Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mild Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Trying

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-28 Words: 5,793 Chapters: 1/1

Succeeding

Summary

Coming to terms with his recovery, Shane is confronted with the choice to share his story.

A one-shot follow-up to Try, Try Again. The assault isn't detailed, but it exists in the core of the plot, so be forewarned.

Notes

This is a one-shot follow-up to the original fic, Try, Try Again. If you haven't read that, you should go back and read it because this one-shot won't make much sense without it.

They settle on starting a charity, one linked with hockey camps that they’ll host twice a year in their home cities. One in Montreal and one in Ottawa, if Ilya's request for a trade to the Ottawa Centaurs goes through. 

The structure of it is just a collection of bits and pieces that they’ve thrown together over the past few months, their hodgepodge of ideas typed into a shared notes app that Shane uses to keep them organized. 

“What do you think of the charity being used for mental health and suicide prevention?” Shane asks offhandedly on one of their calls, one where Ilya is busy with his hands covered in chicken marinade and unable to take his phone from where it rests on his counter. 

He pauses his movements and comes to lean his forearms on the counter, staring into the screen and watching as Shane continues to prepare his own meal on the other end of the phone. “Cолнышко, stop what you’re doing and come look at me if we are discussing this,” Ilya requests, wishing he could pick up his phone and hold it to see him better. 

“It was just an idea,” Shane says, setting down the knife he was using to chop vegetables before grabbing his phone from the counter. Ilya looks him over quickly, evaluating this man who never ceased to amaze him. “I thought it would be good - with your mother and everything. But we can pick something else.” 

“This is not - I do not think it is bad,” Ilya replies, watching Shane shift uneasily on the other end of the call. “I think it is good idea, but we should talk more when I see you in two weeks, okay?” 

“Why not now?” Shane presses and Ilya huffs a laugh, holding his hands before the camera. 

“Because chicken cannot wait and I want to sit with you when we discuss this because I have idea also. But I want to do this with you beside me so is easier.” 

“You’re making me think it’s a bad idea, if we can’t talk about it like normal people - “ 

“Is not bad idea. Please - just, give me trust, yes?” Ilya presses and Shane nods, turning back to his vegetables as Ilya returns to his chicken. Neither one brings up the charity again as they sit and eat dinner with each other, several hundred kilometers apart. 

Ilya has been trying to figure out how to broach the topic since they’d first started discussing the charity aspect a few months ago. He was hesitant about his idea for a lot of reasons, one very stark one being the last time Ilya had brought up Shane’s recovery and the conversation he’d had with Shane’s parents on the way home from the hospital, Shane had walked out of the cottage and not come back for two hours. 

He’d apologized for it, had teared up and said he was sorry for running, and Ilya had simply held him because he knew the apology was necessary, but secondary to the fact that he unfortunately wasn’t as ready as Ilya had thought. 

“Shane,” Ilya says, head resting on Shane's chest as the warmth of his dozing frame seeps into Ilya's skin. 

It was the day before their first game of the season against one another and Shane had slipped away from his hotel to crawl into Ilya's bed. That's where Ilya had found him half asleep when Ilya had come home from his game against Carolina, his body sore but his heart full at the sight of the man waiting for him. 

“Mmm, no, sleep now. Talk tomorrow,” Shane mumbles, petting Ilya's curls absently. Ilya smiles into his chest and presses a kiss to his ribs, then his navel, before ghosting his hand down to Shane's lap. “Ilya,” he growls a warning, fingers clenching in his hair.

“Is to help you sleep,” Ilya murmurs into his hipbone, teeth grazing the skin there. He pauses, waits for further protest, but only finds Shane's hand softening its grip. 

He sinks down further and eases his shorts down to free his length before taking his soft cock into his mouth. His tongue circles the head and Ilya grins wickedly as Shane’s cock twitches and starts to harden, coming to life under his ministrations. 

Ilya takes his time, resting his head on Shane's abdomen as he uses his hand and mouth to bring him to the edge. 

