Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

M/M, Multi

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Yuna Hollander, David Hollander

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, THERE IS ONE THREESOME AND NO ROMANCE WITH CLIFF SORRY, Explicit Sexual Content, Suicidal Ideation, Passive Suicidality, Suicidal Thoughts, this is part crack part smut part angst, HEA, Hook up era, Awkward Sex, Racism, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Being Assholes (Game Changers), alternating pov, almost active suicidality, Suicidal Shane Hollander, Past Suicide

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-10-13 Completed: 2026-10-28 Words: 38,128 Chapters: 4/4

(Not) The Last Time

Summary

They got to the bed before Hollander got weird again-
"What?" Ilya asked. "You are pregnant and is mine?"
"What?" Hollander shot back, his eyebrows lifting. He let out a single laugh, and shook his head. "No. Shut up. I'm trying to - What? No. I just. Wanted to, uh, ask something."
"Okay?" Ilya looked around as if he might find the reason Hollander was not just asking already, written on the door or something. "So ask? You want new position?"
For a moment Hollander didn't respond, was staring at the crumpled bedspread between them, his jaw working slightly, an easy tell Ilya didn't think Hollander knew about, that he was chewing on the inside of his lips. Sometimes when they kissed Hollander's mouth was tangy with blood.
"I wanted to," Hollander said, slow and even, "ask. If this was our last time hooking up, what would you want to do?"

A fic in which both Shane and Ilya consider themselves the dogs that are about to be put down, and act accordingly.

Notes

CW. A lot of casual racism and homophobia. A hook up attempt between Shane and a woman that isn't BAD but is still very much not good. Explicitly consensual sex in a threesome that somehow manages to be a little dub-con just because two out of three participants don't know how to use their words.

Chapter 1

It took Shane longer than it should have to see the bigger picture, which, in hindsight, was just another piece of the bigger picture he was missing.

The new coach had arrived first, but Shane had noticed it from the new Metro's much sooner; two rooks, and two trades. He didn't know where in the actual timeline the arrival of the new physical therapist fell, just that he had been uncomfortable with him for several sessions before realising why.

His mother kept telling him the articles didn't mean anything, that they were nothing new, just the newest wave of bigotry, it would wash out soon. The starts of seasons could be rough. Hang in there. It was true that there was often an uptick of articles doubting his continued good luck at the beginning of seasons, plenty of people happy to bet on his downfall to prove their biases right.

But also, she was his mother, and she loved him, and while she wanted him to be the best at hockey she was probably also too biased to be a reliable compass on how good he actually was.

He was still very good. He wasn't stupid, or blind, or whatever. But his stats were lower this month than they had been since before he made captain. His ice time shortened. His leadership diminished. He would never have bragged about having the best room, but, it was pretty good room, he thought. If not always in content, than usually in tone. It had taken a while to prove himself to them at the beginning, but when he had, he had been trusted, had his words listened to and followed.

Before the season started, training camp still a week away, Marcotte, their trade from Philadelphia, and Whitton, from Edmonton, had been vocal in the team group chat about how much they had loved their previous teams, the camaraderie, the room, the captain. How much fun they had, how they were looking forward to having the same fun here in Montreal. A handful of the players Shane had known for years now, had replied in near unison about how they had fun, for sure, but don't expect Hollander to be like Olivier or Van Ells, he's in bed by 8 every night. Shane had ignored this because he wasn't going to be the captain who can't handle a bit of snark. Comeau told the newcomers Shane was the nerdiest, dorkiest jock he knew. Whitton asked if it was because he was Asian, and did he go to bed early so he could get up and go to his early math class before skate? Comeau and a handful of others responded with a laugh react. Anders said that actually for an Asian, Hollander wasn't the best at maths, so maybe he should be going to math lessons after all. This also got laugh reacted. Marcotte tagged Shane in his next message to ask if he had anything to say for himself for letting down the Asian community by being a dumb jock.

Shane had considered turning his phone off and throwing it out the window. Or screenshotting the chat and sending it to his mother. Or finding words and sentences he could string together to try and explain to them how racist they were being without coming off like he was whining, or like he really was just a dumb jock. He was a bit of a dumb jock. He had finished high school due only to major credit wrangling, and he had gotten good-ish grades but he'd never been an honours student. Never been good enough to sound like he knew what he was talking about when it came to things like this. This, being, well, not hockey related.

He replied to Marcotte as much like a joke as he could make himself. He didn't want to come off as too stern or humourless, and he knew he often did over text. He would save his shutting shit down for in person, where he could gauge the situation better.

Sorry? He sent, and that also got laugh reacted.

It took him two weeks of in person time with the trades in his team to realise it wasn't easier to gauge when to shut shit down in person. Not when everything was phrased as a joke, and no one else seemed offended by the things being said. Even their new coach, Barker, laughed at Whitton's vaguely off colour, probably racist jokes.

Shane had actually kind of meant the joke sorry he had sent to the chat. He did feel bad sometimes about how he represented Asians, or how he didn't. His lack of cultural knowledge, his lack of Japanese literacy, the fact that he found himself unable or unwilling to stand up for himself, or against this type of just joking racism. He brought it up with Hayden, who sort of grimaced and said he'd noticed a few dumb jokes, but not like, a huge amount. Did Shane want him to shut them down? How far was too far? Were the jokes about rice okay or was that just as bad as the squinty eye thing?

JJ commiserated with him. Agreed with Shane that sometimes it was better to let it blow over, but he would be 100% behind him if Shane wanted to say something.

Shane didn't really want to say something. He just wanted to play hockey. He wanted his team to figure out how to have basic empathy for themselves. He wanted to be able to be coherent if he tried to say something, and he knew he wasn't there yet. He would, though. He would say something soon.

They won their first real game of the season, and afterwards, Shane agreed to go celebrate with his team. Partly because he was thankful the team still worked well even with the slight push back he had been getting over his play suggestions, but mostly because he wanted to show he wasn't a stick in the mud. He could be fun, like the new guys' old captains. He'd show the rooks that he was still cool, still someone they could look up to. On their first day on the team, Georges, the younger of the two rooks, told Shane he'd had a poster of Shane on his bedroom wall, and then while Shane had been attempting to simply say thank you, a few guy had piled on to the conversation to point out how gay that was, oh, did the baby rookie have a crush on captain? He did, didn't he? Watch out captain, he'll try to suck your dick in the showers. And Georges had basically not said a single word to him since, as if worried Shane and the rest of the team would accuse him of being a cocksucker if he even looked at Shane for too long. That had been difficult. He had tried to talk to Georges about it, to put him at ease, but it had obviously been uncomfortable for Georges, and he didn't want to make it too much of a thing, so.

So they were only one real game into their season, and Shane already felt like he was losing control of his room. Wanted to claw some control back, and if going out drinking with the team would help, he'd take it.

It had been a home game, and they had a handful of the WAGS come with them, as well as some other family and friends. Marcotte had his sisters staying with him, and they both came with the team, Marcotte grinning and warning them that they couldn't come crying to him if they got hit on, because what else would they expect coming out with the team?

Shane had tried to keep an eye on them, just because of that. Not that they really needed it, he didn't think. They were both older than him, though only by one and two years, and seemed perfectly comfortable dancing and chatting with the team, and the WAGS. Lucille - the older sister - stayed by Shane's side even when Lorraine left to go dance, and Shane realised, after three of his teammates had made jerk off motions while grinning at him, that she was flirting with him. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to go home with a teammate's sister, but Marcotte had been one of the guys grinning and making jerk off motions, so it was probably fine. Plus, his team always treated him with a bit more respect after they'd seen him pick up, and he could do with a little bit more respect right now.

He liked that her hair was curly, light brown and cut in a short bob, flicking around her face. It was cute. He told her that, and she laughed at him.

He didn't kiss her until they got back to his place, and she tugged him against her so he was pushing her into the door, moving his hands for him to grip at her waist, at her breasts. He let her lead, because she seemed to want to, and he found it easier that way. Could let it happen. He even managed to be half hard by the time they made it to the bedroom, and she pushed him down onto his bed and undid his trousers, her hand digging into his briefs, wrapping around his cock, and pulling it out. Not as embarrassing a first reveal as it had sometimes been. He knew most women he'd hooked up with had been a little…hurt maybe by his less than enthusiastic looking flaccid dick after they'd been making out for a while. So, having a semi was good.

"Oh," she said, when she saw it, her hand still wrapped around the base of it. "You're a lot bigger than I thought you would be."

"Oh," he replied, glancing down awkwardly at his rapidly softening penis, wilting under the critical looks being levelled at it. It looked bigger than it normally did, even getting soft, because usually when he saw it in someone's hands they were his own or Rozanov's. Couldn't judge how big it actually looked to an outsider. "Uh, sorry? Is it, um, too big?"

He blushed saying it, felt like he sounded egotistical, or like he was flirting crudely. Felt like Rozanov, except he would have paired it with a wink and a sexy smile, and then he would have fucked Shane even if Shane had said it was too big, because then Shane could feel justified in moaning louder, gripping tighter, shaking and falling apart at the feeling of it.

She snorted at him, and then gave him a slightly too tight squeeze in an attempt to coax him back to hardness. "No," she said, "I just thought I was going to have to pretend to think it was big, y'know?"

"Uh?" Shane asked, the majority of his attention taken up by the effort not to wince at her, uh, manhandling of him. "Why?"

She rolled her eyes at him, laughed like he was being obtuse and it was making things awkward. "Leon said you were shy about your dick, so obviously you had a tiny one. I was going to be very nice about it."

"Thank you?" Shane tried, hated it. "What? Why did Leon - are you upset that I have a big - a bigger dick than you thought I did?"

"No," she sighed, released him, thank god. "I'm upset it got soft."

He resisted the urge to apologise again. Felt so not in the mood for sex now that he couldn't bring himself to even try to get hard again. Outside the loudness of the club, he was finding he disliked her voice.

"You brought up Leon," he pointed out, weakly, "of course I got soft."

"You got soft before that," she pointed out right back. "It's fine. Okay? I'll go down on you for a bit."

That might work, even if he didn't feel like it. He shook his head. "Um," he said. "No, I think - I think maybe I've had too much to drink tonight. I'm sorry, I just -"

"Jesus," she snapped, startled back from him like he'd slapped her. "What the fuck? Are you gay or something?"

"What?"

"C'mon," she snorted, climbing off him and his bed, "I've slept with a lot of hockey players, and none of them have ever turned down a blowjob. I've been told I have blow job lips, even."

"Blow job lips?" He repeated, bewildered, and uncomfortable, his defences rising and falling in confusion. "It's not that I don't think you'd be good at it," he began, but she waved him off.

The next day Marcotte asked him straight up if he was gay, because why else wouldn't he fuck Luce? Shane repeated his too much to drink excuse and had been chirped to hell and back for having whiskey dick. Marcotte asked if he looked at their dicks in the showers. Shane denied it, and then asked if Marcotte had been trying to look at his, because he'd talked about it with his sister, so… Marcotte took offence to this.

Shane had been in a brawl in the locker room before, but not since he'd been captain, not over something so stupid. Theriault and Barker gave him the same spiel his juniors coach had though. Don't be so sensitive, Hollander, guys say shit, and also, hey, don't say shit like that, 'cos, y'know, talk shit get hit, right? Roll with the punches. Stand up. How are they supposed to follow you if this is how you're acting? Hockey players love a brawl. Be better. You never fight, that's why they think you're a pussy, okay, it's not their fault.

Hollander was acting weird straight off the bat. They'd been texting on and off, since they'd last seen each other, over the summer and the first two months of the season, and Ilya had noticed that Hollander was texting a little less, but not by much. Not enough to have clocked anything. But he'd been off on the ice as well, not looking at Ilya during the face offs, and now, in Ilya's hotel room that he'd booked because Hollander got squirrelly about meeting in the same hotel as his team, Hollander wasn't immediately kissing him.

Which was weird because Hollander always immediately kissed him, like they were magnetised, like it was impossible not to, like he'd been starving for it. But no. Ilya had opened the door for him, and Hollander had slipped inside, and crossed the room, and taken his shoes off, and then stalled, head down. Ilya put all of these factors together, and considered, momentarily, trying to be gentle. Except Hollander, or Ilya's nervous system, always baulked when things got too gentle. Easier to prod the issue into the open rather than try to coax it.

"You are sulking?" Ilya asked, had followed across the room without meaning to. He flicked Hollander under the chin, gentle, teasing. "Being bad loser?"

"Fuck you," Hollander mumbled, tossing his head in mild irritation, but not moving away again when Ilya cupped his hand around Hollander's jaw, and tilted him up so they could see each others' faces. "It was a tight game."

"Mmm, not very tight," Ilya shrugged, rubbed his thumb hard against the tight clench of Hollander's jaw, "I knew we were winning tonight."

"Fuck off you didn't," Hollander had accepted the new angle of his head, but hadn't followed through to actually look at Ilya. Was looking, at best, at Ilya's right ear.

"I did," Ilya insisted, tightened his grip. Wanted Hollander to look at him. "Easy. Your second line is shit, Hollander. They are so bad at setting up plays I think they must feel they are always in last two seconds of game."

"We're still getting used to integrating a few new players," Hollander said, his tone dull as he repeated a media clip Ilya had heard more than once in Hollander's post game interviews recently. "They're good players, and we're getting into a good rhythm."

"Bull shit," Ilya snorted. "I am not microphone, Hollander."

"No," Hollander snapped back, "you're the captain of a rival team, and it sounds like you're trying to get insider information -" he was pulling away from Ilya as he spoke.

Ilya let him pull away, and then caught him again, both hands going to grip Hollander at the waist, holding him tight, feeling the way Hollander tensed, and then relaxed into it.

"Okay, okay," Ilya soothed, softened the soothing by rolling his eyes, "I will stop being sneaky spy, mm? I want my mouth on you, Hollander."

Hollander kissed him, immediate and hot, his hands grabbing at Ilya's chest, and then his shoulders, squeezing at muscles until they settled on Ilya's face and hair, holding tight. Much better.

They got to the bed before Hollander got weird again, on his back with Ilya attempting to get his shirt off while also kissing his neck, Hollander wriggling out of his grip. Ilya groaned, shifting onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow as he looked at Hollander's face held in a weirdly tense expression.

"What?" Ilya asked. "You are pregnant and is mine?"

"What?" Hollander shot back, his eyebrows lifting. He let out a single laugh, and shook his head. "No. Shut up. I'm trying to - What? No. I just. Wanted to, uh, ask something."

"Okay?" Ilya looked around as if he might find the reason Hollander was not just asking already, written on the door or something. "So ask? You want new position?"

For a moment Hollander didn't respond, was staring at the crumpled bedspread between them, his jaw working slightly, an easy tell Ilya didn't think Hollander knew about, that he was chewing on the inside of his lips. Sometimes when they kissed Hollander's mouth was tangy with blood.

"I wanted to," Hollander said, slow and even, "ask. If this was our last time hooking up, what would you want to do?"

Ilya was pretty sure he was misunderstanding, because otherwise this made very little sense. "This is last time we hook up?" He asked, could feel his face clenching down with the same unavoidability as the crater opening up in his stomach.

"That's not what I'm saying," Hollander said, still not looking at Ilya. "I'm asking what you would want to do. Y'know. Um, like a bucket list?"

"A bucket list?" Ilya repeated, still lost and confused. He stared at Hollander's blazing pink cheeks, and through the unsettled feeling, thought maybe he got it? "You are wanting me to say what secret dirty desires I have, hm?"

Some tension left Hollander's face, and seeing that, Ilya's body relaxed some of the tight grip of fear it had wrapped around him.

"Not necessarily," Hollander said, making a valiant effort to continue sounding steady. "I just thought. Um. If there's something you want to do, that maybe we haven't done before? We could do it. Tonight. I don't fly out until later tomorrow, and I know you have an off day. So. Nothing, like, crazy, obviously. Just. Yeah."

Ilya sat fully up so he could stare at Hollander, lying supine on the bed, head awkwardly angled against the too stiff hotel pillows, still avoiding Ilya's gaze even as he appeared to be giving Ilya…what? An open invite to whatever he wanted? Why? He narrowed his eyes, scanning Hollander's body, looking for… he didn't know. Signs of some deadly disease?

"Why?"

Hollander looked at him for long enough to give him an irritated glance, then spoke to the wall. "Because I thought it could be… fun? I thought you'd be into it. We don't need to do -"

"Threesome," Ilya interrupted, keeping his eyes on Hollander's face, and feeling vindicated when Hollander's eyes immediately snapped to his. "This is what I want to do with you, bucket list style."

He waited for Hollander to roll his eyes, to tell him to fuck off, to just say no, outright. Instead he watched Hollander's lips pinch inwards as he continued to bite the fuck out of them, and nod.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously," Hollander replied. He cleared his throat. "I mean. It would have to be someone who you trusted, obviously, not to - not to tell anyone. Right? And someone who could be here tonight."

Ilya's first thought, surrounded by various what the fucks was Svetlana. They'd had a couple of threesomes together before, usually with another woman, but Ilya knew she thought Hollander was hot, and talented, and she could keep a secret. She knew about him, after all. Except, well, it was already fully insane that Hollander was saying okay to a threesome, it felt kind of mean to bring a woman in when Ilya was pretty much convinced Hollander was not at all into them, whatever he seemed to think. There was no point in having a threesome if Hollander was going to be attempting to act like he liked women's tits and pussies, and not instead going happily cock drunk.

"I know a very nice girl," Ilya said, no harm in a little teasing, and watched as Hollander's face twitched. "She is very, very hot, and good for being discrete. If you wanted, she would even wear strap and fuck you too. Could be very fun."

Hollander nodded. There was maybe a little harm in teasing, because watching Hollander agree to this even as it was clear he didn't like it, and not in a fun kind of way, hurt Ilya's stomach. He shook his head.

"No," he said, attempting to sound casual. He wrapped his hand around Hollander's knee, wanted to be touching him. "I have had many, many threesomes with women, I think, if this is really bucket thing, would have to be another man. Yes?"

"Would be trickier," Hollander replied, tone bland. "Unless you already have a guy here who you fuck, and know can keep a secret?" His tone was less bland there. A bit pissed off sounding, maybe.

Ilya grinned at him, then pushed off the bed so he could crawl over Hollander's body instead, sitting on his thighs and leaning over him to kiss him. Wanted to be nice and close up as he said the next thing perfectly designed to piss Shane Hollander off more.

"I know good guy," Ilya said, Hollander's mouth still open and slick from the kissing, his hands clutching at Ilya's shirt, dick hard against Ilya's thigh. "Is funny story actually. Only other day he and me were having talk about threesomes and he says to me that he would fuck you if he had chance. Says you have beautiful butt."

"You talked to him about me?"

"He bring you up," Ilya shrugged, kissed Hollander's angry face, licked at the downward curve of his mouth, "But after he does, I say to him, what about his mouth? He has beautiful mouth too, and he says yes, he would want your mouth."

Hollander was still hard against Ilya's thigh, even if his face was all a pout, so Ilya kissed him again and kept going. "We have had threesomes before, him and me, we are good at sharing. Is always been with a girl, yes, but I think he would want also with you."

"Wait," Hollander grumbled, one of his hands had found its way back to Ilya's hair, tightened into a fist in the curls, and he tugged at them now. "This guy - he's not even - um, gay? Or like you?"

"Liking both?" Ilya snorted, "He thinks he is straight, but he has given me kisses before, while we are sharing, so I think, mmm, maybe probably less straight than he thinks, yes? Especially now he has said to me he would like his cock in your mouth."

Hollander made a noise that was probably meant to be grumpy sounding but didn't sound it, and he let Ilya kiss him again, and again.

"Okay," he said, in between kisses. "He'll be, um, discrete? Keep it quiet?"

"Yes," Ilya kissed him one more time, and then grinned wide, "Marly is very worthy of trust."

He watched as Hollander took it in, eyes widening in disbelief and shock. "Marlow?" He asked, sharp, "Cliff Marlow?"

"Mhm, this Marly, yes. He has nice big cock. You will like."

"What the fuck, Rozanov," Hollander sputtered, his dick noticeably twitching, "we can't -"

"We can," Ilya butted in, reaching down Hollander's body to palm his dick, "and I think maybe you want, yes? Is like danger but not, Marly is safe. Safer than me, hm?"

Hollander swallowed hard, his hips jerked up against Ilya, and he closed his eyes. "We - I would - you'd fuck me?" He asked. "And he'd - I'd suck him off?"

"If this is how you want, yes," Ilya said, rocking the heel of his hand down against Hollander. "I think he would be happy with this. If you want him to fuck you, I think maybe he will do this too."

"I don't want him to fuck me," Hollander said quickly. "If that's not - not like, part of what it is you wanted out of the threesome, I just want you to fuck me. I'll suck him off, or give him a hand job, but -"

Ilya liked this a little too much, probably. He ground down against Hollander, and bit at his neck, found himself wanting to growl into the bite. "But your hole is mine, yes? This is what you are saying? Is only for me?"

"Fuck you," Hollander gasped, hips bucking up at the bite, "yes."

After a quick check of instagram stories to make sure Marly was still at the club, Ilya sent through the text he knew would get Marly here the quickest. Address and room number followed by the Eiffel tower emoji. Hollander groaned when Ilya showed him, but didn't tell him to take it back, and didn't push Ilya off him. Let Ilya hold him and grind slow against him as they watched Marly text back a very simple OMW.

"You're not gonna tell him?" Hollander asked, when Ilya sent a winky face emoji back in response and tossed his phone onto the other side of the bed so he could get both his hands back on Hollander. "He doesn't care who he sleeps with?"

"Of course he does," Ilya grinned, "I say I trust him, yes? He trusts me also. If I say to him to join in he knows will be good time."

"This is why you get called a slut online all the time," Hollander grumbled, tilting his head back so Ilya could get his mouth on more of his neck. "You and Marlow both."

"Mm, yes," Ilya agreed, sucked hard at the thin skin beneath Hollander's ear, waiting to be told off, and feeling oddly disappointed when no caution to not leave marks came. "They would say same thing about you if they knew you," he added, bit at the same spot he'd sucked, and Hollander hissed, but still didn't speak up to tell him to be careful. "Have you had threesome before?" Ilya asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer.

Hollander rolled his eyes, the fun way Ilya liked where his eyes really did look like they were rolling, a big movement. "No," he said. "And I didn't need you to say how many you've had before. It's not exactly a secret."

