Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Zane Boodram, Wyatt Hayes, Brandon Wiebe, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Heated Rivalry (TV) References, Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Ottawa Centaurs Player Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Player Shane Hollander, Forced Proximity, POV Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Chaotic Bisexual Ilya Rozanov, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Light Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Happily Ever After, Ilya Rozanov Has a Crush on Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is in hell and he's the one who put himself there, Friends With Benefits to Lovers, Sex Lessons, Barely any hockey in this, I still only have a vague understanding of hockey, Emotional Sex, But they're going to pretend it's not emotional for a while, Idiots in Love, everybody wants Shane hollander, Mutual Pining

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-06 Completed: 2026-05-30 Words: 64,795 Chapters: 15/15

Playing Wing(Man) to Shane Hollander

Summary

Ilya clapped his hands decisively, the same way he did when the team was about to hit the ice. "Let me be your wingman. This will be fun."

He meant it. He wanted to encourage Shane to embrace this, to see if it could help take some of the edge off this tense, tightly wound man sitting across from him.

Shane bit his lip, and Ilya found his eyes fixating on his plush mouth. Ilya would have to organize a line, complete with a velvet VIP rope the first time he took Shane out on the town to get laid. He was stunning, and he seemed to have yet to realize it.

***
Shane is drafted to the Centaurs two years after Ilya. Ilya takes it upon himself to be rookie Shane's bisexual fairy godmother/wingman, and then immediately regrets it because he catches feelings.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

"Shh, shh," Ilya hushed his friends while he ticked the volume up on his TV. Svetlana drifted over to stand next to him, slinging her arm over his shoulder. None of their other friends could be bothered to pay attention, too strung out from a long night of clubbing in Moscow. 

The Ottawa Centaurs had the first draft pick. They had been abjectly terrible since they had drafted Ilya two seasons ago. But this year they had the chance to draft a player that could help change that. Coaches and commentators spoke about Shane Hollander breathlessly. When the Centaurs got the first overall draft pick, Ilya had stayed up late watching game footage of the player his team would almost certainly select. 

Even through grainy footage Hollander's talent was undeniable. What nagged Ilya was that he had no sense of Hollander as a person. Interview clips were too professional and polished. Hollander's social media presence was completely void of personality. Something told Ilya that this man was more than a hockey robot, but he hadn't seen evidence to the contrary yet.

"With the first overall pick, the Ottawa Centaurs select Shane Hollander!" The camera found Shane. He hugged his parents, then walked up to the stage to shake hands and accept a jersey. 

"He is hot," Svetlana said calmly, noting an objective fact. 

Ilya squinted at the screen. Shane was beautiful. His cheeks were turning pink from all the excitement, and his brown eyes looked warm and happy amidst the chaos. Ilya watched his face carefully, as if he could crack Shane's professional exterior through the TV. The broadcast moved on, and Svetlana lost interest. Eventually, Ilya switched it off. He wasn't going to learn anything about his new teammate through clips of the draft, it would have to wait until they met in the fall. 

***

"Shane, just calling to say we're so proud of you," Shane's parents had phoned while he was checking his gear bag for the hundredth time. David Hollander's voice was dripping with pride.

"Thanks, Dad," Shane eyed the clock. Plenty of time, but maybe he'd hit the road to avoid the risk of traffic.

"Call us after and tell us everything," Yuna meant every single detail. Shane knew he'd need to commit it all to memory, his first significant hockey moment that his parents couldn't be present for. 

Shane had been looking forward to this day his entire life, and the moment he got out of bed he was scolding himself for not enjoying every second of it.

Getting drafted by his hometown team should have been part of the dream, but the Centaurs hadn't been good in years. It was a terrible mindset to enter with, but Shane was preparing himself for a rookie year of disappointing, frustrating hockey. The elements were there-they had picked up Wyatt Hayes last season, an incredibly effective goalie. Zane Boodram was an excellent right wing, and Ilya Rozanov was nothing short of a revelation on left wing. 

If there was one thing that got Shane hopeful for his first day, it was the opportunity to play with Rozanov. Ilya had won rookie of the year when he debuted two seasons ago. Impossibly fast, lethal instincts, and he scored goals at a staggering rate. Off the ice, he seemed intimidating. Brash, unafraid of bad press, a partying womanizer. Everything Shane wasn't. 

Shane entered the practice facility early to meet with the head coach and trainers. Coach Wiebe was encouraging and warm as he laid out their plan for Shane's first week of training. As they pored over the schedule, the noise in the locker room built. By the time Shane exited Wiebe's office, it was at a crescendo. Loud music on the speakers, happy yelling from teammates excited to see each other after months apart. 

Many players slapped Shane on the back, telling him how excited they were to have him. Shane found himself looking for Rozanov while he laced his skates, but Rozanov was absent. As the team began to head to the ice, Shane started worrying. Maybe Rozanov was injured. Maybe there was a surprise trade in the works. 

A breath he didn't know he was holding escaped his lungs when he saw Ilya was already on the ice. It was the kind of thing Shane liked to do. Show up early for some time by himself, savor the silence.

As he stepped on the ice, Shane felt Rozanov staring. For a moment, anxiety started to build in Shane's stomach. Ilya's gaze was intense, hazel eyes fixed with a calculating expression that let Shane know he was being evaluated, thoroughly examined.

Then Ilya skated up and knocked his hand against Shane's shoulder. "Welcome, rookie."

Ilya smiled, a crooked, genuine smile. Suddenly Shane felt weak in the knees.

***

Shane was every bit as fun to play with as Ilya expected. He was precise and confident. For the first time since he'd started playing for Ottawa, Ilya felt hope rising in his chest. He still hadn't cracked Shane's true personality. The first few days Shane had just looked a little overwhelmed and extremely focused. 

Ilya would have to gloat to Svetlana next time he called her. Shane was prettier in person. He had freckles splashed across his cheeks, and his hair was thick and glossy, just begging to be tugged on. Svetlana would be so jealous that Ilya got to look at him every day.

As the first week of practice wound down, Ilya beckoned Troy Barrett over in the locker room. Barrett had been traded to the team at the tail end of last season. He and Ilya had gotten close, and Ilya had recently decided it was time for Troy to finally make a move on Harris, the social media manager for the team who Troy seemed completely infatuated with.

"Troy, when will you do something about your crush?" Ilya murmured to him. Most of the team had left the locker room, save for their goalie, Wyatt Hayes, who was on the opposite side of the room, and Shane, who was a few seats away from them. Ilya noticed Shane's eyes get shifty, he was eavesdropping. 

"Don't," Troy groaned. "It’s bad enough that I blush every time I'm around him."

Shane stiffened at the pronoun. Ilya chewed the inside of his cheek. Scott Hunter had come out a few years ago, and several players gradually followed suit. The commissioner wasn't happy about it, plenty of fans reacted poorly, but it did feel like the tide was turning in a small, infinitesimal way. Maybe Shane Hollander would finally disappoint Ilya, maybe his shifty expression meant he was homophobic. 

The Centaurs locker room was decidedly not homophobic. Troy wasn't broadly out to the league yet, but he had mentioned an ex-boyfriend once at a team party, and nobody had batted an eye. Ilya remembered the relief that washed over Troy's face. It was the same that had flooded his body in that moment. 

Ilya still needed to be able to go back to Russia, he couldn't come out to everyone and risk word spreading. But he had confided in Troy, and Troy had recently admitted to a "small" crush on Harris, so Ilya was determined to make it happen.

"I can always help. Tell him how nice you are, so funny, so cool. I am good liar," Ilya grinned. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Shane. Shane still seemed frozen.

Troy hung his head in his hands, clearly regretting that he had ever confided in his obnoxious friend. "Just...give me some time, ok? I don't even know if I'm ready, my ex just got married."

Ilya rubbed Troy's back in sympathy. In truth, he had hoped the crush on Harris was a sign that Troy was healing from his heartbreak, Troy's shitty ex who had cheated on him and gotten engaged last year. But maybe Troy did need a little more time. They could always go out, find some one-night stands for Troy. Casual sex always cheered Ilya up.

As Ilya considered their options, Shane finally picked up his bag and hurried out. Ilya's eyes followed him, questions forming in his mind that he wasn't sure he wanted answers to. 

***

"Come for drinks with us," Shane startled at the words that came out of Ilya.

 He and Ilya had been standing next to each other silently for a few minutes, watching the second line run drills. 

