for details to be offered without prompting

So this is me prompting

Shane

It's not a prompt if I don't know what you're talking about

Details about what?

Rose

Secret Boyfriend Summer Vacay, obviously

The two weeks where you texted me exactly 7 words across 3 text messages

An all time low for our otherwise unshakable best friendship, btw

Shane smiled, giving his wet hair a perfunctory scrub before wrapping the towel around his waist. Rose made it so easy. She had assigned herself the title of Shane's best friend without any input needed from him, and then proceeded to operate as though they had known each other all their lives. 

It was really quite amazing how much easier it was to love her, once he stopped trying to shame himself into being attracted to her.

Shane

Well, I was busy

Rose

Not for the past 3 days!

You shouldn't have told me when he was leaving if you didn't want me to make note of it in my Shane calendar

Shane

I can't tell if that's really sweet or really creepy

Rose

It's sweet

It's a metaphorical calendar, don't worry

All in my head, which is a steel trap of friendship facts

I always know where my besties are

Shane

Still kind of creepy

Shane put the phone down on his dresser while he pulled on a pair of boxers. He rifled through a drawer for a t-shirt, then glanced out the bedroom windows. It was getting dark already; his run had been longer than he'd planned tonight. It was hard not to feel lonely being here by himself, but the trails around the cottage were beautiful, and the exertion helped quiet his brain, so he'd kept running until the sun got low enough to make it difficult to see the roots of trees in his path. The trees outside his windows, silhouetted against the deepening blue of the sky, were swaying in the breeze coming off the water. Shane bent to open another drawer, searching for a sweatshirt, and found one that definitely did not belong to him, folded neatly on top.

With a smile, he pulled the soft, faded Boston Raiders hoodie out of the drawer and brought it up to his face. The smell of it almost made him dizzy. Ilya hadn't forgotten this here; he had left it on purpose.

Shane

You know I can't tell you

Rose

I know you can't tell PEOPLE

I wasn't aware that you couldn't tell ME

I thought you were just keeping it under wraps until you were like, official

Is there a bigger secret in all this other than Canada's Patron Saint of Hockey being gay?

Shane

Yes

Rose

Oh

Okay, I'm sorry

I was just joking around, you don't have to tell me anything if you're not comfortable

The thing was, Shane wanted to tell Rose. He wanted to tell her everything, really. At least, most things. More than he could say to his parents. For as cathartic as it had been to spend two hours over dinner catching them up on all the wonderful, relatively family-friendly details of their love story, it had left him with an itch. He had spent so long without even having Ilya to talk to about his relationship with Ilya, and now Shane was consumed by the urge to give voice to all the details. Saying it aloud made it feel so real, and he was clinging to that now, with Ilya so far away.

Shane

It's not that I'm not comfortable

I just can't tell you some of it

I know you wouldn't tell anyone, but they're not my secrets to share

Rose

Shit

Boyfriend isn't out either?

Shane

He is not

And the consequences for him would be worse than for me, like potentially a lot worse. Legal and life consequences

Rose

Okay

Okay, I have to ask, I'm sorry

Shane, are you dating a married man?

Shane

NO

Jesus

I don't mean like that

It's just not safe for him to be out right now

Truthfully, he was pretty sure Ilya would be fine with Rose knowing. He might even derive some satisfaction out of it, given his wholly misguided and yet very poorly concealed jealousy. He'd probably enjoy knowing that Rose knew exactly who Shane had been hung up on the whole time they were together.

But their first deliberate and official coming out required more than a quick "hey is it cool if I tell Rose Landry that you're the man who's been plowing me 6 to 8 times a year since I was 19?" So for tonight, he'll keep it under wraps.

Rose

Okay, sorry, I get it

Can I ask some questions?

Not about who he is, just nosy bestie stuff

Shane

I'm not sure how much I can tell you, but go ahead

Rose

I mean literally all I know is that he was the first guy you slept with, and he does not live in Montreal or Ottawa

Okay, is he hot?

Like obviously you think he's hot

But how hot is he, objectively? 

What's your type, Shane Hollander?

Because we already know it's not stunning redheaded actresses with perfect legs

Shane

Honestly I don't even know if I have the vocabulary to describe it

Objectively, he is insanely hot. INSANELY hot. And there's a lot of outside opinion and evidence to back me up on that

He's like, manly

Strong features

Fucking huge

Rose

😏

Shane

Oh my god you're such a perv 

I just meant he's jacked, like bigger than me

Stronger than me

He can pick me up like it's nothing

Arms like tree trunks

Legs like bigger tree trunks

Shane was lying on the couch now, with the hood of Ilya's hoodie pulled up over his head. He tugged it toward his nose and inhaled, slow and indulgent, eyes closed. 

Shane

… but also yes, fucking huge

😏

Rose

Omfg I love you

You just saved me a question

Shane

You know I'm not counting the questions, right?

Rose

I know

I just love that you volunteered that information without me having to actually ask

So, looks like a Greek god, check ✅ 

Packing heat, check ✅ 

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say: mindblowing sex, check?

Shane's face was warm, and it was spreading all down his neck. Maybe he'd misjudged the evening temperature. He should probably take the hoodie off, but that was obviously not an option. He was infinitely grateful that this conversation was happening over text.

Shane

That's a BIG check

Rose

✅✅✅

And that's a hat trick for mystery man

You know I gotta ask though, as your newly self-appointed emotional guardian

Is he good to you? And FOR you?

And I want you to think about that one before you give me your answer

Shane Hollander deserves the perfect man

Is that what he is?

Shane found himself smiling fondly at the screen. It was staggering to step back and consider the number of ways that his relationship with Rose could have gone horribly, dramatically, and publicly wrong. If Rose had been anyone else, the best case scenario would have been a chilly breakup and some nasty rumours that Shane's PR team would charge him overtime to suppress. Instead, he wound up with the kind of friend who keeps his secrets and cares enough about him to hold his boyfriend to impossible standards.

Shane

I don't have to think about it

I've had 7 years to think about it

He's it for me

I'm sure.

Rose

EXCUSE ME 7 YEARS????

Shane

I've known him since 2008

We've been "something" since 2010

The "something" maybe changed a couple times, but it was always something

We've both had a lot of time to think about it

Rose

Okay holy shit, promise me that you're going to tell me the whole story someday

Once I meet him and I'm allowed to know the details and officially promote him to bestie tier

Shane

Oh

That might not work

I mean I'll tell you the story, obviously

But he might not be amenable to the bestie part

He might have a tiny grudge against you, which is mostly my fault

That's another long story

But basically the timing of those paparazzi pictures of you and me was maybe less than ideal in the whole timeline of him and me 

He felt the vibration against his palm half a second before the notification appeared on the screen. 

Call from: Lily

Shane answered immediately.

"I was just talking about you," he said by way of greeting, tugging the collar of the hoodie up onto his chin.

"You are with your parents?" Ilya asked, making little effort to mask the disappointment in his voice.

"Nah, I'm just chatting with Rose," Shane said, smiling to himself as he imagined Ilya's expression shifting from put-out to petulant.

"Chatting," he deadpanned. "With Rose."

"Mmhmm," Shane said, stretching one arm above his head and settling into the couch in a contented sprawl. "Chatting about my sexy boyfriend and how perfect he is."

Ilya made a noise, a grunt that seemed to signal a grudging acceptance.

"And also how my sexy, perfect boyfriend pouts like a baby whenever I mention her name because he's jealous that she's seen me naked."

"I am not jealous of Rose Landry."

"No?"

"No. You have to think of someone to be jealous of them, and I do not think of her, ever."

"Whatever you say, big guy." Shane pulled the phone away from his ear to check the screen.

Rose

… He knows you're gay, right? 

Did you tell him about The Attempt and The Even Worse Attempt?

You have my blessing to share those details with him, if it would make him feel better

Shane

Never, it would give him way too much satisfaction

"I resent the implication that I take time out of my busy life to be jealous of this woman," Ilya was saying, his voice quiet and tinny through the speaker. 

"One sec," Shane said absently, waiting for Rose to finish her next barrage of messages.

Rose

Whatever, please inform him that I WILL make him love me

He better be a hockey fan, cause he's coming to all your games with me

I'm already excited

Tell him that

Shane

I'll do my best

I gotta go tho, he's on the phone and I'm currently wearing his hoodie, you know how it is

Talk to you later❤️

He turned his notifications off. 

"Sorry," he said, bringing the phone back to his ear.

"Rose again," Ilya said flatly. Shane could hear rustling in the background. Bedclothes, maybe. Hopefully.

"Yes, that was Rose asking me to tell you that you two are going to be friends once she meets you, whether you like it or not. And also that she wants you guys to go to my games together. Because she doesn't know why that plan isn't going to work, yet." Shane said, fingers playing with the bottom hem of the hoodie where it rested near the tops of his thighs. "And that was me telling Rose that I had to go, because I'm about to have phone sex with my boyfriend while I'm wearing the hoodie he secretly left in my house for me to find."

More rustling, then the soft thwump of Ilya's body landing on something plush. There was a beat of silence, then, "She does not know who I am?"

Shane blinked up at the ceiling, momentarily thrown. "Of course not. I wouldn't tell her without asking you first."

"You could," Ilya said, his tone of voice shifting into something softer, the jealousy forgotten. "You can, if you want to. You trust her, yes?"

"Yes," Shane said, without hesitation.

"Then she can know. I don't mind if she knows," Ilya said. He paused, then added, "Hm, maybe I want her to know," his voice mischievous.

Shane let out a single, loud, "Ha!" at the ceiling, before dissolving into laughter.

"What is funny?" Ilya demanded.

"Nothing," Shane snorted, covering his face with his hand, grinning. "I'm just thinking about how well I know you."

Ilya grunted discontentedly. "I feel like I am not getting as much out of this conversation as you are."

"And I feel like you missed the part where I told you that I'm lying here wearing your hoodie and," he tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and used both hands to tug his boxers down and off, "Nothing else."

"Ah," Ilya purred, his voice dropping into that low, smooth register that felt like silk on Shane's skin, "Yes, I definitely missed that part. You will have to send picture, so I can catch up."

Telling Hayden felt like a trial run. It was the first time Shane would come out to someone without having the universe force his hand, like it did with Rose, and his parents. But it couldn't be a half-truth, because that just didn't feel right. It couldn't just be "I'm gay." It was always going to have to be, "I'm gay, and…"

He didn't see the point, the purpose of coming out to his best friend without telling him why he was doing it, and the 'why' was Ilya.

"Can you say something, man? Please?"

Shane was pacing a slow circuit of the Pikes' living room, stroking Amber's silky hair as she finally, blessedly fell asleep against his shoulder. He had not been prepared for the screaming infant interruption in the middle of this monumental conversation, but with Hayden sitting on the couch looking like he was trying to shake off a hard hit into the boards, Shane had felt like he himself was the safer choice for baby soother in that moment.

Hayden opened his mouth, then closed it again, his eyes darting around the room but unfocused, like he was trying to think of a word. Or, perhaps, all the words. He didn't seem to remember how to speak at all.

"Give me a hint, at least," Shane said, trying to keep his voice low and soothing even as his anxiety mounted. "Which part is breaking your brain right now?"

Hayden shook his head, still looking into the middle distance. "The… Rozanov part."

"So," Shane stopped in front of him, transitioning to a gentle bounce to keep the baby in motion, "Me being gay, that's… you're fine with that?"

Hayden blinked, and finally looked up at him. "Dude, yes. Are you kidding me? Of course I'm fine with that."

The tightness in Shane's chest disappeared as abruptly as a bubble popping. "Okay," he breathed, exhaling heavily, feeling like he was suddenly deflating. "Okay, good."

"But, dude," Hayden said, shaking his head again, "Rozanov? Seriously? That's your type?"

Shane lowered himself carefully into the rocking chair by the couch, feeling for all the world like he was holding live ammunition. Amber snuffled against his chest, her tiny fist clenching on the neck of his t-shirt, but she settled again as soon as he started rocking.

"I don't think you're actually prepared to hear the answer to that question, buddy."

Hayden scrubbed a hand down over his face before meeting Shane's eyes, his shoulders going tense like he was bracing for a punch. "Go for it."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Come on, man, he's everybody's type. You have eyes. Even if you can't see how hot he is, I know you've seen the signs women bring to his games in Boston. And those are just the ones that make it past security." Last season, a photo had surfaced of Ilya signing a poster with his face on it that read RUSSIA'S GREATEST LOVE MACHINE, looking downright gleeful as a gaggle of fans stared at him, slack-jawed. Shane couldn't decide if he hated that photo or loved it, but he had kept it saved on his phone for a good six weeks afterward.

Hayden grimaced, but he shook his head, waving off that answer with a flick of his hand. "I didn't mean that," he said, his expression pained, "I mean he's such a– a dick. I thought you hated him like… like everyone does."

"Not everyone," Shane said testily, working hard to keep his voice soft as he felt his hackles rising in Ilya's defense. He stroked his hand carefully up and down Amber's back as a reminder to keep calm. "He's…" he trailed off, groping for the right phrasing, something that might make Hayden understand. 

"He's really funny," he said finally, cringing at how inadequate the words felt. He tried again, "He's smart as hell, and he's… you know, charming. He knows how to talk to people."

Hayden's face was skeptical, his eyebrows raised, and Shane barrelled on.

"He's like, really good at reading people," he said, suddenly grateful to Amber for occupying his hands. He'd have his cuticles torn to shreds by now if he could get at them. "That's why other teams hate him, 'cause he can look at someone and know exactly what to say to get under their skin. People just get mad because they can't chirp back at his level."

Hayden's expression didn't change.