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane sighs, hips rolling up into Ilya's mouth as his balls tighten and his hand presses softly against the back of his skull to hold him in place. Shane spills into Ilya's throat with a shaky breath, his body shaking with the aftershocks of his release. 

Ilya makes his way back up his frame and kisses him lazily, eyes closed and exhausted body limp on the mattress. 

“Do you want -?” Shane offers sleepily, fingers drifting over the bulge in the front of Ilya's sleep pants. 

“S'okay, I can wait until morning. You sleep,” Ilya murmurs in response and Shane grumbles incoherently under his breath before sliding his hand under the fabric and taking his length in his grip. 

Ilya hisses with the tight fist around him, his breath coming in hot pants as Shane drops kisses across his cheeks, over his mouth. 

“Want to taste you,” Shane whispers as Ilya's hips begin to rock into his hand, the moan escaping from his chest as Shane disappears under the covers. His lips wrap around his length and Ilya curses, head rolling back against the pillow. 

“I’m close,” he says, almost embarrassingly too soon after Shane's mouth wraps around him. Shane hums his approval and the vibration makes Ilya jerk upward, length pushing into Shane's throat and causing him to come with the surprise of it. 

Shane swallows back his release, slow to resurface from under the sheets, until he does with a dazed, sleepy look. 

“I missed you,” Ilya whispers, kissing his freckles, his closed eyelids. Shane's fingers card through his hair and rest at the nape of his neck, holding him close. 

“Missed you too,” Shane replies before they both slip into sleep. 

They're both thoroughly sated by the time they make it out of the bed to breakfast. Ilya prepares Shane's gross protein shake while he makes himself some eggs, his attention half on the food and half on the conversation they needed to have. 

“So, the charity,” Shane says abruptly, reading Ilya's thoughts as he finishes running the blender. 

“Yes. I like idea of mental health and suicide prevention,” Ilya says, turning off the stovetop and setting the shake down in front of him. He was just going to say it, and they'd deal with the fallout. “I want it to also support sexual assault recovery.” 

Shane sets down the shake and drops his gaze to his hands, his knuckles white from his painful grip around the glass. Ilya keeps himself steady, leaning his hands on the counter and watching as Shane's jaw ticks. He wants to go to him, pull him into his arms and keep him safe, but he also knew this was one of the moments where he could use a gentle push.

“Ilya, you know how hard this is for me already,” Shane whispers, not angry but laced with hurt that Ilya had known was coming, his resolve strong.

“I do,” Ilya replies, reaching forward to rest a hand over Shane's. “But that is why I want it. Because you deserve support. Other people who've been through what you have deserve support and the charity could help them.” 

“How will we explain it to people who ask why?” He asks after a moment, voice rough in the way that Ilya knew meant he was swallowing back tears, even as he considered it. 

“We do not have to tell people why. We can just say is cause that is important to us. We don't need to tell them what happened. You don't owe anyone this.” 

Shane looks up at him then, brow furrowed and lips a thin line as he chews at the inside of his cheek. He sits there silently and Ilya does not press him, willing to be patient as he thinks through the idea, giving it a fair evaluation despite all of the things Ilya knew were fighting inside of him against the thought. 

“And if I say no?” He looks scared as he asks it and Ilya can't keep the distance any longer, circling around the island and coming to wrap his arms around him. 

“Then it changes nothing. I will still love you, we will still have charity, you will still be bravest man I ever meet,” Ilya assures, lips pressed into his hair as he runs his hands up and down Shane's spine to reassure him that he was here, that it was an option and not a requirement. 

“I want to think about it. I'm not ready to say yes yet, but it's not a no either,” he replies carefully and pulls back to slide his hands to Ilya's chin. “Thank you for the idea,” he adds before kissing him deeply, holding him close until the smoothie has browned and the eggs have gone cold.

“I think it's a good idea,” Shane says on their next call, the comment out of the blue as Ilya is busy selecting a shirt from his closet. “The charity. What you said about it supporting survivors. I think we should do it. Pick the - no, the black silk. Yes, that one.”