Shane considered it for a moment. Ilya had been kind of distant, aloof. Shane wasn't sure if he wanted to spend time with him. But this was probably valuable team bonding, it would be the responsible choice to attend.

"Ok," Shane nodded emphatically. Ilya's eyes flashed, his cool exterior breaking for a moment of interest. 

"See you there," Ilya slapped his shoulder and skated off.

***

Ilya was thrilled Shane had taken him up on the offer to spend some time with the team off the ice. Ever since his abrupt exit from the locker room, Ilya had been watching him closely.

 Shane hadn't seemed to react poorly to Troy since he had first learned Troy was interested in men. In fact, Ilya felt it was to the contrary. He noticed Shane watching Troy more, giving him lingering glances and wearing an expression of pure curiosity. It was too early to tell, but Ilya had a sense for these things.

"Shane! You made it," Wyatt patted the seat next to him, and Shane sat across from Ilya and Troy. Shane's eyes darted once, nervously, to Troy before settling on Ilya's face.

"Thanks for inviting me," Shane said. Ilya was oddly charmed by his formal, polite behavior. 

"Is important, team getting to know you," Ilya shrugged. Everyone was excited to have the rookie phenom on the team, but nobody seemed to have a good grasp yet on who Shane was off the ice.

If anyone could chip away at this tightly wound exterior, it was Ilya. Troy had arrived in Ottawa with a gloomy raincloud hovering over him and a complete inability to make small talk. Ilya had taken him under his wing, and Troy had slowly but surely opened up. Still shy, but now beloved by the team. Ilya could work that same magic with Shane.

"Ready for your first pre-season game?" Wyatt asked. Shane nodded without hesitation. 

"So ready. I think then it'll all feel more real, you know?"

Ilya knew what he meant. He had arrived in Canada two years ago desperate to finally face off against the best of the NHL. His first game had been a confirmation that he belonged, that he was where was meant to be.

"Montreal will be tough," Ilya murmured. It was the truth, they were the defending Stanley Cup Champs. 

Shane grinned. "I'm not afraid of them. I played with Hayden Pike, their left wing in Junior Worlds. You're better."

Ilya raised an eyebrow that clearly said "I am better than everybody," and Shane's smile broadened, an acknowledgement of unspoken fact. 

For the next half hour, Shane politely sat back while Wyatt, Ilya, and Troy gossiped about the league's upcoming season. Ilya made sure to give him some openings to jump in, but Shane didn't seem to take the cues. Ilya switched strategies. 

"How is it, staying in your hometown? Do you wish you were drafted to different team?" 

Something crossed Shane's face, a flash of conflict as he weighed his answer, before he shook his head. 

"I don't mind. I'm happy to be near my parents. I love Ottawa."

Ilya sat back, dissatisfied. Shane wasn't being completely honest, but Ilya worried that if he called Shane on his bullshit, Shane would clam up.

"What about you?" Shane leaned forward now. "What's it like playing so far away from home?"

"Great. It is everything I dreamed of," Ilya said. The answer was a slight deflection, and Shane seemed to notice. He gave Ilya a piercing look, one that made Ilya glance away.

Wyatt was forcing Troy to watch a movie trailer on his phone, some superhero film. Shane and Ilya had a modicum of privacy while their teammates were distracted. Ilya darted a cagey look at Shane again.

"It was harder when I first got here. Language, polite Canadians," Ilya waved a hand at Shane, who smiled. "All new. I feel like my words come out ugly, people look at me strange. But then I start playing and everybody loves me."

Shane nodded. "They really do. My parents were so thrilled when you were drafted."

"Ah, just your parents?" Ilya teased. Shane started to blush, pink tinting his cheeks. It made Ilya happy, seeing the first signs of Shane loosening up.

"I couldn't enjoy it. Too worried I'd have to play against you." 

Ilya's spine straightened at the compliment. Shane didn't seem like the type to flatter for the sake of it. The thought of Shane watching Ilya play for his hometown team, studiously keeping a clinical distance in case he would one day be a rival...Ilya couldn't stop grinning picturing Shane's serious expression as he watched Ilya's past two seasons. 

"Yes, I am nightmare to play against. Good thing we are on the same line," Ilya winked. Shane flushed a little, and he nodded eagerly. 

Just as Ilya hoped, Shane slowly loosened up, and Ilya learned a bit more about him. Like Troy, he seemed to barely listen to music, his face going blank when Wyatt and Ilya compared workout playlists. Like Troy, he ate some kind of high performance diet, and the two compared notes on meal prepping while Bood elbowed in and tried to sell Shane on the virtues of smoked brisket. Like Troy, Shane laughed quickly and earnestly at Ilya's jokes. 

Ilya had a half-formed idea. Shane seemed similar to Ilya's best friend on the team, an indication that he and Ilya could become close too. Maybe Shane and Troy's similarities—and the suspicions that Ilya had about Shane—could make him a good fit for Troy. At minimum Ilya could see it being a possible friends with benefits situation until Troy was back on his feet and ready to date. 

Ilya shelved what he knew was probably a bad idea for later and enjoyed the way that Shane's nose scrunched when he laughed. 

***

Shane skated up to Hayden during warm ups,who greeted him with a friendly smile.

"Ready to get crushed?" Hayden asked. He was a year older than Shane. They had gotten along well when they played on the Canadian youth team, and Hayden had texted a congratulations when Shane got drafted. 

"You wish," Shane hoped his tone was confident, and not as doubtful as he felt inside. The team had good pieces, but it lacked depth. Training with Ilya had been amazing, but it remained to be seen if they would work as well in a real game. 

As Shane skated back to the bench, Ilya called out to him. 

"Did you tell Pike we will go easy on him? He is worst player on the Metros."

Shane rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face. Ilya loved to antagonize, and he looked so pleased with himself when he did it.

When the game began, everything came into sharp focus. Ilya felt like an extension of Shane, exactly where he needed him, anticipating his every move. Playing with Ilya felt like pure instinct. Ilya's energy matched Shane throughout the whole game. Locked in and buzzing when on the bench, rabid on the ice.

The Centaurs won, and it was only then that Ilya's intensity lowered. He skated over and smacked a kiss on Shane's helmet. The affection from someone he had only known a few weeks short circuited Shane's brain for a moment. Ilya saw it on his face, and he looked upset with himself.

"Sorry. I am proud of you, great game. Will respect your personal space next time." Ilya patted his shoulder and skated off to give Bood a bear hug.

***

Pre-season drew attention, more than Ilya was used to. They were playing well. The team was clicking as a whole, but he and Hollander were getting the lion's share of media coverage. Talking heads on ESPN comparing them to legendary players, highlights from pre-season games. It felt premature, but Ilya could understand the appeal. They were incredible together. He had never played with someone who could keep up with him like this, it was intoxicating. 

The team wanted to capitalize off the attention, so they pulled Shane and Ilya for marketing materials and social media spots one afternoon before the season started. Shane was fidgety between takes, so Ilya tried to distract him. 

"Why is your Instagram 'Shanehollanderhockeyplayer?" 

Shane's head jerked towards him. "You follow me on Instagram?"

Ilya shrugged, trying to appear casual. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from bringing up the fact that Shane certainly didn't follow him. 

"It is very boring. Sometimes I look at it if I need to fall asleep." Shane blushed and narrowed his eyes, pretending to be annoyed. The smile that danced across his lips betrayed the illusion.

"Is there another Shane Hollander you could be confused with? Shanehollanderpornstar already taken?"

Ilya couldn't resist dipping his toe into a private game he had created a few weeks ago. See just how red he could get Hollander's cheeks. They were nearing peak flush, a tone that matched the fresh apples Harris had dropped off in the locker room this week. 

Before Shane could bite back with a reply, Harris beckoned them over. Ilya had to abandon his favorite game so he and Shane could pose for more photos. 

***

Ilya had stayed on the ice a little longer to joke with Harris. Shane went into the showers, rinsing off the stench of his hockey gear and the light layer of sweat he had worked up skating for promotional material. He heard Ilya walk in and glanced over. 

Somehow he and Ilya had never been in the showers at the same time. Their different cool down routines after practice must have meant the timing never aligned.

Shane was mortified to realize that he might never want to be in a shower with Ilya again. His ass was incredible, the kind Shane wanted to grab a handful of. Shane's eyes darted down for a second, quick enough to register that Ilya's cock was huge. For a horrible second, Shane's mouth watered.