"He's…" Shane's words failed him again, and he laughed softly. "Okay, yeah, he's a dick, and I love it. So I guess that is my type, sure."

"Jesus," Hayden said finally, shaking his head with a sigh. His gaze slid past Shane as his eyes went unfocused again, a little crease forming between his brows.

Shane gave him a minute to process, but when nothing else was forthcoming, he reached out with one foot to give the couch a tap near where Hayden was sitting, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Whatever it is, just ask me."

Hayden got that far-off expression for another few seconds, frowning. "I just… I can't believe I didn't notice anything. I was trying to see if I could figure out when it started, because I feel like an idiot for not noticing. Was it after Rose?"

"Oh, no, it was… it was a long time before that," Shane said hesitantly, recalling his parents' shock at this revelation and wishing he could ease Hayden into it a little more gently. "There was nothing for you to notice, Hayd. It started before you met me."

Hayden's eyes snapped to Shane's face. "We met in 2010."

Shane nodded. "Yeah. September." He said it slowly, giving Hayden a chance to digest, then continued, "Ilya and I hooked up for the first time in June."

Watching Hayden's mouth drop open, his face a mask of deep offense, had Shane biting his lips into his mouth to suppress his laughter.

"He fucking pre-dates me?!" Hayden demanded, his volume rising exponentially toward the final, shouted syllable.

Amber grunted, squirming in Shane's arms, and he narrowed his eyes, shooting Hayden a glare even as he watched him cringe apologetically. "Jesus, keep it down, do not set this bomb off again."

Hayden sat very still, silently waiting for the baby to settle again before he spoke.

"That's seven years, man," he said, keeping his voice hushed almost to a whisper.

"I know."

Hayden looked away, finding a spot on the far wall to focus on. "You always let me think you hated him."

Shane gave a soft huff of a laugh. "Sometimes I kind of did. Just… not for the reasons everyone wanted me to."

Hayden nodded, but didn't answer. He was still studying the wall to the right of the fireplace.

"Hayd," Shane said softly, waiting for Hayden to look at him again. "You know why I had to lie to you, right? It's not like I liked doing it."

Hayden still looked a little hurt, shrugging one shoulder noncommittally, but he didn't seem to have a response. After a moment, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"So it's serious with him, right? Like… like me and Jackie serious? Forever serious?" 

"Yes, it's that kind of serious," Shane said, careful to keep his voice steady. He kind of felt like Hayden was searching for a reaction, a crack in the story, and Shane didn't want him to find the hesitation he was looking for. "I wouldn't be telling you about this if it wasn't."

Blowing out a heavy breath, Hayden stood. "In that case, I'm going to go get a beer, and you're going to try to convince me that Ilya fucking Rozanov is actually secretly a super nice guy."

Shane smiled. "I feel like that's going to take a while."

"Oh, you weren't aware?" Hayden pointed at him where he was still gently rocking back and forth with Amber once again sleeping peacefully on his chest. "You let the baby fall asleep on you, and that means you're legally required to keep her that way until her next feeding. Sorry, I don't make the rules."

"I know you don't, Jackie does."

"Yeah, and she's always watching, dude." Hayden gestured vaguely and ominously at the ceiling, even though Shane was pretty sure Jackie was in Halifax visiting her mother with the rest of the kids. "You'll stay there if you know what's good for you. I'll get you a ginger ale."

Mom

Hi honey

Does Ilya actually not listen to his voicemails?

I thought that message was a joke, but it's been a week, so I'm starting to suspect it wasn't

Shane

In my experience, no, he does not

But he usually returns if he sees a missed call from someone he knows

… Why were you calling Ilya?

Mom

Shit, I think I called on my office phone, he wouldn't have that number 

Okay, I'll try again later with my cell

Thanks sweetie

Shane

MOM

Why were you calling Ilya????

Mom

It's nothing for you to worry about!

Just business

With an exasperated sigh, Shane hit the call button, dropping his gym bag to the floor and kicking his shoes off clumsily, his legs protesting from the journey up the building's back stairs. It had been a long workout, probably the last one he'd get to have alone for a while, with training camp starting in two days.

"Shane," mom said placatingly over the line, "It's nothing. I just came across a few brand deals that I thought he might be interested in, that's all."

"What? Since when are you getting him brand deals?" Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "You know he has an agent already, right?"

"I'm not getting them for him," mom said, as if this was obvious. "They just crossed my desk and I thought he might be interested. He can bring them to his agent if he wants to."

"And what, I have enough brand deals now? You're moving on from me?"

Mom clicked her tongue. "So sensitive, honey," she laughed. "No, these just aren't your kind of brands, that's all. One of them is for a distillery out on the west coast, they make vodka."

Shane dropped heavily onto his couch, staring absently at the Montreal skyline outside his window. "That'll be a tough sell. He says Canadian vodka tastes like nail polish remover."

"Is that any different from the rest of it?" Mom muttered. Shane could hear papers rustling in the background. "Anyway, I just want to make sure he doesn't miss out on any opportunities. It's going to be tough, relocating to Ottawa next year. Even if he doesn't take a pay cut, he's not going to be able to rely on a big team name to bring in the offers. Ottawa's no Boston."

Shane sighed. "I know, mom." It made him squirm a little, confronting the reality of the decision he and Ilya had made. It was hard not to feel like he was asking Ilya to let his talent go to waste on a team he was far too good for.

"I think–" he faltered. He knew his mother wouldn't sugarcoat anything, not when it came to hockey. He had to ask himself if he really wanted to hear the truth right now. "I think he could turn them around. The Centaurs, they've had some bad luck. They could use a player like him."

None of it was a question, but it felt like he was asking something.

"They've really never had a star," mom said thoughtfully. "If he's got the drive, he could make a difference."

"He's got it," Shane said with certainty. "If anyone in the league could build a team from scratch, it's him."

"Yeah?" mom asked, her voice fond.

"Yeah," Shane nodded, vehemently, to his empty living room. "He's got… something. People want to follow him. They can't help it."

"Magnetism," mom supplied.

"He's magnetic, yeah. His team loves him. He's a better captain than me, honestly. He might be the best in the league."

Mom made a noise that sounded like skepticism, her knee-jerk reaction to hearing anyone call Shane less than the best, even when it was Shane himself.

"No, I'm serious, mom," he said, smiling. "Better player? Debatable. Better captain? No contest."

"Your team loves you, Shane."

"I know, but… it's hard to explain. My team follows me because they respect me, and they know I'm good, and I can get them to the Cup if they do what I say. Ilya has all of that, but they also just… want to follow him. Everyone does. You want to be in his orbit."

"I guess I can concede that point," mom said grudgingly. "He is quite a charmer. And that's why I think he deserves way more sponsorships than he has right now."

Shane rolled his eyes, but fondly. "I'll tell him you called, mom." He knew Ilya didn't really care that much about making more money, especially now that he had cut his brother off and was able to keep what he earned for himself. But Shane also knew that this was his mom's way of accepting Ilya's presence in their lives. "Thank you for looking out for him."

"Of course, honey," mom said warmly. "And tell him I can just email him the details if he'd rather not have to talk to me."

Shane smiled. "He'll talk to you. He likes you."

"He likes you," mom corrected, "But I'll win him over. He's going to be in my city next year, don't forget. He won't be able to avoid me."

Shane groaned. "God, mom, I'm going to beg you to please be normal about him. Don't suffocate him, okay? He spooks easy."

"I don't believe that for a second," mom said airily. "Anyway, it's not like I'm not going to invite him over. He's going to be all alone in a new city, Shane. He'll need some support, right? Some home cooked meals?"

Shane couldn't help but think of Ilya at 19, packing up his life in Moscow and moving to an entirely new country, where he was barely comfortable with the language, where he knew no one, where he was starting his career with the expectations of his family and his country on his back. Shane could see him so clearly, sitting there in the hotel gym, panting with exertion, that heavy accent forming the words, "Boston is nice, too?" and Shane had been too young, too panicked, too self centered to recognise the fear behind the question.

But Ilya had made a life in Boston, carved out a piece of the city for himself. He'd found a family in his team, a support network. He had Svetlana there now. And he was giving it up, all of it, just to close some of the distance between himself and Shane.

"Yeah," Shane said, clearing his throat as his voice audibly wavered, "That'd be good for him."

There was a pause, silence over the line as his mother stopped whatever she'd been doing while they talked. "We'll look after him, honey, don't worry about that."

Shane blinked rapidly, grateful that he was alone in the room. "Thank you, mom."

Jane

I can't help thinking that this is going to backfire on us

Lily

Is just a party

What could backfire?

Jane

Someone could notice something, like the way we look at each other or if we stand too close or something, I don't know

Or you could say something to piss someone off and make them all hate you even more than they already do

Lily

Wow

Ok, 1, no one invited is smart enough to notice anything like that, and if they do, they are queer too, so we make new friend

Unless you think you are so starved for it that you're going to just crawl into my lap the second you see me, which would not be very surprising

2, I am ignoring this very hurtful comment because I know it is born of sexual frustration because you are dying of dick withdrawal 

See you soon 😘

The party was Ilya's idea, obviously, because Shane didn't concoct plans that involved willingly surrounding himself with loud, drunk hockey players. But even in all his anxiety, he had to admit, it was necessary, and maybe even smart. Transitioning the Hollander-Rozanov public rivalry into the Hollander-Rozanov public working friendship wasn't going to go smoothly if their teams were just as blindsided by it as the fans were. The people close to them had to see them bridging the gap first, if the new story was going to hold up to any sort of scrutiny. A preseason party at Ilya's house with both teams invited was probably a good first step.

It helped to have Hayden and Jackie in on the plan. Jackie had managed to talk half a dozen Montreal WAGs into taking a girls' trip to Boston to watch the game, and Hayden, as the team's ultimate Wife Guy, had convinced the guys that they couldn't just keep their girls stuck in a hotel room when there was a party to attend instead.

Fate did them another favour, in the form of a Montreal victory at their game that afternoon. It would have been a hard sell to get any of the Metros to show up at Ilya Rozanov's house if they'd spent the day watching him gloat at them on the ice.

It came as no surprise to Shane that Ilya knew how to throw a rager. His house was made for it, huge and open, and he'd planned it all — food, music, enough booze to take down an elephant. (Or ply two rival hockey teams into a temporary ceasefire.) 

"The enemy is here!" Cliff Marleau shouted over his shoulder as he opened the front door to Shane and his team gathered on Ilya's doorstep. He grinned at them, stepping aside for them to enter. "Welcome to the… what's it called? Kremlin? Leave your shoes on, boys, don't be weird."

Marleau gestured grandly toward the interior of the house, nodding at the few Metros who granted him a reluctant smile as they passed. Shane hovered just inside the door, suddenly unsure of himself. He'd never been here like this, in mixed company. How was he supposed to act like he'd never seen this place before when he spent two weeks in August making himself at home, 'christening' every room with Ilya? This was too weird, this was going to go so wrong, someone was going to see–

"So, Holzy," Marleau slung an enormous arm over his shoulder once the rest of the group had passed. "Can I call you Holzy? You can call me Marly, I don't mind."

"Uh," Shane stammered, letting Marleau lead him into the house.

"So Holzy, Roz tells me you and him are buds now, or something," Marleau continued, probably keeping his voice at the lowest volume he was physically capable of. "But I gotta be honest, I still can never really tell when Roz is bullshitting me. And he bullshits me a lot, so I should probably be better at it by now."

The party already seemed to be in full swing, though the newly arrived Metros were still moving as a group, peering warily around at the Raiders and their guests like they were expecting someone to pull a knife. Shane caught Ilya's eye across the room where he was handing Svetlana a glass of champagne. A pang of want shot through Shane's body, the same way it always did when they'd been apart for too long. Ilya was barefoot, in jeans and a black tank top like he'd put absolutely no thought into his outfit and yet knew he was the hottest person in the room. Shane wanted to lick his face. Jesus Christ.

He watched Ilya raise his eyebrows in question, but Shane gave a little shake of his head. Marleau was harmless. Probably. He seemed to mean well, at least.

"So I gotta ask you about it, because you're not the bullshit type. Is it true?"

Shane cleared his throat, wishing he could step away from this strange quasi-headlock embrace, but Marleau had several inches and dozens of pounds on him, and struck Shane as the kind of guy who didn't know his own strength.

"Yeah it's, uh… we just figured it was time to put the whole rivalry thing to rest. We're not kids anymore, you know? We were sick of it." It was the angle they had decided on, with Yuna's approval. We've outgrown that nonsense. We have more in common than people might think. It's time for everyone to move on.

Plausible, mature, and unexciting. Maybe if they made their personal lives boring enough for the press to lose interest, they could actually have personal lives one day.

"Aw, man," Marleau splayed his catcher's mitt of a hand out over Shane's chest, giving him a sternum-thump that made the air vibrate in his lungs, "That's cool, that's cool. Roz is a good guy, you know, once you can get him to stop chirping."

"Yeah, he is," Shane said, watching Ilya track the other Metros moving into the house like a herd of frightened deer, before he whispered something to Svetlana, and gestured for her to follow him across the room.

"Montreal Metros!" Ilya called, his voice booming and his accent heavy with rolling Rs. He held out his arms grandly, sauntering toward them. "Welcome, welcome, it is your victory party. We have food, we have drinks. The vodka is Russian, the whisky is Canadian, the food is…" 

"Mostly pizza," Svetlana said, taking a sip of her champagne. She was in a dark, glittering, low-cut party dress, the back of which seemed to be mainly made up of tiny, criss-crossing straps. Several of Shane's teammates stared openly at her, mouths agape.

"Ah, Italian! ! Come in, come in, don't be shy," Ilya said, and Shane could see that most of the WAGs were smiling at him, already charmed. Thank god for Jackie Pike. "I do not give tours, but make yourselves at home. Sveta, zolotse, would you mind showing my guests to the bar?"