“I hear you trying to hide this statement, it will not work,” Ilya responds as he pulls out the shirt Shane picked and slides it on, turning back to the camera and lifting it up to ogle Shane through the screen as he sits shirtless in Montreal with his cute glasses and those damn freckles looking far too attractive for Ilya to not be distracted by. “You really will be okay with this? If we get questions?” He asks, waiting until Shane turns to look at him head on instead of where he hides his gaze in whatever is on his laptop screen. 

“I mean, I am not going to tell them what happened, but I won’t stop the charity from possibly helping people with it. Maybe if I’d had somewhere I knew I could get confidential help sooner, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to power through it, you know?” He replies carefully, keeping the emotion from his tone as he slid on his PR mask. 

“And when Yuna asks?” Ilya needles, just a tiny bit, to make sure he’d thought through all of the angles. Because they both knew Yuna would ask, or she’d put the possibility together and she’d know without being told and that would be worse. 

“Then I…” He pauses, stalls, bites his lip and looks offscreen for a long moment. Ilya waits him out, patient and ready for whatever answer he’d get. “Maybe they should know.” 

“You do not have to tell them, Shane,” Ilya says carefully, not wanting to dissuade him from the truth, but still encouraged by the fact that he’d brought it up himself. 

“I know. I talked it over in my appointment last week and I think you are both right. My parents love me and they should know about what I’m going through, even if it’s uncomfortable. The hard part about coming out is already done, so what do I have to lose except my dignity and self-respect?” He laughs hollowly at that and Ilya scowls into the camera until Shane meets his eyes through the lens and smiles sadly. “I know, I know. I lost nothing of my own value, blah blah blah. It was a joke.”

“We don’t make jokes about this, yes? We agreed,” Ilya chides gently, reminding Shane that even though he was the king of chirps, the least serious man Shane had ever known, that this was one topic he would never tease him about. 

“I know,” Shane replies with a warm smile because even though he hated being corrected, he still appreciated the way Ilya held this line, even when he couldn’t do it himself. It meant so much to him to have that protection, that kindness, from this man who had worked so hard to ensure he knew he was loved despite everything that had happened. 

They make a plan and Shane drives up to Ottawa during Ilya’s Boston-Ottawa match because their schedules align and it feels right to tell them then. Ilya's palms sweat the whole way and when he arrives at Shane's parents' place before the game, he tries desperately to harness one single attempt at normality. It fails. Spectacularly. 

He’s saved only by Shane arriving an hour after him, his unnervingly steady calm filling the space as Ilya's too boisterous persona settles once more and David drags him to see the 2,000 piece monster taking up most of the dining room table. Ilya takes a moment to place two pieces before shooting Shane a shit-eating grin, brows raised in challenge. 

“What, you don’t help your father with these?” Ilya asks, nudging Shane’s shoulder as he comes to plant a showy kiss on his lips before settling on the couch beside him. Shane pulls him in for a quick deep kiss before letting his cheeks flush with embarrassment. They would have time for saying hello properly later that night, when Shane checked into the hotel he’d booked down the road from the arena. 

“He gave up a long time ago trying to get me to join him. I never liked the mess of all the pieces being out of place, it was too stressful,” Shane replies with a shrug and Ilya snorts, shaking his head. 

“Cолнышко, this is the whole point."

“Exactly!” David adds and sits down heavily on the other end of the couch. Yuna brings in the tea then and sets out the mugs, one for each of them as she settles into David’s side. 

“Now, what’s the big announcement?” Yuna says, her hands linking together in her lap as she looks across the coffee table to Shane and Ilya. 

“What do you mean? We’re here for lunch,” Shane says and Ilya elbows his side lightly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Fine. Fine. Ilya and I want to start a charity, with fundraisers being hockey camps that we host in the summer. We think it’s important to start changing the narrative about our rivalry so that maybe, when we’re both ready, we could come out and be together. We thought, maybe, Mom, you could be in charge of it.” 