He had been coming to terms with the fact that he was attracted to men. He had no idea what to do with that information. There had been girlfriends in high school, but zero exploration with men. Lately, Shane had found himself fantasizing about random guys. An actor on a TV show. A man at the grocery store. And now, for a sickening moment, his teammate and the man he had a burgeoning friendship with. 

Shane ran the gamut of these anxieties in the second that he took in the sight of Ilya naked, and his eyes flicked up to Ilya's face. Ilya was looking directly at him, something inscrutable in his expression, his eyelids looked heavy. Ilya raised his eyebrows, glancing down at Shane. 

Fuck. Shane was half hard. 

"Fuck off," Shane said, turning away for a moment. He couldn't help glancing back. Ilya was still watching him, his eyes traveling over Shane's form. His lips parted, ever so slightly. Shane was hypnotized watching a rivulet of water run over his bottom lip.

Against his better judgement, Shane stole a glance and was shocked to see that Ilya was growing hard. Adrenaline and fear shot through Shane's nervous system and he wrenched the dial on his shower to turn the water off, practically bolting out of the room.

***

Ilya watched Shane rush out of the shower with a sinking sensation in his stomach. For a moment his mind had completely drifted off, focused on the lust that clouded all reason. Shane looked incredible, and the moment that Ilya caught him staring, growing hard, felt like it had lasted an eternity. 

Ilya appreciated all hot people, he didn't discriminate by gender. And Shane was truly, staggeringly hot. If he was anybody else—not a friend or a teammate—Ilya would have asked for permission to get on his knees right there and take Shane into his mouth. 

The second that Shane rushed out, Ilya was filled with shame, regret, and fear. He switched off the water and wrapped himself in a towel, moving as quickly as he could to the locker room. They needed to talk about this, reset their status quo.

Shane was somehow already fully clothed, fumbling with a shoe.

“Hollander," Ilya wasn't sure whether to use his usual, swaggering tone, or something gentler. Either way, the name came out awkwardly, with too much purpose. Shane looked up, that deer in the headlights look Ilya saw when he had run out of the shower. 

"We can forget that happened in there," Shane bit out hastily. It was a more direct statement than the one Ilya had considered, but the point was the same. They could ignore that Shane had gotten hard looking at another man, and that Ilya had reciprocated because Shane was undeniably sexy, and that for a moment Ilya had considered dropping to his knees. 

"Sure," Ilya shrugged. Shane looked too relieved. Something coursed through Ilya, a familiar tingle he got when he could do something dangerous. "Or we don't forget. Is not big deal. I like men. I am bi. You like men, yes?"

Shane looked stunned. He half nodded, but he didn't say anything.

"You are not out?"

Several guys in the league had come out since Scott Hunter. Troy had been considering coming out publicly, it might not be too bad for Hollander if he did. It might even help him get laid, marking himself as a handsome, gay bachelor. 

"No," Shane fidgeted. "I'm not even sure what I...I don't know yet."

Ilya nodded. It took some people time to figure out their sexuality, and Hollander seemed like the type who needed to analyze every angle and possibility.

"Is ok to take your time. Troy is the only one I am out to. But you do like men?"

Shane sighed as if it defeated him. "Yes."

Ilya decided to barrel ahead. His strategy to help Troy this season was looming in his mind, his half-formed ideas for guiding his friend through the joys of casual sex began bubbling back to the surface. "If you want, I can help you."

"Help me?" Shane squeaked. Ilya almost laughed, but he knew he'd feel terrible if he did. Shane's tension confirmed what Ilya suspected. Shane probably had very limited experience, if any, with men.

"Yes. Wingman, take you to gay bars, help you use apps. Get you laid. I think you need to get laid, if looking at a man in a shower gets you hard."

"What's your excuse?" Shane shot back. Touché. Ilya felt a small thrill at Shane's quick chirp.

Ilya decided to ignore it, and clapped his hands decisively, the same way he did when the team was about to hit the ice. "Let me help you. This will be fun."

He meant it. He wanted Shane to embrace it, to see if this could help take some of the edge off this tense man sitting across from him. 

Shane bit his lip, and Ilya found his eyes fixating on it. Ilya would have to organize a line, complete with a velvet VIP rope the first time he took Shane out on the town to get laid. He was stunning, and he seemed to have yet to realize it. 

"Yeah, ok. I mean, maybe not here? I'm kind of...known in Ottawa." Shane blushed at that, as if Ilya hadn't seen his face plastered on ads the past few years. Whoever his manager was had really capitalized on Shane's marketability in his hockey-obsessed hometown. 

Ilya nodded thoughtfully, trying to run through their schedule in his head. "Not here, of course. First road trip?" 

Shane's shoulders lowered a fraction of an inch, tension beginning to dissipate.

"Sure, let's do it."

Chapter End Notes

This entire fic is borne out of Ilya being an omniscient bi fairy godmother for the whole Game Changers universe. Also because I love writing jealous Ilya, and I wanted to write him getting into a nightmare scenario of his own creation.

Heads up for the story that I couldn't really convey in the tags: the tone for this is going to be pretty light, trope-y, fun. I'm not going to write any detailed explicit scenes about Shane or Ilya with other people (there will be references to hookups, but I am just not very interested in writing a sex scene that isn't Shane/Ilya)

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Shane packed, unpacked, and re-packed his suitcase five times. He should have been focused on the first road trip of the regular season. He knew the match ups, had been reviewing game tape and plays. But all he could think about as he got ready was Ilya's offer.

Shane had been so relieved that their awkward moment in the showers hadn't affected things between them. If anything, it seemed like Ilya was even friendlier now that he knew they had a secret in common.

A few days before their road trip, Ilya had brought it up during practice.

"Do you still want my help?" Ilya asked him, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Shane had considered shoving him for a second, he looked so smug and excited.

"Yes. I don't really know what I'm doing, and you, uh..."

Ilya's smirk broadened. "You are right. I know what I'm doing. Will be good guide for you." Ilya looked out on the ice. "We do not have to, but think about if you want Troy to come."

Shane eyed Troy, who was laughing with Evan Dykstra.They hadn't gotten to know each other very well, but Shane liked him so far. Troy might not be out to the league, but he was out to the team. Maybe Shane could strike that balance, once he figured things out.

"That might be nice. But maybe just me and you the first time?"

Something softened in Ilya's eyes and he nodded. "Of course," his expression snapped back to mischievous. "Troy will be sad first time we all go out together. He is used to being prettiest man in the room."

Shane frowned, disagreeing with the implication. Ilya caught it and rolled his eyes.

"Take the compliment, Hollander. You are hot."

Ilya skated off, and Shane had been frozen in place, replaying the statement over and over in his head.

***

Ilya shot Shane a smile when he entered the plane. For a moment, he considered sitting next to Shane, but Wyatt beat him to it.

Ilya had done some research the other night, consulting his former teammate Ryan Price for Toronto recommendations. Ryan had come out right around the time he retired, and when Ilya called he had been absolutely useless at recommending any gay bars. Fortunately, he'd given Ilya's number to his boyfriend Fabian, and Fabian had helped narrow down a couple options that Shane might feel comfortable in.

As Ilya settled into his seat, he thought about his own early days of exploring his sexuality in Russia. It had been dangerous, which was part of the fun at the start. Sasha, his coach’s son, had as much to lose as Ilya, so they could trust each other. But the stolen moments and risk had lost some of their appeal over time. Moving to Canada had been a liberating experience for Ilya. He still slept with more women than men these days, but just being able to pursue the option with relative discrete safety felt like a weight off his shoulders.

Before Troy, Ilya had never had a queer friend. He was out to Svetlana, but she didn't share the same experience as him. By her words, she was “tragically straight.”

After Ilya had come out to Troy they would laugh about Ilya’s bad hookup stories or compare celebrity crushes. It felt like acceptance, external validation of belonging that Ilya wished he didn’t seek, but did nonetheless.

Ilya wanted that for Shane, to hold out his hand and share that bond. For as comfortable as he was in his sexuality, Ilya could sympathize with Shane’s apparent hesitancy. Ilya had needed to leave Russia to begin living a little more as his authentic self. Shane needed to be coaxed out of his overworking, anxious head, and Ilya was prepared for that to be a challenge.

***

Shane arrived at the rink vibrating with nerves. Partly because he didn’t want to face Toronto’s nasty center Dallas Kent, but mostly because he and Ilya were going to meet up after the game to go to a gay bar. Shane had paced around his hotel room earlier, waiting for details, a plan, an itinerary from Ilya. Finally he’d caved and texted.