Shane watched half his team trail after Svetlana like she had them on a leash, while Ilya threw his arm around Hayden's shoulders and leaned close enough that Shane couldn't hear what Ilya was saying to him.

Shane finally ducked out from under Marleau's arm, turning to face him.

"He uh, he probably told you that no one really knows yet, right? That we're friends?" Shane spoke in a low voice, glancing around as his teammates dispersed. "Tonight's kind of like a trial run. Soften the blow. My team kind of hates him still."

"Yeah, yeah, he told me," Marleau nodded, then jerked his chin toward the bar, where Svetlana was handing out drinks to an enraptured audience. Ilya had told Shane that Svetlana had been helping him with the party arrangements, but he'd failed to mention her role as hockey player bait. "She's probably gonna help a lot, hey?"

Shane snorted. "Yeah, I think she will."

The Metros seemed to relax a little after that. The ones who had brought their partners were, at least, obliged to not spend the night sulking in a corner casting dirty looks at Ilya and the other Raiders, and the rest seemed to take their cue from them. Slowly, the two groups started to mix. 

Marleau hooked up Ilya's X-Box and dug out a copy of MLH 16, declaring a tournament. Jackie was playing a drinking game with a few of the Boston WAGs, the rules of which seemed to involve keen observation of the men around the room, and drinking whenever any of them did something loud, or stupid, which meant they were drinking quite a bit. Svetlana was locked into a spirited debate about the relative historical impacts of the Original 6 with a few of Shane's rookie teammates, most of whom looked like it caused them physical pain to have to disagree with her.

Ilya, meanwhile, seemed determined to play host, moving from group to group to insert himself seamlessly into each conversation. It was strange to think that Shane had never actually seen Ilya in this environment before, because it felt so familiar, watching him. Shane had already known that Ilya would be good at this, the social butterfly, the natural charmer. The wives and girlfriends present had already been won over, but Shane could see the guys lowering their defenses too.

J.J. let Ilya hold his arm up above his head in triumph after he'd scored a point in their on-screen Montreal-versus-Boston showdown, his expression somewhere between bewildered and amused as Ilya shouted something victorious in Russian.

Khorochkov, a quiet rookie who Shane hadn't even expected to come, seemed downright enamored when Ilya spoke to him in Russian without even having to ask. It was probably the first time Khorochkov had gotten to speak his native language in weeks, and Shane had never seen the guy so animated.

Comeau, who just bought himself a two million dollar Westmount penthouse, trapped Ilya into a discussion about real estate opportunities in the Boston area and Ilya, to his credit, managed to stick out the conversation for a good three minutes without rolling his eyes. 

Shane knew he was watching Ilya too much, but Shane was well practiced at becoming invisible at a party with a crowd like this, so there was no one to notice his staring except the ones who already knew to look for it. He caught Hayden's eye across the room and received a grudging smile, which was better than he'd expected, honestly.

"Can I ask, Rozanov, what does it cost to heat this place? Just a ballpark?" 

"Uhm–" Ilya stuttered, his eyes sliding past Comeau to see Shane watching him and fighting to suppress a smile. "I am Russian, we don't really need indoor heating. Excuse me, I need a refill, can I get you anything?"

Shane waited for Ilya to reach the bar, making sure Comeau didn't decide to follow, before he approached.

"Any recommendations from the bartender?" Shane asked, pretending to be interested in the assortment of bottles in front of him. 

"Hmm," Ilya smiled, pouring a measure of vodka into his own glass. "We have finest selection of ginger ales in the state."

"You have one kind of ginger ale," Shane pointed out, keeping his voice low. He did a quick scan to make sure no one was close enough to hear them over the music and the general noise of the party.

"Is what I said," Ilya replied, taking a sip from his glass before setting it down. "But I think I can come up with something more interesting, if you would like to get wild with the rest of us."

He reached out and put his hand on a bottle of gin, looking at Shane for confirmation. Shane glanced around the room again, before he finally nodded.

"Nothing too strong," he said, watching Ilya fill a shaker with ice. 

"Afraid you might get handsy, Hollander? Can't resist me when you're drunk?" Ilya kept his eyes on his task, but his voice was a low purr, and Shane felt like the sound of it was buzzing through the base of his spine. He leaned forward a couple inches and propped his elbows on the bartop, feeling bold.

"I'm not even sure if I can resist you now," he said, only glancing up from Ilya's hands long enough to make sure he heard him. Ilya's poker face cracked for a split second, his eyes flickering up, and the heat in his gaze might have made Shane's knees buckle if he hadn't already braced himself on the bar.

"Mmmm," Ilya hummed, eyes back on his work as he poured a measure of gin into the shaker. "How long has it been, a month?"

"It's been 41 days, and I know you know that too."

"41 days," Ilya repeated, adding another mysterious liquid to his concoction. Shane had to lean in a little further to hear him as his voice dropped to a murmur. "Long time after I spoiled you all summer, yes? Long time without being fucked."

Shane felt a rush of heat in his cheeks. Really, watching Ilya's hands while he talked like this was hardly a safe choice, but if he met Ilya's eyes right now, he was sure the entire party would see all their secrets spilling out between them.

"Way too fucking long," he breathed, curling his toes inside his sneakers.

"I will have to figure out the minimum socially acceptable time to kick everybody out," Ilya mused. "I need an empty house for making you scream later."

"Big talk, Rozanov," Shane replied, feeling a swoop in his stomach. How was it always such a thrill, after all this time? He watched Ilya roll a whole lime against the surface of the bar, pressing it down with his palm, back and forth in little circles, too slow, for too long.

"You had a hat trick today, didn't you?" Ilya asked, and it took Shane a moment to even parse the words, utterly mesmerised by the motion of his hand, which felt far too suggestive for what it was. 41 days was a fucking lifetime. "Maybe I will get one tonight."

Shane almost jumped when a sharp knife cut the lime cleanly in half, abruptly efficient and snapping him out of his trance. Ilya squeezed it over the shaker, and secured the cover on top.

"Stand up straight," he said, and Shane did. Ilya gave him a once over, his eyes pausing on Shane's crotch with a single flick of his eyebrows.

"Fuck," Shane said, glancing down at himself. The bulge in his jeans was so, so obvious. His face burned, and he glanced around frantically.

"No one is watching, it's okay," Ilya said softly. "Just adjust."

Shane stood pressed against the bar as he surreptitiously adjusted himself, tucking his hard-on into his waistband like a horny teenager who just got a boner in the middle of class.

"This is your fault," he muttered, offering Ilya a glare with no heat behind it.

"Yes, it is," Ilya grinned, and began to shake Shane's cocktail.

Shane was instantly grateful for Ilya's forethought when the sharp, rhythmic sound of ice against metal drew several pairs of eyes to the bar. 

"Ooh, is it cocktail time?" 

One of the Montreal WAGs was approaching, an empty beer bottle dangling from her fingers. She was younger, and new. Her name was Megan, maybe? He couldn't for the life of him remember which of the rookies she was dating, but honestly, he'd be lucky if he could remember how to walk right now, with most of his blood flow in his dick and the remainder lighting up his burning face. Maybe-Megan stepped right up behind the bar, closer to Ilya than Shane could ever get away with, and grinned. "What are we making?"

Ilya poured the contents of the shaker into a tall glass, topping it up with soda and dropping a straw into it before he slid it across the bar toward Shane.

"Nothing you'd want, trust me," Ilya said, watching intently as Shane took a tentative sip. It was good, light and tart, but not too sweet, and not too strong. He gave a small nod of approval, meeting Ilya's eyes as he did. "Hollander is lightweight, I make him the old lady cocktail. For you, we can come up with something more fun."

Ilya winked and Shane smiled, backing away as some of the other girls made their way over.

"It was Tegan, yes?" he heard Ilya ask, before the chatter of the little crowd he'd drawn swallowed up the rest of the exchange.

Shane wandered for a while, drifting in and out of conversations whenever someone directed a question at him. At one point, Jackie pulled him aside, far enough into a corner that their voices wouldn't carry.

"It's going pretty well, huh?" she asked softly, smiling as she swept her eyes over the crowd. "I think you were right, this was a great first step."

"Oh, this wasn't me," Shane told her, "This was all Ilya's idea. All I did was make sure the team showed up, and I think that was more your doing than mine."

Jackie raised her eyebrows in momentary surprise, then her gaze fell on Ilya, currently engaged in a lively conversation with Drapeau and his wife, his hands gesticulating wildly. 

"He certainly is the life of the party," she observed.

"He's in his element," Shane agreed, smiling as Ilya threw his head back in laughter, clapping Drapeau's shoulder amicably.

"That, and he's got the right motivation," Jackie said, and Shane looked at her. "He wants this to work," she elaborated. "He's following the plan."

Shane nodded, looking back over at Ilya, who had his head bent forward to listen intently to something Alison Drapeau was saying. It was working.

Shane was nursing his drink, because it really did taste good, but he was sure that it would be a mistake to ask for a second one, for a myriad of reasons. It was already getting difficult to keep his mind from wandering, his blood still thrumming from Ilya's teasing. His warm, low voice, his hands while he assembled Shane's cocktail. His ass in those jeans, his shoulders in that tank top. The casual sweep of his curls off his forehead. The cross sitting between his pecs. 

Shane was fucking staring.

He retreated to the periphery — the only place he was safe. He had to determinedly train his eyes away from Ilya, which was no mean feat, considering half the room seemed to be looking at Ilya at any given moment. 

It should have been nerve-wracking, being here surrounded by colleagues and teammates and trying to hide in plain sight, but it was, to Shane's surprise, proving to be the opposite. He found that he liked it, in a perverse sort of way. He liked knowing that they had a secret. That there was this charged, undeniable thing between them that no one could see. That they were here, playing these roles with all these people, and no one here knew that as soon as everyone left, Shane would be on his knees in the middle of the kitchen, or bent over the dining room table, or maybe folded in half on the couch, Ilya above him, forcing his knees to his chest, pushing inside–

Jesus Christ, Shane had to get out.

The October evening air was cool enough to feel like a balm on his flushed face when Shane stepped out onto the deck in Ilya's backyard. He gave his head a quick, hard shake to clear his thoughts. 41 days was apparently testing the limits of his self control. He'd have to inform Ilya that they'd need to coordinate more frequent visits. In the name of sanity.

A few people had filtered outside already, most of them sitting on the patio furniture over near Ilya's outdoor kitchen, but one stood apart, her perfectly shaped curls haloed by the cigarette smoke she was exhaling into the air above her.

Svetlana glanced over as Shane came to stand beside her. She offered a small smile that Shane had learned was the Russian equivalent of a friendly hug hello.

"You having a good time?" Shane asked her, watching as she tapped the ash from her cigarette with one long, pointed fingernail.

"Mmmm," she replied, still smiling, "The Raiders always throw good parties."

"Right. Yeah, I guess you've been around for more of these than I have." Shane didn't like the way that that realisation made him feel. He liked Svetlana, and he didn't begrudge her the friendship she had with Ilya. He was grateful for it, really.

"A few," Svetlana said, glancing over her shoulder at the house. "Your boys are a nice change, though. Polite little Canadians." Her smirk gave Shane the impression that she could eat a polite Canadian for breakfast.

"Not sure if I'd describe any of them as polite," Shane laughed, following her gaze and watching J.J. snatch Mitty's beer from his hand, holding it up over his head while Mitty grappled with his arm to try and reach it.

Svetlana snorted. "Please, this is Boston. Next to Ilya's friends, the Metros are basically choir boys."

She took a final drag from her cigarette, then stooped to drop it down the neck of an abandoned beer bottle sitting on the edge of the deck.

"Are you heading back inside?" she asked him, straightening up.

Shane looked back at the house and wondered if he could see the windows pulsing with the noise if he squinted hard enough. He shook his head.

"I just need some air," he said, offering her a smile that he hoped communicated her release from the obligation of the conversation he'd trapped her in.

Her eyes narrowed just a little bit, and Shane was reminded forcibly of Ilya, of the way Ilya could hear paragraphs when Shane was giving him a single sentence.

"Come this way," Svetlana said to him, and didn't look back to see if he was obeying as she stepped off the deck and started down a paving-stone path across the yard.

Shane followed, the lights from the patio fading as they walked further from the house. There was a huge, old oak in the far corner of Ilya's yard, and beside it sat a set of comfortable-looking patio furniture, arranged around what looked like a propane fire pit.

"What–" Shane blinked, glancing back at the house. He'd never seen this before. "When did this get here?"

Svetlana smiled, fiddling with something on the underside of the fire pit. "About a month ago, I came to pick Ilya up for dinner, and I found a crew from Home Depot setting this up. I mocked him for half the night about becoming domesticated."

The fire flared to life, and then settled down into a soft, flickering glow. Svetlana sat back on the couch and patted the seat next to her.

"And then he told me about the one at your house on the lake, and for the rest of the night, I mocked him for being a lovesick puppy."

Shane sat next to her, shaking his head as he stared into the fire. "He said it was boring, the asshole."

Svetlana laughed softly. "He says you're boring, too. I think Ilya likes boring."

Shane shook his head again, but he could feel himself smiling. He watched the fire for a while, taking an occasional sip of his drink, which by now was just melted ice cubes, but was cool, and grounding.

"Thank you for coming tonight," he said, looking at her. "I know you would have come anyway, but I mean, thank you for… playing a part. For helping us out."

Svetlana shrugged one shoulder, giving a little flick of her fingers. "It's nothing. It was fun, getting to lead around some new hockey boys. The Raiders have gotten used to me, they don't get so stupid anymore."