“Oh,” Yuna says, her face shifting from neutral hesitation to surprise, before a calm business-like sharpness settles on her features. “That seems like a reasonable thing to do. What kind of charity are you wanting to start? Do you already have some ideas?” 

“Yes, we do,” Shane responds and shifts to pull a piece of paper from his pocket that he unfolds and sets on the table between them. Ilya watches Shane’s face as Yuna picks up the paper and reads through the notes they’ve been keeping. He still couldn’t believe that Shane had decided this was the way he wanted to tell his mother, but he was going to support him regardless, even if it did seem a touch insane, because Ilya loved him, for each and every anxiety-ridden plan. 

“The Irina Foundation,” Yuna reads aloud, shifting to look towards them with a flash of her dark eyes. 

“Named for my mother,” Ilya adds and Yuna nods, reading through the rest of the description. Ilya reaches over and takes Shane’s hand then, holding it in his lap as Yuna finishes reading the paper and sets it back on the table. 

“Ilya, I’m sorry to assume, but is this foundation built on her story?” Yuna asks gently, leaning forward with kindness in her gaze. Ilya shifts and grips Shane’s hand firmer, looking towards the man and trying desperately to hold the weight of everything Shane was trying so hard to crawl out from under. 

“It’s both of our stories,” Shane whispers then, answering for Ilya with a hitch in his breath. Yuna freezes in place, gaze focused on her son, as David leans forward and settles a hand on her shoulder. “You guys remember the summer before last?” They nod their heads almost in sync and Ilya shifts closer to Shane, his hand coming up to rest on his spine to give him strength. “You remember how I went to Mexico with the guys?” 

“Shane, honey,” Yuna breathes, brow tightening as the pieces start floating together. 

“I was assaulted, when I was there. I don’t want - I’m not going to tell you the details because I fucking can’t - “ he chokes and Ilya’s palm comes up to the back of his neck, pressing his fingers into the muscles there until he relaxes his shoulders just that tiny bit. “- The details don’t matter. But you need to know that it happened, and that I’ve spent most of the last two years trying to recover from it. And I’m better now - but it’s been very difficult and if I’d had the right resources sooner, I’d like to think that maybe I would have gotten help sooner. Or maybe I wouldn’t have tried to hurt myself like I did before the season started -” 

“The accident?” David asks weakly, tears welling, and Ilya twists to look at Shane then, his chest heaving as Shane nods once, quick, before dropping his gaze to his lap. 

Ilya hadn’t known. Shane hadn’t told him - Shane. His Shane. He’d almost lost him, like Mama. The kick of it rings through his body like an electric shock and Ilya can't breathe but he knew this wasn't about him and his loss so he shoved it down, stomped it into his box to keep himself from shattering into bits and pieces at the confession. 

Shane tries to pull his hand back from Ilya’s lap as Ilya realizes his fingers have stopped caressing his neck, palm limp on his skin from the surprise of it. Ilya refuses to let him pull back, instead only holding him tighter, pulling him into his chest and trying desperately not to let the tears fall as he stares at the ceiling and swallows back his emotions. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” Shane croaks into his neck, voice warbling as he tries to force the strength back into it but fails again and again. Ilya wraps his arms around him, hands clinging, as he presses one kiss, and then another, into his hair.

He was here. It was alright still. He was here, in his arms, they were alright.

He can’t tell who the apology is for but Ilya thinks it doesn’t matter, Shane still being alive was enough for him right now. He’d take anything if it meant he was still on this earth. 

“Honey, we love you,” Yuna says through broken breaths, getting to her feet and moving to kneel at their side, David not far behind. Shane’s parents reach forward and place their hands on Shane’s shoulders, rubbing the fabric of his shirt as Ilya rocks him gently back and forth. When Shane’s tears slow and he does come back up for air, he pulls out of Ilya’s lap and reaches for his parents, letting their arms encircle him as he keeps his fingers linked tightly in Ilya’s grip. 