Shane: Are we still on for tonight? After the game?

Ilya: Of course

That reassurance was echoed when Shane had stepped onto the team bus and locked eyes with Ilya. Ilya had smiled brightly and then winked.

Shane found himself sitting next to Troy in the locker room, and Ilya flopped on the other side of Troy, slinging an arm around him.

“Ready to make them regret their trade?” Ilya shook Troy a bit. Toronto had traded Troy abruptly after he’d fought his former friend, Dallas Kent. Nobody really knew the details, and now that Shane knew Troy, it seemed unthinkable that he had been the instigator of a locker room brawl.

“As long as you and Shane make Dallas look stupid, I’m happy,” Troy shrugged. Ilya nodded at Shane seriously, a silent command.

They proceeded to do exactly that. Ilya was on form that night, attacking all the weak spots of Toronto’s defense and chirping constantly. Dallas Kent couldn’t figure Shane out, chasing helplessly at times. Ottawa’s defense wasn’t steady enough, and they lost, 2-3. Shane saw Troy wrap Ilya in a grateful hug in the tunnel on the way back to the locker room, the sting of their loss softened a bit by the way they had crossed up Kent.

After they got back to the hotel, Shane quickly changed. In a brief moment of panic a week ago he had tried to research what to wear, and quickly discovered that there wasn’t a tutorial for visiting your first gay bar. So Shane had packed what he always wore, and he regretted it when he got down to the lobby and saw Ilya in a silky button up.

Ilya’s eyes traveled up and down.Shane waited for some kind of teasing comment about his boring outfit, a black t-shirt and jeans. Instead, Ilya flashed a crooked smile and nodded approvingly, shepherding Shane out the door. For some reason, it all sent a tingle up Shane's spine.

“So where are we going?” Shane asked.

Ilya shot him a look as they got in their cab. “Do you know Ryan Price? Retired the other year?”

Shane nodded. Ryan hadn’t had a particularly notable career, but he had come out right before he retired, so he had been on Shane’s radar, filed away with the handful of players that were like Shane.

“His boyfriend recommended this spot. Says it is fun, there is rooftop if it gets too loud inside.”

Shane was struck by the thought Ilya had put into this, seeking out recommendations and taking Shane’s comfort into consideration. He thought back to earlier that evening, when Ilya had checked in with Troy. Ilya was a young captain, but his ability to look out for his team clearly carried off the ice as well.

Ilya shot him a look. “You are staring.”

“You’re a good captain,” Shane said. Ilya laughed, a surprised, full-throated laugh.

“I have not even gotten you laid yet, you can save the compliment.”

***

Shane looked nervous, even more so than Ilya had anticipated. This might have been a bad idea, maybe they should have started with the apps. He had just thought Shane might appreciate having a friend at his side, and it wasn’t exactly like Shane could bring Ilya along for emotional support on a Grindr hookup.

They were standing at the bar and Shane’s eyes were darting everywhere, he was chewing his lip so hard that Ilya worried he might draw blood. His drink sat untouched, so Ilya leaned over to speak in his ear.

“Do you want something different?”

Shane blinked, eyes unfocused for a moment, before he realized what Ilya meant.

“Yeah. Honestly, I want a ginger ale, but that feels…kind of lame?”

Ilya shook his head firmly, and turned to the bartender to order one. Shane gratefully accepted it, and a couple sips seemed to settle his nerves a bit.

“Do you dance?” Ilya asked, confident he knew the answer. Shane shook his head, looking mortified at the thought.

“You can go, if you want. I’ll be fine,” Shane nodded to the dance floor. There were plenty of men that Ilya wouldn’t have minded dancing with, but it was the last thing on his mind right now.

“No, I brought you here. I stay with you until you do not need me,” Ilya smiled. Shane’s shoulders relaxed a bit.

“So,” Ilya took a sip of his beer. “Have you ever…with a man?”

Shane shook his head, and that worried expression came roaring back. It was going to take Ilya all night to peel back these layers of anxiety.

“No. I’ve only had girlfriends.” Shane shot Ilya a worried look. “Do you think that’s going to be a problem?”

Ilya frowned. “If someone thinks that is a problem, they are not worth your time.”

Shane’s nerves soothed a fraction, but Ilya could see the thought still rolling through his mind. In that moment, Ilya felt heartwrenchingly terrible for Shane. Shane was worried his inexperience would be an impediment. He was self conscious, and had no idea he was a catch.

Ilya considered pointing out some of the men who had been checking Shane out since they arrived, but he decided it would be too much. So he distracted Shane by talking about hockey, and Shane slowly grew more comfortable. There were now several men who looked like they were moments away from shoving Ilya off of his barstool, so he leaned over to Shane.

“I am going to go have cigarette. You will be ok?”

Shane nodded, and Ilya checked his expression. He looked like he was finally calm and centered. Ilya wanted to reach out and give him an encouraging hug, a shake of the shoulders, like he did when Troy needed a boost. But he had kissed Shane on his helmet once and Shane had looked like he’d seen a ghost. So instead, Ilya gave him a decisive nod and stood.

When Ilya got outside, he started mulling over Shane’s fears. What if Shane went home with a man who did make him feel embarrassed about his inexperience?

Ilya found himself wishing he could vet the man who would be the first to sleep with Shane. Hire a private investigator to do a background check, ask his co-workers and neighbors if he was trustworthy. If he'd be gentle, if he'd guarantee Shane had an incredible first time, if he'd make sure Shane came first.

Maybe this wasn't the best way to shepherd Shane on his journey of gay awakening. Maybe there was another approach they could take, one where Ilya wouldn’t be vibrating with this bizarre anxiety and overprotectiveness.

Ilya ripped through the rest of his cigarette quickly before ducking back inside. His stomach churned slightly when Ilya watched a moderately attractive looking man in an ugly fleece vest talking to Hollander.

Shane was stiff, and that worried Ilya a bit. He had seen how firmly Hollander would commit to plans, and he wondered if Shane would go home with someone he wasn’t particularly into, just in the name of executing his goal to hook up with a man.

Across the room, the man held out his phone, and Shane took it, typing his number in. Ilya felt two emotions. Relief, tonight did not seem to be the lucky night for this man if they were exchanging numbers. Dread, this stranger had Shane's number and would be able to stay in contact with him, maybe planning to meet with him at a later date.

Before he could analyze why he felt so conflicted and judgemental over a man he hadn’t even spoken to, Shane was crossing the room.

"Who was that?" Ilya asked.

"Some guy named Matt. He works in finance?" Shane sounded like he had exhausted all of the details had learned about the man in the hideous vest.

"You are not going home with him?" Ilya had to ask.

Shane shook his head. “I don't think I'm feeling it tonight. I gave him my number. Maybe if I get to know him more, I’ll meet up with him when we come to Toronto next.”

It was all very practical, and very Hollander. Ilya tried to bite down on the twisting nerves forming in his core. He gave Shane what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "You will get laid in no time."

***

Shane sought out Troy when they boarded their flight to New York. Ilya hadn't seemed disappointed that he had been an unsuccessful wingman last night, but Shane found himself wondering why it felt so hard to just talk to a guy at a bar and go back to his place.

In the time it had taken Ilya to smoke a cigarette at the bar, two men had approached Shane. He had been unable to shake his anxiety. What if he was bad in bed? He didn't think he had been particularly impressive with previous girlfriends. As badly as he wanted it, he might not be any better in bed with a guy, and now that he was older, he felt there was less of an excuse for fumbling, for being embarrassingly behind where he should be. Shane liked to be the best, or nothing at all.

“Hey, Troy. Can I ask you something?” Shane had rehearsed this in his head many times.

Troy took his earbud out. He usually sat near the back of the plane, there weren't many people seated near them, but Shane lowered his voice anyway.

“Um. I think I like guys,” Troy's eyes widened, an encouraging smile stretching across his lips.

“And I want to try sleeping with somebody, but I'm worried…would you judge someone if it was their first time?”

Troy was trying to tug his mouth into a more composed shape, but it kept cracking into a grin that looked far too amused.

“No, and I wouldn't worry about it. It's not the same pressure as it is with straight people, where everyone is expected to lose their virginity by the time they graduate high school. It's common for someone to figure it out a little later.”

Troy's smile was so encouraging, and Shane couldn't help but slump in the seat a bit, tension releasing that he didn't know he had.