"You have been reading silly gossip stories about me, then?" Ilya asked, pushing himself up on his hands so he could hover over Hollander, could see his face, his freckles, his dark eyes, the way his face wouldn't un-tense the whole way. "Obsessed with me?"

"No," Hollander met his eyes for a moment, and then looked away scowling. Not a very believable annoyance when his lips were shiny with kissing, his chest heaving. "But there's always a link to an article about you on articles about me."

"Ahhh," Ilya nodded, "so you are obsessed with yourself, yes? What is word? Nasty-cystic?"

"Ew," Hollander snorted, and Ilya grinned, pleased with himself. "I'm not a Narcissist, you asshole. I just - I've been keeping an eye on some. Um. Negative press."

"What," Ilya rolled his eyes, "someone is writing tell all on how you eat only boring food? A call out post for how you are friends with Hayden Pike? I have seen no negative press on you."

Hollander rolled his eyes, but didn't look as amused as he ought to. "No," he said. "Just - just - it's nothing. I don't just, like, google myself all the time, or whatever. I bet you do, though."

"I do," Ilya agreed happily, "sometimes to jerk off best thing to watch is compilations of my best goals put together by my best fans online."

"Now who's the narcissist?" Hollander snarked at him, and Ilya kissed him about it rather than continuing the argument, as fun as he thought it might be.

He had expected Hollander to put a stop to this, but it was beginning to look like no stop was coming. Not for hickies, or for Marly. Which was exciting. And also somewhat terrifying. He felt a need to prepare for the upcoming event, something he had never done for a threesome before. Usually the threesomes he'd had with Marly had been very much played by ear, whatever the three of them liked. For this, he almost wanted to sit Marly down with a paper of terms and conditions. Wanted to make sure Marly knew that Shane Hollander had said his asshole was Ilya's, so fucking keep out. Marly had a nice cock, though, so what if Hollander saw it, or sucked it, and wanted it to fuck him properly? What if he changed his mind and it wasn't just Ilya's anymore.

"I can text and say do not come," Ilya said, between kisses, and Hollander removed his hand from where it had been slipping down the front of Ilya's underwear. Dreadful.

"Why would you do that?" Hollander asked, his forehead crinkling, his eyes going all scrunchy at the corners in a way that Ilya thought was so fucking adorable he wanted to chew him up about it. "You think I'll see his cock and ditch you for him?"

Exactly on the fucking nail head or whatever however that saying went.

"Nah," Ilya said, coughed a little on his attempt to sound offended but in a funny kind of way. "Just. Giving you out. If you want."

"I'm not chicken," Hollander scoffed. "Are you? If you don't want to do this, sure, fucking text Marlow and say no, but I'm good."

"I am not chicken either," Ilya defended hotly, "fuck, I try and be nice, gentlemanly fuck, but no, not for Hollander. I am supposing you do not want me to be getting you water and towel afterwards either?"

"Don't be an asshole," Hollander said, which was a request made often of Ilya that Ilya constantly ignored. "I've never asked you to be a gentleman or whatever."

"So you do not like it?" Ilya pressed, also attempting to ignore the crawling sense of rejection at Hollander's words. Which was stupid. Because they were joking around. "You do not like when I fuck you so hard into mattress and then pull out and give you soft kisses? Fetch warm cloth to wipe your sore hole? Hm? You do not like when I bring you water and let you lie like a king in bed?"

Hollander had groaned, disgruntled, at Ilya's first question, and then groaned again, heated, at the idea of being fucked hard into the mattress, and he'd buried his face in Ilya's neck, reaching up to him, mouth wet on him.

"Fuck you," he groaned, "obviously I like it. Fuck."

"Okay good," Ilya snapped back, wrapping himself tightly around Hollander and rolling them over so he was on his back and he and Hollander were pressed stomach to stomach, Hollander's face still nuzzled into him. "I like to do," he said, voice low against Hollander's ear.

The club Marly had tagged in his instagram story had only been about a block away from the hotel, which was both lucky and unlucky, because it meant that he knocked on the door at this moment, and Hollander froze in Ilya's arms.

"You are scared?" Ilya asked, which unfroze Hollander apparently, because he glared at him, and then rolled off Ilya, onto the bed.

"No," he said. "Just. Fuck. I don't know how to do this. Do I go into the bathroom so you can explain first? What - I don't -"

"Don't have panic attack," Ilya said, wanted to pull Hollander back to him, but he'd moved just far enough away that it wouldn't be casual. "You sit there, yes? I go answer door. Marly will see you, no need for explaining when you are answer, hm? Will be easier. Rip off the wallpaper."

"Bandaid."

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Hollander rolled his eyes, tugging at his clothing as if Marly was going to care that he looked obviously rumpled in a pawed at kind of way. "Answer the door."

"Yes, sir," Ilya rolled his eyes right back, saluted, and then got off the bed.

He'd ditched his shirt at some point while they'd been kissing, and he didn't bother putting it back on now as he crossed the room. Glanced back at Hollander on the bed when he reached the door, hand on the door knob. Marly knocked again. Ilya waited. Hollander nodded once. Ilya opened the door.

"Rozzy, brother," Marly greeted, then dropped his voice down low. "Are you serious right now? I thought you were with your Jane tonight?"

"Yes to both," Ilya said, swallowing down on all the sudden and inconvenient emotions and thoughts he was having about this. "Ah, there is extra surprise, too. Come inside and see."

Marly eyed him up for a moment, suspicious, but then he grinned, and when Ilya opened the door wider, he stepped inside happily.

Ilya closed the door behind him and watched Marly taking in the sight of Shane Hollander with kiss pink lips, and stubble burn on his chin, on a messed up bed. Flushed.

"Uh," Hollander said, cleared his throat. "Hi, Marlow."

"Holy fuck," Marly said, "Shane fucking Hollander, holy hell."

Hollander winced slightly.

"First of all," Marly continued, speaking in the overly loud voice he got when he was still processing information, "your goal in second was a thing of fucking beauty, man. Secondly, uh, am I being pranked right now or is this for real?"

"Fuck's sake," Ilya groaned, thumped Marly on the back. "This is for real. One time offer. Unless Hollander likes your cock so much he can't live without it, I guess, but I will be honest here, Marly, you need to work on your thrust game, I think, your stamina, because -"

"Shut up, oh my god," Hollander said from his perch on the bed. "This is not a fucking dick measuring contest. Fucking, uh, thanks, Marlow. And yes, this is for real. You're welcome to say no. Rozanov promises you can keep your mouth shut about this either way."

"Oh yeah," Marly said hurriedly, "I can keep my mouth shut. Unless you need it open for something. Holy fuck," he said again, turned to look at Ilya, and then back at Hollander. "Fucking legendary, man," he said. "How are we doing this?"

"I'll suck you off," Hollander said, he was blinking quickly, cheeks pink, but his voice sounded steady, like he was relaying a game plan. "While Rozanov fucks me. I think the easiest positioning for this, taking our heights into consideration, would be me on my knees on the bed, with Rozanov standing behind me, and you, Marlow, sitting on the bed in front of me. Thoughts?"

Ilya had thoughts. A lot of them.

"Sounds fucking great to me," Marly offered, "do you want to kiss, too?"

Hollander's eyes flicked to Ilya and then back to Marly. "Sure," he said. "I like kissing."

"Okay, cool, cool, cool," Marly nodded hard. "Should I - I could just go like, rinse off my junk? Might be a bit sweaty from dancing."

"Yes," Ilya said, at the same time that Hollander shook his head.

"You showered after practice, right?" Hollander asked.

"Of course," Marly snorted, "I would be smell-able from down the hall if I hadn't."

"Then you're fine," Hollander shrugged, "I don't mind a bit of, um. Sweat."

"He's a slut," Ilya found himself saying. "He loves it."

"Fuck off," Hollander said, and then in complete juxtaposition, "come to the bed, fuck, having you both standing there looking at me is just weird."

Ilya made sure the door was locked, and then latched the deadlock as well before going back to the bed, taking advantage of the fact that Marly had to stop to get his shoes off, to get in right next to Hollander again, putting his arm around Hollander's waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I did not expect you to be captain tonight," he teased, "giving us orders, hm?"

"Someone had to take charge," Hollander replied, pressing into Ilya's hold easily. "Or we were all going to stand around talking all night without fucking."

"That would be big dreadful travis," Ilya agreed, kissed Hollander's cheek again, because it was right there and very kissable.

Marly had his shoes off, had shucked his tight jeans too, which was a little fucking forward, and had crossed to the foot of the bed. Climbed on on his knees, and grinned at them both. Mostly at Hollander. He was already starting to get hard, his cock tenting the front of his boxers.

"So," he said, "can I call you Shane, while we do this, at least? Hollander feels a bit, uh, weird."

"Oh," Hollander said. "Yeah, I guess. Whatever you want. What do you - um - what do you want me to call you?"

"Marly is fine," Marly said, "fuck, Shane. I can't believe you're Jane. I mean, saying it out loud it feels obvious, but it is very much not obvious."

Hollander, who for some reason Marly was getting to call Shane, stiffened slightly at the mention of Jane, and shot Ilya a look. Ilya ignored the look.

"Yes, yes, is cunning double cross secret or something," he said, "and not topic of evening. Topic of evening is how Marly is going to get best blow job of his life and then not even be able to brag about it tomorrow."

"I can brag about it," Marly shot back, "I just won't say who gave it."

"No one is getting a blow job if you two don't stop saying stupid shit," Hollander said archly, playing bravado so well Ilya was sure Marly didn't notice the tremor of Hollander's hands. "Am I undressing myself, or what?"

"Ah I love when you get pissy," Ilya said, maybe a little too happily according to Hollander's scowl, "no, don't sulk, malysh," he reached to brush his thumb over Hollander's cheek. "I will undress you, you want massage too, hm?"

"Fuck off."

"Mm, no, I do not think I will," Ilya said, moving in closer again so he could grip the bottom of Hollander's shirt to finally fucking take it off him. "You do not want me to fuck off, you want me to bend you over the bed and push you down onto Marly's cock, and then fuck you."

"Holy fuck," Marly said.

Hollander closed his eyes, looking for all the world like he was going to open them even more fiery, and glare, and act all pissed off about how slutty Ilya was making him sound. And then instead he just exhaled, and relaxed, and moved easily in Ilya's grip as Ilya took his shirt off.

"This is what you want, yes?" Ilya asked, throwing the shirt behind him and leaning in to kiss Hollander quickly.

"Yes," he replied, low, eyes still shut. "Fuck. You know I do."

"I want you to say it," Ilya coaxed, ran his hand down Hollander's bare front, over the hard swell of his muscles, pressing into the give of his stomach. "Let Marly hear, hm?"

"Fuck you," Hollander repeated, and then inhaled sharply when Marly reached out to touch, wrapping his hands loosely around Hollander's ankles, "Fuck," he hissed, but didn't tug away, or flinch.

Ilya watched Marly rub his thumbs against the tops of Hollander's socks, and then run his hands up his calves, where his sweatpants had been rucked up enough to leave his skin bare. Watched Marly's gaze flit and fix from Hollander's face, to the hard on in his pants, to the grip on his legs.

"Shane," Marly said, as if he said it all the time, "fuck, I wanna hear it."

"Jesus," Hollander groaned, and then groaned again when Ilya hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his sweats and briefs both, and began tugging them down, dragging the pads of his thumbs hard against the warm curve of hip to inner thigh. "Fuck. Yes. I want to suck your cock."

Marly took over the pants removal, which was probably helpful, but still, Ilya had been doing it. He reached up to Hollander's thighs, and dragged the material all the way down, swearing out loud when Hollander's cock twitched in the open air, hard against his thigh.

"Say it properly," Ilya said, felt like a deranged dog with a bone he didn't even really want. "Say how you want it." He pressed his mouth back in against Hollander's neck, mouthing at the fast beat of his pulse, his hands fitting around Hollander's hip bones, grounding, for himself or Hollander he wasn't sure.

"Fuck you," Hollander murmured, and then immediately gave in. "Fuck. I want you to bend me over," he breathed, "I want - I want you to choke me on his cock while you fuck me. Make me take it."

He could hear Marly swearing from where he'd shuffled even closer between Hollander's legs, but ignored him for now. Kissed Hollander properly, licking into his mouth until Hollander was barely kissing back in favour of trying to suck on his tongue, his hands tangling in Ilya's hair.

It was a struggle to pull out of the kiss, but now that Ilya had taken back some sort of… leadership role, he needed to be less selfish with it.

"Marly," he grunted, "get the fuck up here and kiss him already."

Marly was big on kissing, which was why they had kissed in previous threesomes. Hard to kiss the woman currently sucking your cock, so, if you want to get kissed, hey, a mouth was a mouth, right? That was how Marly had talked about it afterwards. That and often the girls they were with found it hot, a good bonus. Anyway. Marly was a fucking stupid idiot, because with the way he was kissing Shane right now, open mouthed and greedy, there was no avoiding the fact that he was into it for more than just the act of kissing. Straight, Ilya's fucking ass, sure.

He tried to move away from the kiss in front of him, to get off the bed so he could grab the lube and the condoms, but Shane still had one hand in his hair, and when he made to move, the hand tightened, pulled closer.

"So fucking needy," Ilya grumbled, moving closer immediately and returning his mouth to Shane's skin, sucking at a pink mark he'd already left, determined to make it darker. "You need all our attention, hm?" He asked between sucking bites, "can't even let go long enough for me to get lube?"

Shane let out a disgruntled noise around Marly's mouth, hard to tell if it was about being called needy, or the fact that grabbing lube meant losing physical contact. Both maybe.

Because Ilya was also finding himself needy and unwilling to lose physical contact, he manhandled the both of them - Shane and Marly - more upright, pushing and tugging at them until Marly was in Shane's spot and Ilya was crowding Shane into Marly's lap. Shane half straddling Marly's legs, half up on his knees, and Marly was still kissing Shane, had his hands on Shane's waist, squeezing him, sliding down to grab at his ass.

Ilya batted Marly's hand away from Shane's ass, plastering himself closer, draping over Shane's back.

"Out of bounds," he told Marly over Shane's shoulder, "I call foul."

"Bro," Marly complained, surfacing from the kiss with a glazed expression, "no ref would support that."

Ilya took advantage of Shane's currently un-Marly-occupied mouth, and pressed two of his fingers in against his tongue, Shane closing his lips around them and sucking with devastating speed.

"Fuck," Ilya bit out, pressed his fingers deeper, "they would, you crossed into my zone -"

Shane spoke around Ilya's fingers. "It's my fucking zone," he said, and Ilya, the kind person he was, removed his fingers so Shane could speak clearer. "And also seeing as there wasn't any guidelines put up earlier about boundaries, you can't call Marly out for crossing them, especially when it wasn't even the zone I said was just for you, fuck!"

While this was probably true, Ilya felt no shame or regret for defending Shane's ass, especially now with Shane reiterating that the hole was still only for Ilya. What was that term, any hole is a goal? No. Shane Hollander's hole only goal, and Marly was not getting to fucking score tonight. They could be best friends tomorrow, and Ilya would go back to his previous thoughts of being happy to share what and whoever with Marly, just not tonight.

Marly was responding to Shane, asking something about boundaries, and also about if they had a ref here would he be a cuck or what. Ilya ignored this line of questioning for a more pressing issue.

He withdrew his spit slick fingers carefully, holding his hand somewhat awkwardly as he pulled his hips back to make space between him and Shane's body, reaching down and under until he could press his wet fingertips to Shane's hole.

Shane had gotten into the habit, since they had started to fuck regularly when they hooked up, to be prepped and more or less ready to go by the time he arrived, or Ilya arrived, but he usually didn't do much stretching, knew Ilya liked to do it. So it was a little surprise when both of Ilya's fingers sunk inside with barely any effort, sucking him in almost, and Shane moaned loud and surprised halfway through a sentence about something, probably how Marly should keep his hands to himself unless asked.

"Fuck," Ilya agreed, pressing in deeper, even as his wrist protested the angle slightly, pushing through the first real resistance from Shane's ass. "Fuck, malysh, you opened yourself up already? That is meant to be my job."

Shane's throat clicked slightly as he let out a stuttering sort of breath, his hips jerking up and then back down against the pressure inside.

"I wanted to - to be able to… accommodate whatever you wanted," he said, and Marly let out a choked noise at this.

"Accommodate," Ilya repeated.

"Give you," Shane said, his eyes closed tightly for a beat, "give you anything. Whatever. You wanted."

"Holy fuck," Marly moaned.

Ilya agreed, but also, keep it to yourself, Clifford. Shane had come here tonight to ask Ilya to ask for whatever he wanted, and he'd thought Ilya might want, what? To fuck him immediately, no prep? To DP him? To fist him? All of these things were compelling, but - he felt dizzy with it. With the permission to want and take, and the options, and the unknown reasoning. With how badly he wanted this and didn't want it at the same time. With the way Shane's voice had sounded when he'd said If this was our last time.

He wanted to drag Shane out of Marlow's lap and into his own, and fuck him like that, clutched to him, mouth at Shane's ear, whispering true and dangerous things.

"You are such a perfect slut for me," he said instead, his voice hoarse as he fucked his fingers in and out of Shane, twisting and pushing until he was stretching his rim and rubbing at his prostate, and Shane's head had dropped back against Ilya's shoulder, mouth open as he panted. "Perfect slut for both of us. Look how hard Marly is for you - he will probably come as soon as your mouth wraps around him."

Shane's head dropped forwards again, his eyes going to Marly's cock, the head of it straining against the damp fabric of his boxers.

"I won't," Marly bit out, "I'm gonna fucking savour it, stop making me sound like a quick shot, man!"

"You can come as quick as you like," Shane said, his eyes still on Marly's cock, "so long as you stay in my mouth."

Ilya was a little impressed Marly didn't come right then and there.

"Okay," Ilya said, pulling his fingers out of Shane with a nastily hot wet noise, and smacked his ass cheek. "Shuffle back," he instructed, doing the same thing as he spoke, moving down the bed until he could climb off the end, keeping his hands low on Shane's hips as he did.

Shane moved with him, shifting his weight forwards onto his hands and his knees, let Ilya arrange him.

The lube and condoms were in Ilya's duffle at the foot of the bed, and he stretched so he could keep one hand on Shane at all moments as he rummaged through the bag to pull them out, dropping them onto the mattress besides one of Shane's feet.

"Take his boxers off," Ilya said, "but don't suck his cock yet."

"Why not?" Marly asked, shifting back to lift his hips, assisting Shane who had immediately moved to start taking the boxers off. "You want it, right, Shane?"

"Yeah," Shane replied, dragging the boxers down Marly's legs, lifting one leg up as if it weighed nothing, to unhook it. "Fuck, I want to so bad."

"See?" Marly raised his eyebrows at Ilya, even as he reached forward to stroke Shane's cheek. "He wants to."

"It's not up to him," Ilya snapped, and slapped Shane's ass again, the other cheek this time, but a little harder. "Shane?"

Shane moaned, had gasped sharply in response to the slap, and now exhaled so noisily only after Ilya had spoken. He looked back over his shoulder at Ilya, his cheeks pink, mouth open, eyes searching as if he had to check it was still Ilya there. Ilya rubbed his palm over the pink spot of his ass cheek where he'd hit.

"'S'up to Ilya," Shane said, still looking at Ilya, eyes dark and wide, his voice curving so nicely around Ilya's name like he'd practiced the pronunciation.

"That's right," Ilya said, his words coming out rough, throat so dry suddenly. "I will give you both what you need, yes? But I want Shane begging for it first."

Marly swore again before asking; "Is this how it always is with you guys?"

"No," Ilya snapped, "usually you are not here asking questions."

"Fuck you man, you invited me," Marly shot back immediately, grinning past Shane at Ilya, entirely unmoved.

Marly's boxers were removed now, dropped onto the floor, his cock hard, curved towards his stomach. Ilya could admit even now that it was a very good cock. Cut, where Ilya wasn't, and both longer and girthier. If Ilya were prone to jealousy, he might feel a little out-cocked. He wasn't usually prone to jealousy but he was maybe feeling a little bit out-cocked tonight.

"I did, yes," Ilya agreed, reaching forwards to move his hands up Shane's hips, over his stomach, gripping him under his arms, and tugged him back. "Tonight is different," he said, kissed the underside of Shane's jaw when Shane let his head fall back against Ilya's shoulder again, his back arching with the lean. "Shane's first threesome," he added.

"God, shut up," Shane muttered under his breath, sounding not even a little annoyed, his face turning more towards Ilya so Ilya could kiss him for real.

"Well shit, I guess I'm honoured," Marly said.

"You should be," Ilya said, once he drew back from kissing Shane.

He had one palm wrapped loose around the front of Shane's throat, his other sliding down over Shane's heaving chest, his stomach, fingers brushing through his trimmed pubes, until they could wrap around Shane's leaking cock. Stroked it with a loose grip. Shane bit down on a noise, and his cock jerked in Ilya's hand, satisfying.

"Marly," Ilya said, doing his best to not be jealous. "You should touch yourself. Show Shane what he is going to get to taste. Shane - Shanya - you think you will be able to take?"

"I am bigger than Roz," Marly pointed out with a wink that he should fuck off with.

"I can take it," Shane said, before Ilya could argue uselessly about dick size. He was blushing ferociously. "I can swallow it."

Ilya and Marly swore in concert, and Ilya squeezed Shane's cock around the base, making Shane swear as well, one of his hands flying back to reach for Ilya. Ilya half crawled onto the bed again to get closer still, into Shane's grabby hand reach, and he bit at Shane's shoulder as they both watched Marlow take himself in hand, running his thumb along the side of his length first, and then fisting it and tugging it up so it was easier to see. Shane throbbed in Ilya's hand.

"Already dripping for it," Ilya said, shaking Shane's hard on a little, so thick drops of pre-come flicked off the tip and dripped down Ilya's knuckles. "Just from looking."

Shane let out a soft noise that Ilya always marked down as confused, embarrassed, and horny, and Ilya decided he should get a move on before he pissed himself off too much, watching Shane get so turned on by Marly's cock. He gave Shane another quick squeeze before releasing him, patting him on his hip as he drew further back until he had only one knee on the bed. Shane moved with him, his arm still twisted awkwardly back so he could keep his hand on Ilya's side. Shane was looking at Ilya over his shoulder again.

"Keep watching Marly, malysh," Ilya instructed, using his pre-come sticky hand to turn Shane's face by the jaw, Shane not even complaining about it. "You will make him feel like his cock is not so impressive."

Shane turned his head back to look at Marly. "He knows it's impressive," he said.