Shane snorted. "I think you could have made one of my rookies commit a murder for you tonight, if you'd asked," he said, and snorted again when she gave a small, impassive nod of agreement. He was sure it wasn't the first time she'd heard something like that.

"It's not nothing, though," Shane continued. "It means a lot to… to us. That we have people on our side right now."

Svetlana made a soft noise of consideration. "You know I would do a lot more than this for you two. For Ilyushka."

Shane looked back into the fire. "It's good he has you," he said, squirming a little at his own sincerity, but it was the truth. Shane had his parents, and Rose, and even Hayden, when he was in the right mood. Ilya needed someone too. "I'm glad you figured us out. I don't know how long it would have taken him to tell you, if you hadn't."

"A long fucking time, I think," Svetlana sighed. "I had to say something, I couldn't wait any longer to be introduced to the most beautiful man in hockey."

Shane grinned bashfully as he glanced at her and found her eyes sparkling. "Not sure I quite live up to my public persona," he said, knowing that she would not misinterpret the comment as false humility, like so many others would.

"You're way more interesting than your public persona," she said frankly. "I knew that before I even met you. I knew there was a reason he was so hung up on you."

Shane felt himself blush, and turned his gaze back to the fire so he wouldn't have to look at her knowing smile. The condensation on his glass dripped down over his fingers, and he took a sip, just to give himself another moment to think about what he was going to say.

"I was really jealous of you before we met," Shane admitted quietly, glancing at her. Svetlana did not look surprised, or like she required any elaboration, but Shane felt the need to clarify, "But not you, exactly, more like… the concept of you. You knew him so well, and he talked about you like you were so close. He and I were still figuring things out when he told me you slept together, and it made me feel fucking crazy, having to know that."

Svetlana rolled her eyes. "Bozhe moy, of course he did. Fucking idiot."

"It felt like what he had with you was the same as what he had with me, but you were closer, and he knew you better, and you were… easier to be with. Like, less complicated. I hated the thought of you."

"I don't blame you," Svetlana said, and Shane followed her eyeline to where Ilya was standing in the living room, talking animatedly with someone Shane couldn't recognise at a distance, maybe one of the Raiders. "I wouldn't blame you if you still did, honestly."

"I don't," Shane said quickly, looking at her face so she could see that he wasn't lying. "I mean, it's kind of weird for me still, knowing you've…" he cleared his throat, "Had sex with my boyfriend, but. I do like you."

Svetlana arched one perfect eyebrow. "You're still friends with Rose Landry, aren't you? Ilya's told me. You should see the way he pouted when I asked about you and her."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but that's different. I'm… I'm gay. Me and Rose weren't exactly compatible in that area."

With a small, dismissive hand gesture, Svetlana crossed her legs so that her body leaned toward him, propping her arm on the back of the couch and inclining her head like she was going to tell him a secret. "It's not so different, trust me."

Shane blinked at her as he tried to grab hold of the meaning behind that statement. "You and him…"

"Had some fun," she shrugged, sparing a brief glance toward the house again. "Especially when we were younger, you know, still figuring things out. Mm, I mean…" her face took on a far-off, almost wistful expression, her lips curving into a little smile, "He knows what he's doing, right? I don't have to tell you that."

"Okay," Shane said slowly, wondering where this conversation was headed, and whether they were both going to survive the destination.

"But," she continued, fluffing her hair with the air of a woman who has never settled for unsatisfactory service in her life, "I'm not inclined to let a man be in charge of me, you understand? Not anywhere. Not even him."

"Oh," Shane said, his face flaring with heat even as he smiled, more pleased by this revelation than he'd like to admit. He looked away from her eyes, which were altogether too knowing. "I like when he's in charge," he muttered quietly, and her answering laugh was soft and fond, not mocking.

"I figured," she said with a smile, reaching out to gently press one delicate finger to his cheek. "You're perfect. You have nothing to be jealous about with me, Shane Hollander."

A little tension seemed to ease then, like a knot in a muscle he didn't know he was carrying until someone pressed on it and made it release. 

"Besides," Svetlana said, examining her nails and affecting extreme nonchalance, "There is such a thing as too big, if you ask me."

Shane felt his eyes widen as she cast a sidelong look his way, and then burst out laughing.

"Oh, your face," she gasped, covering her mouth with her fingers as she giggled. "You look like I just slapped you."

"I'm sorry, I just don't take too kindly to blasphemy, madam!" Shane grinned, and she reached out and grabbed his knee, jostling his leg affectionately.

"It's all yours, pretty boy," she said, dabbing delicately at her eyes as she continued to chuckle. "And now I get to live with the knowledge that Shane Hollander is a size queen."

Shane blushed again. "I don't know what that means," he lied, because though he'd never heard the term before, he was pretty sure the context told him what he needed to know. He was saved from further elaboration when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Lily

Where did you go?

Jane

Outside with Svetlana

Svetlana made no effort to hide the fact that she was looking at his screen. "Doesn't take him long to notice you're gone, does it?"

Shane smiled, placing the phone on the couch between them. It wasn't surprising; he'd been tracking Ilya's movements the entire night too.

The sound of the patio door sliding open drew his gaze across the yard, and there was no denying that his stomach gave a little flutter just from the sight of Ilya's silhouette striding toward them down the path.

"They abandon me and my party," Ilya called as he approached.

"The party is wherever I am," Svetlana retorted. 

"She's right," Shane said. He grinned up at Ilya as he stepped up to their couch and perched on the arm closest to Shane.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, reaching out to take Shane's nearly-empty glass from him, giving it a shake to hear the last of the ice cubes rattle.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Shane looked at Svetlana and felt his own devious smile matching hers.

"Certainly not comparing notes, we wouldn't do that," Svetlana said, making a show of blinking innocently up at Ilya.

"I never should have introduced you to him," Ilya sighed, stealing a sip of Shane's drink. "You want another? This is just water."

Shane shook his head. "I'm good. Wouldn't want to loosen my tongue too much, I might spill all your secrets."

"Not sure there's anything left for her to learn," Ilya said, glancing toward the house before he grabbed Shane's hand, bringing it up to his mouth to press a quick kiss to the back of it. "Some people have left already. I think mostly it's the sad boys who were following Sveta around, but might start a trend."

"Fingers crossed," Shane said, holding his gaze as Ilya held the glass out for him to take back. He could feel Svetlana watching them, he knew she would see the way Ilya's eyes traveled down Shane's body, full of heat and promise. It was strange, but nice, to know that someone could see them, and not have to care.

A slow smile spread across Ilya's face, and he let out a heavy breath. "I will get rid of them," he declared, standing up. "Sveta, mind my boyfriend while I work, yes?"

Shane watched him until he disappeared into the house, and smiled when he felt Svetlana's eyes on him.

"We haven't seen each other in 41 days," he said sheepishly, and she laughed.

Ilya didn't seem to be overtly telling his guests to leave, but they started filtering out, all the same. The volume of the music was lowered, so gradually Shane didn't notice until he realised he couldn't hear it anymore from the yard. Lights started to come on in the house, the overhead ones that cast a harsh glare on the minimalist decor and that Ilya never, ever used.

Shane stayed outside, out of the fray, swapping increasingly scandalous tidbits of information with Svetlana. Some of it was about Ilya, but Svetlana contained multitudes, which meant that Shane was also learning a lot more about Cliff Marleau than he had ever wanted to know.

Eventually, his phone buzzed on the couch between them.

Hayden

We're heading out

We're the last ones

Me and Jackie waited until the others left so it would look like you were getting a ride with us, you're welcome

Though just fyi, most of the boys think you're about to bang Svetlana, so you were probably in the clear anyway

Have a good night buddy

Svetlana let out a delighted laugh, once again blatantly reading over Shane's shoulder. She ruffled his hair as she stood, and hooked her arm around Shane's as they walked back to the house.

Inside, Ilya was bustling around, tidying up a living room that looked like a tornado had swept through it. Svetlana made a small detour to give him a kiss on the cheek, murmuring something soft in Russian, before she made her way to the front of the house. Shane followed.

"Thank you again, Svetlana," he said quietly as she turned to face him at the door.

For once, she didn't wave him off. "It's my pleasure," she said with a smile. She darted in close to press her lips to his cheek, cradling his face in her elegant fingers as she pulled back and said, "Go make his night, hot stuff."

He gave a little nod and a mock salute. "That's the plan."

She winked over her shoulder as she stepped out onto the porch. He watched her until the door swung closed, and then Shane and Ilya were finally, blessedly alone.

Chapter End Notes

Some notes to close part one, because I LOVE an appendix:

1.) Ilya absolutely did call as soon as he got home from the airport, and this resulted in Shane having hushed, embarrassing, but entirely necessary phone sex in his old bedroom at his parents' cottage, surrounded by faded hockey posters and his father's abandoned home gym equipment.

2.) As soon as he hung up with Ilya after he'd spoken to Rose, Shane texted her, "It's Ilya Rozanov, delete this message" and then rolled over and fell asleep, knowing he was going to wake up to several missed calls and two dozen messages in the vein of "OMFG WHAT?! SHANE HE'S SO HOT WTF, HOW DID YOU GET TOGETHER 7 YEARS AGO HOW DID THIS HAPPEN, SHANE ANSWER ME, SHANE YOU PROMISED ME THE WHOLE STORY YOU'RE KILLING ME PLEEEEAAASE"

3.) Hayden actually started to come around to the idea of Shane being in love with Ilya Rozanov after a long and quiet heart-to-heart over a sleeping infant, but the precarious peace was shattered when Jackie came home from Halifax three days later and, upon hearing the news (with Shane's blessing, of course) said, "Wow, that's a legendary pull, Rozanov is like the hottest guy in the league." Thus Hayden will go to his grave with the secret that the real reason he hates Ilya Rozanov is that his wife apparently thinks Ilya is hotter than him.

4.) Yuna really did come across that vodka endorsement deal by chance, but the four other brand deals she sent Ilya were the result of her own digging. She can't turn off that momager energy, and she is fully prepared to adopt her new son just as soon as he's ready to defer to her in all matters of business and marketing. That's the one condition for becoming a Hollander.

5.) Svetlana and Ilya are a dom/dom pairing if I've ever seen one, and that fundamental incompatibility is the reason why they could never move beyond the fuck buddy stage. I will die on this hill. It's just a continuous battle for control of the situation, and sure, everyone has fun, but all either of them really want is a beautiful, submissive hockey boy who will follow their every command. (Though Sveta might prefer a rotation of five or six of them, because when that woman says she won't be pinned down, she means it in every possible way.)

Anyway, stay tuned for part two, which will be porn. I can't say how much porn just yet, but I can say that it's already 5000 words and they're basically just getting started, so. We'll just call it a lot of porn.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

As promised, porn. Roughly 11k words of porn. The tags have been updated to reflect the activities they're about to get up to, and you should expect any kink in my tag list to be fairly explicitly detailed, because that's how I do things. But it's nothing y'all haven't seen before, so just don't scroll back up if you'd rather be surprised, I guess. Please take note, however, that the NOT BETA READ tag remains. If you can't handle me at my run on sentences, you don't deserve me at my gratuitous prostate milking. (That's how that goes, right?)

One more thing: I don't speak Russian. I did my best, to the extent that anyone can, when you are attempting to confirm the accuracy of transliterated phrases meaning things like "little kitten" and "good boy" when your intended usage is less "person speaking to their pet cat" and more "Russian fuckboy speaking to his sexually submissive boyfriend". If anybody has a good resource for translating foreign languages in the context of dirty talk in written smut, please share with the class. It would legitimately change my life, because this is not the first time I've run into this obstacle, and it surely won't be the last.

Shane found Ilya back in the living room, fussing with the couch cushions. He glanced up at Shane when he entered, and smiled.

"Was a good night," he said, using his knee to push a seat cushion back into place.

"Yeah, I think people had a good time," Shane replied, watching him turn toward the mess of discarded drinks littering the coffee table.

"You were talking about me, with Sveta," Ilya said, and it was casual, just an observation, but Shane thought there might be a question in there too.

"Yeah. I like talking about you," Shane admitted, after a pause. "I talk about you a lot."

Ilya straightened with an armful of glasses and bottles balancing precariously against his chest. "Who with?"

Shane shrugged, grabbing an empty beer can from him before it fell off the top of the pile. "Safe people, you know. Rose, my parents. Hayden, when he'll listen."

"Right," Ilya said as Shane followed him out toward the kitchen. "And what do you talk about?"

"Different stuff," Shane said, feeling distinctly awkward now. It shouldn't feel harder to say these things to Ilya himself than to other people, but somehow it did. "Good stuff."

"Good stuff like how amazing I am at hockey?" Ilya carefully dumped his armload onto the island, where the various glass edges clinked sharply against the granite.

Shane laughed and said, "Sometimes. When I'm talking to my mom, that's the kind of thing she wants to hear about. Or when I want to make Hayden mad."

Ilya smirked, working on righting anything that would threaten to roll off the countertop. He glanced up at Shane once, a silent prompt to continue.

"The topic kind of changes depending on who I'm talking to," Shane said. "Like, with my dad, I tell him about stuff like… how nice you are."

"I am nice?" Ilya asked, picking up a bottle and giving it a shake before leaning over the counter to pour its remaining contents down the sink. 

"Yeah, you are," Shane said, tilting his head as he watched Ilya tidying. "Like how you have a team of professionals hired to come here tomorrow and clean up after this party, but you're doing this right now so they won't have to deal with too big of a mess."

Ilya paused for a split second before he shrugged, using the span of his two massive hands to gather everything safely into the center of the island. "Is just polite."

Shane smiled, pulling one of the bar stools out from the counter and perching on it. "Maybe," he replied. "Most people aren't that polite."