“Is there a specific guy?” Troy asked.

Shane shook his head. “No. But I've known for a while that I'm…uh…interested. And I'm ready to try,” Shane glanced around again, but nobody seemed to be in earshot. “Ilya took me to a bar last night to try to...um...meet someone, but I think I was in my head too much.”

Troy shook his head and closed his eyes in exasperation. “Yeah, that sounds like Ilya. His answer to everything is a one-night stand.”

Shane frowned at the thought.

***

Their road trip was fine. They won half their games. Ilya did not take Shane to any more bars, because Shane said he wanted to “regroup.” Ilya had to look that term up, and he still didn't fully understand what Shane meant. Maybe he wanted to draw up a battle plan when they returned to Ottawa.

With Shane's journey of discovery shelved, Ilya tried to turn his focus to Troy. He had determined that Troy was decidedly not suited for Shane. They were too similar, it wouldn't work. Better to point Troy far away from Shane, before he get any ideas.

Troy begrudgingly turned his phone over to Ilya to curate the DMs on his apps. Ilya responded to one guy with some truly filthy messages that made Troy turn bright red, but it worked. The next morning Troy looked slightly more at ease, and Ilya felt satisfied that he was helping at least one friend.

In the meantime, he was doing his best to make Hollander feel comfortable on the team. It felt like a victory every time he managed to coax Shane to go out for breakfast with a few of the guys, or a nightcap in the hotel bar. He was so at ease with Ilya, an extension of their bond on the ice. With the rest of the team, he seemed to still be more comfortable on the fringes, content to watch rather than participate.

Something about that both nagged and pleased Ilya. Nagged because he wanted the team to know the Shane beneath his quieter exterior.

Pleased because at least Ilya was excavating the real Shane.

Shane might have been a little quiet in group settings so far, but with Ilya he was incredibly inquisitive. Sometimes annoyingly so. Ilya had developed go-to answers and deflections whenever Shane asked about his family or Russia.

Shane had rigid routines and schedules and Ilya found that oddly comforting. He was boring, dependable. If Ilya wanted to go for a run, he knew he could find Shane at 8:30 in front of the hotel, ready for a jog.

On the flight back to Ottawa, Ilya sat next to Shane.

“Bood is having team over tomorrow for barbecue,” Ilya had heard Shane tell Bood he “might” go. They had rare off-days to capitalize on, Shane should come to this party.

Shane chewed his lip, that tic that distracted Ilya every time. “Maybe. I don't really want to eat brisket,” he admitted, and Ilya had to fight back a laugh. Bood would be crushed.

“I can tell Bood to grill chicken or salmon. I think Troy will also like this.” Ilya waved his hand. At the mention of Troy he felt jumpy, a need to redirect. “I will have Harris pick you up. He will drive whole pickup truck of apple cider.”

Shane's eyes lit up with an unexpected excitement. “I like cider. Why does he have so much?”

Of course the only alcoholic drink sweet Shane Hollander enjoyed was cider.

“His family owns apple orchard. Is all very…” Ilya waved his hand, trying to search for the word. He hated it when English failed him.

“Quaint?” Shane offered. Ilya wasn't sure he had heard this word before, but Shane seemed assured that it was the right one, and he trusted Shane. So Ilya nodded gratefully and filed the word away to look up later.

***

Shane was waiting outside his building when Harris and Ilya pulled up. There was something so polite and so Shane about that. Ilya noticed he was wearing a soft looking sweatshirt, and for a moment Ilya wanted to run his hand over it. As Shane got to the truck he craned his neck.

“Thanks for getting me. Harris, Ilya wasn't kidding. That's a lot of cider.” Shane said as he buckled his seatbelt.

“Don't get me started. The guys asked me to bring some the first time I went to one of these. You know hockey players, we ran out in like twenty minutes. I learned my lesson, always bring more than you think you need.”

Harris drove them to the outskirts of town, where many players had purchased homes. Bood's was the defacto location for team gatherings.

He was a gregarious host, and he greeted the three of them with cheerful slaps on the back and directions to the food. Ilya had stressed to him the importance of providing food for some of the particular diets on the team, and Bood had provided. As Shane helped himself to chicken and brown rice, his eyes shot up to Ilya. He mouthed “Thank you,” and Ilya felt pride flood his nervous system. Something about earning Shane's trust and friendship made him feel accomplished.

Shane relaxed into the party, and Ilya only felt the need to linger at his side twice before he was confident Shane was comfortable on his own. Shane did indeed love Harris’ cider, and Ilya enjoyed watching Shane's cheeks flush slightly. Nowhere near the color of apples, closer to a beautiful, ripe peach.

Ilya indulged, enjoying the freedom of an off day tomorrow. He ate a little too much brisket and drank a little too much vodka, and found himself at the fire pit with Troy and Harris, scandalizing them with a game of “never have I ever.”

Shane drifted over eventually, but looked horrified when he was invited to participate.

“No way,” Shane shook his head violently, the movement a bit forceful after one too many ciders. Ilya was charmed, seeing him let loose. The mood at the party was boisterous and infectious.

Ilya realized his eyes had been fixed on Shane, across the fire pit for a moment too long. He redirected to Harris, who was making Troy chuckle with an elaborate story about his first time using a plug. Shane had been listening with equal parts trepidation and fascination on his face. For the hundredth time, Ilya wished he could help Shane get out of his head. Inexperience wasn't going to be the hurdle Shane thought it was, and Ilya wished he could help Shane see that.

Eventually, Harris asked Troy if he wanted to try a cobbler he had brought. Ilya raised an extremely un-subtle eyebrow that Troy pointedly ignored, and they went inside. Ilya and Shane found themselves alone outside, smiling at each other across the fire pit.

***

“I have been thinking,” Ilya leaned his elbows on his knees. His golden curls were a little tousled, Shane had been watching him absent-mindedly run his hand through them all night.

“Do you want to try apps, instead of bars? I have helped Troy with apps before,” Ilya shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.

Shane considered it. Apps would be convenient, casual. “Maybe? I don't know. I did talk to Troy and he was really encouraging.”

Something flashed across Ilya's face. Shane couldn't identify it.

“I believe you guys, when you say that people shouldn't judge me. Or won't judge me, whatever. But it's easier said than done.”

Ilya nodded thoughtfully. They sat in silence, each considering the stalemate that Shane was at.

Finally, Ilya shrugged. "If you want, I can help you practice."

Shane blinked, wondering if the alcohol had loosened Ilya up too much.

"Help me how?"

Ilya picked at the label on his beer bottle. "My best friend back home, Svetlana. We hooked up, did first everything together. Was helpful, practicing with a friend."

Shane's stomach lurched as if the floor had dropped out from under him. Ilya was talking about sex as if it was a hockey drill. In a weird way, the logic fit in Shane's mind. And the thought was a turn on.

Maybe because he remembered what Ilya looked like in the showers. Maybe it was because Shane knew he could learn a lot from him. Shane was embarrassed to think that he was probably also a little turned on by the thought of approaching sex the same way he approached hockey.

Ilya seemed to take Shane's silence for an answer. "Is ok, was just an idea. You will be fine, I think you worry too much."

"I want to do it," Shane blurted out before he could consider all the reasons why this was a bad idea. Ilya's hands stilled, the label on the beer bottle shredded at this point.

"You don't have to-"Ilya started to give Shane an out, and Shane firmly shook his head.

"I want to. Not...not everything, maybe. But it's a good idea. I don't want to embarrass myself the first time I try to hook up with a guy for real," Shane squared his shoulders in determination. Amusement flitted across Ilya's face before he nodded.

"So. When do we.." Shane almost wanted to pull out his phone and schedule right then and there. Ilya smiled, one of his crooked grins that could charm anybody.

"Hollander, we do not make blowjob appointment right now. Have fun, relax tonight. We will figure it out later."

Shane tried his best to relax and have fun, but he was unable to think about anything else for the rest of the night.

Chapter End Notes

Sure, Ilya! You're bothered by Shane getting hit on because you are feeling overprotective for your friend.

Sure, Shane! Ilya suggesting a FWB situation is hot because it'll be just like practicing hockey drills.

They're very dumb. They get even stupider in the next chapter.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Ilya woke the next morning and rolled over, staring at the ceiling. Out of all of Ilya's risky, thrill-seeking ideas, casual sex with Shane Hollander might be the stupidest. To a drunk Ilya, it had seemed simple. He had done something similar, first with Svetlana and then with Sasha. Explore, learn what he liked, gain confidence in his ability to make other people feel good.