"Damn right I do," Marly agreed, "I like you watching though, thinking about your mouth on me, fuck, Shane."

Because Ilya was still a good friend even while feeling perhaps a little murderous for various reasons, when he picked up the lube, he reached over to Marly first, and when Marly caught sight of it and held his hand out, squeezed a generous amount onto his palm. Bros don't let bros get chafed dicks.

"Thanks bro," Marly said. There was a moment in which Ilya felt like they were going to high five, (which, they may possibly have done during a threesome before, but he would not confirm this) and then remembered the handful of lube and opted not to.

Before he lubed up his own fingers, Ilya pressed his still dry hand to the middle of Shane's back, and pressed him gently forwards again, before tugging at his hips to get him to angle up a little more. Loved how when Shane was in the right mood, he went so easy, letting Ilya position him exactly, spreading himself open.

He rubbed the lube between his fingers, not really warming it much, but surely the thought counted a little bit. Pressed his fingers into the smooth, soft skin of Shane's taint. Delighted in the fact that from this angle he could see Shane had shaved for him, liked to see proof of Shane thinking about this, planning for it, wanting it. Curled his fingers so he could rub his knuckles firmly against it, smearing lube, nudging at the back of Shane's balls, dragging a low moan from Shane's throat.

Kept going until Shane was shuddering, his head dropping forwards between his shoulders. "C'mon, fuck, Ilya," he groaned, "stop teasing - I need something - finger me or let me suck Marly's cock - please -"

Marly echoed the sentiment, as did Ilya's erection, still trapped in the confines of his pants. He ignored both his dick and Marly, and shifted the angle of his hand so he could easier press two fingers back into Shane, pressing up and forwards to rub at his prostate from the inside now he'd gotten it all heated from the outside, and Shane let out a sharp gasp, shifting into a moan as his hips twitched first back and then forwards like he couldn't work out if he wanted more or less of the feeling.

Marly had one of his hands on Shane's face again, Ilya couldn't see properly from behind Shane, but he imagined Marly rubbing his thumb against Shane's lower lip the way Ilya liked to do. Ilya rubbed his free hand against the small of Shane's back, digging his thumb into the dimples above his ass, pressing harder to rock Shane back onto his fingers.

"Da, there you go," he said, "but poor Marly's dick, hm? I say you will beg for him, but you are only begging to be filled up?"

"I want both," Shane slurred, and Ilya knew Marly had at least his thumb in Shane's mouth. Hoped he got a little bitten. "I want - please can I - I want to suck it -"

"Fuck, Roz," Marly added, "I'm so hard I feel insane -"

"Fuck you are both so greedy," Ilya gritted out, pulled his fingers out of Shane just enough to add a third one, Shane's hole stretching easy, hot and wet around Ilya's knuckles. "Maybe I should just let you suck each other's cocks, hm? I could go?"

"Sure," Marly said.

"Shut the fuck up," Shane growled, "if you don't want to fuck me -"

Okay, so he'd found the point where Shane was saying no, finally, and very much regretting it. What was it Sveta said to him? He pushed so much he'd push himself off a cliff one day. Well. Apt wording, though he doubted she was talking about this Cliff.

"No, moy lyubimyy," Ilya said quickly, his hand moving from Shane's back to tuck around his hip, gripping tight to him. "I want so much -"

"So you don't want to outsource to Marlow, then?" Shane snapped back, and Marly let out a surprised huff of laughter. Ilya glared at him.

"No," Ilya ground out. Wanted to pull Shane off the bed and go lock the both of them in the bathroom. Or, better yet, banish Marly. "No, we spoke about this, yes? Only me fucking you. Shanya."

"Not to sound like an ass," Marly said, "but if I'm getting kicked out, can I finish jerking off first?"

"You're not being kicked out," Shane said, "we were just clarifying positions."

"Oh," Marly said, "y'know, honestly, makes sense. I forgot you were still the captain, even when you're letting Roz take the lead."

Ilya did not usually receive his hockey play rebukes while three fingers deep in his captain, not least because he was his own captain, thanks, Marly, but he was good with going with the flow.

"Back in play?" He asked, squeezed Shane's hip, listened for Shane's huff of somewhat irritated amusement.

"Yes," Shane said, flicked his eyes back to Ilya, and then dropped his head back down, resuming his earlier fuck me position. "Try to keep the puck on your stick this time."

Everything was about hockey, except for hockey, which was, of course, about sex.

He gave them all a few moments to get back into it. Marly's hand had never stopped on his dick, but he picked up the pace again anyway, and Ilya could hear the paired wet noise of Marly's fingers back in Shane's mouth, Shane's breathing going heavy again, stuttering with every rock of Ilya's fingers in his ass. Then Ilya leaned in, ran his free hand up Shane's side, over his shoulder blades, gripped firm to his nape, and pressed him forwards just a little.

"Put him out of his misery, then, Shanya," he said, "show him how good you are at this."

"Please," Marly groaned, and he shifted, widening his legs and dropping his hand to grip himself around the base of his cock.

Ilya stayed close enough to press Shane's head forward, guiding him onto Marly's cock, and then pulled back, not wanting or needing to see it when he had his own fucking show to put on. He and Marly usually worked a lot better together for threesomes, an easy physical language between them, touching each other and living in each others' moments as much as their own. It was a feeling not unlike that of free falling, stomach left behind, realising how different this was to any other threesome Ilya had had. Not because it was with two men. Not because it was Marly.

He put his condom on with shaking hands, gripped Shane by the hips, tight enough to squeeze the shake out of himself, and pressed in slowly. Could see the feedback of sensation inside Shane, the way it dripped out of him, clenching around Ilya's cock, groaning around Marly's, Ilya and Marly in turn groaning and jerking forwards for more, Shane's body shaking and tightening and hot and wet. When Marly jerked forwards too sudden, Shane choked momentarily, and his body spasmed, his hole squeezing so tight around Ilya he was almost squeezed out, had to fight his way back in, thrusting deeper. Marly had made a move as if to pull out, give Shane a breather, but Shane had swallowed him back down, smoother, and Marly's hand was white knuckled in Shane's hair.

This was where he and Marly would usually kiss, both of them inside someone else, leaning forwards, breathing hard, Marly licking his lips as he looked at Ilya's. Ilya leaned in closer, down lower, so he could fix his mouth to Shane's nape instead, where he'd had his hand until moments ago. Licking at the salty tang of sweat, biting at the taut tendons. Wanting something so badly it was filling him up like his impending orgasm, tugging and tender.

For all the lead up, the Eiffel tower didn't last very long. Marly groaning, and swearing, and clutching at Shane's head as he came, and Shane moaning along with him as he swallowed and swallowed again. Ilya reaching around Shane's hips to take his cock in hand, jerking him off rough and fast, the way he knew Shane liked it when he was on edge like this, his muscles tensing around Ilya as he came hard, until Ilya was coming as well, mouth pressed wetly to the side of Shane's throat.

Then Marly was kissing Shane again, gentler now, his hands cupping Shane's face as Ilya pulled out slowly, gripping the condom. His hands still shaking. He got up and went to the bathroom without a word, because he didn't think he had any left. Tied off the condom and threw it in the bin. Wiped himself clean. Grabbed and wet a fresh hand towel with warm water for Shane, and then grabbed the damp facecloth for Marly.

Marly had pulled Shane up into his arms, was holding him, saying something too quiet for Ilya to make out, but Shane was loose limbed in his arms. Ilya stalked back to the bed, climbing onto it on his knees, and Shane turned to look at him with an expression that drop kicked all the built up mess of anger in Ilya's throat entirely out of him. The expression was gone in an instant, but Ilya's anger didn't bother coming back. He dropped himself onto the bed, and Shane handed himself over into his arms. Ilya thrust the face cloth in Marly's direction, and Marly took it with a snort and a quick thanks.

If Ilya had thought even a little bit further than his cock and pissing Shane off, he might have thought about how it would automatically make things with Shane different during the threesome. Not the sex bit, that was obvious, but the way they were seen. Marly knew them both. Knew Ilya better. Knew Jane existed, and had for so long, and now knew Jane was Shane. He was seeing them like they were something.

Shane's face was pressed into the sweaty crook of Ilya's neck, and he complained in a low grumble when Ilya took his softening cock in hand to wipe it off with the hand towel. Didn't move away from it, instead, helpfully lifted his hips so Ilya could wipe at the smeared lube behind his balls, up his crack, dabbing at his hole until Shane bit Ilya's neck like a warning, and he withdrew the cloth.

Beside them, the bed tipped as Marly shifted his weight, and then climbed off, the mattress groaning a little as the springs adjusted.

"Alright," he said, stretching midway through the word so his voice also stretched out, trailing off with a groan as his back clicked loudly. He dropped his arms back down, shaking his shoulders out. "Shane," he said, "fucking amazing head. No notes. Insane tongue action. Roz, bro, you gonna be pissed off at me at practice?"

Shane shifted enough to lift one arm, and gave Marly a thumbs up, then snorted at the pointed question.

"No," Ilya said, narrowed his eyes at Marly. "Because I am grown man."

"Mm, okay," Marly grinned at him, moving easily around the room to grab his boxers, and pulled them on. "'cause that was really hot, and maybe when you get over being jealous about seeing someone else touching your boyfriend, we could do it again."

Ah. There it was. The being seen, the unspoken assumption. The thing he and Shane avoided at all costs. Shane's muscles were rigid against Ilya, and he took a sharp breath, like he was going to quickly defend the both of them from such a dreadful accusation of being boyfriends. Of course they weren't. Hahahahahah so funny. Hook ups. Haha.

"Maybe," Ilya said, quick, "or maybe you never get such good head again. Who knows. Get dressed and fuck off, okay?"

Marly had gotten dressed, and come back to the bed to ruffle Ilya's hair, and then, when Shane looked up at him, still tense, to kiss Shane, very quick, winking and mouthing call me, because he thought he was so fucking funny. Then he was gone, and Shane was getting off Ilya's lap, like he'd only been on it to keep up an act in front of Marly, and now he was finally released from looking like he liked Ilya at all, and that was totally fine.

"I need a shower," Shane said, once he was standing to the side of the bed, looking awkward like he had stalled out, forgotten his next action item.

"Okay," Ilya said. "I will come with."

Sometimes Shane said yes to this, with a smile, and that meant they would make out and get each other off again in the shower, and sometimes he said yes but no touching just cleaning, which meant they would kiss a little until they both got hard and Shane would groan and act put upon and then drop to his knees and suck Ilya off like it was the only joy in his life. Often Shane just said no, and didn't expand on it.

Ilya was kind of expecting the no, now. After he'd gotten so many yesses all evening, and then ran straight into a wall he hadn't seen, and now - and now Shane was doing that thing where it was like he was shrinking in on himself even though he was still taking up the same amount of space.

"Okay," Shane said.

Kissed Ilya back when they were waiting for the shower to heat up. Let Ilya keep his hands on him, his mouth on him as they stood under the spray. Was so suspiciously non-competitive that it was starting to freak Ilya out again.

If Shane had arrived with a bag of hamburgers and a pack of cigarettes it probably couldn't have been more obvious. They were doing the thing. The sick dog thing. Ilya was the sick dog. Shane was giving him one last very nice day before putting him down. Fuck. He was letting Ilya be clingy, and annoying, and he said yes to a threesome that Ilya had been certain he would say no to. He'd not said this wasn't the last time, just that that wasn't what he was saying. Which was just a trickster way of saying it was what he was saying. Fuck English.

"I have changed my mind," Ilya announced, and Shane paused in the very vital task of soaping up Ilya's tits. "About what I would want to do if it was our last time together."

Shane blinked at him, and then his eyebrows crunched down and he glared without much heat at Ilya. "You can't change your mind after you've already gotten it," he said. "That's cheating."

"It's not cheating," Ilya said, kept his hands where they were safest, both with a handful of Shane's ass, squeezed both handfuls now. "Can't be cheating if there were no rules about it in first place. You never said I could not change my mind."

Shane stared at him, his tongue poking into the inside of the cheek so the outside of the cheek bulged in a way reminiscent of a squirrel. A pissed off squirrel.

"That wasn't good?" Shane asked eventually, done for now with being a squirrel. "You didn't - fuck. I know you've had a lot of threesomes, so if I didn't -"

"Shit, Shanya," Ilya groaned, "no. It was so good. When Marly was not pissing me off. You were so good. But you are right, yes, I have had a lot of threesomes, was silly of me to think what I wanted most was another. Silly to think best thing to ask for is to have to share you."

Shane was silent for a long moment, his eyes flicking everywhere around the shower except for Ilya's face. "What do you want, then?"

Relief thrilled through Ilya, and he let go of one of his ass handfuls so he could bring his hand up to cup Shane's face, to rub his thumb over Shane's lip like he hoped Marly had NOT done.

"I want," he said, cleared his throat, "hm - is difficult to narrow down…"

"You should have narrowed it down before announcing you changed your mind," Shane said dryly, or as dry as he could get while in the shower.

"Maybe I tell you what I want, and then you choose which one," Ilya suggested.

Shane glanced at him, and then away again. "Okay," he agreed.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

CW. Shane's suicidal ideation is a lot clearer in this chapter, although still pretty vague even in his own head. There is some planning, again, vague.
Other tags still should be heeded, I just thought I would give an extra warning for the suicidal ideation because it is more than the first chapter.

It would have been tidier if Shane could have fulfilled Ilya's second last time request while he'd still been in Boston. He'd tried to say they could, but any argument he had to help him make his case was not going to help with his main goal.

Ilya insisted they both get tested before going raw, which was a hassle, honestly, but it wasn't like he could tell Ilya that it didn't matter if Ilya gave him an STD or anything because, well. He wouldn't be around to care. But he supposed there was a chance he might give something to Ilya. He doubted it, because he was careful - usually - and didn't hook up much - outside of Ilya - and he attended his medical check ups every time.

It also might come out, afterwards, if he caught something, and that would maybe be embarrassing for Shane's parents. For the image he was hoping to leave behind.

There wasn't a huge amount he could do now to save his reputation within his own team, because there was nothing he could do to prove the things they disliked about him wrong. He was half Asian. He was better at hockey than them. He was younger than almost all of them. He was gay-ish. Weird. Wired wrong. But, to the rest of the hockey world, his reputation was still good. He had brought the Metros back to the play offs, won the Stanley cup, broken records. He just had to make sure that he didn't leave behind anything too incriminating, and his story and legacy could go on to make his parents proud in his stead.

He didn't have a solid timeline yet, because it was harder than he might have imagined to create the perfect accident while also enacting the perfect life. If he could stop his performance on ice dropping too badly, keep his team acting enough like a team, the latest he could put it off for was three months. Any longer than that and he ran too much risk of the mess of the Metros breaking containment. The next game against Boston was in Montreal, in just under a month. So that was his vague timeline.

He had a to-do list, things he wanted to get done beforehand. To make it easier on everyone else. Some of the items on his to-do list were purely selfish. Things he wanted for himself, or for the image of him to look better. Ilya had been one of the selfish things. He was now two of the selfish things, and Shane couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about his overindulgence.

He had left Ilya's hotel room after the threesome, long after Marlow had left, and had made it only into the hotel stairwell before he'd started crying. A very irritating habit he'd picked up in the last few weeks, a build up of tension that wouldn't go away until he let it out in a mess of choked off sobs and tears.

The sex had been fun. He had liked sucking Marlow's dick. (Found it weird having a circumcised cock in his mouth, but he couldn't expect everyone to have Ilya's perfect dick.) He had liked the feeling of being used, of being… passed around, even if just back and forth. He had liked the sting of humiliation over how obviously he wanted to be filled, and he had liked seeing how badly Marly wanted to fuck him, and he had liked the whole thing.

Except for the fact that he had basically given Ilya the green-light to ask for anything, and the first thing he thought of was wanting someone else there too. And then, after Shane had swallowed down the shame of that, and accepted it, Ilya had turned it around on him. Sounding so jealous that Marly was there, like it had been Shane who had suggested it, territorial even. And Shane didn't know if it was just how Ilya always was in threesomes, an act of a sort, or just some inability to share.

Or if it was the way it was for Shane. The sharp bite of an angry sorrow when he caught sight of tabloids showing Ilya and some unnamed woman kissing, or dancing so close they may as well have been literally inside each other, or thought about Ilya with his friends, how loved he looked on his team, in pap shots, in Shane's imagination. A feral possessiveness that was base, and sat curled up under his voice box.

Either way, it felt bad. Felt worst when Ilya joked about leaving. Like he had seen Shane with another man and become repulsed, had finally grown bored enough to leave, like he didn't care that this was their last time together.

Confusing when Ilya had taken it back, verbalised the want for Shane, gave Shane what he wanted, fucked him so good, tight, hot, good, and then the sudden come down of Ilya pulling out and leaving to the bathroom immediately, freezing cold at the silence even with Marly kissing him. He'd gasped, or choked maybe, some embarrassingly pathetic reaction, and Marly had tugged him up the bed and fully into his arms and squeezed him cautiously tight, kissed at the side of his head while Shane gasped a little more into the side of Marly's neck.

When Ilya came back, only a few moments later, with warm cloths, and clean hands, Shane's body had tilted towards him as if tethered to him, and he had felt this stupid rush of relief and comfort in the wrap of Ilya around him, Ilya squeezing him tight enough to hold him together but not tight enough to bind. Scared. Scared. Marly saying Shane's wants out loud and Shane unable to speak against it, knowing the want would be obvious in his denial.

He didn't know if he was more ashamed of how relieved he was that Ilya wanted another last time, or about how upset he was at Ilya for having him go through the confusion of feelings of the threesome when it hadn't even been what he had really wanted. Or maybe he was most ashamed of how he had been glad Ilya had seemed hurt by the threesome as well.

He'd pressed his face into the cool wall in the stairwell, squeezing his eyes tight while trying to stem the tears, to calm down. He was fine. And he wasn't being selfish by getting to repeat one of his favourite items on his to-do list, because it hadn't been his fault. He hadn't done a bad job on purpose to make Ilya change his mind, he had tried so hard to just enjoy it.

In a way he wanted to tell Ilya everything. His plans and non plans. So someone left alive would know what had really happened, wouldn't fall for the lie Shane was going to be telling everyone else. Ilya was the only safe person to tell, because Ilya was already where Shane kept his secrets. He wasn't going to tell Ilya, obviously, because it wouldn't be fair to Ilya, and also because there was the off chance Ilya would stop him, or tell people.

The thing was, Shane had known for a long time that it was going to have to end like this. He had accepted it. It made sense to him.

He had just thought it was a long way off still, that he was good enough at hockey to put it off. Hockey was all he was good for, in the end. He was sure people could make arguments against this, try to say that he had other things going for him. He'd read countless hockey biographies of long retired hockey legends, read about what they did after they couldn't play anymore. A lot of people expected he'd go into coaching, or management maybe, once he'd aged out or gotten injured too badly to keep playing. Sometimes he was chirped about how if he ever wanted to quit hockey there was his modelling career to fall back on. He knew his teammates' plans for post-retirement tended to be things like going skydiving, having another kid, buying more houses, starting a podcast.

He didn't want any of that. He didn't want to dwindle into irrelevance by becoming a semi-okay coach, or whatever. He didn't want to model. He didn't want to get new hobbies to fail at, or attempt to make a marriage or a family work when he knew he wasn't good at relationships. It was more and more obvious every passing day of work that his skills lay solely on the ice. He was there to be a hockey machine. No one wanted his opinions on game plan, or cohesion. No one wanted his congratulations on good goals scored. Barker was right that he had probably only been made captain as an attempt to be woke, a way to get other Asians buying tickets to see the game. He was a hockey robot, and his parts were wearing out, slowing down. There was no point in keeping a badly-performing piece of machinery. It would be easier for everyone if he just took himself out before it became a thing.

Sometimes, in between attempts to work out the best way to take himself out, he imagined just running away. Changing his name, leaving the country. He couldn't imagine what would come next, though. He could run away to avoid his public embarrassment, to leave behind the constant failure of being himself, but he couldn't magic up some reason to live outside of it. Sometimes he let himself drop right down into his shame and imagine running away to Ilya instead. Ignoring all the reasons that could never work. Pretending he could just turn up at Ilya's door and be taken inside. He couldn't imagine the next part of that scenario either, asides from simply being held. He could, however, very easily imagine the entire clean path of his actual plan. The aftermath. The benefits. The release.

He knew people would be sad. Mostly his parents. But he also knew they would be able to get over it because they all had other things in their lives. He had been a little worried for his mother - she had plenty of hobbies, and friends, yes, but so much of her life did still revolve around Shane and his career - so he'd found a work around for that. Had already started pulling it together; had spoken with his lawyer and his mother about it, starting a charity. They were still working out the fine details, but he figured if he got it started, or at least almost ready to start, it would be a good project to leave her. Plus it would be a nice note in the eventual biography of Shane Hollander, gone just in time.

He was avoiding the urge to just start giving his money away, or rewriting his will, other things like that that would point to his death being premeditated. Don't cancel the laundry service, don't leave the fridge empty, don't pack up belongings to make it easier for the people who would have to clear out his apartment. He could leave it clean, but not impossibly so. He had to look like he had been planning on continuing to live, or people would have questions he didn't want them finding answers to.

For that same reason he had been careful in his research and his plan making, not to leave evidence behind. He had spent a day in an internet cafe with his hood up during a day break in a travel week. He was meant to be resting, or doing light cardio, but the allure of the extra anonymity and privacy an internet cafe in a city far from home gave him had been too strong. He knew how he was planning on doing it, had just needed to be sure of some details that wouldn't look good lingering in his search history.

He had decided on location early on. His cottage. It was so private, he could be sure he would be alone. Could make sure no one else would have to be involved. And he would tell people he was going there, choose a couple of days in the middle of things so he would be expected back quickly. Someone would look for him there within at least a few days, so it wouldn't be a long drawn out process. If everyone was lucky, they could probably wrap the whole thing up - realising he was missing all the way to the funeral - in a week or two. Smooth.

His to-do list was his only physical - or non brain only - proof he was planning anything, and he thought it was innocuous enough, sitting innocently in his daily planner, to not draw any red flags from anyone who might accidentally glimpse it. He had resisted the draw of it for a while, but having things written down so he could see them and cross them off made him feel more in control. Gave him a visual on how close he was getting, made it easier to make it through the rest of his life when he could see he didn't have too much more to get through.