Ilya made his way around the counter then, picking up mostly-empty food trays that he'd already gathered and dumping their contents into the trash can beneath the sink. His movements were almost imperceptibly stiff; Shane might still struggle, sometimes, to interpret the full range of Ilya's many subtle facial expressions, but reading body language was a side effect of learning to predict another player's intentions on the ice, and it was clear that Ilya didn't know what to do with this subject now that he'd brought it up.

"When I talk to Hayden about you…" Shane continued, feeling bolder, feeling like some part of Ilya maybe needed to hear all of this. All of the things that Shane had been saying about Ilya to other people, and all of the things those people had said back to him. It occurred to Shane that Ilya wasn't used to hearing a lot of genuine compliments, outside of his abilities on the ice.

He caught Ilya's quick glance up, meeting Shane's eyes for a second before focusing again on his task. 

Shane pushed himself fully onto the bar stool so he could face Ilya across the island. He started again. "When I talk to Hayden about you, it's mostly about like, how we work. Why we work, because I feel like he doesn't really understand it yet, and it's important to me that he does."

Ilya upturned a chip bowl into the garbage and looked up again. "You think he wants to understand?"

Shane held his gaze for a moment, really considering the question.

"Yeah, I do," he said finally. "I think it's hard for him because it's you, and he really bought into the whole Hollander versus Rozanov thing, a lot more than I thought he did. And maybe that's my fault, for not discouraging it before, but I'm fixing it now. I told him about how long we've been… us. How much we've changed since we met. How well you know me, and how good you are for me." Shane looked down at his hands, splaying his fingers against the glittering stone of the countertop to stop himself from digging at his cuticles. "I think he's coming around. I think tonight probably helped."

Placing the bowl back on the counter, Ilya nodded. "Good," he said, and Shane knew he meant it, even if he didn't care about Hayden's opinion. It was enough, for Ilya, that Shane did.

Shane watched him wash his hands, then cast his eyes around, searching for something else to do.

"Come over here," Shane said softly. He pivoted on the stool as Ilya made his way around the island again, coming to stop right in front of him, propping his hip against the edge of the counter.

"Did you have a good time tonight? Not too much… people?" Ilya asked, tracing Shane's fingers lightly where they were pressed to the countertop.

Shane nodded. "Yeah, it was nice." He lifted his hand to thread their fingers together. "I got out when things started getting too loud."

Ilya smiled, sliding his hand around the back of Shane's neck, thumbing at his cheek softly. "Sveta likes you." 

"I like her too," Shane said, "She kind of saved me tonight."

"She is good at that," Ilya said, with an understanding nod, "And she was dying to talk to you."

Shane laughed softly. "Yeah, she… had some stuff to say." He smiled, "She really loves you, you know?"

Ilya searched his face, eyes darting all around, looking for details Shane couldn't even begin to guess at. He was about to continue when Ilya dove in, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss, his tongue licking inside in the kind of claim that Shane had been starving for, for 41 days.

Their conversation didn't feel finished, but oh, it was hard to think like this, with the wet slide of tongues and with Ilya's warm, callused hand sliding up beneath the back of his shirt, arching Shane toward him. Shane's legs came up around Ilya's hips, pressing their bodies tight together, and god, he missed this, he didn't know how he managed to go so long without Ilya's hands on him. This season was going to kill them both. 

The kiss finally broke when Ilya started to mouth along Shane's jaw toward his neck, frantic in motion but slow in progress, desperate but determined to savour. Shane could relate.

"I wanna tell you," Shane breathed, cradling the back of Ilya's head, fingers threaded into his curls. "Can I tell you?"

"Tell me what," Ilya said, without the intonation of a question. His breath was hot against the sensitive skin behind the hinge of Shane's jaw, making him shiver. 

"The good stuff. The things I say about you," Shane said, and Ilya paused. It felt wrong to think about now, how much he'd said to his parents, to Rose and Hayden, even to Svetlana tonight, that he'd never said to Ilya's face. Why was that so much harder?

Ilya straightened, leveling him with a stare. "You want to still talk? Now? Really?" He slid a hand down beneath Shane's thigh, lifting it so their hips ground together, both of them already hard in their jeans. Shane whimpered, and Ilya raised one smug eyebrow. "... How long has it been, again?"

Shane rolled his eyes, pulling him back in for a kiss just so he wouldn't have to look at that expression any longer. He pushed his fingers into Ilya's hair and held him close as he said, "Me and Svetlana talked about how hot you are, you don't wanna hear about that?"

Ilya's smile was soft and fond. He leaned in and started kissing Shane's jaw again, murmuring, "I do not need to," and it would sound like arrogance, but Shane thought it was something else. Like absolving Shane of the obligation, maybe.

"I wanna tell you, though. People have nice things to say about you," Shane said, his voice wavering as Ilya mouthed wetly over the thrumming pulse in his throat. "I should… say this stuff to you. More."

It was certainly true that Shane was not known for dishing out effusive praise or compliments, but he thought that he maybe should try to be, for Ilya. It didn't seem like such a difficult thing to work on.

"You don't like talking," Ilya replied, between kisses, "That is okay."

Shane shook his head, tightening his fingers in Ilya's curls with the intention of pulling him back, but then he felt Ilya's teeth on his skin, a small but unmistakable suggestion, and his next exhale shuddered out of him. "Oh, fuck."

Ilya scraped his teeth against that same spot again, then nuzzled it, pointedly. "Yes or no?"

Shane tightened his legs around Ilya's waist, tilting his head to the side to give better access. "Yes," he said softly, then, "As long as you're okay with everyone thinking I got it from Svetlana."

Whatever Russian expletive Ilya uttered in response to that was swallowed in a growl as he sunk his teeth hard into Shane's neck, then sucked viciously at the tender skin, latching on like a starved vampire.

"Fuck!" Shane yelped, the pain jolting through him and then melting into a shocky sort of pleasure, making his hands clench and his toes curl. The thought of it was thrilling, such a stark and unmistakable thing, evidence of Ilya's mouth, Ilya's claim on him. Not in the safe summer months when they could hide it away at the cottage, but now, with teammates and crowds and cameras to see it. And it didn't matter what everyone else saw when they looked at it, what everyone else assumed. Shane would know.

He should probably get Svetlana's number from Ilya before he went home. He felt like he should thank her again for all her help.

"Okay, stop, stop," Shane laughed breathlessly, as it became clear that Ilya was content to spend the night gnawing on his neck. Shane tugged him away, pulling his head up. Ilya's lips were wet and swollen, parted, sinful. He was panting slightly, his pupils huge beneath heavy lids. His cheeks were flushed, his hair pulled out of its careful styling by Shane's greedy fingers. Shane felt feral just looking at him.

"God, you're so hot," Shane said, kissing him roughly. He could hardly bring himself to separate again to continue, breathing the words into Ilya's mouth, "It was fucking dangerous to look at you tonight."

"Dangerous," Ilya repeated, tilting in for another kiss, then another.

Shane nodded, his breath hitching, and it was only then that he realised he was grinding his hard cock against Ilya's stomach, the motion slow, and filthy, and completely unconscious. 

"I had to get outside cause I…" Shane swallowed hard, kissing Ilya again, blushing to the tips of his ears at the memory of the arousal that had overwhelmed him while he stood there, surrounded by both his own teammates, and Ilya's.

"What?" Ilya coaxed, breaking the kiss just to make Shane try to chase his mouth, hand cupping his jaw to keep him in place. "You are so desperate for me, you could not even be in the same room?"

Shane shivered, biting his lip as he nodded. His fingers scrabbled at Ilya's shoulders, trying to pull him back in, but Ilya smirked, holding him back.

"He wants to talk, and then he forgets how."

"You're such a- Jesus, Ilya!" Shane yelped as his weight abruptly left the seat. He tightened his arms around Ilya's neck and locked his ankles together, while Ilya's strong grip on the back of his thighs hoisted him higher.

"Such a what?" Ilya asked innocently, carrying him out of the kitchen.

Shane glanced over his shoulder and realised that Ilya was not taking him toward the couch. "No no no, stop, no, you are not carrying me up the stairs."

"What, you think I can't?" 

"I think the risks outweigh the benefits."

"I will not drop you, I am very strong," Ilya said, walking determinedly in the direction of the staircase while Shane started to squirm.

"You're an asshole, put me down," Shane laughed, though Ilya was undeterred. Shane's fault for making that word a term of endearment, probably. "Ilya Rozanov, if you injure us both trying to carry me up the stairs just to prove a point, you are not getting near my ass tonight."

Ilya stopped in his tracks, still holding tight to Shane's thighs. Shane leaned back enough to look at him.

"You think I'm not serious?"

Ilya tilted his head back and forth, considering. "I am trying to figure out who would suffer more from that punishment. I think it's maybe you."

"You are such an asshole," Shane said again, kissing him. Ilya carefully eased him down until his feet touched the floor. "Thank you."

It was faster this way, anyway, with Shane hustling up the stairs with the urgency of a man who hadn't been fucked in a month and a half, and Ilya hot on his heels in a comparable state of desperation, both of them stumbling and scrambling. This level of horniness was a tripping hazard without adding unnecessary obstacles.

Ilya grabbed him by the wrist as soon as Shane crossed the threshold of the bedroom, spinning him around. Ilya's shirt had already been discarded, probably halfway down the hall, and he made quick work of Shane's too, pulling the buttons open so frantically Shane was sure he was seconds away from simply tearing them off.

Ilya kissed him as he pushed the shirt off of Shane's shoulders, shoving him into the room as he did it. He started on Shane's jeans, tugging them open with quick, inelegant motions. He glanced down and paused. "You are wearing shoes."

"Marleau made us keep them on," Shane said, toeing his sneakers off hastily and wriggling the rest of the way out of his jeans.

"American," Ilya said with a roll of his eyes, kissing Shane again as he walked him backwards toward the bed. Shane expected to be shoved down onto it, but Ilya kept him standing, kissing him deeply, cupping his jaw in that particular way that always made Shane's knees go a little weak.

"Were you finished?" Ilya whispered against his lips, not really breaking the kiss at all.

"What?" Shane asked breathlessly, already feeling a little drunk on Ilya's mouth and Ilya's hands and the proximity to Ilya's bed and all its promises.

"Talking," Ilya said, finally pulling back and using a thumb pressed just beneath his chin to keep Shane's head up, to keep Shane from folding against him like so much paper. "You wanted to talk. Were you finished?"

Shane licked his lips. He could hardly take this time to recount a series of sincere and heartwarming conversations with his parents and friends, as he'd been intending, but the gleam in Ilya's eye told him that that wasn't necessarily what he was angling for.

"You… want me to talk?"

Ilya leaned in again, this time going for his neck, his breath hot in Shane's ear as he murmured, "I would like you to try."

Shane licked his lips, breathing hard through his nose. It was difficult to think with Ilya mouthing over the tender spot where he'd sunk his teeth in earlier. It must be such a pretty colour by now.

"What about?" Shane asked, arching into Ilya's body.

Ilya lifted his head, and the eye contact made Shane want to squirm, but he held it.

"Tell me what you were thinking tonight," Ilya prompted, one hand sliding down to Shane's ass to grip it possessively through his boxers. "Getting all worked up in the middle of our party. Tell me why."

"God," Shane breathed, grateful when Ilya moved in to kiss his neck again, letting Shane close his eyes. "I was thinking… that none of them knew. That there was this thing between us all night, and it was right in front of their faces, and none of them knew that as soon as they left, I was gonna- fuck," his voice faltered as Ilya's hand slid down the back of his underwear, whimpering at the rough feel of Ilya's calloused palm against the sensitive skin of his ass.

"Gonna what?" Ilya asked against his throat, bearing Shane backwards as he mouthed down toward his chest, lips brushing over the barely-there bump on his clavicle where the fracture had healed last season.

"I can't talk when you're- fuck, doing that," Shane whined as Ilya squeezed, dipping his fingers in so close to Shane's hole that he could feel it clench in response, desperate and empty.

"I think you can," Ilya said, "I think you want to, da? You want to tell me what you were thinking, standing there with our teams watching."

Shane had to fight the impulse to wrap one leg around Ilya's hips, his body screaming for more and closer even when they were already pressed together from head to toe. His hard cock was leaking a mess into his thin cotton boxer briefs, and he knew Ilya could feel it, the wetness smearing against his abs.

"I was thinking I'd… like, drop to my knees in the middle of the kitchen as soon as the last person left. Or you'd just bend me over the dining room table cause we couldn't wait."

Ilya straightened, looking at him with eyebrows raised. "So, asshole Russian makes nice with Montreal Metros, while boy scout has sex fantasies in the middle of party." 

Shane smiled, secretly pleased with himself. That did sum it up pretty well. "I also thought about you folding me in half on the couch," he continued, breath catching as Ilya's other hand dove down into his underwear and he gripped Shane's ass hard enough to draw him up onto his tiptoes. "That– that thing you do where you shove my legs up to my ears and you go so fucking deep–"

With a growl, Ilya kissed him hard, licking into his mouth and turning Shane's spine to liquid. His whole body felt like it was buzzing, 41 days of deprivation combining with a full night of tenuous restraint to make him frantic, desperate for whatever Ilya wanted to give him.

"God, I fucking missed you," he breathed into Ilya's mouth, cradling the back of his head, fingers tangled in his curls. "Feels like I'm gonna come just standing here looking at you. So I guess consider this an advance apology for that, because it actually might happen."

Ilya laughed, himself a little breathless too, and tugged his hands out of Shane's boxers in order to give him a little shove.

"Lie down" he instructed, giving Shane's ass a playful smack that made his dick twitch helplessly.