But Sveta and Sasha weren't his teammate, there wasn't the same risk that was dawning on him now, of fucking up his chemistry with Shane on the ice.

As ill-advised as this was, curiosity was battling for dominance in Ilya's mind. Shane had been enthusiastic about the proposal. Ilya lingered on the memory of Shane's face when he'd nodded emphatically, telling Ilya he wanted to try hooking up.

Maybe in the cold light of day he would reconsider. Ilya decided he'd follow Shane's lead. It was possible Shane never brought it up again and Ilya would pretend to forget he ever said anything.

Ilya dragged his hands down his face. After their talk last night, Ilya had been unable to stop staring at Shane. Across Bood's crowded living room, in the rear view mirror when Harris drove them home. Shane had stood a little straighter, his eyes were a little brighter. As if he was more self-assured after their conversation.

His phone buzzed while he tried to think about why Shane had been so captivating last night.

Shane: did you mean what you said last night?

Ilya stared. This would be the opportunity to take it back, but he couldn't figure out how to without sounding like an asshole. Before he could work out a text, Shane sent another.

Shane: because I'm interested, if you did mean it.
Shane: it's OK if you didn't. We can forget it if you want.

Ilya could see the dots jumping in their text thread, Shane was getting ready to send another apologetic, too polite text. Ilya hit the button to call him, and Shane immediately picked up.

"Hey," Shane sounded a little breathless.

"Good morning. It is too early for me to figure out texts. Speaking is easier," Ilya stretched and yawned, as if to prove a point.

"It’s 10 am," Shane sounded adorably confused. He had probably been awake for hours.

"Hollander," Ilya sighed. He hadn't figured out how to word this. "I did mean what I said last night. Could be fun, and you would not be so scared with me, yes?"

"Yeah, I think so," Shane sounded assured, as if he had already written out a pro and con list.

Ilya felt awkward for poking a hole in the plan he proposed. "You do not worry it could make things...different? On ice?"

Shane didn't even need to pause. "I don't think so. I mean, maybe, if you're worried. But we play so well together, I don't something that good is easy to fuck up."

Something about that statement was so reassuring. They did play well together, sometimes it felt like they were one entity. If Shane Hollander of all people wasn't worried about it impacting his hockey, than Ilya really had no reason to be concerned.

They chatted a few more minutes, Shane was a little excited, but very businesslike as they planned. When they hung up, Ilya scrolled through his contacts and texted a woman he had hooked up with a few weeks ago. He needed to clear his head.

***

Shane had spent the week eagerly anticipating his hookup with Ilya. He felt like they were playing better than ever, maybe because they were sharing a secret. Or maybe because Shane just felt lighter, now that he had a plan.

Ilya's behavior towards him off the ice didn't change. He was still friendly, teasing, and kind. Once or twice Shane caught Ilya watching him, staring at him carefully like he was trying to decode something.

Montreal came to town, and Shane got lunch with Hayden.

"I'm so sorry you have to play with Rozanov. Is he as annoying to you guys, or does he save that for his opponents?"

Shane shook his head, grinning. "Yeah, that's just for you guys. He's not so bad if he's on your team."

"Glad he's not being a dick to you at least," Hayden changed topics.

"So, are you seeing anyone? My girlfriend, Jackie, she said her friend wants your number."

Shane frowned. He wasn't ready to write off the possibility of dating a woman ever again, but he didn't feel particularly enthusiastic about the idea of it right now.

"Uh. Let me think about it. Ilya is kind of trying to help me put myself out there."

Hayden groaned. "Please tell me you're not taking dating advice from the biggest fuckboy of the NHL."

Shane grimaced. The reputation was not unearned, often when the team went out for drinks women would flock to Ilya like moths to a flame. He'd inevitably start making out with one, and quickly leave to take her home. It always left Shane with an unsettled feeling, a sense of inadequacy that he couldn't fully place.

After the game that night, Shane got a DM from Hayden, he'd sent the profile of Jackie's friend. Shane scrolled idly, she looked nice. Her profile was a lot of mirror photos showing off her outfits. Shane didn't have any opinions about women's clothing, and he found himself growing bored.

Shane remembered Ilya teasing him about his Instagram handle. He pulled up Ilya's profile and scrolled. Some brand deals. Lots of thirst traps. Shane paused at one particularly audacious gym selfie. Ilya was shirtless, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He looked powerful, and for a moment Shane imagined him using those muscles to throw him around.

They had an unspoken agreement, Shane and Ilya hadn't showered at the same time since that initial, disastrous one. Sometimes Shane got a glimpse of Ilya in a towel, but he hadn't been able to enjoy it, to really look. As he stared at his phone, Shane had the dawning realization that he was getting turned on over a basic Ilya Rozanov thirst trap. He flung his phone to the far side of his couch before he was tempted to put his hand down his pants. The real thing would be better.

***

Ilya had assumed that Shane would feel more comfortable being in his own home, but when he'd asked what Shane preferred, Shane had said he wanted to come over to Ilya's.

Ilya worried a bit that Shane was embarrassed about the whole thing. Maybe he didn't want to be haunted in his own home by reminders of Ilya sucking him off. If Ilya was the type of person to draw up a lesson plan, he would have made the following main objectives:

1. Make sure Shane had at least one mind-blowing orgasm
2. Shane needed to leave feeling confident and prepared for any future hookups
3. Get Shane to realize how hot he is

Point three was hand in hand with point two, but it drove Ilya particularly crazy that Shane was so tentative and self-conscious and wholly unaware of the effect he had on people. Hopefully, Ilya's enthusiasm would give him an indication. Shane was beautiful, and Ilya had spent all week fending off fantasies of how he was going to make him come. Ilya had loved figuring Shane out these last few months. If the plan wasn't to unleash Shane on the eligible queer men of North America, Ilya might have hoped that they could have a fun arrangement like the one he had with Svetlana.

Shane knocked on his door at five precisely, and Ilya opened it. His first thought, one which was absurd, was that Ilya was severely underdressed for this. Shane was wearing a nice button up, a tan leather jacket, dark pants that fit him well. Ilya was wearing joggers and nothing else. It was a hookup, Ilya hadn't thought for a second about a dress code, he just wore something that would be convenient to undress.

Shane's gaze raked over his chest hungrily, and Ilya decided that he had made the correct call. The fewer clothes the better.

"Your place is nice," Shane said as he stepped inside. His eyes were darting everywhere, a concerted effort to keep them off of Ilya's naked torso.

"Hollander, it is ok to check me out," Ilya laughed. Shane's eyes snapped to his.

"I wasn't-"

"You were, but that is ok. You are sexy, I am sexy," Shane raised an eyebrow at that. "We can enjoy that, yes?"

Shane frowned, considering, before he shrugged and continued exploring Ilya's home. It was endearing, how inquisitive he was as he wandered through the house and asked questions that Ilya didn't have answers for.

"Who designed this? What kind of wood did they use for your floor? Was this room added later?"

Ilya's smile was broadening as he followed Shane from room to room. He wondered for a moment if Shane was just nervous, if his questions were a tactic to delay something he wasn't ready for, but Shane's eyes were shining with eager energy. For whatever reason, this nice boring man really did care about Ilya's house.

Finally Shane's feet carried him into the bedroom, and it was like he suddenly remembered why they were there.

Ilya stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame to give Shane a moment. He watched Shane's spine straighten as he turned to look at Ilya.

"We don't have to, if you do not feel like it," Ilya reminded him. "We can do it a different day, or we can forget the whole thing. Is ok."

Shane shook his head firmly. "No, I want to."

Ilya felt an unsettling swoop in his stomach. As if he hadn't really allowed himself to believe they were going to hook up until this moment. He took a second and then slowly crossed the room, coming to stand in front of Shane. Close enough to count freckles, to watch his cheeks slowly flush.

Ilya wasn't sure why, but he wanted to savor the moment. Standing on the verge of pre-Shane Hollander and post-Shane Hollander. Ilya tipped his hand under Shane's chin, but before he could move, Shane closed the gap quickly. His kiss was firm, a little frantic, but flatteringly hungry. The surprise of it made Ilya lose control for a moment, he moaned and Shane coaxed his tongue into Ilya's open mouth.