"So we're thinking it'll be like a scholarship," Shane explained to Hayden and JJ as they laced their skates. He'd arrived to practice only just on time because he'd been at a meeting for his work in progress charity, and had mentioned it offhandedly to his friends, who had then immediately pressured him for more. "A, um, like, grant for underprivileged kids who like hockey but just don't have the funds to keep playing?"

"Oh yeah, cool," JJ said, "like, to pay for the gear? It does add up a lot. I was lucky my pee-wee team had all the gear provided for us, my parents weren't going to spend anything on hockey until I could prove I was gonna stick with it."

"Same," Hayden said with a snort, "I was still borrowing gear from a neighbour until I was fifteen and my dad finally said he thought I could have a career in, uh, what was it, jockey?"

"Shut up," JJ laughed, "he did not."

"Seriously he did," Hayden shot back, shaking his head. "Shane, maybe your scholarship could go to educating the un-sporty parents of hockey players."

"Yeah, that would go down great," Shane snarked, "okay, I've changed my mind, I don't care about underprivileged kids, I just want their parents to be able to tell a deke from a fucking sneak."

"By underprivileged, you mean like, coloured kids, right?" Anders asked from the bench opposite, where he was taping his stick. "This is one of those people of colour out-reach things that everyone says isn't racist but totally is?"

Shane's brain stalled out.

"Dude," JJ said stiffly, "what the hell are you talking about?"

"Because it sounds like you're talking out of your ass," Hayden added in, turning around so he could fold his arms at Anders.

"Nah," Anders scoffed, not put off at all by Hayden's posturing or JJ's annoyance. "You guys know what I'm talking about. They're everywhere these days, like, I was gonna go to uni first, y'know? But the scholarship spot I wanted was taken by this black guy just because he was black and the uni needed to fill a quota. I mean, obviously I ended up with the better end of the deal, I'm here, but still. You know what I'm talking about!"

"Calisse," JJ snapped, "I do not think you know what you are talking about, or who you're talking to -"

"I get it," Marcotte joined in. "Luce had the same thing when she was getting into university. Like, half the scholarships were all specifically for non-white people, which is racist as fuck when you think about it. She does psychology or something like that, and she was telling me about all these scholarships she found that would be perfect for her if she was like, a native, or black, or like, Latina or whatever."

"Latina chicks are so hot," Vinny called from across the room, and several guys cheered their agreement.

The original topic derailed into which ethnicity had the hottest women.

"I'm sorry," Shane said to JJ, under cover of the raucous conversation happening around them. "That was fucked up."

"They're fucked up," JJ agreed sourly, but thumped Shane's shoulder, shook his head. "Mon ami, it is not our fault they have small minds. It is difficult to encourage them to open wider when they keep getting distracted by breast talk."

"Like you don't get distracted by breast talk," Hayden said, "you took a puck to the stomach last week when Barker's wife walked in."

"Ah, yes," JJ shrugged, grinned, "but I was looking at her beautiful ass."

FROM LILY

-you are starting charity for babies?

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             TO LILY

                                                                                                                                                                  I am starting a charity for underprivileged youth in hockey. A scholarship that people can apply for, or nominate someone for.-

FROM LILY

-sounds fancy

-you are trying to win best person award?

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             TO LILY

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        I'm trying to do something actually useful.-

FROM LILY

-what will it be named? shane hollander charity? boring charity?

-if i join charity we call call it draft one and two charity

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             TO LILY

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   You're actually not funny.-

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           I don't have a name for it yet. We're still working out details.-

FROM LILY

-so there is still time for me to join and help choose non boring name?

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             TO LILY

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Are you being serious right now?-

INCOMING CALL FROM LILY

Shane answered the phone so suspiciously Ilya almost laughed. Managed to hold back because he was, actually, being serious right now, and laughing right off the bat probably wasn't the best way to prove it.

"Yes, I am being serious right now," he said, nice and firm. "I am not actually grinch, you know."

A pause, and then Shane's light huff of amusement. "Who's calling you the grinch?"

"No one," Ilya replied, felt lazily happy at the thrill of amusing Shane. "I am just making sure it is known, yes? I watch movie recently and think, hm, maybe him and me are a little alike, but not same. I also do not like Christmas, but I would not steal it. I am maybe like end of movie grinch, yes?"

Another disbelieving sounding laugh. He could imagine Shane shaking his head just slightly, the way he did sometimes while watching Ilya say dumb things.

"Okay," Shane said, "thank you for the, um, explanation? Back to the actual topic, though. You want to - what - run the charity with me?"

"Sure," Ilya said, shrugged even though Shane couldn't see him, needed to look casual.

He hadn't thought this through at all, but - if he and Shane were running a charity together than there would surely be more opportunities to see each other. It would be less dangerous to be seen together, because they would have more excuse, so then maybe Shane wouldn't be so… wouldn't end the thing between them. Wouldn't keep trying to let Ilya down gently with one perfect last fuck.

"People might find that weird," Shane said. "They would ask questions."

"So they can ask," Ilya shrugged, "why is this problem? We will not reply saying I am joining because I love to be inside you. We will say thing like, ahhh, we are neither of us grinches."

"We'd have to talk about it with my management," Shane said, "if you actually did want to be part of it. We would have to loop your agent in as well, that sort of thing."

"So much planning already," Ilya groaned, "if you want to say no to me, say no to me."

"That's not what I -" Shane began, cut himself off with a frustrated sounding sigh. "I'm not saying no, Il- Rozanov, I'm just saying it's probably going to be more work than just saying you want in, if you actually want in, and -"

"And you do not think I can do hard work?" Ilya interrupted. "I am lazy, yes, but I can still do work."

A short pause. Ilya considered knocking his head against the wall until he dislodged the stupid.

"I don't know that part of you at all," Shane said. "A lazy part. I think you're one of the - the hardest working people I know."

Too sincere, too kind, it felt like being stripped raw.

"You are ill?" Ilya asked, "Dying? To be being so nice to me?"

Shane paused a moment too long for Ilya's stripped raw nerves, and in the extra moment of silence, Ilya imagined Shane admitting that yes, he was dying. He had months left, maybe. He was sick. There was nothing to be done. The offer of anything Ilya wanted for a last time was not because Ilya was the one being put down -

"I'm not sick," Shane said, "I'm completely healthy. And capable of saying nice things. It wasn't that nice. I was just stating a fact. You're the one that made it weird."

Not sick, completely healthy. Ilya would feel more relieved if Shane's voice didn't sound so off. Before he could work up an appropriate response that didn't sound too much like he was a small anxious child, Shane spoke again.

"I have to go," he said, still odd sounding. "So, yes or no, Rozanov? If you want in, you can be in, I just need to let my management know so they can get a meeting on the books to work out how much you want to be involved."

"Okay," Ilya said, "yes. I am in. Uh - I will send you detail contacts of my agent?"

"Yeah okay, good," Shane said. "Okay. Bye. I - bye."

He hung up before Ilya could reply.

Things had not been weird with Marly since the threesome because Ilya had decided they would not be. Also because he had been avoiding being anywhere one on one with Marly and had been ignoring his texts and calls.

And this would have continued, allowing them to live in non-weird harmony, if Marly hadn't shown up at Ilya's door a week and a half after the threesome with a bottle of actually nice vodka and a determined expression. Ilya had tried to shut the door on him, and Marly had used his insultingly larger body to block the door, and then to push inside.

"The tantrum ends now," Marly told him, which was a rude thing to say to your host, even if your host was still attempting to shove you out of a closed door. "I gave you space, but now we're talking about it because this is fucking ridiculous, brother."

"You're fucking ridiculous," Ilya shot back, but gave up on trying to keep someone so obviously already in out. "Fine! Invade my house! Give me the vodka."

Marly held the vodka above his head like an asshole, and slapped Ilya's reaching hand away.

"Vodka for after," he said, "go sit down on the couch."

Feeling like a miserable child, a kicked puppy, Ilya dragged himself to the living area and threw himself into the corner of his couch, pulling his feet up so he could be a rock of discomfort. Marly sat down on the middle cushion of the couch rather than the other end of it.

"You have fucking never been so weird in a threesome before," Marly told him, flat out. "And I get it. Obviously you're actually in a relationship with Hollzy, he's not just a hook up. You feel differently about sharing him. Okay. So why the fuck was I invited?"

Ilya didn't even know where to start. With how wrong Marly was about him and Shane being in a relationship? With the fact that Ilya was never fucking weird? With telling Marly he could have left at any point? That he wanted Shane so badly he didn't know how to even say it in his own head without his chest beginning to hurt?

He took too long to answer, because Marly sighed, and his expression shifted into an oddly cautious one.

"Did -" he began, slow and clunky, "Did you feel, uh, pressured? Into doing it?"

Ilya blinked at Marly, and then snorted with a mirth so short lived it had fled his body before the noise had finished, leaving his chest feeling shaky and hollow. "No," he said. "I was one who suggested it. I asked for threesome, I suggested you, I - I maybe did not think he would say yes."

Marly's cautious expression was replaced with a very un-cautious exasperation. "Bro," he said.

"Fuck," Ilya groaned, covered his face with his hands. "I know."

"Why the fuck?" Marly asked.

"He was - I - He was being weird!" Ilya burbled in terrible defence. "I wanted to - to make him tell me why, and I thought - if I just - is what we do. I push and he pushes and then we - we - I thought I would push threesome and he would be mad and say no and then say what he really wanted, and he did not do this, and I say to him, we do not need to have threesome, I can tell Marly don't come, but he asks if I am chicken, and I am not chicken, so then you are there and I am - I am -"

"Jealous," Marly said. "Jealous, and acting like an asshole because you couldn't just tell him, what? That you just wanted him?"

"Yes," Ilya hissed, dragged his hands down from his face and stared into the middle distance because it was easier than looking at Marly while he said; "because we do not say this to each other, because we are not together, Marly. We are only hook ups. We can not be together, I cannot say how I want him to him, there is no point."

Marly whistled, low and long, and then reached out one hand to rest heavily on Ilya's shoulder, leaving it there even when Ilya instinctively tried to shrug it off.

"Swear to god," Marly said, "I never thought I'd see this."

"See what?" Ilya snapped.

"See you being the one wanting to lock down a casual thing. He doesn't want it?"

Sometimes Ilya could almost delude himself into believing Shane wanted him like Ilya wanted Shane. That despite Ilya's years of putting up barriers and pushing him away, Shane still felt the affection Ilya had for him, and returned it. That Shane would ask for more if Ilya let him know there was more to ask for.

But that would interfere with hockey, first of all, and hockey was Shane's number one, always. Even if Ilya didn't have Russia and his family looming over him, keeping him from throwing caution to the wind, they both had the NHL and locker rooms to contend with. Maybe if Ilya wasn't currently reliant on his job to keep him out of Russia he would be willing to give it all up if he could have Shane instead, but there was no point in pretending Shane would want the same.

"I do not think so," Ilya said. "It would be too much for hockey. He would not want to risk it. And I cannot. With Russia as well as hockey. I have not asked if he would want more."

Marly pulled a face, squeezed Ilya's shoulder tight.

"I get that," he said, "it's fucking shit as man. But also, like. If you're already hooking up in secret, why can't you be, like, boyfriends in secret? Or at least, like, more? I dunno."

"Is more dangerous," Ilya mumbled, "and I - I think I am maybe, sometimes, a little chicken. If I ask for more, if I tell him how I feel and he - Marly, you know I am big and scary, yes?"

"To some people, maybe," Marly snorted.

"Fuck off. I am big and scary and I - I am not doing an act, I am not pretending. But it feels like pretend when I am with him. When I think of saying real things to him. Like I am small and scared instead."

God this was embarrassing. This was why he never said this sort of shit. Fuck. He groaned loudly, and rolled off the couch so he could get some distance between him and this stupid, fearful confession. Marly let him go, but didn't do him the favour of turning back time, or telling him not to worry, he'd forget everything Ilya had said and done.

"Roz," Marly said, and for the first time since he'd arrived he sounded… not guilty, but something close to it. "I get, like, that talking feelings is, uh, hard, but. When you left - after we'd fucked - like -" he paused and scratched at the back of his neck, stared up at the ceiling, sighed, and continued. "Fuck, bro. He - Shane - like, we were kissing and then you left and he just stopped moving, and when I looked at him he looked so fucking sad, I thought he was hurt, he was - I asked him - look," he stopped again, his voice suddenly firm as he brought his gaze from the ceiling to Ilya's face. "He wants you so fucking bad, man. I dunno everything obviously, but I do know that. Like, if I saw someone look that sad on the street I'd think someone had fucking died or something. So. You're my best bro, dude, but I think you should go be small and scared and tell him how you feel anyway."

Marly's favourite movies were war movies and romances, and sometimes he delivered monologues that really fit into his specific genre. All he needed to do now was wave a sword around, or rip off his shirt or something.

"Maybe," Ilya said. "I am… did you hear gossip on how he is starting charity?"

Shane and his management worked fast. Two days after their phone call Ilya and his agent had already replied to what felt like a dozen emails, and had a video meeting set up for the following evening to discuss his involvement in the still unnamed charity. Shane had also texted him a heads up that his mother, Yuna, was apparently very unconvinced about Ilya's sincerity, so be prepared for some eyeballing. Ilya had texted back to ask if eyeballing was like rolling eyes, and Shane had replied with the rolling eyes emoji, and then a thorough definition of eyeballing which was actually useful because Ilya's first cursory search had been unhelpful. He'd also sent through a screenshot of his brand new STD test, with a reminder to Ilya to do the same before the game, which made Ilya grin, and then confuse himself by thinking too hard about it.

If he got his test done now and sent it, would Shane distrust that the results would still be current by the time the game arrived? Or would it be a good idea to do it, as a silent sign to Shane that he was… a little committed to Shane. If Shane would like that. In which case Ilya then wouldn't be able to hook up with anyone else in the meantime, which was. Fine, actually, even though he had thought maybe it wouldn't be? He didn't feel actually upset about the idea. Maybe it would be different in practice. If he went out dancing and turned someone hot down to stay loyal to someone who had never said they'd be loyal to him. Except that was what Shane had just done by sending his test through already, right? Fuck.

He kept thinking about what Marly had said. About being small and scared and doing it anyway. Which had basically been his childhood motto, before he'd hit his growth spurt, before he'd learned to always keep his shoulders back and his chin up. It was one thing to decide you were going to be brave, and another thing entirely to carry through with it. Especially when it wasn't something being pushed forward for you.

When he had been a child in Russia, becoming the best at hockey, winning medals, making captain, travelling internationally to play for Russia, he had been scared and done it anyway because it was all he could do, really. He was sent to practice, he was told what to do, he was signed up for events and competitions, he had coaches, and agents, and his father all arranging his next move.

Not something he could really ring up his father for help with - not that there was anything he could ask his father for help with, truthfully. Certainly not his agent or coach. He'd amused himself with thinking about making a meeting with LeClaire and asking if he wouldn't mind coaching Ilya through a game plan to make his feelings clear to Shane Hollander, ideally ending in the win of becoming a couple and not losing Hockey or Ilya's VISA, or whatever. LeClaire standing in the doorway calling out things like; you're coming in too fast on the left, Rozanov! Leave Hollander some breathing room!

He had Marly, but. Well. Marly's suggested play was that Ilya just be straight up and tell Shane that he wanted to be together, in whatever way they could be, and Ilya was pretty sure that was going to be too straight up for Shane.

So he was working on his own plan. He'd keep texting Shane like normal. A bit more than normal, maybe, their texts had sort of dropped off since the summer, and he wanted to build them back up. He'd be appropriately involved and interested in the charity. He would make a good impression on Shane's mama, Yuna, because he knew Shane thought a lot of her opinion. When they played in Montreal, and fucked raw, Ilya would stay as long as he could. Would try and apologise for the threesome thing. Or maybe more for how jealous he'd been of it. And then, afterwards, he would tell Shane about how he'd looked up their game schedules, and their next game in Boston was spaced evenly enough from other games, that if Shane wanted, he could come stay a full weekend at Ilya's house. That Ilya would like that. That he would cook for Shane to make sure he kept his energy up for a fuck marathon.

Marly thought this plan was a little long winded, but, he and Shane had been doing this for years. Spreading this out over a few months wasn't going to be anything in the grand scheme of things, and, Ilya knew Shane hated to be crowded into things. Liked to sit with an idea and think it all the way through. He knew on ice and off ice Shane were very similar, obviously, they were the same person, but the main difference was that on ice Shane let himself work on instinct, trusted his gut, and off ice Shane triple guessed his every thought, and only trusted his gut as far as his carefully regimented diet let him.

So long as Shane wasn't trying to end things with Ilya like Ilya's entire nervous system was convinced of, they had time to take things slow. Ish. The ish was vital, because also every moment Ilya wasn't getting to be inside of Shane, or touching Shane, or talking to Shane did feel a little bit like a moment wasted.

"You just thought it would be cool," Yuna Hollander repeated back to Ilya, her hands appearing in her video square to etch quotation marks in the air as she spoke. "That doesn't sound like someone who wants to be as involved as your agent made it sound."

Ilya winced. They had been on the call for three minutes now, two of which had been various introductions, and the last minute had been Yuna asking Ilya why he wanted to head the charity with Shane, and then her not finding his answer worthwhile. He had asked his agent to let Shane's management or whatever know that Ilya wanted to be as involved as possible, as much as Shane would let him. It was Shane's charity, but Ilya would love to have his name right underneath if possible. He'd left the wording to his agent, who seemed a little grumpy about having to do his job, and he didn't know what words Danya had settled on.

"I don't think the kids getting the money will care if one of the co-founders putting money into it doesn't have a deep and meaningful reason for joining, mum," Shane said, his voice almost too quiet over the laptop speakers.

Ilya would turn it up, but the lawyer on call spoke way too loudly and he would bust his eardrums if he turned it up.

"Maybe," Yuna said, visibly grimacing. "But the investors and donators might. It's harder to get backing for a charity if no one believes the charity believes what they're saying. So, Rozanov, why should someone believe that you're serious about this?"

Ilya felt small and scared right now. Often felt that way in official meetings that weren't just hockey coaches. He knew how to navigate those meetings, knew how to be just Rozanov, hockey player. But that particular part of him wasn't wanted right now. He needed to be Ilya Rozanov, person, friend of Shane, serious and real.

"In, um, in proposal document from last night," Ilya said, cleared his throat in an attempt to hide his stumbling voice, "It spoke about some of the children who would be helped, and why, and - and I think, obviously, anyone who is not bad person wants to help children have opportunities, yes? But also, the part I think which had me even more wanting to be part of this is the, ahh -"

He'd printed the entire document out so he could have a physical copy for the meeting, and he was very glad of it. Gladder still that he had been moved to highlight the parts he was finding himself needing to talk about now.

"- the mental health outreach aspect. Giving opportunity to children who are, um, struggling in different way. I saw research on how sports can help with mental health, and I -"

He had to pause again here, because he could see in Yuna's blank expression that he just sounded like he was talking out of his ass, like he had seen a key word in a document and thought he would sound smart if he repeated it. Instead of what was really happening, him stumbling around and around what he wanted to say. He spat it out.

"My mama was professional figure skater before she has my brother and me. She say often how much she miss skating, told me many times how skating was place she felt happy and safe. I think many times how if she was able to get her happy space again, maybe she would not have -"

Nope, couldn't spit it all the way out. He hadn't been planning on saying any of this, not today, not ever, actually, and he wasn't sure he was even physically capable of saying the words my mama killed herself.

"Sorry," he said, avoided looking at all the little squares of mostly strangers witnessing big scary Ilya Rozanov almost cry live on video. "I know is not the same thing. But is thing I believe in. Helping someone have happy place."

His phone vibrated on the desk beside him, and he glanced at it to see Shane had texted him despite being right there on the screen so there was a good chance Ilya had really put his foot in it and was about to read a telling off text.

FROM JANE

-I didn't know that about your mum. That she was a figure skater, or that she was dead. I'm sorry.

-It's brave of you to share that.

-I'm sorry my mum is riding you a bit hard.

"Oh," Yuna said. "Well, I - thank you for sharing. Is this a topic you would be willing to talk about more when we're further into launching the charity?"

"Ah," Ilya cleared his throat. "Maybe? I am not asking to be figurehead, Shane has much nicer head for this."

Yuna laughed a little, as did a few of the other little squares. That was nice. Also nice was that Yuna seemed to be content with his involvement now that he had peeled himself a little open, proven he did in fact have a stake in wanting people to be happy, despite the fact that he revelled in making stadiums full of people unhappy multiple times a week when he fucked their team in front of them.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            TO JANE

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  yuna is not hollander i want riding me hard ;)-

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     she is only trying to protect you from scary mean rival-

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                i am not offended-

FROM JANE

-Never ever make a sex joke with my mum's name in the same message ever again

-If you want me to ride you ever again

-Also you don't have to share more about your mum, or anything like that if you don't want to. It's not necessary for the org, my mum just likes to have a lot of different factors and plans in play.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          TO JANE

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  wow you are so unlike her-

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        least planned person ever shane hollander-

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 i bet you have plan right now on things to say in meeting-

FROM JANE

-Of course I do, it's the meeting plan.

Ilya had been noticing it, because it was Shane, and it was hockey, and he was basically trained to notice both as part of his job. He just hadn't been noticing it enough, or considering it enough, maybe. He was now, though, on Montreal ice, watching as the Metros warmed up on the other side of the rink.

All season so far Shane had been skating just beneath his average (amazing) level. A little slower, a little more hesitant. He was taking less shots on goal, which in turn meant he was making less goals. He wasn't part of the majority of assist points. For the first time in their entire career, they weren't neck in neck in points, Ilya was well ahead. Not well ahead in the way he was well ahead of most people, but much further ahead than he ever had been with Shane. And he had been putting it down to a bad start to the season, working through the rough patch of new Metros, new coaching staff, etc. Added stress of starting up a charity mid-season and being intimately involved in every step of it.

But a rough patch didn't leave a captain alone on the ice. Even in warm ups. A bad start wasn't a reason for a rookie to be able to push past his captain through the gate without a single word of rebuke from anyone else.

Shane wasn't close enough to centre for Ilya to casually skate over to ask what the fuck was going on, so Ilya cruised into Marly instead.

"Bro," Marly complained, steadying him and wrapping his arm around Ilya's shoulders.

"What is going on with Metros?" Ilya asked him, "They are acting weird, no?"

"They have been acting weird for a while," Marly replied, almost casual.

"You have heard something," Ilya said.

"I've heard rumours," Marly agreed, pulled a face. "You know what the Metros are known for."