Ilya doesn’t let go. He’ll never let go again. 

After the trio has shed their tears and whispered reassurances between themselves, Shane draws back and returns to Ilya’s side. David and Yuna slide back to their place on the couch and a careful silence spreads between them all. Shane is the one to break it. 

“I was too scared to tell anyone at first. I didn’t know who to trust because nobody knew - I didn’t even know that I was gay, not really. I still thought - I don’t know - that maybe it was just something that would pass. That I hadn’t met the right woman yet. So when it happened I was just lost. I was going through the motions but everything was impossible. I could barely get out of bed, I didn’t want to skate, my diet became all consuming because it was what I could control. I just didn’t understand how to fix it and it kept getting worse and so when I was walking downtown I just - I stepped into traffic and let the car clip me because I panicked at the last minute and tried to get out of the way. It was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done and it made me realize that I didn’t want to die, not really. But I still didn’t know what to do about everything else.

“So I tried to put everything back into hockey but it was not enough. I wasn’t skating well, I wasn’t eating right - I felt like shit and I never slept. I thought I’d be kicked off the team if I didn’t turn things around. But then - then this man. He wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept trying to goad me into a response. And I thought that maybe just forcing myself back into that kind of thing would fix me. I was so stupidly wrong.” 

“Shane,” Ilya breathes, voice raw, as he reaches for his chin to brush his fingers over his cheek. Shane leans into his touch just an inch, before letting a small and hesitant smile grace his lips as he returns his attention to his parents. 

“Ilya was so… kind to me. That wasn’t - we didn’t have that kind of relationship, not before. I mean, he was always friendly, but it wasn't a friendship. I didn’t go to see him because I thought I could tell him and that someone in this world would finally understand - I went there because I thought a bit more self-destruction would fix me. But the joke was on me because this fucker was sneaky all along, hiding his caring side under all that bravado. He didn’t fix me, but he gave me a chance to tell the truth and he gave me the support I needed when I couldn’t find it anywhere else.” 

Ilya sniffs and swallows thickly, heart heavy as he listens to Shane explain that night from his perspective, one massaged and honed after months of therapy, but still honest. Still painful. He’d only tried to be there for him, that’s all he’d ever wanted to be. 

“Ilya - Ilya,” he whispers and Shane meets Ilya's gaze then, apologies and love written into his softened look. “He didn't save me because that wasn't on him to do, but he reminded me that I was still worth something even after what had happened to me. And he kept reminding me, even when I pushed him away. Which I did. A lot.

“So, I want this charity to be named for his mother because she understood the struggle of depression and nobody was there to help her through it. And I want it to help people like myself, and like her, because the people we would leave behind if we didn't have support… If this charity can save one person then that's enough.” 

Ilya feels the tears heavy in his eyes, the sting of the salt and the raw burn in his chest. It wasn't sadness that flooded him, or fear, though he wouldn't lie and say the truth didn't make him nervous now that he had it. No. The tears were because he was fucking proud of Shane. The man had been hurt so deeply, had been so close to ending his life, and in the same year, through sheer determination and unending resilience, he'd come back from it all and achieved the goal he'd been working towards for most of his life. 

Ilya had known that Shane was driven since the moment he'd shaken his hand for that second time in as many minutes. But this - hearing him tell his story and knowing he'd done it all while dragging his team to the Stanley Cup… Ilya wanted to put it on one of those banners that fly around at the back of an airplane. He wanted the world to know just how strong he was so no one would ever dare to try to bring him down again. He couldn't do it, but he wanted to. 

He settles for kissing his knuckles before pulling him into his chest again and holding him so tightly that his muscles ache with it. When they do eventually pull back, Ilya looks to Yuna who reaches for his shoulder and squeezes it tightly, the thank you in her eyes clear as day. 

The Hollander’s come to watch Ilya’s game, hiding out in the upper bowl away from the cameras and the superfans who would probably recognize them. Ilya plays like he’s possessed, scoring a hat trick and blowing a kiss to the jumbotron that he hopes Shane sees. 