Shane was a great kisser, his fears were completely unfounded, just like Ilya suspected. If Ilya had structured a lesson plan with quizzes, he now felt confident that Shane could ace them.

But Ilya had no syllabus, no preparation besides some fun daydreams and a conviction of what he wanted Shane to get out of this. Shane stepped closer, pressing against Ilya, and Ilya's composure almost completely dissolved. Ilya wrapped an arm around his waist to pull him tighter, and Shane began threading his fingers through his hair. Something about the sensation made Ilya want to throw him on the bed immediately. It felt needy and possessive, and completely surprising coming from Shane.

Ilya broke apart to kiss Shane's neck, and he enjoyed the shiver that ran through Shane's body when he whispered in his ear.

"Can I give you head?"

Shane shook his head, and Ilya moved away for a moment, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong.

"No, I mean. Yes. Obviously. But can I, first?"

Ilya had to fight hard to contain his smirk. He had assumed Hollander would be tentative, a little shy to start. Instead, he was delightfully eager, and his eyes looked hungry. As soon as Ilya nodded, Shane shot to his knees. For a second Ilya had to fight to hold back a laugh in surprise, but Shane rapidly yanked Ilya's pants down to free his cock, and all rational thought left Ilya's mind.

Shane grasped him and gave the head of his cock a tentative lick. Before Ilya could find the words to be encouraging, to direct him, Shane's lips were stretching and he was taking Ilya into his mouth, as far as he could.

It was equal parts endearing and sexy, seeing how enthusiastic Shane was. His tongue was untrained, his teeth a little too present, but when he looked up and made eye contact with Ilya, it felt like the rest of the world was falling away. Ilya realized frantically that he was approaching the verge of coming, that Shane Hollander's doe eyes and clumsy eagerness had gotten him to the brink impossibly fast.

"Fuck, that feels so good. Come here," Ilya wrapped his hand around Shane's hair and gritted his teeth in concentration as Shane slid his mouth off of him slowly. Shane's lips were shiny with spit and precum, and Ilya yanked him up to kiss him feverishly, turning to gently push him back onto the bed.

"Hollander, you are so pretty. You know this, yes?"

Shane didn't say anything, he just stared at Ilya. Ilya yanked Shane's shirt up, palming his chest and pressing kisses into his stomach as he worked his way down Shane's body, repeating affirmations of how sexy, beautiful, and frustratingly hot Shane was. Shane's breath was already going ragged, and when Ilya undid his fly and slipped out his cock, Shane sounded like he needed to be hooked up to a heart monitor.

Ilya took his time, stroking languidly, running a lazy stripe up Shane's length. Ilya teased him until he was gasping, and then Ilya finally took pity on him. He took Shane deep, flattening his tongue as he dragged off of him slowly. Shane's hands were clutching the sheets, and Ilya tapped one of them. Shane looked at him with a wild, desperate expression that almost knocked the breath out of Ilya.

"Grab my hair," Ilya whispered. He hoped it sounded sexy, instead of hoarse and needy. Shane immediately complied, twisting his fingers around Ilya's curls as Ilya swirled his tongue around Shane's cock. For a moment, Shane looked down and locked his gaze on Ilya. It was too much. Ilya had to close his eyes, focus on the sensation of Shane heavy on his tongue, crying out, hand in his hair, pulling Ilya closer to him.

For a split second, clarity hit Ilya as he instinctively rolled his hips into the bed. He was moments away from coming, just from the overwhelming experience of going down on Shane. For the second time this evening, Shane Hollander had shattered his composure. The very thought of that was so mortifying that he sped up, taking Shane to the back of his throat as he bobbed his head. In an instant, Shane was coming, pulsing into the back of Ilya's throat, crying out and clutching at Ilya's hair, his shoulders, his hands.

Ilya slid off of him with a faint, wet pop, and sat there for a moment, wiping his mouth and panting. Shane was spent, and Ilya could re-center himself in that aftermath, watching Shane's chest heave. In an instant, Shane came back to life and reared up, kissing Ilya and flipping to push him back on the bed.

Shane had surprised Ilya at every turn, and he loved it. As Shane kissed his way down Ilya's body, Ilya tried to think of boring things, things that might help him last so he didn't come embarrassingly fast.

Grocery shopping. Taxes. Shane's jogging schedule. And fuck, none of that helped, because Shane took him into his mouth and he couldn't think of anything else.

It was like Shane had been taking notes. He was more attentive, less frenetic. His mouth was warm and wet, and when Ilya felt brave enough to look at him, there was drool dribbling down his chin. Shane looked impossibly sexy with his mouth full of Ilya, and Ilya threw his head back, unable to look any more.

Doing laundry. Going through airport security. Shane's bland diet. Fuck. Shane moaned as he nudged deeper, and Ilya couldn't last any longer.

"Shane, I am going to come, if you do not want-" Shane grasped his hips and groaned, and Ilya felt his hips buck as his orgasm crashed over him, Shane gripping him through it.

As Ilya re-entered his body, he stole a glance down in time to see Shane swallow. It was almost enough to make Ilya attempt a second round, immediately. Instead he dragged Shane up to his mouth and kissed him, tasting himself on Shane's tongue. Shane ran his fingers through Ilya's hair, softer this time.

It still made Ilya feel wanted, in a way that was utterly foreign. He had slept with countless people who wanted his body, who wanted him to make them come, but Shane's careful fingers twisting in Ilya's curls felt soothing. Like Shane somehow intuitively knew that Ilya felt unexpectedly raw and exposed in this moment.

Desperate to return to familiar territory, Ilya propped himself up and summoned an arrogant smile.

"What do you think? Ready to sleep with hundreds of men?" Ilya hated the words as they left his mouth. They felt cheap, after something that had been so fun and surprising. And Ilya didn't really want to picture Hollander with hundreds of men right now.

Shane settled next to Ilya and looked thoughtful. "I think...I think I'm definitely not straight."

Ilya wanted to laugh at him, he tried to bite it back for a moment, but then he caught the expression on Shane's face. They devolved into stupid, carefree laughter. It was tinged with relief that it seemed like they hadn't fucked anything up between the two of them.

Eventually the laughter settled and Shane turned serious. "I'm not sure about running out and sleeping with a random guy. I mean, don't get me wrong. This was fun, I had fun."

"I had fun too," Ilya said quickly. Then he shrugged, hoping he looked cool and casual.

"Good. Yeah, I don't know. Maybe...would you want to, again sometime? I'll get there soon, with other guys, I guess..."

The unspoken ending to Shane's sentence should have sent a thrill up Ilya's spine. Maybe his world had been just been unexpectedly tilted, like Ilya's. Shane wanted to do this again, Ilya would have the opportunity to make him come again. Maybe Ilya could last more than thirty seconds next time.

But there was a finality to it all that felt leaden. As fun as this was, as bizarrely and surprisingly intense as it felt for Ilya, it was all a placeholder on the way to sex with strangers, and then eventually sex Hollander would have with a boyfriend. That was the end goal, and Ilya had to contort his face to shoot Shane a cocky smirk.

"Sure, we can do this again."

***

Shane left Ilya's house freshly showered and completely off balance. Ilya had been nothing like he expected. He had been aggressive in some ways that Shane had expected and enjoyed. But he had been more careful, more tender than Shane had anticipated.

Shane kept replaying the moment where Ilya instructed him to grab onto his hair. At first it had felt like a command, some sexy instruction that Shane could use on another man later. But a tiny sigh had come out of Ilya's lips that told Shane the request had just been for him, that Ilya was enjoying every second of it.

In that moment, Shane had decided that he didn't want this to be a one-time thing. He had never enjoyed sex so much. It wasn't practical or rational. Eventually he'd have learned all he possibly could from Ilya, and he or Ilya would get bored. But before that happened, Shane decided that he needed to try to hear Ilya come again.

***

Ilya had been listening to Svetlana monologue about the Centaurs' weaknesses for fifteen minutes. He knew them already. Their depth at center was poor, the team suffered greatly when Shane and Ilya were off the ice. Their defensemen were mediocre, Wyatt was a skilled goalie but he could only do so much when the other team had so many shot on goal opportunities.

Ilya could see it wearing on Shane, he recognized the same frustration he felt every time he was off the ice. If there was one bright spot, it was that he and Shane were unchanged. Still moving as one on the ice, still friendly in the locker room and at practice.

Shane hadn't reached out about hooking up again. Their past week had been chaotic, and Shane and Ilya had no real opportunities to talk outside of games and practice. Ilya had tried several times to flirt over text, but Shane never seemed to engage. The day after they first hooked up, they had a particularly disappointing text exchange.