"I know they were known to be assholes before Hollander made captain," Ilya said, narrowing his eyes at Marly. "And that some of the room was still very asshole, but less after."

"So I think maybe the less after bit isn't as true anymore?" Marly said, squinted back at Ilya. "I don't know, man. I've only heard a couple of things passed on from Vic, who heard it from Boizeau. They were in Juniors together for a year."

Boizeau wasn't even on ice tonight, he was here on the bench, but he had apparently twisted his ankle earlier today and was relegated to seat warming. He was leaning over the barrier and talking to Pike, the both of them sending glances every so often at Shane.

Shane, who was standing straight and confident as if there wasn't a visible circle of empty space between him and his team, flipping a puck from one side of his stick to the other while moving from crouch, to one legged crouch, to upright, to crouch, over and over. Clean, steady, impressive, a clever act to draw attention away from whatever disconnect was happening elsewhere on the ice.

Sometimes friends on different teams would cross the line on ice to go chat with their friends, and so long as no one was acting like they might cause a scene, it was allowed without a fight. Maybe when the charity got up and running, and his and Shane's names were printed next to each other without a rivalry in between, they could act like those sort of friends. Ilya could glide over to Shane right now and steal his puck so they could flick it back and forth together. Could ask him outright what fucking stank to high hell in Montreal.

They weren't there yet, so he barrelled over to St Simon instead, Marly on his heels, nearly literally, he was hitching a ride, his hands hooked into Ilya's gear.

"What's going on with the Metros?" Ilya asked without preamble. "Marly says Boizeau's given you the insider scoop."

"Ah," St Simon said, "I wouldn't say scoop. More like sprinkle."

"Rainbow or chocolate hail?" Marly asked.

"Silver balls," St Simon replied.

"No, those are the worst, Vic!" Marly groaned, "I swear I always think they'll crack my fake teeth."

"What sprinkle did Boizeau give?" Ilya asked, ignoring this tangent, and resisting the urge to add that sherbet sprinkles were the best, actually.

"He said the racism's really picked up this season," St Simon said with a frown. "Some of their new players apparently came with loud mouths and the ability to make the quieter racists louder."

Ilya frowned. "That is shit," he said. "Boizeau is being, ah, target? He is Hollander's friend, yes? Hollander is not putting stop to this?"

"Honestly," St Simon shrugged, "the way Boyz's been talking about it, it's not even directed at him, more at Hollzy."

"Oh," Ilya said, feeling very, very stupid all of a sudden.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes immediately landing on Shane. Pike had made his way over to him now at least, was warming up with him.

He had not forgotten that Shane was half Japanese, it just never really came up much in his mind. Mostly if he thought about it, it was about how Shane had inherited a lot of his mother's features, Japanese features, and how good they looked on him.

He knew, of course, there was a racism problem in the NHL, and everywhere the fuck else, but he thought maybe he had accidentally kept his head out of the deeper waters of it. His room was pretty good. Not always. Slurs got thrown around sometimes. Sometimes he put his foot down, sometimes he didn't. He tried to train his team in the art of creative chirping, and slurs were never creative. He'd had his fair share of other players trying to unsettle him by hissing shit like russkie at him, or calling him a communist, or a spy, or other stupid, naive things. Ilya was white, and nearly the best in the game, so how much worse must it be for anyone even a little less white? A little less good? Sure, Shane Hollander was perhaps the best in the game (PERHAPS), but maybe that was only acknowledged when he was having a good season. Maybe when he was in a rough patch, people stopped seeing championship winner Shane Hollander and just saw Asian man.

"He has not said anything," Ilya said. "Hollander. When we have spoken."

"I didn't realise you guys could speak without spatting," St Simon said, "your face offs always look so intense."

"Is act," Ilya said, "we are friends." God he hoped Shane wouldn't be mad at Ilya for spreading this. Telling people they were friends. How awkward it would be if Shane really was trying to put a stop to their hooking up, and here Ilya was tying them together. "We text often. He has not said a word of this."

"Huh," St Simon offered, "Maybe he's embarrassed?"

"He does get embarrassed easily," Ilya agreed. "Fuck. What do we do?"

"Uh," St Simon raised his eyebrows. "I don't think we can do much, man, it's their room."

"We kill anyone who says dumb shit in our hearing," Marly said easily. "And you tell Hollzy straight up that it sucks."

"Yeah," St Simon said. "That works."

"And," Marly added, "you fucking finally give me Hollzy's number so I can let him know I've got his back too."

"Ah, no, this is never, ever happening," Ilya said, turning to glare at Marly, who was still gripping onto Ilya's waist like he was expecting to be towed around all game. "You got one taste and that is it."

"I can get it off Boyz if you want?" St Simon offered.

The game was reasonably uneventful. Ilya got a five minute penalty for roughing, which was unfair, because Comeau had started it. Ilya had just finished it. Comeau looked better with a broken nose, anyway.

Boston won three to one, which was embarrassing for Montreal, particularly on home ice. They probably wouldn't have so thoroughly lost if they hadn't forgotten how to pass to their captain, but, say large wee. He also got a couple more penalties for only a little illegally boarding the two most recently transferred Metros. Matton and Whitcock? Something. The new ones who looked like they had heard they were allowed to be racist bullying assholes in hockey and joined up just for that.

He showered at the hotel before he left for Shane's, wanted to be able to fully scrub without his team joking about how he was getting clean for his Jane, because, yes, he was, and what of it? Stop laughing at him for scrubbing between his toes, what if they get sucked, huh? Grabbed a quick snack as well, downed a gatorade, had a quick little freak out.

"You're not asking him to marry you," Marly said, in a terrible attempt at reasoning him out of freaking out. "Just asking him to have a sleepover, basically. The guy's agreed to let you run his charity with him, I don't think you asking for more time to spend together is going to scare him off."

"Fuck," Ilya groaned, "it will be so awkward to be on charity board with him when he tells me he does not want me anymore."

"Not what I thought you'd take from that," Marly said with a sigh. "C'mon brother. Look, you pull yourself together and go give him a better time than last time, or I swear I will get his number from Vic."

"If you do this you will have to stop saying you are straight ally," Ilya shot back, startled out of his panic so he could be offended.

"Mm, nah, I don't think so," Marly grinned at him. "I'd just be his bro, who maybe he'd kiss. We're bros who've kissed, aren't we?"

"Fuck you," Ilya said, "and fuck off. I'm going. Fuck!"

Shane met him at the door with a kiss, and when Ilya pulled him in tighter to hold him in a hug, he didn't resist. Stood a little stiff for a moment, like he was unsure what was happening, and then relaxed into it, his face tucking into Ilya's neck.

Ilya thought about each little step he had thought about in his be small and scared and say it anyway plan, and took his first step that felt like a fucking leap over a chasm, his mouth pressed to Shane's forehead.

"Hi," he said, not the scary bit, "I missed you."

Shane made a noise like a cousin to a laugh, didn't pull away. "We just saw each other an hour ago," he said.

"Yeah," Ilya agreed, "not like this."

A moment of silence, Shane holding him back.

"Not like this," Shane echoed. "Yeah."

Ilya kissed his forehead, and Shane seemed to take that as the signal to move, because he pressed a dry kiss to Ilya's neck, and then pulled out of his arms, stepping away already.

"Do you want a drink?"

"Ah, you have anything other than water and your ginger water?"

"It's ginger ale," Shane said, "and yes. I got you coke. Um. I have it, and a couple of beers. There's vodka in the freezer. Unopened. I don't really drink much, so."

"Coke would be nice," Ilya said, finding himself grinning and following Shane to the kitchen.

Shane had got the coke for him. Maybe the beer and the vodka too.

"Um," Shane said, as he crouched slightly to peer into the fridge, "you, um, you sent your STD test a lot earlier than I thought you would. Um. I kind of thought you'd wait until like, the last minute."

"Ah, no," Ilya said, his cheeks bunching up with how wide his mouth kept going. He knew Shane would bring this up. "I thought, what if I do have little something? Best catch it early so it could be treated first and we can still have good time."

"Oh," Shane said, straightened back up with a coke in one hand and a ginger ale in the other. "And you didn't, um, take another test later?"

He wanted Shane to ask him outright. Took the coke from Shane and raised his eyebrows. "No," he said, innocent, "why would I take another test, Shane?"

"I just thought," Shane mumbled, cracked open his can, "usually you'd have a lot of, um, hookups in the time between sending your test and getting here. Right? So -"

"I did not," Ilya said, was not patient at all right now apparently. "Why would I have hook up when I have most perfect ass waiting for me in Montreal?"

He loved it when Shane blushed, loved to watch it flood over his face and fade down his neck. Could see the blotchy patches of it on his chest in his mind's eye.

"Oh," Shane said.

"Mhm," Ilya cracked his coke open as well, and then leaned forwards to kiss Shane again instead of taking a sip. "Do I need to ask if you had to take second test?" He asked, once he'd pulled back from the kiss again.

"No," Shane said. "It's just been you. Well. And Marlow."

Ilya groaned. "Fuck," he said, took a quick sip of his coke. "I should never have suggested we do that," he said, as dramatic as he could without getting too loud. Needed to edge his truthfulness with a bit of humour. "I was too jealous, whole time. Not fair to you or Marly or me, I think, mostly me. Watching how much Marly liked your mouth."

Shane didn't laugh at his dramatics, but he didn't frown either. Looked somewhat startled, or confused, like he was trying to work out the punchline.

Small scary steps.

"I like threesomes," Ilya said, reached one hand out to brush against Shane's arm, just touching. "And it was good. So sexy, yes? But I think, I think maybe when you have someone like you, threesome is less good. I want all my attention on you and all your attention on me."

Shane bit his lip, glanced down at Ilya's hand still resting lightly against Shane's bicep. "Okay," he said. "I think I like it better that way too."

Ilya nodded, took another sip of his coke. "Okay," he said. "Good. We keep it just us, then."

Their cans were abandoned, still more full than not, very quickly. Shane kissing Ilya and Ilya pulling him closer until the idea of doing anything but stumbling into the bedroom was absurd.

They kissed all the way, clinging and tripping over each other's feet, and still not parting, even as Ilya pushed Shane down onto his neatly made bed, climbing over him and pressing him down with his body weight.

"Get these off," Shane moaned, ducking his head to one side, Ilya continuing to kiss and suck at his newly bared throat instead. "I want you naked."

This was where Ilya would chirp him for being greedy, or needy, or something, but his mouth was too busy biting, and his lungs were too full of his own greedy need, so he just obeyed instead. Dragging one hand away from groping Shane's chest to unbutton his jeans. They had to stop kissing a little to get properly undressed. Ilya sitting up, still straddling Shane, to tug his own shirt off, and then to reach down and help Shane out of his shirt. Rolled off Shane to tug his jeans down and briefs down, kicking them off over the side of the bed inelegantly even as he rolled back to pull Shane's sweats off, pausing mid-pull to press a hello kiss to the wet tip of Shane's cock.

By the time they were both naked, clothes everywhere because Ilya had thrown them and Shane hadn't stopped him, Shane had shuffled up the bed to lean against the remaining pillows at the head of them, his legs bent and open in easy invitation, and Ilya settled happily between them.

"How," Shane began, pausing to gasp out a moan when Ilya reached between them to palm his cock, "fuck - how did you want to do this?"

"Hm," Ilya screwed his face up in mock concentration, gripping Shane loosely as he stroked him slow, his thumb dragging small circles over the head of Shane's cock. "I was thinking I would take my big cock and put it inside of you? Yes? Normal way?"

"Fuck off," Shane gritted out, rolling his eyes all big and exaggerated. "I just mean -"

"You have forgotten how sex happens?" Ilya asked, leaning in to kiss Shane's cheek, mouthing against skin, biting at the jut of his jaw. "Which bits go where?"

"You're such an asshole," Shane said, hips bucking up against Ilya's, cock dripping in Ilya's hand. "This is all you want, I mean. Fucking me. I kind of thought - I thought maybe you would ask for something more."

Ilya paused his kissing, but kept his hand working slow and steady on Shane's cock.

"You want something more?" He asked.

"I'm asking you that," Shane shot back, his chest heaving. "Wouldn't want you to change your mind again."

"Hmm, I see," Ilya said, resumed his kissing, dragging his mouth to the other side of Shane's face, bit at his earlobe. "How dreadful that would be, hm? I change my mind and say, actually what I want most is to fuck you in my own bed, hm? So sad, having to have sex again, yes?"

Shane groaned, his hands had been sitting warm and loose against Ilya's waist, but they clutched at him now, dragging down Ilya's sides to his hips and gripping him tightly. The way he was pressing against Ilya definitely did not seem like the kind of moves a man would make if he was about to say they were not going to have sex again. Or that they needed to stop meeting up.

"I just don't want to leave you wanting," Shane mumbled, tilting his head to the side so he could get his lips on Ilya's, kissed him.

Ilya was pretty sure that anytime he had to leave Shane, he was going to be left wanting. Didn't matter what they did together.

"I want this," he confirmed to Shane, when the kiss broke so they could breathe properly, "Is all I've been thinking about, being in you, how hot you'll feel, how sexy your hole will look -"

"Fuck-"

"Fingering you open and then pressing inside," Ilya continued, letting go of Shane's cock now to trail his fingers further down, pausing to squeeze his balls gently, rubbing his fingertips over Shane's perineum, and then tapping at his hole. "Just me in you, filling you up. Maybe eating my come out of you after, yes? Dessert just for me?"

Shane hadn't pre-stretched this time, which Ilya was very pleased about. He was slightly damp with lube and water probably from cleaning himself, but hot and tight when Ilya pressed the tip of one finger into him.

Shane huffed, and then pulled one of his hands from Ilya's skin, and shoved it into the pillows beside him, pulling out a bottle of lube that he dropped by his own hip before returning his hand to Ilya's.

"All I've been wanting, too," Shane said, his abs contracting visibly as he lifted himself minutely so he could rock down against Ilya's finger, "I keep thinking about it, all the time, you in me. I need it. You."

Ilya was pretty sure he'd never felt so driven insane in bed before. Had never slept with anyone who made his entire body rocket with lust and want, enough to make him sloppy and stupid with it. Smearing lube over the bedcovers in his haste to get it in his hand, bumping his teeth against Shane's as he surged into to kiss him harder while fingering him open. Swallowing down on the urge to say everything. To forget about little steps and just fucking jump.

Had to keep kissing Shane so his mouth would be too occupied to ruin his own plans, a very difficult sad thing to have to do, Shane moaning and gasping into his mouth, kissing back beautifully, biting at his lips whenever Ilya rubbed his fingers in against Shane's prostate in the process of opening him. Biting harder and whining when Ilya did it on purpose, rubbing smooth circles with focus until Shane lifted one of his legs and kicked Ilya in the back with his heel. A heavy thunk that made Ilya groan and laugh, and let up, kissing Shane still, slower so Shane could mumble about how Ilya was an asshole with magic fingers.

Ilya had gone raw with people before, because he had had an entire life time of being stupid and reckless. The fact that he'd managed to evade any serious consequences of his reckless stupidity was probably an oversight from management. Still, he hadn't for a long time now, because Svetlana had yelled at him for a long time the last time he'd gone without a condom with someone other than her. After that, he'd wrapped it before he tapped it, as Marly would say, with everyone, including Svetlana because she'd gone off her birth control as it was making her feel sick all the time.

It was immediately different with Shane. Ilya couldn't say if it was exactly physically different because he'd never fucked someone in the ass without a condom before, but, emotionally? Ilya was fucked. He was so fucked. He had fucked his cock slow into Shane, holding back from pushing in in one slow movement, half to savour the moment and tease Shane, and half to keep himself from coming immediately at the tight heat. At the want pumping through his body in a way that felt different to the lust. He wanted so badly for this to be his normal. Him and Shane. Shane's face lax and pink, mouth open on a long, low moan, like just this - just Ilya being inside him, not even moving - felt so good, so right.

He'd thought they would fuck hard and fast, they often did, both of them urging the other on. Chasing each other like they did on the ice, nearly a competition even as they worked together.

Instead he found himself moving slow, bracing himself on his elbows just over Shane's sweaty body, Shane's legs wrapped around Ilya's hips. Holding tightly to Ilya, and kissing him, only urging for deeper, please, Ilya, kiss me, rather than his usual litany of fuck, harder, faster, Rozanov, fuck.

Probably best to be moving so slowly, because it felt so fucking good he was sure he would have already bust if he had tried to go fast. This way he got to see so close up how relaxed Shane got, how loose and happy his face became, lips curving up into smiles between kisses. How his eyes kept brimming with un-shed tears like he felt so good it kept dripping out of him everywhere it could. Ilya's own eyes felt wet, so he tucked his face into the side of Shane's neck and breathed him in, sucked at his salty skin until he'd blinked all of the tears out, felt them trickle down his cheek and into his hair.

When he felt his orgasm, just under the surface from the very beginning, building up so tight and hot, he moved to wrap his hand around Shane's cock as well, and Shane batted his hand away, held his hand in his own, bringing it up to their faces. He cupped Shane's face, Shane's hand cupping his hand, and ground slow and deep inside him as he came. Made a noise he would have been embarrassed having anyone but Shane hear, guttural and needy. Shane's name bubbling out of him afterwards.

"Shane," he moaned, hips still grinding, Shane clenching tight around him, his head tipping back, coming on Ilya's cock like he had just been waiting for Ilya to come first. "Fuck, Shane, Shanya, lyubimyy, you are so perfect," Ilya groaned, "So beautiful, so sexy, I want to live inside you."

It took Shane a few moments, still coming and moaning while Ilya was saying stupid things, but then he laughed a little, eyes damp. "You want to live inside me?" He repeated, "I think you'd get bored."

"No," Ilya shook his head, fierce in this desire suddenly, "so many good and fun things to do if I live in you. Fucking you whenever you need it, eating you out, staying so warm, rubbing inside you until you come more times than you think possible and only word left you can say is Ilya. I think I would never be bored."

"You'd miss hockey," Shane said, his hand was on Ilya's face.

"I would be living in you," Ilya shrugged, "lyubimyy, if I was inside you all I would ever be doing is sexing you and hockey."

"How would that work?" Shane asked, his eyebrows beetled down over his eyes, "is it just your cock inside me, or are you shrunk down inside me, or is it more, like a soul thing?"

"All of it, any of it," Ilya decided, "we can change how it is when we need. I think we could maybe learn how to skate while mid fuck though, yes?"

"You're ridiculous," Shane said, shaking his head as if Ilya wasn't still inside him and Shane hadn't just come so hard from it that his chest was flushed entirely pink rather than blotchy with it.

"You are too sensible," Ilya retorted, softened the retort with a kiss. "I say I want to live inside you because you are so fucking hot and you want to know how I will be fitting. What is next, you want to tell me how much rent is? Hm, Mr Landlord?"

"Stop," Shane snorted, writhed underneath Ilya, though not apparently in any real need to escape from under him. "I'd let you," he said. "If we could."

Ilya kissed him again, needed to. His cock twitched hopefully inside Shane, and Shane gasped into his mouth, but he wasn't going to be getting it up for another hour, maybe half hour, at least. Felt like he'd come so hard he'd borrowed some orgasm from his next one. With a condom on, he would have pulled out already, wanting to make sure the condom didn't slip off. He would have thought that even without this necessity to move, Shane would have told him to pull out by now, but he hadn't. Had also let Ilya leave marks again, sucking bruises against Shane's neck where it would be visible even in his hockey gear. Ilya had thought it had been an anomaly last time, enough time between games for the hickey to fade, something like that. But Shane had a game tomorrow, and he'd tilted his head back for more hickies. Had pulled Ilya closer.

"Feels weird," Shane mumbled against his lips, eventually, his legs unfolding from around Ilya's hips, and lowering slowly back to the mattress, Ilya attempting to help, his hands hooked under Shane's thighs.

"Hm?" Ilya asked, rubbed his hand firmly against the pulse of a twitching muscle in Shane's inner thigh. "Your leg?"

"No," Shane shifted a little, moving so he could hitch himself up on his elbows. "My, uh - y'know. You inside me still, and your come."

"Feels weird bad?"

"I don't think so," Shane frowned at him, "we should have put a towel or something down though, I'm gonna drip it out all over my bed."

"Ah, no," Ilya smiled at him, "you forget I have already arranged clean up crew."

"What?"

Ilya kissing his lips again once more, grinned at Shane's confusion, and began moving slowly, sitting up as carefully as he could to keep himself inside Shane so he could get his hand in position to pull out, catching come and lube in his cupped palm. He gripped himself with his other hand, firm but not tight, and wiped his cock off, tapping the tip of it over his palm until he decided it was clean enough. Then he pressed the tips of the fingers of his cupped hand back into Shane's hole, feeling it twitch and spasm around him, and Shane gasped loud.

"That's the opposite of cleaning up," Shane said, not sounding like he really objected to it, as Ilya used his thumb to push the mess back into him. "Oh, fuck - Ilya -"

"I am just making easier," Ilya said calmly, shuffling backwards until he could get enough room to bully his shoulders between Shane's thighs. "Like sweeping, hm? Make one big pile first, and then deal with mess."

"Do not get a fucking dustpan in here," Shane began, and then cut himself off to swear when Ilya used the side of his hand to scrape up the come on Shane's stomach, "-Ilya," he moaned, "fuck that's gross - you can't put -"

He didn't finish his objection, moaning again instead when Ilya did his best to push Shane's come into his hole as well, his thighs flexing, the muscle still jumping in his inner thigh. Ilya pressed a kiss to the muscle, and then licked along it, lifting the leg as he did, propping it up over his shoulder, putting his mouth to Shane's come dripping hole.

Licked it once, and then licked his lips overly loudly. "Mm," he said, "delicious creamy pie."

"Oh god," Shane groaned, "shut the fuck up, oh my god - don't stop -" he added. breathless as Ilya licked into him. "Ilya -"

Once he'd licked Shane as clean as he could get him, pressing his tongue in as deep as it could go, he replaced his tongue with his fingers, took Shane's cock into his throat, and got him off again so quickly that Shane jolted like he'd been electrocuted.

He crawled back up Shane's body while Shane was still shaking and shuddering, and kissed the taste of him into Shane's mouth until Shane tugged him up to kneel over his chest, and sucked him off with equal speed.

After, they lay flopped against each other for several long minutes, just breathing, damp and sticky, but - not with come all over the bedcovers because Ilya was a very thorough cleaner.