Shane scrambled up the bed, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Ilya shedding the rest of his clothing. The little unsuppressed moan that escaped him as Ilya's cock sprung free of his boxers was involuntary, and Ilya did not miss it. He wrapped his hand around himself and gave it a couple slow, deliberate strokes before letting go. Shane watched it bob heavily, mesmerised, his mouth hanging open.

"Speechless already, Hollander?" Ilya asked, and Shane tore his eyes away from Ilya's dick to find him smirking. "So much for talking."

Shane swallowed, because his mouth was fucking watering, but he shook his head. "Just waiting for you to do something with that thing."

Ilya's eyes flashed with the challenge, and he jerked his chin imperiously. "Roll over," was his next command, and Shane didn't even pretend he was going to think about it. 

The mattress shifted and dipped as Ilya got onto the bed behind him and crawled up his body and was suddenly everywhere. Mouth at the top his spine, hand reaching around to grope at his chest, legs bracketing Shane's hips, and the weight. Shane fucking loved that weight.

"You're so heavy," Shane whispered, and he knew it wouldn't be misconstrued as a complaint. Ilya knew just how to use his weight to cover Shane completely. Shane squirmed, testing out the full-body press of Ilya on top of him, satisfied when he found himself pinned.

"Who would think, hm?" Ilya mused, his tone almost conversational, but belied by the way he was grinding his hard cock into Shane's ass. "Captain of Metros, face of the MLH, hockey's golden boy. Is it what you really are?"

Shane shook his head, embarrassment and arousal burning all the way through him. "No," he whispered.

"What are you, Shane?"

"Fuck," Shane ground out as Ilya started to move down his body, punctuating his path with wet, open-mouthed kisses all down his back. He lifted to allow Ilya to tug his boxers off his hips, gasping when he felt lips brushing the curve of his ass.

Ilya followed the boxers down, trailing his mouth over the backs of Shane's thighs, nuzzling into the soft, ticklish skin at the back of his knee, tugging off one sock and then the other and kissing each ankle as he did it. When he moved back up, he used his own body to ease Shane's legs apart, settling between them as he cupped Shane's ass in both hands, spreading it.

"What are you?" Ilya asked again, and in the time it took Shane to remember what he was supposed to be saying, he felt a thick glob of spit land directly on his hole, immediately smeared by the rough pad of Ilya's thumb.

"Je-sus– Christ," Shane stuttered out, the air catching in his throat. He blinked, trying to clear the fog threatening to encroach on his consciousness as the tip of Ilya's thumb began to penetrate him shallowly.

"Shane," Ilya said, his voice low and deep, and Shane could feel hot breath on his hole, which made him feel fucking crazy. "Tell me. What are you, standing in room full of teammates, thinking about taking my dick?"

"A slut," Shane whispered, dropping his head onto his crossed forearms, but— No, that wasn't quite right. "Your slut."

"That's it," Ilya purred, and Shane felt Ilya's teeth on his ass cheek, taking a bite and dragging back slowly until the flesh released from his grasp. "Good boy."

"Fuck," Shane moaned, hitching his ass back into Ilya's hands. "Please, come on, I'm so…" he trailed off, swallowing, because this was the point where he could stop, and Ilya would take pity, and say the words for him. Shane knew that he would, if Shane asked him to. 

"M'so empty, Ilya, c'mon, please," Shane finished, straining his legs wider, bending one knee a little, just to spread himself open further.

Ilya's answer was a low, rumbling sound. He stretched up over Shane's body again, and Shane turned his head to watch him reach into the drawer of the nightstand. He pulled out a bottle of lube and tossed it on the bed, and then dug again until he came up with a foil packet.

He held the condom between two fingers, right in Shane's eyeline. He didn't say anything, but Shane heard the question.

Shane bit his lip, heat pooling low in his belly. They hadn't had many chances, and fewer still were the occasions where Shane was willing to deal with the mess, but tonight… "No."

Ilya exhaled an indulgent laugh, dropping the condom back into the drawer. He pressed himself to Shane's back again, and this time there was no underwear in the way. His cock slotted easily, obscenely into the crease of Shane's ass, and he ground his hips down to press even closer.

"You want to be messy," Ilya said, propping himself up with his hands planted on either side of Shane's head and rolling his hips in an infuriating imitation of what Shane actually needed.

"Yes, yes," Shane replied, arching into Ilya's movements even though he thought he might cry — or come all over the bed — if Ilya didn't get a move on. "God, don't tease, come on."

Ilya gave another slow, languid thrust, and for a second, Shane was afraid that his words had backfired. But Ilya had lived through those 41 days same as Shane, and he was on edge too.

Shane pillowed his head on his arms as Ilya moved back down his body, wriggling against the sheets in anticipation. The cap clicked on the bottle of lube, and then he felt the pressure of Ilya's slick finger against his entrance.

"Ohh," Shane sighed as the resistance gave way and Ilya's finger slipped inside him. He felt like he was melting into the bed, a full-body tension easing just from the barest hint of penetration. One finger was nothing compared to what he needed, but it was Ilya's, and it smoothed an edge off his desperation. Which was a good thing, because Ilya always liked to take his time with this part.

The finger slid in slowly, dragged back out at the same pace, and Shane knew Ilya was watching it. He had begged Shane, during their last night at the cottage, to let him take a picture of this. 'No faces, Hollander, just this. Just my middle finger inside your asshole. Is my favourite sight. It should be preserved.'

Shane had almost caved.

"You are very tight," Ilya observed, working his finger against the resistance, gaining ground with each little motion.

"I haven't…" Shane faltered, squirming as his body adjusted to the slow, measured, in-and-out pace. "... not for a couple of weeks."

"Haven't what?" Ilya asked, as Shane knew he would. Maybe it was cheating to fish for that, but it was so much easier to talk like this when it was explicitly prompted. Shane Hollander couldn't just come right out and talk about fucking his own ass, but he'd go a long way to follow a direct command. To be good, for Ilya.

"Touched myself… like this," Shane said haltingly, then he went one better: "Fucked myself."

"Self deprivation," Ilya scolded playfully. "How unoriginal, Hollander."

"It's not on purpose," Shane said, glancing over his shoulder. "It's just not… worth it. It never feels like this."

It was certainly true that Shane, even now, viewed masturbation as largely mechanical, outside of Ilya's direct instruction or influence. He jerked off when he needed it, and fingered himself rarely, and always found that neither were particularly satisfying, to the point where it felt like an entirely separate act from what Ilya did to him. Maybe he was just bad at it.

"Hmm," Ilya said, "You do not use your toy? Not even when you miss me?"

That dildo had been shoved to the back of Shane's nightstand for months now, and he only remembered it existed when he opened the drawer too forcefully and it slid, obscene and ridiculous, toward the front.

"God, no, that would make it worse," Shane said, and he flushed, knowing he'd given something extra away with that confession.

"It's not good enough?" Ilya asked, amusement evident in his voice. Shane felt the finger pull all the way out, followed by the unmistakable pressure of two of them seeking entrance to his body. "Tell me why."

"Mmmmm, it's…" Shane moaned, his breath stuttering as two fingers slid inside him, "Way too small."

Ilya laughed, a soft little huff, and Shane felt it right against his ass as Ilya nuzzled him, mouthing kisses along the curve of his cheek and scraping a day's worth of stubble across the sensitive skin. 

"Greedy," Ilya purred, his fingers twisting into Shane's hole, "My greedy little bottom, da? Is that what you are?"

"Fuck," Shane groaned, going hot all over, arching his back without conscious thought, like some kind of instinct, which made it hard to deny the allegations. A slut, a greedy bottom, and whatever else Ilya wanted him to be. "Fuck, yeah. Yes."

"Yes what?" Ilya demanded, crooking his fingers just to make it that much harder for Shane to form the words. "Say it. What are you, Shane Hollander?"

Shane panted, and his face was burning, but his hole was clenching and his dick was leaking and he knew, deep down, that it wasn't in spite of; it was because.

"I'm your greedy little bottom."

Shane was either going to come, or he was going to die. He gripped fistfuls of Ilya's bedclothes, clenching his eyes shut and burying his face in the duvet. It wasn't helping that Ilya was really fingering him now, not just slowly dragging them in and out to watch Shane open up, but fucking Shane with slick fingers, bent just right and devastatingly on target.

"Fuck, Shane," Ilya gritted out, his voice tense and shaking, and it was gratifying, at least, to know that he was losing his mind a little too. 

The third finger almost felt cruel, though at least it slowed things down. Shane could feel the stretch now, a little edge of not-quite-pain that was not helping his situation, at all.

"I don't wanna come yet," he gasped frantically. He willed himself to relax, his whole body tense with the effort of keeping a grip on his control. "Fuck me, please, come on, I don't wanna come without your dick inside me."

Ilya let out a low groan. The bed shifted, and the fingers were gone, and Shane tried to swallow the bereft little whimper that rose from his throat at the emptiness, because this was exactly what he'd asked for.

Ilya's hands gripped his hips, and Shane could so acutely feel the stark temperature difference of the fingers that had been inside him, and it made his head spin. Ilya hauled him up, ass in the air, and Shane could have sobbed in relief at the sound of the cap on the lube bottle.

The feeling of Ilya's cock pressing at his entrance was a thrill like no other, dulled not an ounce by years of repetition. He should have known it, that very first time, and maybe he did; that there was no going back from that feeling, when Ilya had slid slowly, so slowly and gently and carefully inside him, carving out a space that no one else would ever properly fill. That was Shane Hollander, ruined. 

"Oh fuck, fuck, Ilya," Shane moaned, mostly unintelligible, slurred into the pillows. It was getting harder and harder to remember his directive, that he should talk, because he wasn't positive he could still breathe. "You're- s-so, fuck, big."

It was a testament to Ilya's own desperation that this statement wasn't met with so much as a smug laugh. He was breathing ragged and heavy, each exhale a low, rumbling growl. He leaned over Shane's body, and the kisses he pressed into Shane's shoulders were frenzied and mindless. 

Ilya's hips came up flush to Shane's ass, and Shane struggled to fill his lungs while Ilya took several deep, steadying breaths. 

Shane heard him mutter something in Russian, and then there was a strong, bracing arm wrapping around Shane's middle and coaxing him back, and up, until Shane was very suddenly perched on Ilya's lap, leaning against his chest and gasping as his own weight drove Ilya's cock that much deeper.

"Jesus Christ," Shane groaned, his head dropping back. He blinked, dazed, up at the ceiling, as Ilya gripped his hips in both hands, holding Shane down like he was trying to fuse them together.

"You can come now."

"... What?" Shane asked, trying to rock his hips and whimpering when Ilya's grip tightened, holding him still.

"You have my dick inside you," Ilya said, and Shane wanted to snarl at how calm he managed to sound when he'd been racing toward the edge right along with Shane just a few seconds ago. "So, you can come now."

Shane whined, squirming in his lap. "Want you to fuck me," he whispered, reaching one arm behind to tangle his fingers in Ilya's hair, arching his back invitingly. "Don't you wanna fuck me?"

"I did not say I wouldn't fuck you, malysh," Ilya said, pressing a heated kiss to the nape of Shane's neck. "Get your hand on your dick."

Shane felt his body obeying even as he shook his head. The feeling of his own fingers wrapping around his aching length was enough to dim the edges of his vision. He was wound up, dripping, and full, full, full, and he was never going to do anything other than exactly what Ilya told him to do.

"Make yourself come."

Three strokes — and a half — hardly felt like it qualified as making himself come when Ilya was solely responsible for every other detail, but that was all it took. Shane came with a strangled shout, spilling over himself in hot stripes, shuddering. It was a night's worth of anticipation, and days of deprivation, and weeks of missing Ilya, and really, it was bordering on a miracle that he had held out this long.

"That's it, there you go," Ilya was saying, breathing the words into his neck, his voice wavering but unbroken as Shane clenched helplessly around his cock, "Good boy, Shane."

"Fuck," Shane groaned, squeezing his eyes closed, his whole body trembling. Relief and frustration mingled, and Shane decided, with a sudden, single-minded determination, that he was not done.

"Fuck," he said again, this time through clenched teeth. He rolled his hips experimentally, and the drag of Ilya's cock inside him nearly knocked the breath from his lungs, his whole body shaking from the stimulation, too much and too soon and yet not even close to enough for him at that moment. His hand was still wrapped around his oversensitive dick, wet now with his own come and somehow just as hard as it had been five minutes ago. 

Ilya's hands were gentle, still petting down his sides like he was soothing a startled animal. Waiting for Shane to recover, which should have been sweet, but was infuriating instead. Shane rose up on trembling legs, listening for the hitch in Ilya's breath when he sank back down, feeling those fingers tighten on his hips.

"Fuck, Hollander," Ilya breathed against his neck, encouraging Shane to lift again and guiding him back down.

"God, you're–" Shane reached back to grab a handful of Ilya's hair, already frustrated at his lack of leverage and balance as he tried to set up some sort of rhythm. "You're such an asshole."

Ilya's laugh was one of surprise, cut short by a moan as Shane rolled his hips, clenching deliberately around him. 

"Yes, but why this time?" Ilya asked in breathless amusement.

Shane couldn't find the angle he wanted, couldn't get that perfect friction he craved from Ilya's length dragging in and out of him. He let go of his own cock and tried to use his hands on his thighs to balance the movement, shifting his knees apart. No, this wouldn't do at all.

"Because," Shane grunted, wincing at the loss as he pulled abruptly up and off of Ilya's cock. In a move that sacrificed grace for efficiency, he turned, throwing one leg over Ilya's lap and straddling him. He pressed their mouths together for a kiss that never really happened as he sank back down and they swallowed each others' groans instead.