He thinks about the future ahead of him, how even though Ottawa played like shit, the feeling of having people come to watch him play was one worth sacrificing for. He wouldn't mind losing for a while, if it meant he got this.

After the game wraps and his team settles back at the hotel, Ilya excuses himself from his room and grabs an Uber to the hotel down the road. He lets himself into Shane's room and doesn't stop between the door and shucking off his clothes to join him in the shower. 

Ilya wraps his arms around Shane and tucks his face into his neck, the water cascading down his skin as he holds on tight. Shane rubs his palm over Ilya's forearms, twisting to plant a kiss at his temple, before turning in his embrace and wrapping him up against him. Ilya doesn't cry, but he is pretty sure the hotel doesn't have saltwater on tap either. 

“Come, my fingers are getting pruny,” Shane says eventually, brushing Ilya's wet curls from his forehead before ducking to steal a quick kiss. Ilya lets him lead him out of the shower and wraps him up in a soft towel, the gentle movements making his muscles ease and the remnants of the game filter out of his body. 

Shane steers them towards the bed and Ilya crawls into the space between his arm and chest, ear coming to rest over his heart. 

They don't talk, not right away, even though the conversation from earlier in the day hangs above them. Ilya lets the warmth of Shane's skin, the feeling of his breaths, keep him stitched together as Shane's fingers comb through his hair. 

“I'm sorry,” Shane murmurs eventually, voice soft. Ilya shifts until his chin rests in the crux of his arm and chest, gaze searching. 

“What for? You don't owe me apologies,” Ilya replies and Shane blinks, brow furrowing. 

“I didn't tell you how bad it was. I should have told you.” 

“Yes, maybe. But you had reasons and I cannot be mad at you for this,” Ilya counters, thumb sliding along Shane's jaw. 

“You can be. You should be. I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed, which isn’t a good enough reason, but I didn't want you to think I was weak. Then you told me about your mother and I just,” he pauses, throat raw as his eyes fill. Ilya snakes his thumb up to his cheek, brushing a stray tear away. “I felt so guilty because we were becoming something and I was afraid that if it got bad again and I couldn't pull myself out… I couldn't put you through that again and I didn't want to scare you away by telling you the truth. You should be mad at me because I was being selfish, trapping you because I didn’t want to give you up or admit how pathetic I was.”

“Shane,” Ilya sighs, lips pressing a kiss to his shoulder before he shifts to look at him head on. “You are not pathetic. Am I weak and pathetic for sometimes having the same thoughts?” Shane's eyes widen sightly with Ilya's confession, before softening again. 

“No. I wouldn't think - it happens to you too?”

“Sometimes. Not as bad, I think, but they happen. I haven’t told you before because it has never been as hard, but sometimes I have days where I don’t want to leave bed, or where I am here but not here. Is scary to think I am like Mama. But is not weak or pathetic, is brain being asshole.”

“Have you ever -?” He lets the question sit between them, the unspoken haunting of it heavy. 

“Thought about it? Yes. Acted on it? No. Another area where you try to beat me, I guess,” Ilya says with a shrug, his playful tone distracting from the seriousness of his words. “Is okay to tell each other this, we both have doctors now and we deserve the truth. But Shane - please hear me,” he pauses and holds Shane's face in his palm, blue eyes fierce in the low light. “I am not afraid of this truth. Is more scary for me to think you won’t tell me when is bad. This is terrifying thought. I wish you'd told me before not because now I am trapped - please, give me more dignity than thinking this is possible of me,” he chides to Shane’s wet responding laugh. “You will never scare me off with truth. You should tell me because I love you and I don’t want you facing this alone. Mama - she couldn’t tell me because I was child. What could I do? But you - I am not child anymore. I can know many scary things and still love you.” 

“And if it does get bad again?” He whispers to Ilya’s steady gaze. 

“Then we talk about it and we find way to keep you out of traffic. I can get one of these backpacks with leash - this way if you try, at least I go with you.” 