Ilya took another small step. One Marly had promised to cover him for if need be. "We are not traveling until afternoon," he said. They had a game in Ottawa the day after tomorrow, and were taking tomorrow slow. "So, I was thinking, maybe if you like, I stay. Give you more orgasms. Wake you up with blowjob. Live inside you a lttle."

Shane looked at him, a little wide eyed, and then also wet eyed. "You want to stay?"

"Yes," Ilya shrugged, difficult to ape being casual when he could feel his heart beat against his chest. "I would like. You have nicer bed than hotel. And I think you would make such good noises for me if you woke up with your cock in my mouth."

Shane swore, blinked hard, wiped at his cheek. He nodded once. "Okay," he said. "Stay."

Ilya grinned, and Shane smiled back at him for a small moment before turning away, his head ducking down as he sat up.

"I have to shower," he said, "feel gross. Um. You can have one after me. Make yourself at home."

He vanished into the bathroom so quickly Ilya half expected to hear him start throwing up, he had been moving like it was an emergency. When no emergency sounding noises began, Ilya relaxed a little.

Shane had said he could stay. That was good news. Shane had then scarpered. That was weird news. Shane sometimes had trouble with situations changing unexpectedly. That was all. He was probably needing a few moments to get his head around a new schedule for the rest of the night and tomorrow morning.

Ilya was kind of looking forward to seeing what Shane's routines were like. Wanted to watch him brush his teeth, and change his clothes. Wanted to know what he ate for breakfast, and when he worked out.

He got off the bed when he heard the shower start in the en suite, and wandered naked back into the rest of the apartment. He collected his coke from the bench, and took a long sip, before fetching a couple of waters to take back to the bedroom with him. He considered poking around the main rooms of the place, but he thought about Shane coming out of the bathroom all damp and pink, and wanted to be right there when he did.

Sat back down on the bed after fishing his phone out of his jeans. Sent a text to Marly to let him know he'd stay the night. Realised he hadn't brought his phone charger. He draped himself across the bed to Shane's bedside table - he assumed this was the side Shane slept on, because there was a book with a bookmark on it, and a chapstick. Plus this was the side Shane reached to to get lube or condoms. The phone charger was there, plugged in and then pinned into position so Shane didn't have to grope for it every night. Ilya plugged his phone in, picked up the bookmarked book. A biography for some American hockey player Ilya hadn't even heard of. Okay. Boring. Kind of cute. He went to put it back down, but saw the real prize for his snooping had been sitting underneath it, a personal planner.

He grinned as he picked it up, not really intending on taking a deep dive, he just wanted - wanted to see how Shane planned his days. He liked the way Shane had his particular routines, the way he liked to line things up. He wanted to know if he appeared in the planner, pencilled in like; 9:00PM, dick appointment.

The book fell open easily, and he was going to flick through to find today's date, but his eye caught on his own name, his actual name, not Lily, and he paused.

It was a to-do list, according to the title at the top of the page. A lot of the items were already neatly crossed out, still easily legible.

1. Location

2. Method

3. Check valve

4. Check timer

5. Talk to mum about charity

6. Talk to lawyer about charity

7. Ilya

8. Suggest new centers

9. Ask dad to make his pies?

10. Tell coach away over the two day break

11. Tell H and JJ where

12. Pack for two days

13. Find way to hug H, J, the girls, and JJ without being weird

14. STD test

15. Get Ilya on charity board?

16. Ilya

It was nonsensical. The last three items on the list looked like they had been added in a different pen, and he kind of understood those three, but the rest? Location? Method? What valve? Why was Ilya in the same to-do list as asking his father to make him pies? Or talking to his lawyer? Why would he need a reminder to pack for two days to go away for a two day break? Why would him hugging people Ilya assumed were Shane's friends be weird?

It didn't make sense in the sort of way that was beginning to hurt Ilya's stomach. Like he was looking at something he could almost read but not quite, so close to understanding but not fluent enough to grasp more than the basic words.

He flicked through a few more of the pages, brow furrowed, saw other to-do lists, neatly crossed out lines of them. They were all titled. Things like mum's birthday, or, Photoshoot. Titled, dated, items making sense. The parts of the planner that were set out with the dates were all neatly filled in as well. Workouts, meetings, games, everything written down. He found what he had been looking for in the first place, although not in the exact wording. A little flower drawn into the schedule for nine tonight. He flicked through the next few pages, scanning for the two day break Shane must be talking about, and found it a week before the next Boston game. Two days with just the word cottage. Nothing else. Which was weird, actually. Especially when he flicked through a few more weeks of the planner and the only things written down were games. There was no little flower drawn after the Boston game following the cottage get away.

The bathroom door opened, and he looked up to see Shane standing in the doorway, naked, towelling at his hair, the towel covering his face.

"Um," he said, "I was thinking about the charity in the shower, and I know I - I was thinking about how we still haven't settled on a name for it, so I was thinking about, if you'd be okay with it, what if we named it after -"

He'd dropped the towel down now, revealing his face, and he stopped mid sentence when he caught sight of the planner in Ilya's hands.

If he had just looked mildly peeved, or rolled his eyes, Ilya might have been convinced that the weirdness of the to-do list had just been weirdness and nothing more. But Shane looked panicked. Scared.

"Shane," Ilya said, cleared his throat. When he let go of the page he was at, the book flopped back open to the list. "What is this?"

Chapter 3: (Not) The Last Chapter (because there'll be an epilogue)

The urge to just… run, to literally fucking take off at a bolt, was so overwhelming that Shane's legs twitched, and he fully dropped the towel he'd been holding. It felt like his organs had all hitched onto the running idea, felt like they were pounding and writhing within him, attempting to break through skin and bone and leave.

He watched as Ilya's face shifted through confusion into real concern, and Shane had just showered, but he felt filthy. He knew by heart what was on the list. What was crossed out, what wasn't. Surely there was nothing so… so revealing that Ilya knew what he was planning. Surely it couldn't be his to-do list Ilya was looking so freaked out over. Unless he was angry that Shane had written his name in there. Shane had no excuse for that. He'd just wanted to. Thought it would be safe.

He hadn't even considered that it might be seen. Ilya's name, the list, the planner. It was a boring looking book belonging to a boring man. What possible reason would Ilya have to pick it up?

"My planner," he replied, his heart jammed in his throat, the rapid beat of it making his words come out stuttered.

"This list," Ilya clarified, his voice sharp. He jabbed at the open book, and Shane wondered what word he was touching. Not that it mattered. "What is this list."

Shane's brain felt sluggish with panic, unhelpful. Usually panic made him sharper, quicker. On ice his panic fueled him. This felt like he'd been hit over the head and then shoved underwater, and he couldn't breathe.

"To-do list," he gasped. "It's nothing."

He could feel Ilya's eyes darting over him, as if he was seeing Shane's naked body for the first time, except instead of hot desire, his searching gaze was coldly clinical. Shane fought down the urge to hide, because he had nothing left to hide from Ilya, nothing on his body to tell on him except for Ilya's marks.

"It's nothing," Ilya repeated, disbelievingly. "Is very weird nothing. Plan for cottage holiday which needs both charity finished, and to fuck me beforehand?"

Shane winced, couldn't help himself. Ilya just casually talking about the cottage, which had, ever since he'd had it finished, been a place of comfort for Shane, but was now so intrinsically linked to his plan that the mere word made him feel guilty. He shook his head, unsure what he was trying to deny. He didn't know what Ilya thought he was looking at, didn't know how to find out without revealing too much.

"Shane," Ilya said, "what is method?"

If Shane's brain was working he could try and come up with an excuse. A method of travel. Of baking. Something. He had written the list to be purposefully obscure even though he'd never expected it to be seen, hadn't thought of how he might explain any of it. He shook his head again, vaguely aware that his knees were shaking, his skin erupting his goosebumps even though he wasn't cold.

He watched as Ilya closed the book, put it back on the bedside table, movements slow. As he stood up and approached Shane as if he was a feral kitten. Reaching down to pick up the towel before wrapping it around Shane's shoulders, wrapping himself around him as well. So warm and solid. Shane let himself drop into the solidity of the embrace, let Ilya take the weight off him so his knees stopped shaking.

If Ilya just gave him a little more time, Shane could think of a lie. A good one. Or maybe a way to distract him.

"My mama," Ilya said, voice low and rough in Shane's ear. "Her method? She swallowed whole bottle of pills. Sleeping pills. When I came home from hockey and found her I knew she was not sleeping. Too stiff. A lot of vomit everywhere. My papa said it was accident."

Someone was making a thin scared noise, like an animal whining in pain, and it took Shane far too long to realise it was coming from him, because it stopped when he swallowed down hard on the bile rising in his throat.

"Was not accident," Ilya said, firm, his arms tight around Shane.

If Shane wasn't stuck in the gelatinous panic, he would say sorry now. Would - would say how awful that was, he was sorry that had happened. He couldn't make himself say anything, if he tried, the whine escaped again, better to keep his jaw clamped shut, his throat closed. Better to suffocate.

Ilya didn't say anything either. He was still holding Shane up, but Shane was beginning to realise that the both of them were shaking. That Ilya was also breathing hard and laboured. If Shane had just turned down Ilya's offer to stay, if he had been less selfish, he could have kissed Ilya goodbye and left things in a good place. A safe place. Ilya wouldn't be here so viscerally upset his chin was quivering against Shane's temple.

"Tell me I am not understanding," Ilya said, voice thin, "am I?"

Could he convince Ilya that he had? That this was about a different thing that was apparently secret enough to freak Shane out at just the mention of it.

"I'm not a good liar," he managed to say, pathetic. "I'm sorry."

Ilya swore, low and vicious, and entirely in Russian. Shane recognised some of the words from hearing them on the rink, but it mostly faded into noise. He waited for Ilya to finish swearing, and made one last ditch effort to smooth things over. He was still stuck in his panic, but he could feel the numb, soothing effect of his body attempting to shut it down, heavy and cold.

"It's okay," he said, "you can leave. It'll be okay."

Ilya made a noise like Shane had stabbed him, and then he was drawing back, lifting his hands up to grab at Shane's face, gripped him tightly.

"Fuck you," he said, "I'm staying. And so are you."

Shane closed his eyes. The numbness had spread all over now, dampening the panic into nothing but an all consuming dread and exhaustion. It dropped words out of his mouth, smeared them into Ilya's fingers, his palms, as he tried to hide his face.

"I can't," he could hear himself saying from a far distance, "I can't, please. I've worked out how to make it okay. Please don't stop me."

He wasn't sure how they made it back to the bed. If he had walked the short distance, or if Ilya had carried him, or dragged him. He was pressed tightly against Ilya's chest, the both of them still naked, covered by Shane's blankets. His face felt sticky and tight, his eyes burned. He was still crying, he realised, just softly, a constant trickle from his eyes, a rough noise from his throat. Like all of the small bouts of crying he'd been doing over the last couple of months had built up a reservoir that had broken. Ilya had one hand on his back, a heavy warm weight. He was also talking, low and clipped, and it took Shane a few more moments to work out he was talking on the phone.

He lifted his head, a difficult task with how stiff his neck was, how sticky his cheek. Ilya looked back down at him, face all stiff shaking lines. he was holding Shane's phone to his ear and blinking hard.

"Yes," Ilya said. "I will." He paused, and then lowered the phone, looked at it, and then dropped it down beside him.

Shane swallowed, trying to ascertain if he was capable of speech. Managed to croak out; "who?"

"Your mama," Ilya said, bringing his phone free hand to brush at Shane's tear sticky cheek with his knuckles. "She and your father are coming."

Shane blinked at Ilya, attempting to align this statement with everything else. Couldn't make it work. His brain was so fuzzy and sore. "They can't come," he mumbled, "I've a game tomorrow."

Ilya swore, but his voice stayed low, and his hand on Shane's face stayed gentle. "We will see," he said.

"What - why did you call her?" Shane asked.

He wanted to push himself up, retrieve himself from Ilya's arms and get dressed. Felt more naked now than he had ever felt in front of Ilya.

Ilya stared at him, his mouth twisted to one side, and his nose twitched as he sniffed hard, ignored the tear that dripped down the side of his face. "You were shaking very hard," he said, "panicking. I wanted to call 911, you said no. I said your mama or 911 and you chose your mama."

That did seem like something Shane would do, if he had to pick. He didn't want any fuss, and at least his mother's fuss wouldn't be public. Except.

"She can't know," he said, too loud, the words hurt as they ripped out of him. "She can't - she'll blame herself. It has to be a secret, a mistake, no one to blame -"

"Shane," Ilya said, sounded like he was trying to sound firm but his voice broke half way through. He moved his hand from Shane's cheek to his mouth. Didn't cover it, just pressed his fingertips to Shane's lower lip. "I did not tell her. I said you were - you needed her. That you were feeling not good."

Shane breathed out in relief so deep he almost dropped his head back down onto Ilya's chest, but Ilya shifted his hand again, cupping his face by the chin, and said more.

"But if you will not tell her when she gets here, I will tell her."

That could not happen, but Shane had a couple of hours to persuade Ilya out of it, so he filed it away for a later problem, because as his brain was coming more and more together, switching back on after what felt like a hard crash reboot, he'd realised the more pressing issue.

"Oh my god," he mumbled, shoving himself upright even as his entire being complained about moving off Ilya. He scrambled sideways until he had his knees on mattress rather than man, fumbling for his phone as he did. "What - she heard your voice, she would have known who you are - what did you -"

Ilya had let him scramble off him, but he shifted further upright now as well and put his hands firmly on Shane's shoulders, squeezing him with a strength that seemed to sap Shane's own. Shane had managed to find the phone, but once it was in his hands he didn't know what his next step had been, so he let himself look at Ilya.

"I said to her who I was," Ilya said. He looked…upset, almost ashamed. "But I also - I did not want her to think that you were alone with someone who - who did not love you, so I told her I am your boyfriend. I am sorry. I know I should have said only friend. I was. Panic."

Shane's nervous system took one look at this, and opted out, exhausted still, so it left him staring at Ilya's contrite expression with a sort of blank surprise.

For a moment, the part of his brain that was always adding things and refining the plan, was pleased that this would add to the accident factor of things, even if his parents finding out he was gay and gay with Ilya Rozanov wasn't exactly ideal, why would he kill himself if he was in a happy relationship?

He pushed that line of thought away. Mostly because whatever he did next, it couldn't be the cottage, but also because, well, what if his mum and dad came here and saw him and Ilya and assumed Ilya was bad for Shane? That they were bad boyfriends for each other? Nevermind the fact that they weren't together, and Ilya had lied to Yuna about loving Shane and being his boyfriend. But. He would hate for them to have any reason to try and blame Ilya.

One of Ilya's hands moved from Shane's shoulder to his cheek, his thumb rubbing against Shane's cheek bone, and when Shane lifted his gaze back to Ilya's face from where it had drifted into the distance, he saw Ilya's face all furrowed, scared. He looked small inside his expression, like his and Shane's emotions were drowning him.

"Sorry," Shane tried, blinked hard, pressed his cheek into Ilya's touch. He lifted his hand - the one not still clutching uselessly to his phone - and cupped Ilya's nape. "I'm not - it's okay. I think - I think if you'd tried to say you were my friend she might not have believed you, even with you joining the charity, she still thinks it's just… for show, but saying you're my boyfriend is kind of a wild thing to, um, joke about? So. It's okay."

"You're not mad?" Ilya asked, his lips barely moving, like he didn't want to be asking but couldn't help himself.

"No," Shane said. He took a deep breath, focusing on his diaphragm, breathed it out slow. It was embarrassing how much he had fallen apart, and he was determined now to try and put it back together and keep it that way. "I'm sorry I, uh, scared you."

Ilya blinked at him, and then shook his head once. "You are still scaring me," he said.

"I'm trying not to," Shane defended himself, "I won't freak out again, okay? I'm - I'm fine now."

This did not seem to help, because Ilya shook his head again. "That is part of what is scaring me," he said. "How are you being fine? I find you have plan to kill yourself, Shane, and I did not even know you were feeling not good? You are feeling so fucking bad?"

Biting his lip, Shane shook his head as well, and looked away from Ilya's all too worried face. It felt very weird to try and have this conversation while they were both naked, but he didn't think Ilya was going to be pleased about taking a getting dressed break. Especially because he probably still needed to shower.

"It's not," he began, took another deep slow breath. "I don't feel… this isn't the same as with your mum, Ilya," he said. "It sounds like she was - was really sad. Depressed. I'm - I'm fine, okay. It's just easier this way, will be easier this way, for everyone."

"What the fuck," Ilya spat, his hand tightening on Shane's face, squeezing until Shane turned to face him again. "Easier? Fine? Explain."

He didn't know how to explain his reasoning out loud, how to make it make as much sense as it did in his head with words. He had to try, at least for Ilya, because if he couldn't get Ilya to understand he didn't think he could get anyone to.

"The only thing I'm good for is hockey," he began, and Ilya immediately made an annoyed noise. Shane squeezed his nape. "Let me explain," he hissed, and when Ilya shut his mouth, jaw clenching so hard Shane could hear his teeth grinding, he continued.

"I know this, okay? And I know that it doesn't extend past the ice, not really. I'm not destined to be a manager, or coach, or anything like that after I retire, and there's nothing else I could do that would - would be of any use to anyone. The whole point of me is to play really good hockey. That's it. And I'm not, anymore. I'm playing good hockey, but with the way my stats are going, by the end of the season I won't be. My team resents me. My coaches know I'm a waste of space and money. They can't get rid of me, because I have a contract, so they're stuck with a star hockey player who's already burnt out. I can let them out of it by dying. And - and it'll be better in the long run, for the team because I've already helped line up some new players who will be able to replace me pretty well. We're far enough out still from play offs that they can get a new line working, so that won't be a problem."

He finished with a shrug, re-focused his eyes on Ilya's face, had glazed over a little as he talked, and was upset to see tears dripping down Ilya's face again.

"Easier for your team," Ilya gritted out, "you think dying is best thing for your team?"

"Not just my team," Shane protested, cleared his throat, "for hockey in general."

"Forget fucking hockey," Ilya snapped, "what about your parents? You have some reason why this is best for them, too?"

"Yes!" Shane snapped back, withdrew his hand from Ilya, and folded his arms tight against his bare chest. "Because if I go now I'm not going to be dragging them down later. I won't be able to fucking disappoint them anymore. They'll get to keep the version of me that's good. Mum's favourite team has always been Montreal, and now she won't have to see me destroy it. She'll get to see my jumper in the rafters, and my name on the wall, because they'll do that as a memorial, and it won't matter that I've been so shit this season! I've never been a fucking easy kid to have, I know that, so if I can make shit easier for them at all, by going now, before I do actually get depressed, or crash out or something, then - then good!"

"Okay, so we ask them, then," Ilya declared, his hand had dropped from Shane's face when Shane had tugged himself backwards, but he still had one hand on Shane's shoulder. "Would they prefer memory and celebration of golden hockey prince, or alive son who will sometimes be annoying?"

"Shut up," Shane said, weak as an argument. "I know they won't say-"

"This is best for me too?" Ilya asked, voice a little louder as he pushed through Shane's words. "You think my life will be easier? You give me - what, these were goodbye fucks? This is why I am in suicide plan, so you can - fuck - give me what I want? You think this is what I want?"

"Yes!" Shane's voice rose as well, wobbling out of his control, his chest feeling shaky and hot. "Yes of course this will be better for you, Ilya! What the fuck am I? I know I'm a mistake. I know we have fun, I know I can't help myself because I want you so bad, but I know it's a bad idea. For your career. For Russia. This way there's - there's less distractions for you, and - and hey, maybe you'll win another cup with me gone!"

For a moment he thought Ilya was going to hit him, with how fast his hand pulled back from Shane's shoulder, like a backswing. He recoiled, flinching away from Ilya and his non-existent punch. They stared at each other, and Shane was opening his mouth to try and stutter out an apology, when Ilya burst into tears.

This took them both by surprise, both of them freezing. Ilya unfroze first, moving before Shane could do anything, climbing off the bed and moving with speed towards the door, shoulders shaking. He ducked to pick up his shirt from where it had been tossed earlier, and then just stood there, shirt in hand, back to Shane.

Shane had thought Ilya was going to leave. The room at least. Hard to fully leave without getting at least your pants on. But Ilya was just standing near the bedroom door, shaking all over, his sobbing hushed but still audible, and dreadful. He realised Ilya wasn't leaving, not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't think he could leave Shane alone.

"I'm not going to do anything tonight," Shane said. "I'm sorry. For hurting you. If you need to leave, you can, I won't - I promise I won't do anything."

No response. Shane had promised himself he would stay put together and normal, but it was like his tear ducts were connected somehow to Ilya's, because he was crying again as well. He was probably dehydrated at this point. Ilya too. He got off the bed slowly, detouring by his wardrobe to grab his bathrobe, shrugged it on, grabbed his spare as well, and made his way to Ilya.

He put his palm to Ilya's shoulder blade, and when Ilya didn't shrug him off, he draped the robe over his shoulders, moving around Ilya's body to tug it on more, unsure if he should try moving Ilya's arms through the short sleeves or not. Ilya made the decision for him, moving one arm at a time, stiff and jerky, letting Shane help, keeping his face covered with one hand at all times.

The robes were barely a fix for anything, but Shane needed to do something, and he had no idea how to even start making this better. The few times he'd been blindsided by having someone cry in front of him - a non Pike child - he usually patted their shoulder and said as little as possible. He wanted to wrap his arms back around Ilya as well as the robe, but he didn't want to crowd him when Ilya had just tried to leave and couldn't. Probably just standing there in front of him wasn't good either, but it felt worse to move away. His chest hurt so bad that the tips of his fingers were stinging.

"I don't understand," Ilya choked out, he had both his hands over his face, and his words were wet and muffled. "Shane - Shanya - I feel like biggest fucking idiot in whole world, thinking about - about making future with you, and you are so - so not happy you do not even want any future."

So many parts of Shane's brain felt like they had been lying dormant for months now. The part that was responsible for hope twitched, but was too tired to do much more. Of course Shane wanted a future. There just wasn't a real one for him now he'd fucked it up. He'd done it wrong. He couldn't be who he should have been. Of course Shane wanted a future with Ilya in it, if that was actually possible, but it wasn't. The reasonable, logical parts of Shane's brain knew that.

The part of his brain that handled grief had been working fine, he thought, because of how much he'd been crying, but the wave of grief rushing through him now felt agonising. Just imagining for a half second a future life in which he had purpose for living, Ilya, comfort, and knowing he couldn't have it.