"... Because," Shane tried again, breaking off on a moan that he couldn't suppress at the relief of being filled again, "I begged you to fuck me, and you're making me do it myself."

This was more like it. Shane's whole body lit up just from the angle of Ilya's cock sliding into him, and he braced himself on Ilya's shoulders, using them for balance as he lifted and dropped back down again to test his range of motion.

"I am asshole because you could not wait thirty seconds," Ilya said, but his voice was shaking and Shane knew that look on his face, brows drawn together and mouth open as he scanned Shane up and down, taking in his new view. His hands came up to Shane's waist, supporting him as he rose up again, rolling his hips as he came back down, releasing his breath in a stuttering moan.

"Just– fuck, doing what I have to do," Shane panted. God, the stretch of it, the way his body was starved for it and yet never quite ready for just how overwhelmingly, breathtakingly full Ilya could make him feel. Shane would never choose to deprive himself of this feeling for longer than he needed to, but there was something to be said about letting himself forget, just a little bit, how good it could be.

"Do not lie," Ilya murmured, kissing the corner of Shane's mouth messily, his guiding hands helping Shane to establish a rhythm. "Do not pretend like this is not your favourite thing."

Shane squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in denial, just to play the game, draw it out a little longer, the push and pull.

"Nyet, he says, while his asshole strangles my cock," Ilya whispered in his ear. "Tell me the truth, Shane. Tell me you love it."

"I love it," Shane gasped, clenching again to hear Ilya's breath stutter.

Ilya kissed him hard, then used a tight grip on Shane's jaw to push his face away and look him in the eye. "Tell me what you love."

"Riding you," Shane said, arousal pulsing through him at the heat in Ilya's gaze. That look never failed to make Shane feel a little bit wild, like he was invincible, like he was the sexiest human being that had ever lived. He had to be, to make Ilya Rozanov look at him like that.

"Mmmm, yes," Ilya said, giving a little upward thrust of his hips as Shane rocked down into his lap. "Bouncing on my cock, da? Say it."

Shane was picking up speed, and he could not deny that no other descriptor would so precisely capture exactly what he was doing in Ilya's lap right at that moment.

"I love–" Shane stuttered, his eyes rolling back and his head slumping forward as he rolled his hips on a downstroke and felt the head of Ilya's cock drag against his prostate. His own cock was leaking again, steady drips like a broken tap, smearing against Ilya's stomach and sliding down, down to where they were joined, making the slide that much slicker. "–bouncing on your cock, fuck, Ilya."

Ilya moaned, his hands sliding down to cup Shane's ass, squeezing as it flexed with every fluid motion of his hips.

"And you are so good at it, sweetheart," he said, breathing harshly against Shane's neck, "Taking what you need, such a good boy."

"Fuck, yes, fuck," Shane cried, and it was like the praise just wiped away the tremble that was building in his legs, the burn in the muscles that had already been worked to exhaustion on the ice earlier that day. None of it was as important as being good for Ilya, for his grasping hands and his honey-smooth voice and his big, perfect dick. Shane would do anything.

"God, Ilya," Shane moaned, dragging his face against the side of Ilya's head, panting, open-mouthed, into his hair, too worked up to coordinate anything so complex as actual kissing. "Fuck, you're so– I can't–"

He couldn't describe it, he didn't have the words, the ridiculous, filthy poetry that always seemed to come so naturally to Ilya, but he felt Ilya's fingers tighten on his ass, heard him moan shakily against Shane's shoulder, and Shane thought that it might be worth it to try.

"You feel so fucking good," Shane whispered against Ilya's temple, cradling the back of his head. He couldn't bounce like this, pressed so closely together. He couldn't get the in-and-out drag he loved so much, but he could find the right angle and grind against it, tightening his abs and rolling his lower body again and again, sending pulses of pleasure through them both.

"Mmmm, you're so– so big, fuck, the way you stretch me out," Shane panted, and later he might think back on these words and die of embarrassment, but right now it felt urgently vital that he said them, and that Ilya heard it.

Ilya muttered something harsh and gutteral, Russian curse words that he hadn't taught Shane yet and so sounded like little more than rumbled syllables filtering through the pounding of his own heartbeat in his eardrums. Shane ground down into his lap and he could swear he felt Ilya's cock flex inside him.

"Fuck, baby, I can feel you so fucking deep," Shane said, his voice high and breathy even to his own ears, something else to blush about later, "You think that toy's ever gonna be enough for me now, huh?"

Pressed against him, Shane could feel Ilya shake his head, his breath coming harsh and ragged in Shane's ear.

Shane was soaked in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, droplets trickling down his throat and his spine. His thighs were on fire, quads and hamstrings quivering in protest of the renewed fervor with which he was impaling himself on Ilya's cock. He closed his eyes and felt wetness on his lashes, not knowing whether it was sweat or tears, knowing there was a chance it was both. He was gasping huge, burning gulps of air, and his abs were screaming with fatigue as he tightened his core and bore down to try to pull Ilya deeper inside. 

None of it mattered, not the pain or the exhaustion or the intensity of the emotions threatening to utterly overwhelm him, because Shane was goal-oriented.

"Fuck, I want you to come," he whined tremulously against Ilya's temple, digging his fingernails hard enough to hurt into the meat of Ilya's broad shoulders. "Are you gonna come inside me, Rozanov?"

"Shane," Ilya groaned, his voice strangled as he moved his hips in aborted little thrusts, trying to match Shane's frantic movements with his own.

"I wanna f-feel it," Shane continued, just babbling now, just spilling every thought in his head, anything that might make Ilya pant and groan and shudder like that again. "Want you to fill me up, baby, do you– do you want that? Do you wanna see your–" he stuttered to a stop, his neglected dick twitching where it was pressed against Ilya's abs, leaving sticky trails everywhere it touched. His face burned with exertion and with the embarrassment he still couldn't quite suppress.

"What? Say it," Ilya demanded breathlessly, one hand grabbing roughly at Shane's ass, fingers dipping down to trace around the stretched skin where Ilya had him speared open. "Fucking say it, Shane."

Shuddering, the last of his reservations obliterated, Shane squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his face into Ilya's hair, and whispered, "D'you wanna see your come leaking out of my slutty hole?"

Ilya snarled, his hands clenching abruptly on Shane's hips, and then Shane's world was tilting, turning, spinning, as Ilya tipped him backward onto the bed. The sudden loss of balance made him yelp, and then the shift of Ilya's cock inside him made him moan, throwing his head back and clenching down hard. 

Taking advantage of Shane's surprise, Ilya took hold of his legs and shoved them roughly upwards. Shane's head spun at the disorienting sensation of going from upright to practically balancing on his own shoulders in the span of two heartbeats, but Ilya was not giving him time to adjust. With his knees at his ears and Ilya's cock driving inside him, Shane was helpless to do anything but take whatever Ilya gave him.

Ilya was breathing a steady stream of words, most of them Russian, some of them familiar. Malysh, that was 'baby', and moya lyubov was 'my love'. And khoroshiy mal'chik, Ilya had made sure Shane knew that one, could pick it out from a stream of unintelligible Russian phrases even when he could barely remember his own name, because Ilya knew it was important for Shane to know and understand that he was a good boy, in any language.

Shane couldn't remember how to breathe, or maybe he was just contorted in such a way that it had become impossible. He could feel Ilya's thrusts driving him further and further up the bed, and he threw his arms up over his head to brace them against the headboard before Ilya could put him through it. This was a pounding, the kind that he craved whenever they were apart, the kind that made him feel crazy with the sort of animalistic want that seemed to seep right down into his marrow, infecting the core of him. He was nothing if he couldn't have this, this savage union of their bodies, base and filthy and almost violent, the depth of his own need finding a perfect match in Ilya's.

He came without warning, without effort or ceremony, possibly because he'd been balanced on a knife's edge since the moment his last orgasm subsided, and all it took was his knees shoved up to his ears and Ilya groaning above him to tip him over into oblivion.

"God, fuck, Ilya, fuck," Shane cried, each word forced out of him by a brutal shove of Ilya's hips. He was certain now that it was tears he could feel on his lashes, welling up and leaking out of his tightly clenched eyes.

The air was crushed from his lungs as Ilya leaned over him, one leg falling to the crook of his elbow as he pressed his face to Shane's cheek and moaned, tongue darting out to chase one fat tear as it slid down to mix with the sweat at Shane's temple.

"Fucking crying for me, blyat', Shane," Ilya growled, snapping his hips against Shane's ass, voice rough and shaking and strangled. "Fuck–"

He put his whole weight behind one last thrust that practically lifted Shane bodily off the mattress, and Shane felt him go rigid as he came, shouting slurred nonsense where he'd buried his face into Shane's neck.

Shane was maybe actually crying, not just tearing up but crying, his breath coming in hitching sobs as Ilya rutted against his ass, sending tiny shocks of overstimulation through him. He felt Ilya draw back a ways, and then push back in shakily, and with that, Shane could feel the wetness of Ilya's come slicking the way between them.

"Oh fuck," he breathed, his legs falling in slow motion back down toward the bed, slipping out of Ilya's hold even as Ilya continued to thrust shallowly, grunting softly into his neck and pressing clumsy, wet kisses there. Shane's heart was hammering in his ears, his pulse like a physical presence in his throat, and he was focused so intently on bringing it back under control that he almost missed the way Ilya's kisses were starting to trail down his chest.

"Mmmm," Shane said, which was possibly supposed to be a word but never quite made it. He was spent and drifting, his arms heavy as he lifted them to thread his fingers weakly into Ilya's sweat-damp curls.

Ilya mouthed wetly along his sternum, breathing harsh and heavy against Shane's skin. The sensation of Ilya's tongue laving at his nipple made Shane whine, high and reedy at the back of his throat. 

"Wha– ah, fuck." Shane grimaced, clenching against a sudden emptiness as he felt Ilya's dick slipping out of him.

Ilya was still moving down his body, and Shane's sex-addled brain was finally starting to parse his intent. "No, I– I'm good, stop, you don't have to– I already came, baby, I'm good."

Ilya hummed, and Shane felt his mouth dragging through the wet streaks of come on Shane's stomach. Shane glanced down to find Ilya smirking up at him, somehow managing to look both dazed and fucking smug, even while he was wearing Shane's come like some sort of obscene lip gloss.

"Yes, you are very good," Ilya said, and licked his lips slowly, making a whole production of it, savouring the taste, his eyelids drooping as he moaned indulgently, "But I want my hat trick."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Shane groaned, head falling back down to the bed. He wasn't sure if he was physically capable of getting hard again, let alone actually achieving a third orgasm. 

"Just lie back, malysh, let me take care of you."

Shane wanted to point out that he had already been well and thoroughly taken care of, but Ilya's mouth was getting perilously low.

"God, Ilya, I'm–" Shane's voice died in his throat as he felt the strange and bewilderingly intense sensation of Ilya blowing a warm breath of air over the wet, oversensitive head of his spent cock. "Fuck, that's– I don't know–"

"Too much?" Ilya asked, dipping his head to mouth ever-so-softly at a drop of come that welled up sluggishly out of the tip. Shane felt himself arch off the bed, scrambling away from the touch while his mouth dropped open on a strangled cry; a disproportionate reaction to such a gentle caress.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck, too much," he answered, breathless, hands twisting in the bedclothes.

Ilya made a low sound, a little hum of consideration. "Okay," he said, but it definitely wasn't 'Okay, I'll stop.' He kissed Shane's hip, softly. "So let me see."

Shane swallowed, looking down to meet his heated gaze. He felt kitten-weak as he let himself be guided into position, with Ilya settling between his spread legs.

"You asked if I wanted to see," Ilya said, mouthing at the ridge of Shane's hip without breaking eye contact. "What was it you said?"

Shane's face flooded with warmth, and he threw an arm across it, hiding from view. "Shut up."

"What was it, Shane?" Ilya repeated, and Shane was sure if he was capable of looking at him, he'd see him smirking. "Can you remember?"

This was some sort of nightmare combination of post-nut clarity and latent degradation fetish, and Shane was not processing the contradiction well. He shook his head, still covering his eyes with the hand that wasn't about to claw right through Ilya's duvet cover. "No."

Ilya clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Liar," he said, sounding more amused than disappointed. "I want to see…" he pressed a slow, wet, open-mouthed kiss to the now overly sensitive skin of Shane's inner thigh, "My come, leaking out… of… what?" His fingers were teasing closer and closer, and goddamnit, how did Shane want it so bad, again, already? 

"Say it, Shane."

Shane's whole body was on fucking fire.

"My slutty little hole."

"Show me."

With a trembling whine that robbed him of his last shreds of dignity, Shane hooked his hands behind his knees and pulled his legs up, spreading himself open for Ilya's inspection. 

"Good boy," Ilya purred, and shoved two fingers all the way inside him. 

"Jesus!" Shane gasped. He was so sensitive, but he was so open, stretched by Ilya's cock and wet with his come, and Shane's spent, quivering body offered no resistance whatsoever. He could feel the slick mess around Ilya's fingers, could feel it leaking out around them as he drew them out and then slid them back in wetly.

"God, Ilya, I– I can't," Shane managed between gasps of breath, shocks of sensation buzzing through him as Ilya's fingers glanced off his prostate in the sort of barely-there stimulation that would have felt like a tease at any other time.

"You can, you can take it," Ilya said, catching one of Shane's legs and easing it down onto his shoulder as Shane's grip failed, his hands trembling too bad to hold them up. "Keep talking, malysh, talk to me."

"F-f-fuck-k," Shane stuttered out, his whole body shuddering as Ilya crooked his fingers just so. "Can't– can't talk, can't think–"

"Tell me what you feel."