“Fucking joking about killing ourselves, we are fucked up,” Shane rumbles with a harsh breath as Ilya nods, a wry smile on his lips. 

“I know, but is not so scary in the sunlight, right?” 

“No. It’s not.” 

“Then good. You promise to tell me if things are hard and I do same. We promise to be honest, like all other things we do. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he replies and tugs Ilya up for a kiss. Ilya lets the kiss drain the weight of the day, leaning into it and the way it lazily pulls him in. “Thank you for trusting me,” Shane says after a few minutes, eyelids heavy and breaths ragged. Ilya smiles and trails his lips across his cheeks, before he settles with his mouth against the pulse point in his neck. 

“Спасибо, любимый,” Ilya returns, arms tightening around his frame as his teeth nip at the soft skin. “Now, we fuck, yes? All hard things discussed?”

“Ah, you're right. Only hard thing left is here,” Shane says, drawing Ilya's hand down to where his length is stiffening between his legs. Ilya hums and moves his hips until his own hard cock is pressed into Shane's side. “I see, two hard things left then.” 

“Yes. A predicament,” Ilya agrees and Shane grins wickedly. 

“Predicament, what a word,” he teases. Ilya bites down a bit harder, pleased when it elicits a moan. 

“I know. I study words because I know it turns you on.” 

“It doesn't - “

“Hmm? Are you sure?” Ilya asks, fist tightening around his cock and pulling a hiss from Shane's lips. “Sounds like Mr Dictionary, Mr Thesaurus - “

“Oh my God, would you shut up already?” 

“Make me.” And Shane does, twisting to capture a kiss and hold his jaw, pouring himself into it, before drawing back and sliding his thumb between Ilya's lips. Ilya groans and grabs Shane's hand, holding it there as his hips rock forward. 

“Please fuck me,” Shane sighs, reaching for Ilya's thigh to draw it flush with the back of his own. Ilya takes the instruction and reaches for the packet of lube on the side table, slicking himself and his fingers up before sliding in one, and then a quick second when he finds him already loose.

It doesn't take long for him to open him up and soon Ilya is pushing into him, one hand pressing against the back of his knee and the other wrapped around his shoulder to keep him flush to Ilya's chest. He rolls his hips slowly, drawing out little moans and stuttered breaths. Shane’s fist tangles in his hair and tugs, causing Ilya to snap his hips forward. He's rewarded with a yelp that Shane quickly assures him is good, his lips messy with the straining kiss. 

The pressure builds until Ilya is pulling them up to their knees and he’s thrusting harshly into Shane who takes every movement and turns it into a keening moan. Their skin rubs and spurs and the sweat slick between them makes Ilya’s grip slide until he’s leaning against Shane’s spine, arm wrapped around him as his hand jerks him and his hips snap forward again and again. 

Shane’s orgasm is dragged from him, a hollowing groan escaping his chest as his release stripes the sheets below them. Ilya follows soon after, pressing himself in deeply as he shudders his release inside. They collapse onto the bed, Shane on his stomach and Ilya’s heavy frame pressing him into the mattress. Ilya recognizes it immediately and moves to withdraw but is held in place by Shane’s iron grip on his wrists, keeping him pinned to his back. 

“It’s okay,” he mumbles into the pillow, thumbs circling on his wrists. “It’s good, just stay like this,” he continues and Ilya tries to relax into it, his mouth tracing kisses over every inch of skin he could reach. 

When his length eventually softens and slips free, he rolls to his side and drags Shane into his arms, kissing him thoroughly as he reaches up for his lips. 

“Я тебя люблю,” Ilya murmurs, the warmth of it filling every inch of his body. Shane’s dark eyes find his and his fingers drift over his cheek, the touch so soft that Ilya feels like he’s being mapped. 

“Я тебя люблю, too,” Shane whispers in return and Ilya sobs a laugh into his kiss, the small carving out of space in his heart where Shane has settled growing until all he can feel and all think about is how much he loves this foolish, anxious, resilient man.