"I'm not unhappy," Shane cried, didn't know why he was clinging to this denial so hard. "Ilya, fuck - if we could have - it's not that I don't want it -" he cut himself off with a sharp hiccuping gasp he couldn't stop, jagged.

Ilya's hands dropped from his face, and he stared at Shane, eyes red rimmed, eyebrows disbelieving.

Shane hated himself for this. Sudden, scorching hate for doing this to Ilya, for being the reason Ilya looked so devastated, hurt to the bone, like it was splintering through and leaking into his marrow. His hands reached out without his permission, wrapped gently around Ilya's upper arms.

"We can have," Ilya sputtered, shaking his head. "I am - we can figure out how - malysh, let me, please -"

"You don't want me," Shane said, "I'm too boring, too jealous -"

"Fuck you," Ilya scrubbed his knuckles across his eyes. "I want you too much. Stop trying to give comfort to me, Shanya, fuck."

Shane drew his hands back, but Ilya swore again and brought his own hands up to catch Shane by the wrists, and tugged him in close, tucking him in against his cheek.

Confused, but unwilling to pull away now he was getting to be holding Ilya again, Shane pressed in close, could feel their chests shuddering against each other as their breathing tried to even out, as breathless and shaky as if they had played a full period, barely able to stand. Shane's body ached as if he had as well, like his grief for Ilya, for a life he wanted but couldn't see a way to, had run out of heart strings to pull, so had began tugging his every other muscle, sinew, vein.

"Hurts," he mumbled.

"Yeah," Ilya agreed.

Ilya couldn't say how long they stood there in Shane's hotel-esque bathrobes, gripping each other tight enough that Ilya's hands felt like they were on the verge of cramping, but he couldn't make them relax. He was trying so hard to stay present - difficult to do when every time he opened his eyes and looked, he couldn't find the edge of the awfulness, couldn't begin to try and peel it up, get a grip on it. So much easier to let his mind slip into the back of his head and disappear into more familiar grief, duller, aching, rather than the sudden sharp chaos of a million new fears sprouting and crowding him.

A tug of war between past and present. Hearing Shane say this wasn't like how it had been with Ilya's mama. Listening to Shane describe himself as an object with one use, broken, heading to the trash sooner or later, so may as well be sooner. Remembering his mama listening to his father telling her she was useless, incapable. His mama crying and saying she wasn't good enough to be a mama, she couldn't do it right, they would be better off without her. Shane sure his parents would prefer his memory to his reality. Ilya at fifteen wondering if his papa would love him more if he was dead. Shane. In his arms. Holding him because Ilya had been upset. In the middle of everything else, Shane clothing him and holding him.

He'd put so many of his cards on the table and then watched as Shane looked at them without recognition, too caught up in a different set of rules.

He would try again. He was going to keep trying. He didn't have time to do his small scared steps, so he was just going to have to go with terrified fucking sprinting.

"What," he croaked, cleared his throat, rubbed his cheek against the top of Shane's head, where he was nuzzled into Ilya's neck. "What were pies for? In your list."

Shane didn't say anything for a long moment, his head moving minutely so his nose brushed back and forth over Ilya's skin. Then he sighed.

"Dad makes these really, really good raspberry silk pies. I like them a lot, but, they're not exactly, um, aligned with my nutrition goals. I just wanted to get to have one again. Figured it wouldn't matter to mess up by diet at the end."

Ilya both regretted and didn't regret asking. "What else were you going to eat?" he asked. "Yummy pies, what else?"

"I don't know," Shane mumbled. "Fried chicken, maybe. Real ice cream. Rocky road."

Ilya thought about his drafted plans for what he would have fed Shane if Shane agreed to stay a few days with him. He'd been thinking tuna melts. Maybe a chicken salad for dinner. Hadn't gotten very far, because he hadn't wanted to imagine the whole thing and then have Shane say no to coming. Would he have said no to Ilya, if Ilya had asked and not found the list? Would he have said yes, an added reason why his death had to be a mistake, because he had made plans? Would he have let Ilya buy and prepare food for him only to hear on the news that he was dead?

"You had not asked for them yet," Ilya pointed out.

"No," Shane sighed. "I couldn't - I didn't know how to ask without making it a thing. They would know something was… up. If I broke my diet for no reason."

"So you were just going to go without?"

Shane burrowed in further, like he could press his face into Ilya's throat, share the air in there. Ilya let the yes go unsaid.

"I am like raspberry silk pie?" he asked.

Shane's throat made a sort of clicking noise, a dry mouthed swallow.

"No," Shane said. "I wanted the pies. I needed you."

Ilya tried not to think about how he'd almost ruined what might have been their last time together. Had been insecure and jealous and scared. Couldn't help but think about it; about the way Shane said yes to everything until Ilya joked about leaving, a step too far. Shane accepting scraps of what he wanted. What he said he needed. Ilya's cock? Ilya?

He thought this might be the longest they had ever been in each others' close company like this without being hard. They were both in the bath robes with the front open, so they were still skin to sweaty skin for the most part. In any other situation, Ilya would have chubbed up again a long while since.

"Come shower with me," he said.

"I've already showered," Shane pointed out.

"With me," Ilya said.

In the shower they didn't speak. Ilya used a flannel and Shane's creamy body wash and washed Shane's body before his own. Wanted to touch every part of him without the underlying lust he usually touched with. Like he could imbue his fingers with as much love and affection as he felt for Shane and rub it into his skin like a moisturiser.

He washed himself with the same cloth, less careful and thorough, until Shane took it from him and took over.

Eventually, Shane rinsed the cloth out, draped it over one of the metal shower shelves, and moved back into Ilya's chest. With his mouth pressed to the hollow of Ilya's neck, hot water pooling, flooding, pooling, flooding, he spoke quietly under the rush of the water.

"You're not going to let me, are you?"

"No," Ilya replied.

"I don't know what to do, then," Shane said, tilting his head up and to the side, so he could look at Ilya without water running into his eyes. "I don't know how to fix it."

He sounded so resigned, so convinced there was this huge cavernous problem, that he was this problem.

"Okay," Ilya said, "so we will all work together to solve problem. I am not letting you go, yes? So I will help fix."

Shane's face had been shifting back and forth since his first shower, swapping between degrees of sadness to a bland blankness, like he had switched everything off to conserve energy.

"I'm really tired," Shane whispered. "I don't - I was looking forward to - to just stopping."

Ilya's mama had slept a lot, near the end. In bed was a common place to find her even before it became the last place he found her. She always lay alone in the dark room, never seemed to get any rest.

"I'm sorry, malysh," Ilya pressed his lips to Shane's cheek, hot water and salt.

They got out of the shower, dried off, got dressed. Ilya opting to put some of Shane's clothes on, despite the fact that his were perfectly wearable. He wanted to be inside Shane's life in a tangible way. For him, for Shane, for Shane's parents. They would be here in less than an hour now, and he had no idea what was going to happen when they arrived. He didn't think Shane's fears of them seeing him as he really was were going to be validated - was pretty sure Shane's brain was lying to him, but - he didn't know. Yuna had sounded shocked on the phone, but not disgusted by the surprise of Ilya calling himself Shane's boyfriend. Her tone towards him had even softened somewhat after he'd said that, unless he had been misreading her. He thought he was good at reading people, but as he'd just learned, sometimes he missed pretty fucking huge things.

He and Shane sat in the kitchen together, moving together like a single unit, arms bumping, not speaking again. They drank water. Finished off their sodas. Ilya spotted a pack of buckwheat and seed crackers, and they ate the entire sleeve between them, and then drank more water.

It was late now, and if it wasn't for the fact that Shane's parents would be here soon, Ilya would have tried to wrap Shane up in bed already, put everything off until tomorrow. Spooned up behind him to make sure he stayed.

As it was, they settled on the couch instead, Shane pulled in against Ilya's chest, Ilya's hand in his hair, still damp.

"This is a nightmare," Shane mumbled into his shirt. "I don't know what to say when they get here."

"Start small, maybe?" Ilya suggested, when Shane didn't say anything else, seemed to be waiting for Ilya to talk. "Unless you want to throw wrecking ball at ice instead of just breaking it?"

"What," Shane breathed, "hi guys, sorry for making you drive for two hours out of the blue, I was planning an accident for myself, but no worries, Ilya won't let me. Like that?"

"Maybe not like that."

They had only a little warning before Shane's parents came in. A murmur of voices in the hall, and then the rattle of keys.

Shane stood up, and Ilya watched as he physically built back up his facade of fine, shoulders up and back, head straight, expression switched back to blank. Ilya stood up with him, followed a step behind, so when David and Yuna stepped inside he was standing somewhat awkwardly to Shane's side.

For a moment it felt like a stand off, the four of them staring at each other, still and silent. Then David closed the door behind them, and Shake spoke, voice straining as he tried to keep it strong and steady.

"Hi," he said, "sorry. I'm sorry for making you travel. And that you had to find out about… me, like that, over the phone. That's not how I would have chosen to tell you."

"Honey," Yuna said, had started shaking her head the moment the first sorry left Shane's lips. "You don't need to be sorry for any of it. Your - Rozanov said you needed us, of course we came."

Shane's shoulders were still holding up, but Ilya could see the tremor in his shoulder blades, and he lifted his hand to rest his palm against the tremor.

"Exactly what your mum said," David added, cleared his throat, "you know we - we don't care either way, kid. I think, well, we did think you might be gay."

"Oh," Shane said.

"Well," Yuna shrugged one shoulder and stepped closer. "We thought it best to wait until you told us either way."

"You thought I was gay?" Shane asked, and Ilya could feel the muscles in his back tensing tighter, stiffening his posture. "You knew?"

"I wouldn't say we knew," Yuna shook her head. She'd reached Shane now, and she lifted one hand to his cheek, touched him lightly, was looking him over as if for injuries.

"We suspected," David clarified, "were pretty sure, not one hundred percent. We thought you'd tell us when you were ready."

Shane let out a noise so guttural Ilya could feel it in his palm through Shane's back, and Shane took a half step back, pressing into Ilya's hand, and away from his mother's.

"I didn't know I could tell you," Shane said, "how was I supposed to know it would be okay? You - both of you could see it? And you didn't think - didn't think I should know it was visible? Or that it was okay?"

Yuna was blinking, her face drawn into a tight frown as David stepped up behind her, confusion heavy on his face.

"When have we ever made it seem like it wouldn't be okay?" Yuna asked, "We've never been homophobic -"

"Um," Shane interrupted, his voice loud, and he flinched at himself like he hadn't expected the volume, but didn't stop. "Maybe I thought it wasn't okay when you tried to get me to date every single woman who crossed my path? Or when you talked to me about the racism I could expect from locker rooms, but didn't tell me about the homophobia? Every time you -" he cut himself off here with a sharp inhale.

He half turned away, like he wanted to run, too overwhelmed, but felt he couldn't. Trapped between wanting to escape and wanting to look strong. Because he might as well, he had already shown his hand, Ilya wrapped his arm properly around Shane, rocked Shane in against him so he could take some of his weight. He watched Yuna watch this, watched her eyes fill with tears. When he flicked his eyes up to David, his cheeks were already damp.

"Shane," Yuna said, "baby I'm sorry. I didn't - I didn't realise. You're right. We should have - should have tried to really say something."

Ilya allowed himself a moment of righteous anger at Yuna and David. For not having said something sooner, for not seeing Shane holding this secret so tight to his chest and letting him know he could show them. For any part they had in making Shane think it wouldn't matter if he died. Then he put the anger away, as well as he could, because Shane needed them right now, and Ilya needed them right now. Needed Shane to be surrounded by people who loved him and would tell him and apologise to him and tell him his apologies were unnecessary.

He squeezed Shane once, and then loosened his grip, and Shane pulled himself upright. Nodded.

"Shaney, sorry," David said, kind of a grunt, but heartfelt. "I love you so much, kid, I didn't want to hurry you, but, I could have told you that."

"Sorry," Shane replied, his eyes downcast. "For freaking out, I - I didn't mean to. I just got - uh - freaked out. Sorry."

Yuna stepped forwards again, face wet, and held her arms up, waiting. When Shane nodded, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in tight to her, one hand rubbing his back. David stepped in when Yuna drew back, and Ilya watched as Shane got hugged again, held close, David's hand cupping the back of Shane's head. He thought about raspberry silk pies. Charities. Leaving them a legacy to be proud of.

They were speaking to Shane, low voices, a comforting mumble that Ilya could imagine were affirmations of love, apologies, care.

When Shane pulled back, sniffing hard, he had a hand from both parents on each shoulder, keeping him connected. Ilya fought the urge to step in and put his hand on Shane's back as well.

"Is this - " Yuna glanced up at Ilya, holding his gaze for a half moment, "is this what was going on, honey? Feeling overwhelmed about telling us you're gay? Or about Rozanov?"

Shane glanced back at Ilya here as well, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip as he did, as if nervous, like he was thinking about taking this out and saying yes, that was all.

He turned back to his parents and shook his head.

"No," he said. Cleared his throat. "No. Uh - I mean, it was definitely part of the, um, the whole picture. The everything. But, um, no. I guess it's more about hockey?"

Yuna looked somehow both confused and like she understood. David was beginning to look uneasy.

"Okay," Yuna said, soft, "it's been a bit of a rough start, I know -"

"My stats are bad," Shane said flatly. "And getting worse. Every game, I - I have less ice time, less goals. I've put in extra hours, on ice, with trainers, physio, and I'm still getting worse."

She frowned at him, "you know I think your new coach is misusing you," she said. "Not giving you enough ice time, directing plays that don't harness your skills correctly -"

"If he was, wouldn't the other coaches point that out?" Shane cut in, he looked away from his parents, away from Ilya as well. Looked so much like he wanted to tug away from their hands on him. "We're losing a lot of games. If they thought putting me on would help, they would. They aren't, so. I'm the problem. Team morale is shit because of me. I'm a bad captain, and it's - it's embarrassing. They know I'm only being kept as captain as a diversity thing, and -"

"What?" Yuna cut in, her voice sharper than Ilya had heard it since his first charity organising video call with her. "As a diversity thing? Shane, you took this team to their first play offs in years, and then to back to back cups. You made captain because you are the best player they have!"

"I was," Shane said, nodded stiffly, "I'm not anymore. I'm - " He paused, seeming to struggle to put exactly what he was into words, and Ilya couldn't listen anymore.

"His room is bad," Ilya said, shook his head once. "Team is being racist, and homophobic, and - and childish. Shane - I played you tonight, I know how good you are, even without team having your back. You scored their only goal tonight. You are not the problem, team is."

Shane took a step back, and his parents let him, their hands falling to their sides, apparently well versed with Shane's need for a moment of space. He didn't look at any of them as he shook his head.

"That's what the league is like," he said, "it always has been. If I didn't try to kill myself about it as a rookie it's not like -" he paused, as if he'd just heard his own words, then he glanced sharply around, and left the room.

Ilya was left with David and Yuna and the weight of Shane's words pressing down heavy on them all. It was David who spoke.

"He tried to -" he began, choked on his sentence, cleared his throat, croaked out the rest; "- to kill himself?"

This was not ideal, probably. Ilya had already outed Shane tonight, it didn't feel fair to keep doing so. Shane had said the relevant part though, just not how he had likely intended to.

"Not yet," Ilya said, grimaced at his own words, his eyes flicking back and forth from David to Yuna's face, their expressions horror filled. "He had plan. And date to do it."

Yuna patted his shoulder as she walked past him, following after Shane, and David paused long enough to thank Ilya for calling them, before he followed Yuna. They closed Shane's bedroom door behind them.

A very large part of Ilya wanted to follow them in. To stick himself back against Shane's side. To protect him. He more urgently needed to take a moment for himself. Couldn't go hear Shane explain again why it was fine for him to die, to kill himself, to be thrown away. Thought he would probably scream, or claw his skin off, and he doubted those were useful things to do in this scenario. What were you supposed to do when someone wanted to kill themselves? The only techniques Ilya knew were to persevere, or kill yourself, and those weren't enough.

There was a tiny balcony jutting out from Shane's living room, and he let himself onto it, cursing himself for leaving his cigarettes at the hotel. Had wanted to be so good for Shane, hadn't considered how his night might get so fucked up he would be shaking with the need for something. The balcony had a thin metal railing, sturdy enough when he wrapped his hands around it to cling to as he dropped into a low squat. Pressed his forehead to the cold railing, hard enough he knew he'd end up with harsh lines pressed into his skin. Sucked in mouthful after mouthful of cool night air.

Yuna was the one to come find him, some point later. Ilya's arms ached, and his forehead was stinging, but he hadn't been able to bring himself out of his original position, pressing against the pain to keep himself here. He stood up stiffly when she opened the door behind him.

"David and Shane are making hot drinks," she said, her voice rough, "would you like one?"

He nodded body sluggish, but before they could move inside, she put her hand on his aching shoulder, and he paused.

"Can I hug you?" She asked.

He hesitated a half second before nodding, too tired to try and work out if it was weird to want a hug, or if she was only offering because he looked so obviously desperate to be held. She hugged him like she had hugged Shane earlier, rubbing his back and pulling him in tight. Held him for just long enough for the tears to rise back up in Ilya's throat, and then stepped back, moving her hands to hold him by the forearms, looking up seriously at his face.

"Thank you for understanding him so well," she said, voice quiet. "He - he showed us his…list, and I'm ashamed to say I wouldn't have seen it like you did."

Ilya shook his head, cleared his throat, and then cleared it again when his voice didn't work after the first time. It still came out weak, watered down. "I should have seen sooner," he said, couldn't meet her eyes, stared at the ground between them. "I was too - too stuck in my head. Thought he was - was wanting to end things with me."

"Ah," Yuna was smiling a little wryly when he glanced up at her, and she lifted one hand to pat his cheek gently. "That I don't think you need to worry about."

He followed her inside, waiting while she closed the balcony door, and moving with her into the kitchen, where the electric kettle was rumbling its way to a boil, and Shane was folded down over the counter, his head against his crossed arms, his father rubbing his back gently.

"Everything okay?" Yuna asked, as they stepped into the whiter light of the kitchen.

David looked up at them with a tiny, tired smile, and nodded, his hand still moving on Shane's back.

"I'm fine," Shane mumbled, not moving, "sorry. Just. Freaking out again. I'll be okay in a minute."

Ilya wondered if Shane had told them any of the truth about him, about how Ilya had lied about them being boyfriends. If it would look presumptuous of him to step over to Shane to try and help when his father already was.

"We're having ginger honey tea," David said to Ilya, "would you like one as well, or would you prefer something else?"

He would probably prefer something else, but he shook his head. "Sounds nice," he said, finding himself turning sideways to slide past Yuna and the island counter. "Thank you," he added, reaching the part of the counter Shane was face down against.

He put his hand on Shane's nape, because David's hand didn't seem to be moving that far up, and he wouldn't be in the way. David, however, stepped back, which wasn't what Ilya had been trying to achieve, and he would have said so if David hadn't begun taking mugs out of a cupboard, and Shane turned his head a little in his arms so Ilya could see one of his eyes.

"Hi, malysh," Ilya murmured, rubbed his thumb against the side of Shane's neck. "Exhausted?"

"Yeah," Shane mumbled back.

"You are being so brave," Ilya whispered, watched as Shane's one visible eye blinked, wet, and his head shook in a tiny no. "You are," Ilya insisted, ducked in to press his lips to Shane's temple, "this is so scary, Shanya, but you are doing it."

Shane turned his head more, towards Ilya, and Ilya pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth as well, unable to resist.

"You didn't leave," Shane said, as Ilya drew back. "I thought you might."

"No," Ilya shook his head. "Do you want me to?"

"No," Shane replied, quick. He sighed, and then began to push himself upright, leaning into Ilya when Ilya's body moved immediately to assist. "You'll stay?"

"Yes."

It was useful, a little, that they were all four of them tired and puffy eyed from crying, because it made it easier to forget to be self conscious about it. Easier to move as a team, all in the same grief boat. Easier to not feel awkward as fuck about going to bed with Shane while Shane's parents went to bed in the spare room. Ilya had never been so overtly… gay. Even with Sasha and Svetlana, with Svetlana knowing about him and Sasha, they had barely touched in front of her unless she was joining in. He'd never said goodnight to people who knew he was going to go sleep with a man he'd obviously had sex with before - if they had seen the list, they had seen the Ilya additions, including the STD test. It was exhilarating and also terrifying.

Shane also seemed too tired now to be freaking out about anything, let alone the gay thing. He'd tucked himself in against Ilya's side in the kitchen, and then stayed there until his parents hugged him goodnight.

In bed, Shane had lain on his back, and then tugged Ilya on top of him like a blanket, huffing until Ilya had conceded, and taken his weight out from where he was holding himself a little off Shane on his knees, and let himself weigh Shane down into the mattress.

Yuna, before they had parted, before she'd pressed a kiss to Ilya's cheek, had said they would start working everything out properly in the morning. To get some rest. Shane spoke quietly from under Ilya, his mouth moving against the crook of Ilya's neck.

"Mum wants me to go on IR," he said. "And to call out sick for tomorrow's game."

"This is good idea," Ilya said.

"Not very brave."

Ilya snorted, readjusted himself a little so he could nose at Shane's cheek until Shane lifted his face to look at him. "Taking what you need," Ilya said, "very brave. Better than bravery that makes you go out on ice and feel awful."

Shane looked at him for a long moment. "I need you," he whispered. "Please."

"You have me," Ilya replied, "I am yours."

Shane's eyes were heavy lidded - sleep dragging him down - but they were flicking over Ilya's face, finally coming to rest on his lips. "Kiss me?"

He kissed Shane, a press of lips, really. Then he let Shane lead, his tongue pressing into Ilya's mouth, moving slow and deep. Not pulling away until they were barely moving, lips wet and heavy, breathing slow. Fell asleep with each others' saliva in their mouths.

The following morning began with Shane having a panic attack, or a freak out, just give me a minute, in the en suite, his harsh breathing and the empty bed waking Ilya.

It was still relatively early, earlier than Ilya would have woken up if he'd gone back to the hotel last night. Shane was leaning with his back against the bathroom vanity, his face in his hands, and when Ilya touched his shoulder he jerked away, and then groaned, and leaned forwards before Ilya could pull back or feel more than the first uncertain sting of rejection.

"Everyone's going to know," Shane said, voice sleep and fear rough. "They're going to find out. And I have to be here, alive for it. Fuck - I don't - fuck."

Shane had grabbed for Ilya's shoulders, pressed his forehead to Ilya's chin. Didn't seem to want to be held, just to be able to hold on to something. Ilya rested his hands lightly on Shane's hips, relieved when they weren't pushed away.