"Wet," Shane gasped, feeling little rivulets of Ilya's come trickling down to pool beneath him on the bedspread.

"Mmmm, yes, very wet, very… open." Ilya took that moment to slip another finger inside him, Shane's loosened hole accepting the instruction too easily. "Listen," Ilya urged, twisting his fingers in and out, and over the roar of his own blood in his ears, Shane could hear the slick suction of his body trying and failing to keep Ilya inside. "So sloppy, malysh. Such a mess. Do you hear it?"

"Jesus," Shane whimpered, tamping down a fleeting urge to cover his ears. "God, you– you came so much."

"For my greedy slut," Ilya purred, crooking all three of his fingers to stroke mercilessly over Shane's prostate. "And you will too. You will come for me. Once more, yes?" 

"No," Shane sobbed, one hand tearing at the bedclothes and one tangled in his own hair, needing to clench and grip and pull while a current of pleasure-almost-pain lit up his nerve endings with every shift of Ilya's fingertips.

"You can," Ilya said, and he sounded quite sure of it, but Shane felt like he was closer to blacking out than he was to getting off.

"Ah, ah, I can't, baby, I c-can't come again."

"Shane."

Shane was shaking his head, his breath coming in quick, shuddering gasps, his whole body quaking, and he couldn't, he couldn't–

"Shane."

Shane raised his head with effort, finding Ilya watching him intently. With Shane's eyes on him, Ilya cast his gaze down to Shane's stomach. His cock was soft and spent, but it was wet at the tip and lying in a slick puddle.

"Look," Ilya urged him. He felt those fingertips drag slowly and deliberately over his prostate, and Shane watched, transfixed, as a pulse of thin fluid spilled out of his cock to join the mess that was pooling in his navel and dripping down his sides in obscene rivulets. Shane dropped his head back to the pillows with a whine, shutting his eyes. Even with no movement from Ilya at all, he could feel his cock twitching, could feel the fine tremors zipping up his spine. He was now acutely aware of how incredibly wet he was, his thighs and his stomach and his soft dick and the bed beneath him all covered in their combined mess. It was filthy and humiliating and thrilling in equal measure.

"Don't stop," he heard himself whisper, his eyes still shut tight. The sight was too much, but Ilya's fingers had stilled, and that was worse. That was devastating.

"You want it?" Ilya asked, his thumb now stroking a slick, insistent path up and down Shane's perineum, a dizzyingly indirect stimulation that made Shane's head spin. "Tell me."

"I wanna come," Shane gasped, trying to work himself down onto Ilya's hand, but he couldn't coordinate the motion, his mind's connection to his body short-circuiting.

Ilya pressed his fingers in and up, and Shane's vision went white and then black, his spine arching off the bed like he'd been shocked.

"You will ask me nicely," Ilya said, his voice low, hand stilling again, "If you are a good boy."

"I'm a good boy, fuck, please," Shane begged, fresh tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, "Let me come, Ilya, please let me come, please please pleasepleaseplease–"

His voice died abruptly as Ilya relented and started to fuck him, really and truly fuck him, with those three fingers. "Khoroshiy, khoroshiy mal'chik," Ilya growled, and Shane's brain lit up with pleasure at the praise.

His vision was nothing but starbursts, he could hear only white noise in his ears punctuated by the filthy, slick sound of Ilya's fingers working him over. He couldn't speak, he couldn't even scream, because he couldn't breathe.

This one didn't hit like a freight train. It didn't sneak up on him, and it didn't happen without effort. Every muscle in Shane's body seemed to tense and tense and tense until he felt like he would snap like a rubber band pulled taut, and then the orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave.

He could feel it everywhere, from his fingertips to his toes, a constant current of pleasure that shorted out his brain, reduced him to a sobbing, writhing vessel of pure sensation. He could feel himself spilling onto his stomach, again and again, continual pulses timed with the devastating motions of Ilya's three crooked fingers.

Ilya was speaking, Shane was sure of it, but it filtered into his awareness as nothing but a smooth rumble of noise, and maybe Shane's very last connection to solid ground.

It seemed like an absolutely impossible length of time before he felt himself slump back down onto the bed, limbs heavy, mind wiped blank, body utterly spent. 

He wasn't aware of minutes passing. He wasn't aware of sounds in the room, or thoughts in his head. He didn't feel the bed dip or move, but Ilya was above him, braced on his elbows and raining tiny, chaste kisses all over his face.

"Ya tebya lyublyu," Shane heard him whisper.

"I love you too," Shane slurred back, unsure if it was audible or even distinguishable as individual words, but needing to say it, because he had never left an 'I love you' from Ilya hanging without a response, and he wasn't going to start tonight.

He felt Ilya's weight settle down onto him, pressing him perfectly into the mattress. Shane couldn't lift his arms to wrap around him, but he could manage to turn his head, just enough to nuzzle clumsily into Ilya's damp hair, breathing in the scent of him.

"Smells good," he murmured sleepily.

Ilya twitched above him; a laugh, sort of. "We need to shower."

"Mmmmuh-uh," Shane replied vaguely, already dozing.

"Shane," Ilya said into his ear, soft. "Do not fall asleep. Shane."

"M'tired."

"I know you are, moya lyubov." Ilya pushed himself up on his hands. Shane cracked one eye open to see him looking down between their bodies. "But I love you too much to let you sleep like this."

Shane followed his gaze and distantly registered the mess on his stomach, but the appropriate reaction could not penetrate the fuzzy, blissful cloud through which he was currently floating. He shut his eyes again.

"You are my soft little kitten," Ilya said fondly, stroking his thumb across Shane's cheek, and Shane made a small, pleased sound at the back of his throat. "But soft kitten falls asleep in mess, and Shane Hollander wakes up in it. And then Ilya Rozanov gets blame."

Shane groaned, and he felt Ilya's weight leave him, which brought a chill to his skin that seemed disproportionate for the ambient temperature. The bed dipped as Ilya stood.

"Come," he said, tugging at Shane's arm. "Shane. Get up, please?"

His limbs felt like they were encased in wet concrete, but Shane reluctantly rolled toward the edge of the bed, and pushed himself up so he was, at least, sitting upright, his legs dangling over the side. 

He felt Ilya's hand cup his cheek, and turned his head to nuzzle it, mindlessly.

"You are very sweet," Ilya said softly, kissing his forehead. "Let me clean you up, malen'kiy kotenok."

Shane nodded, nosing into Ilya's palm for another moment before Ilya coaxed him to stand. Shane kept their hands joined, fingers laced together, as Ilya led him to the ensuite.

"What's that one? Mal-en-key-cot-yo-nuk?" Shane repeated clumsily, blinking in the bright light of the bathroom as Ilya left him leaning against the vanity and went to turn the shower on.

"Is 'little kitten'," Ilya smiled, holding his hand under the spray to test the temperature. Shane was starting to get very cold, and he was also starting to wonder what he was supposed to do with his limbs. A shiver coursed through him, his skin breaking out in goosebumps, and he drew his arms around himself, wincing as he felt the sticky mess on his stomach smearing.

He looked down. "Jesus," he muttered, finally taking it in. The white light of Ilya's ensuite somehow made it all look so much more… stark.

Ilya smirked as he reached a hand out, motioning Shane over to him. "Yes, kotenok, you made very big mess of yourself."

Shane took his hand and let himself be pulled into the massive shower cubicle. He would point out that Ilya might be more to blame for the mess this time, but everything was still so soft, so pleasantly muted, that he didn't have it in him to argue.

The water was hot, streaming down over them from the rainfall head above, and Shane hissed a breath through his teeth when he felt Ilya reaching down and probing between his cheeks, wincing when one finger carefully dipped inside.

"Shh, is okay," Ilya soothed, drawing the finger carefully in and out, coaxing out the last remnants of his come. "Just making you clean, moya lyubov."

Shane's cheeks went warm just from the thought, but he tucked his face into Ilya's neck and let him take care of it, murmuring soft, mindless reassurances until he was finished.

Shane was so tired. He leaned heavily against Ilya and let him run a soapy washcloth over his thighs and stomach, rinsing away all mess, all the evidence. Except…

"You gave me a hickey," Shane said, memories from earlier in the night returning to him sluggishly.

"Mmmm, yes I did," Ilya rumbled, sounding pleased. Soapy fingers touched the tender spot on Shane's neck. 

Shane smiled to himself, thinking about taking a picture later to send to Rose. She would be proud. He brought his arms up to rest on Ilya's shoulders, contributing absolutely nothing to the cleaning efforts, but giving himself points just for managing to stay upright.

"Sleepy sleepy kitten," Ilya said in a sort of singsong, turning them just enough to let the water soak Shane's hair. "Was big night for you, kitten. Hat trick, party… another hat trick."

God, the party felt like so long ago, so far removed from the blissfully private little bubble of Ilya's bedroom.

"You didn't let me finish," Shane said, tilting his head forward obediently for Ilya to scrub shampoo through his hair.

Ilya's fingers paused in their ministrations. "You finished three times, Hollander."

Shane snorted, closing his eyes as he felt the suds building and dripping down the sides of his face. "Not that. You didn't let me finish talking."

"I have made you talk all night," Ilya said, coaxing Shane back into the spray to rinse the shampoo out. "I thought maybe too much for you."

Shane hummed, tilting his head back as Ilya gently massaged his scalp. He waited until he was released before he spoke again.

"I wanted to tell you the stuff I talked about," Shane said, letting Ilya guide him back against the tiled wall, propping him up carefully like he was afraid Shane might not be able to stand under his own power, which was probably a fair assumption. "Like with Svetlana and Rose. They had some nice stuff to say."

Shane leaned against the cool tile as he watched Ilya step back under the spray, washing himself with careless haste. Neither of them wanted to be separated for long, it seemed.

"Svetlana says you love me because I'm boring."

Ilya's motions faltered for a split second, and he raised his eyes to meet Shane's, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He made quick work of scrubbing at his own hair, and kept his eyes on Shane as he tipped his head back into the water.

"She says I'm perfect for you," Shane went on, reaching an arm out between them and making grabbing motions with his fingers until Ilya stepped up to him again.

"Does she," Ilya murmured, sliding his arms around Shane's waist and tucking his face into his shoulder. 

"Mmmhmm," he hummed, finding himself fascinated with the way Ilya's slippery, wet skin felt beneath his fingers. Shane was maybe still a little fuzzy around the edges. "Mostly 'cause I told her how I like it when you're in charge of me."

Ilya huffed a laugh into his neck, then leaned back to look him in the eye. "Sveta really got you talking."

Shane nodded. "I think she's a witch."

Ilya grinned, tugging Shane away from the wall. He turned off the shower and led Shane out.

The towel Ilya wrapped around him was huge and fluffy and warm, and Shane couldn't stop smiling. He felt almost drunk, except being drunk never felt this good.

"I told Rose everything," he said as Ilya gently dried him off. "I mean, I told everyone the story, but Rose got, like, details. It was nice, saying it all out loud. She says we have an epic love story."

Ilya took his hand and led him back into the bedroom, towel discarded on the bathroom floor. "Is a very good story. Very long story."

Shane smiled, nodding. "She thinks…" he trailed off as he took in the state of Ilya's bed, the stains on the dark duvet cover. "Oh my god, that's disgusting."

Ilya laughed, nudging him forward. "Get in, I will deal with this."

Shane climbed carefully under the sheet and watched with trepidation as Ilya pulled the duvet from the bed and stripped off the cover, turning it inside out as he did so. 

"I don't think you can wash that," Shane said as Ilya balled it up and shoved it into the laundry basket in the corner of the room. "That thing needs to be burned."

Ilya shrugged, tossing the coverless duvet back over the bed and Shane. "Was worth it. I'll get white next time, won't stain so bad."

"It's not about the stains, it's about the knowledge," Shane said darkly. He rolled onto his side as Ilya climbed into bed behind him, tucking up against his back. "You know, Rose thinks someone should write our story down, like make it a movie or something," he said with a yawn. Ilya was pressing slow kisses to his neck and shoulders. "She could play herself, probably."

Ilya snorted softly against the back of his neck, his arm tightening around Shane's waist.

"There is no one alive who is hot enough to play you and me."

"True," Shane said. He squirmed back against Ilya's chest, just to make sure they were pressed together as snugly as possible. "You know, Hayden–" he broke off on another yawn, "Hayden stayed late tonight because he wanted me to have a cover story, so I could sleep over. He waited until everyone else was gone, so they'd think I left with him and Jackie. He did that for us."

"Everyone thinks you were going to fuck Sveta anyway," Ilya mumbled sleepily against Shane's shoulder. "Your rookies were very sad to miss their shot."

"Svetlana wouldn't fuck a rookie," Shane said, fairly confident in this declaration despite only having officially met Svetlana twice.

Ilya was nuzzling the back of his neck lazily, and Shane tugged Ilya's hand up to his mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. Sleep was so close, but Shane didn't want to give in just yet.

"My mom says you're very charming," he said, almost slurring. "She wants to invite you for dinner when you're in Ottawa. Just a heads up."

Ilya grunted indistinctly, breathing out a series of soft shushing noises into Shane's hair.

"My dad thinks you're a good man," Shane continued, barely able to form the words now, blinking slow and sluggish.

"Stop talking, Hollander."

Shane smiled, feeling the soft puffs of Ilya's breath against the back of his neck. He covered Ilya's arm with his own and tightened it around his middle. His eyes slipped closed. He fell asleep.

Chapter End Notes

I'm on tumblr and threads, at least for as long as either platform allows me to exist. Threads likes to shadowban me for expressing my feelings, just because my feelings happen to be about Shane riding Ilya's dick.

Thanks for reading, friends. ❤️