"They're not going to know anything," he said, his throat dry as fuck. He should have brought water to bed with them. "The only people who are going to know what - what's happening here is who you tell."

"But I have to tell them something," Shane argued, "the - the coaches, the doctors. To be cleared for leave. They'll know I have mental problems, and it'll fucking spread, and - and then I'll probably be known as the crazy fag hockey player who's also Asian, and I don't want that, I just wanted to be normal -"

"If coaches or doctors or anyone tells," Ilya cut in, "they are in big trouble I think. They won't say anything. And if people start calling you this - crazy fag - fuck, I will be so much more crazy and so much more of a fag and they will have no choice but to call me it instead, and you will have to go back to being Shane Hollander, yes?"

Shane pressed his forehead in hard against Ilya's chin, and then nodded, lifted his head to look at him.

"That's a stupid idea," he told Ilya, swallowed. "So we're not going to do that."

"Okay," Ilya shrugged, leaned in slow, and when Shane didn't pull back or say anything, kissed him, pulling back just enough to mumble; "You want some cardio? Get stress out?"

Shane snorted against his lips, and slapped Ilya's chest lightly. "Perv," he said, "my parents are right next door."

Ilya feigned shock and horror, shaking his head dramatically, "Shane Hollander," he said, "so sex crazy! I was suggesting only a nice work out in your fancy home gym."

After they worked out - Shane running on his treadmill like he was trying to leave everything behind, and Ilya lifting weights and watching Shane run - they showered together, which Ilya intended to keep chaste because he was hyper aware of David and Yuna moving around the apartment, putting breakfast together. But what was he supposed to do when Shane dropped to his knees in front of him and asked to please get Ilya's cock in his mouth? He wanted Shane to get everything he wanted - except for one particular thing - and he also wanted Shane.

When he'd come, he pulled Shane to his feet immediately, kissed the taste of come out of Shane's mouth, and Shane had rutted against his thigh and come so quickly it made Ilya want to pin him down on the bathroom floor and devour him. He didn't do this, because they had to very quickly finish the actual showering part of the shower to try and avoid being so obvious about their non-showering activities.

He felt like it would be especially awful to be fixed with a knowing look by Yuna or David right now, because this didn't exactly seem like the appropriate time to have sex. In the middle of a… he didn't know what this was. Kind of a break down? Kind of an intervention? Like because Shane was in this weird mental limbo of being suicidal while not admitting that he was even actually sad was immoral. Not that he thought it was. Exactly. He might if it was him asking Shane for it first, but -

David had made coffee, and porridge. Thick and hot, with milk and honey and berries. Not from one of the little tiny oatmeal sachets Ilya had seen in Shane's cupboards that boasted about having negative sugars, and other boring shit like that.

Shane stared at the bowl when David put it down in front of him, and by the time Ilya had already shovelled a good portion into himself, Shane hadn't touched his spoon.

"You do not like?" Ilya asked, spoke through a mouthful of gloop in a way that was probably disgusting.

"No, I like it," Shane said.

"His number one requested breakfast in high school," David said, his eyes on Shane, solemn and knowing.

"It just, um," Shane said, cleared his throat, "not really - my diet plan -"

"Fuck the plan," Yuna cut in. She had been holding a mug of coffee, but she put it down with a thump like an exclamation mark at the end of her statement. "Baby," she said, her voice straining like she was working very hard on keeping a million things unsaid, or the volume down, "your plan was to die. So who cares about the diet."

Silence for a beat. David inhaled as if he was going to speak, Shane beat him to it.

"I wasn't going to break my diet until the day before," he said, flat, "and if I have to keep being here, then I have to - I don't get a break from living so I don't get a break from what comes with it."

Yuna looked like she might cry, or yell and cry. So did Shane. David looked torn, like he couldn't tell if he wanted to back up Yuna, or tell her to tone it down, or what.

"Okay," Ilya said, he cleared his throat of remaining honey stickiness, and put his spoon down in his porridge, and put his hand on Shane's nape. "Okay, Shanya, so have break."

Shane looked at him. So did David and Yuna. Ilya looked back at Shane, tried to ignore the rest of the room.

"You can stop," Ilya said, "go on break from being in this life, a little holiday from being Shane Hollander, yes?"

Shane frowned at him, leaned into his touch.

"Who do you want to be on your holiday?" Ilya asked, felt a bit like he was talking out of his ass, scrambling. "You wanted your papa's pies, yes? And rocky road ice cream. You wanted to make things with your mama. You wanted to get to have long sleeps."

He watched Shane's throat, constricting and shifting like he was trying to swallow something that wouldn't go down. Watched Shane's eyes go shiny around the edges, tears not falling, just blurring.

"And you," Shane mumbled.

"Mm, yes," Ilya agreed, reached out with his other hand to run his thumb over the jut of Shane's brow, where his forehead looked tense. "I will come on holiday with you," he said, "who are you being, on your break from being Captain Shane Hollander?"

"Shanya," Shane mumbled, his eyes closed. "Or - and the other thing you call me. melsh?"

"Malysh," Ilya said.

"Shaney," David offered.

"Honey," Yuna added.

Shane nodded.

"Okay," Ilya said again, finally risked a glance around at Yuna and David, and then back to Shane leaning into Ilya's hands. "So, malysh, moy Shanya, you are hungry, hm?"

"Yeah," Shane breathed.

"So we eat," Ilya said, "on holiday, only job is to look after body, body wants porridge, we give it porridge."

There were plenty of flaws in this, and Ilya was sure Shane could point them out, talk about nutrition, healthy eating, buzz words, whatever. He didn't, though. He just nodded again, opened his eyes to look at Ilya, and then picked up his spoon and started in on his porridge.

For a while no one said anything. They ate their porridge and drank their coffee in a sort of stunned silence. Yuna was the one to break it eventually, once she had watched Shane scoop up the last bit of porridge from his bowl and swallow it. She and David were still working on their own bowls, and Ilya was eying up the pot in the kitchen, considering a second helping.

"Well," Yuna said. "Seeing as Shane Hollander is unavailable right now, I should let Farah and the Metros know. Is that okay, honey?"

"What are you going to let them know?" Shane asked.

"I thought for today," Yuna paused, fiddled with the handle of her coffee mug. "Today we tell the Metros that Captain Hollander has a family emergency, because he does. His parents need him. And we tell Farah that he's burnt out, and needs time to recover. And we'll deal with tomorrow, tomorrow."

"One day at a time, Shaney," David said.

"Okay," Shane said. Caving much easier than his parents seemed to expect, judging by Yuna's slightly startled smile. "Do I need to - do I - do I have to talk to anyone today?"

"Not today," Yuna said.

Chapter 4: EPILOGUE

Chapter Notes

MONTREAL METROS MYSTERY; CAPTAIN SHANE HOLLANDER PLACED ON LONG TERM INJURY RESERVE

On Thursday NHL officials released that the Montreal Metros captain Shane Hollander has been placed on LTIR with an unspecified injury. This comes as an upsetting surprise so early in the season, and after no known injury incurred in game. When reached for comment, the Metros management would only clarify that the LTIR was not due to an injury related to hockey, and that they wished their captain the best in his recovery. Hollander's personal management has not responded to our request for comment, however they did publish a post in which they urged the public to respect Hollander's privacy during this time.

Our sports analysts are wondering what this will do to the Metro's hopes of going for a third cup this year - while their points so far this season haven't been as impressive as the past two years, without Hollander on the ice with them in the last two games the Metros have lost twice with embarrassing margins.

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METROS STILL WITHOUT CAPTAIN; MURMURS OF MUTINY IN MONTREAL

The Montreal Metros have been without their captain Shane Hollander, #24, for a month now and the team is still struggling without him. While it appears obvious to an outsider that Hollander was the superglue of the team, it appears that from within, this opinion is not shared.

We spoke with a couple of Metros who will remain unnamed, and they shared their opinion on their captain, his mysterious absence, and the cohesion of their team with and without Hollander.

-Do either of you know what is wrong with Hollander?
-Player 1; "Nothing real. We were told first that he had a family emergency, and then a couple of days later he was on LTIR, which makes me think that one of those isn't quite true, y'know?"
-Player 2; "Honestly I got the feeling that he just couldn't hack it."
-Hack it?
-Player 2; "Yeah. Hockey is a tough sport. A lot of big, tough men. He's bigger than like, a non-hockey player, but still."
-So you're saying he's not tough?
-Player 2; "I mean. If the skate fits."
-He's been captain for a few years now, and led the team to their first and second Stanley Cup in a decade. I would say you have to be pretty tough to do that, no?
-Player 1; "It's not like he did it by himself. People like to put all the glory on Hollander, but it was all of us that did it."
-Player 2; "He's a flashy player, but if it wasn't for the rest of the team keeping players off him, he'd be toast."
-Okay, so, we don't know why he's on LTIR then, moving on. Have you spoken with your captain since he went on LTIR? He still hasn't posted anything, or spoken with media. It has been radio silent from his camp.
-Player 2; "Nah. I know some of the others have, but if he doesn't even want to tell us why he's gone AWOL, I'm not bothering reaching out."
-Player 1; "He's not even spoken directly with management or the coaches, it's his agent, or like, his mum talking to them."
-Player 2; "Such a f**."
-Player 1; "Dude we're literally being recorded right now."
-Player 2; "So? I can pay a fine if I have to pay a fine, f****!"
-Neither of you are worried? If he's not even speaking directly to the coaches, this sounds like it could be quite a serious injury or issue he's dealing with?
-Player 2; "No, like I said, he's spoken with a couple of the other guys. He's just being dramatic. Which is why you shouldn't let f**s in the locker room."

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Cruz Control (CruzBennet)
Have you guys seen the article where hollanders teammates are like, literally calling him a f@g and saying he's basically out sick with being gay?

Hollah-at-me (hannah.h)
omg i thought i was seeing things like HELLO @MontrealMetrosOfficial control your fucking players???

--Puck me up (BB)
Kind of feels like maybe the reason these two players were willing to talk about an obvuious private thing s because they dont like hollander so like theyre giving a biassed as hell opinion

---24forme (J.Ten)
LITERALLY. They even said that Hollander is talking to other players, just not them? If I was the interviewer I would be wanting the other side ASAP

--Pass2me (Ana.L.)
We see you, homophobic racist ass journalism. Can't get to the real story so trying to prod it out with hate. Disgusting.

HOLLANDER HELD HOSTAGE?
Mumager VS. Tiger mum.

Some fans have brought up concern over Hollander's management being so closely overseen by his mother, Yuna Hollander. While Yuna has secured her son several sponsors, brand deals, and photo shoots galore, some say her control over her famous son is maybe behind his sudden disappearance - theories over re-branding him, or creating a fake drama to spice things up have been shared in internet forums…

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NHL Journalism offical (sillystupidsportsjournal) ✔
We wholeheartedly apologise and condemn our previous article in which we referred to Yuna Hollander as a 'Tiger mum', we were unaware of the racist connotations, and promise to move forwards and do better as a company. Listening and Learning always!

--Hoe-(2)4-Hockey (Nedra)
@NHLJournalismofficial wowwww! Now are we waiting for the apologies for all the other articles you've been racist and homophobic in, orrrr?

 

NHL UPDATES (NHLupdatesofficial) ✔
Montreal Metros bench six players after on ice brawl during open practice. Pike, Boizeau, Marcotte, Whitton, Comeau, and Anderson will be off ice for the next two games.

--Escargot fast (Ecarg.G.)
c'mon nhl updates, tell everyone WHY the fight happened :):):):)
[VIDEO ATTACHMENT]

---Wet Sheets (I.P.Knightly)
soooooo this is basically confirmation that the 2 players in that interview were Marcotte and Comeau yeah? Will they be fined for that?

 

 HOLLANDER HIVE ABUZZ AFTER HINTS OF A TRADE
Insider information suggests Hollander's team is discussing securing a trade to new team, rather than return to Montreal, leaving all of us wondering; what did the Montreal Metros do?

[KEEP READING]

BOSTON BEARS' CAPTAIN ILYA ROZANOV #81 TAKES TEN MINUTE PENALTY FOR PUNISHING HITS ON METROS DURING BOSTON GAME

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Shane Hollander #24 (ShaneHollanderHockey) ✔
I am pleased to announce that @IlyaRozanov81 and I will be launching our joint charity @TheIrinaFoundation at the beginning of next year. (You can see our official broadcasted announcement here.) (1/4)

Shane Hollander #24 (ShaneHollanderHockey) ✔
As many of you are aware, I have been on LTIR for the majority of the current hockey season, and while I have been unable to be on the ice I have been keeping busy with creating this foundation alongside Ilya, and the rest of the foundation's team. (2/4)

Shane Hollander #24 (ShaneHollanderHockey) ✔
The Irina Foundation will be raising funds and awareness for multiple organisations and initiatives for mental health and suicide prevention, and promoting inclusivity in hockey. (3/4)

Shane Hollander #24 (ShaneHollanderHockey) ✔
Thank you to all of my fans who have been sending me and my team well wishes. I will be back on the ice next season, better, stronger, and happier than before. Thanks, Shane. (4/4)

Ilya Rozanov (IlyaRozanov81)
@ShaneHollanderHockey I am looking forward to beating you in public games again, it is less fun winning in private ))))

--Phil Me Up (Philharmockey)
is april fools today?

--Alison Rozanova (Alison.R.wins)
Hi everyone shut UP my favs are interacting in real time

--Hoe-(2)4-Hockey (Nedra)
wait this is so cool! I saw the broadcast and I don't think I've ever seen Shane smile so much like ever not even in cup win interviews???

---Escargot fast (Ecarg.G.)
@Nedra OR Rozanov look so serious. Really nice tribute to his mum. When Yuna hugged him after his speech I did maybe cry a leetle bit.

 

Hollander Updates #24 (ShaneHollandeupdates)
[IMAGE ATTACHED] Such a cute photo from his dad's insta! Those pies look super yummy! He attached the recipe too, here

--Hollanovacane (HollanovisRealandCanHurtYou)
does anyone else think the hands in the corner of the photo look kindaaaaa familiar? Maybe sort of russian?

---Sashay-den (MakeTheSticksKiss)
hollanov stan seeing hollanov cathedrals everywhere smh

 

THE COTTAGE.

It had taken a while for Shane to stop feeling like he was going to drown when he went to the cottage. Drown in his own embarrassment, in the watchfulness of his family and friends, in the still present voice in the back of his head that reminded him he could still come up with a new plan.

He'd done it in dribs and drabs. For a while he only went to his parents' cottage, being in the vicinity enough to have both his parents worried if he was out of their sight for too long. Then he'd gone - with them, or with Ilya, and eventually with the Pikes - to his cottage for day trips. Packing a picnic to take out on the water in a boat. Going on a hike in the area, and then showering off at his cottage rather than his parents'.

When Ilya was able to get away for a four day break, they spent the first day together with Shane's parents in their cottage, and then two days just the two of them at Shane's cottage, before returning to Shane's parents'.

Shane had taken to thinking of the night Ilya called his parents as the eye of the storm. He had felt so calm inside it until he got tugged just slightly away, and then everything had been up in the air. His emotions, his future, his understanding of logical reasoning. When he looked back at it from a distance, the closer to the eye, the less coherent his memories were.

So it was nice that Ilya had waited until they'd made it into the outskirts of the storm, barely a wind tugging at their hair.

Two months since the eye, since Ilya had stayed with Shane, and held him, and drove a four hour round trip to go play his game in Ottawa and then come back to Shane because Shane didn't want to leave Montreal yet, and didn't want Ilya to leave him yet, and then stayed until the last possible moment he could get on a plane and not be late to the ice in Boston. And then Ilya had called. Every day. And wasted hours of his life flying first to and from Montreal and Boston, and then Ottawa and Boston, when Shane caved and allowed his parents to bring him home. All to say, he and Ilya had been talking to, and seeing, and touching each other the entire time, but they hadn't talked about anything outside of Shaney world, as Ilya called it, or, Shanya Hollandays, and Shane was grateful Ilya had let it be like that for long enough for Shane's brain to start storing memories and emotions in the correct places again.

He'd worked hard on that, with his therapist, and by himself, and with his parents. Sitting still with a compliment and refusing to let himself add a justification to it, or any amendment.

Ilya waited until it was just the two of them at Shane's cottage, had sat in the passenger seat of Shane's boring jeep, and held Shane's hand whenever it was free. He'd been to the cottage before, for one of the brief day trips, so he'd already had a tour of it, but Shane gave him another, just to be thorough. To point out the things he liked about it that hadn't needed to be brought up before. The well, the view from upstairs, the king sized beds, the electric blinds.

They hadn't had sex since the eye. Always in too close quarters with Shane's parents. Ilya had kissed him, and hugged him, but nothing more, not even getting in to the showers with him when the opportunity arose. Which was fine, obviously. In fact, for about a month Shane had felt negative horny, his body and hormones adjusting to medication that his therapist and his doctor promised him would not affect his hockey. He'd gotten over that hump, though, and now, with Ilya kissing him on his king sized mattress, with the blinds up and sunshine pouring over him, heating him slightly less than Ilya's kisses were, he very much wanted. Could tell Ilya wanted as well. Hoped Ilya had planned ahead and brought lube, because Shane couldn't remember if lube expired, and if so, was the lube he had here expired, and would there be enough, and would they need condoms, had Ilya tested again since-

"Oh god," Shane bit out, whole body tensing and then shaking as Ilya bit at the tendon in the crook of his neck. "Please, please fuck me Ilya."

Ilya bit him again, and then pulled back to look at Shane, eyes wild. "Yes," he said, hoarse, "yes, I will not last long, though, Shanya, I - it has been a - you know how long it has been."

It took a moment for the words to unfold in Shane's mind, too busy with Ilya's hands stripping him of his clothes with a brisk efficiency.

"Wait, what?" Shane asked, interrupting the undressing process by grabbing onto Ilya's forearms, wanting to look at him properly. "You haven't? With anyone else?"

"No," Ilya said, "let me undress you."

"Not since?" Shane asked, not letting go.

"Not since my stupid threesome idea," Ilya said, a little terse, then sighed, and kissed Shane much gentler than his words had been.

Shane didn't think he'd ever been so turned on by the absence of sex, before. Confused, as well, and suddenly very unwilling to be, especially after the kiss.

"Do you want to keep doing that?" Shane asked, and then when Ilya's eyebrows furrowed, expanded on it so he sounded less like he was asking for another Cliff Marlow threesome. "Not having sex with anyone who isn't me."

Ilya bit his lip, nodded. "Yes," he said. "I do want that."

Most of Shane wanted to take this assurance as an entire conversation and move on quickly to the part where Ilya was in him, fucking him, making him feel so good it felt unreal. The slightly more sensible part of Shane wanted to lock this down properly, the therapised version of him that had been instructed to let himself ask for what he wanted, wanted to ask Ilya if that meant they were boyfriends, and then - assuming the answer was yes - get Ilya inside him ASAP. His hands were already back to work on Ilya's clothes, Ilya's on Shane's, and the sensible(ish) part of Shane's brain and the rest of Shane collided slightly so instead of either of the first two options, he found himself pressing his forehead to Ilya's and gasping out;

"I love you, fuck, fuck me."

Ilya froze under him, which clued Shane in to the words that had come out of him, and for a half second there was the sting of fear based adrenaline, the catastrophisation like a film playing on fast forward in Shane's mind; Ilya saying that this wasn't that, Ilya leaving, Ilya not wanting any part of him, Ilya -

Ilya kissing him all lip and bite, and grabbing his face, and tears from one or both of them on his cheeks. "Fuck," Ilya bit out, "I love you. Ya tebya lyublyu, Shanya."

SHANE HOLLANDER STUNNING SKATING SOCIETY AGAIN WITH SUDDEN MOVE TO OTTAWA CENTAURS ANNOUNCED!

While the hockey world has been waiting on tenterhooks to hear where phenom Shane Hollander will be landing after taking a season off for non-disclosed reasons, it appears no one was expecting him to end up back in his home town. In a press conference on Monday evening, Shane Hollander stood up with new Ottawa Centaurs' head coach, Brandon Wiebe, and announced he will be starting the new season as Captain of the Centaurs, playing first centre, as before. Hollander went on to say that the Centaurs had pledged support to the Irina Foundation - a charity headed by Hollander and Rozanov - and he was looking forward to having his new team involved in the charity work.
Ilya Rozanov was also present at the conference, as the Irina Foundation spoke on their upcoming goals after Hollander and Wiebe finished speaking. Rozanov and Hollander were spotted sitting together and chatting closely whenever either of them were not speaking, and rumour has it their charity based friendship has grown into a very real, soulmate style, best friend situation, with Rozanov spending time with Hollander's parents as well.

When asked about why he left Montreal, Hollander cited 'creative differences', and then added on that he still had good friends in his old team, who he would miss playing with, but he felt there was no more room for his growth within the team. He refused to comment further, so we can only hope that one day he'll be willing to 'spill the tea', as they say.

Hollander fielded several questions about how he was expecting the upcoming season to play out, seeing as the Centaurs are notoriously a lower rated team, to which Hollander seemed entirely unphased. He told reporters that he was looking forward to working with his new team to tighten techniques, play styles, and more, and that he and Wiebe had already spoken in length about filling some gaps in play with a few more key players. Neither Hollander or Wiebe was willing to say which players they were thinking of.

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Bakaw Bockey (chickenhockeyplayer)
This is like if shane hollander moved back to his home town to play for his home team - oh wait - IT FUCKING IS WHAT THE FUCK OTTAWA IS WINNING EVERYTHING FOR EVER OUR PRINCE IS HOME

don't talk to me (Neil10J)
@A.M.F.U @Alison.R you both owe me $20.

--Alison Rozanova (Alison.R)
shut the fuck up & dont talk to me. Should have been Boston.

Hoe-(2)4-Hockey (Nedra)
Hollanov spotted close to each other and chatting? Fork found in kitchen.

Phil Me Up (Philharmockey)
is april fools today?

Chapter End Notes

Hi everyone! This is now for real the end of the story! Thank you so much to everyone who has commented already, I really appreciate it! I wanted to wrap things up without wrapping too tightly, so I hope you all enjoy having a bit of an outside view of everything during Shaney time Hollandays.
Once more, thank you to my lovely wife, whom I ask multiple times a chapter if I can read her what I've written, and then has to wait for me to write the next half of the sentence I left her hanging on.
Lots of love! xxx
Arden :)

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HR art by EtoileGarden