Ilya: what are you up to right now?

Shane: about to go to bed.

Ilya: what are you wearing?

Shane: pajamas.

Ilya had ended every night with a new woman in his bed anyway, so he wouldn't be tempted to text anything riskier to Shane.

He was beginning to worry that Shane was reconsidering. Maybe with a few days and distance, Shane had decided that casual sex with his friend and teammate was a bad idea.

"Ilya, you are not even listening, " Svetlana snapped Ilya out of his reverie.

"Sorry, sorry," Ilya pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can we talk about something besides my team being ass?"

"We can talk about how good your rookie is," Svetlana suggested happily.

"No. No, thank you. I already hear it enough," Ilya rolled his eyes. "Let's talk about you. When can I see you?"

Ilya could hear her setting her phone down, evidently looking at his schedule.

"New York? Next week? I can be there."

Ilya already felt lighter. "Can't wait."

***

Shane stared at his phone. Every night since he and Ilya had hooked up, he had stared at their innocuous text thread. And every night he had locked his screen and gone to sleep. It felt stupid to ask Ilya to come over to his place after a game. He could wait till they had an off-day in a few weeks. Or maybe, if he felt really desperate, he could proposition Ilya when they were in the same hotel on their upcoming road trip.

He tried to not think too hard about the fact that Ilya hadn't brought it up. Shane reminded himself that there hadn't been any real opportunities for them to meet up again, that it had only been a week, but a small voice in the back of his head wondered if he should take this as a sign to revert to the original plan.

Maybe one incredible blowjob from Ilya was enough to embolden Shane for another attempt at hooking up with a stranger.

Shane found himself absent-mindedly scrolling through Ilya's Instagram for a moment, before he realized what he was doing. He abruptly locked his screen and rolled over to try to sleep.

***

Ilya flopped next to Shane on the plane. "Excited to beat New York?"

Shane wished he had Ilya's confidence. The Centaurs were proving to have the same problems that had plagued them in previous seasons, and Shane and Ilya could only do much to drag them to sporadic victories. Shane's sigh spoke for itself, and Ilya smiled sympathetically. His smile was always so infectious, his hazel eyes carried a warmth that settled Shane's nerves.

“Do you…uh…have any plans in New York?” It sounded impossibly lame, and not at all like Shane intended. What he meant to ask was if he could go to Ilya's hotel room and have the best orgasm of his life.

Ilya squinted at him for a moment, as if he was trying to decode the statement.

“Yes, my friend Svetlana will be in town.”

Shane couldn't forget that name, it was the friend who had been Ilya's "first everything." Shane's stomach twisted as he wondered if they still hooked up.

"Oh. Have fun," Shane's shoulders slumped. "I was thinking of trying another bar. I can always see if Troy wants to go."

Ilya's brow furrowed. After a moment he nodded and slipped his headphones over his ears. They didn't speak for the rest of the plane ride.

***

Chapter End Notes

One day, Ilya will understand that thinking about Shane's boring habits is counterintuitive if he is trying to last longer in bed. But that day is not today!

I always loved the detail that Shane is canonically the hottest guy in the books, so I wanted Ilya to be ripping his hair out over the fact that Shane doesn't know that about himself.

The slight age difference/how I'm writing Ilya means that he has one moment of using his brain and wondering if this is a bad idea, but Shane is full steam ahead. And who is Ilya to say no to that??

And poor Shane, ready to get thrown around and instead Ilya is fighting for his life to last more than 30 seconds.

P.S. If my baseball team ever starts playing well, chapters are going to come out slower. But for now this is the only distracting me from the pain of losing five games in a row.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Ilya threw his bag down when he got to his hotel room. He had some time before he was meeting Svetlana for dinner, and it was taking all of his willpower to not text Shane for a quick, desperate visit to his hotel room. Ilya settled for jerking off in the shower to the memory of Shane on his knees, looking up at Ilya with those soft brown eyes.

Svetlana could tell immediately that he was feeling off. She jabbed and poked and prodded over their expensive dinner until he finally caved.

"Fine," Ilya leaned back in his seat. "I hooked up with someone, it was amazing. I do not know if we will hook up again, so I am annoyed."

Svetlana looked baffled. "You don't know? What do you mean you don't know?"

It sounded ridiculous without context, Ilya could understand that. Ilya had never been shy, and he had never had a problem getting laid. The concept of him sitting around and wondering if someone wanted to fuck must have seemed totally foreign to Svetlana.

"It is complicated. Forget I said anything," Ilya waved it away, but Svetlana was digging her heels in.

"Complicated? More complicated than Sasha, your coach's son, who you fucked almost daily?"

Ilya almost regretted having a best friend who had known him his whole life. She knew where the bodies were buried and exactly which weak spots to poke at.

"I said forget it. I am being stupid," Ilya grimaced. Svetlana shot him a withering glare, but decided to let up.

Later that evening, as they were going to sleep in her hotel and she knew his defenses were down, she nudged him.

"You know you are being stupid. Just ask to see this person again."

Ilya played stupid, rubbing his nose. "What person?"

Svetlana raised an eyebrow. "Whoever is causing this wrinkle," she pressed a thumb into a crease on his forehead.

Ilya sighed, she was correct. There couldn't be any harm in just texting Hollander tomorrow. No more attempts to sext, he could just explicitly ask if Shane was up for another round. They had both agreed they wanted to meet again, and it was becoming clear that Hollander was not the type to make the first move. If Ilya also prevented Shane from having a night out with Troy, so be it.

***

Shane was in the lobby waiting for Wyatt, who had tried to rally guys an hour ago in the group chat for breakfast. Nobody besides Shane had replied by 8:30, and Wyatt was too hungry to wait.

Shane was chewing on the string of his hoodie while he stared out the window absent-mindedly. With a jolt, his brain caught up to the sight of Ilya, hauling open the door of the hotel lobby.

Ilya glanced up and stopped for a moment, locking eyes with Shane. He cracked a smile quickly, and walked up to Shane right as Wyatt bounced down the lobby.

"Rozy, late night?" Wyatt asked, looking Ilya up and down.

Shane's eyes followed Wyatt's, and he realized the truth of it. Ilya's outfit was rumpled, his hair tousled, and dark circles under his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep.

"Yes, saw an old friend," Ilya shrugged. "What are you doing?"

"Breakfast. Come with us, this will be great. You're never awake early enough to get breakfast with me," Wyatt grabbed Ilya's shoulders and marched him out the door. Shane wearily followed.

As they packed into a diner booth Wyatt cheerfully rambled about a new superhero movie that was being filmed in Montreal soon. Shane kept darting looks at Ilya as Wyatt chattered. Ilya looked spent, as if he had barely slept.

Good sex probably did that to a person. Shane realized he wouldn't know. He'd had unsatisfying sex with women, and he'd never particularly enjoyed having them spend the night. And he had one incredible blowjob from Ilya that had ended with Shane going back home at the sensible time of 7pm.

Shane glanced up to see Ilya's gaze fixed on him. For a moment, Ilya looked searching, almost apologetic. And then Wyatt asked Ilya who his favorite superhero was, Ilya answered Scooby-Doo, and Wyatt about lost his mind.

Shane decided to focus his attention on meeting someone that night, maybe somebody who he felt like staying up all night with.

***

Playing the Admirals felt like drowning. Ilya and Shane were keeping their heads above water. Bood, Wyatt, and Troy were all valiantly flailing at the surface, and the rest of the team had concrete shoes, sent to sleep with the fishes.

Ilya spun these overwrought metaphors in his mind, sitting in the locker room after the game. They helped create distance from the humiliation.

His sour mood was not improved by the fact that Troy had mentioned he and Shane were going out later. Kind, handsome Troy, and boring, stunning Shane. Alone together.

Shane had barely made eye contact and said about two words to him at breakfast. He had looked irritated and distant, and it had been completely unsettling. Ilya had chickened out on texting him to arrange a hookup.

Ilya had plans to meet up with Svetlana anyway. As he was fishing in his bag to find his phone, Shane stopped in front of him.

"Hey. Troy and I are going out. I know you're hanging out with your friend, but...it would be fun to have you there, if your plans change. You should bring her, if you want."

Shane's hair was damp from the shower, his cheeks a little flush from the warmth. His didn't meet Ilya's gaze, instead his soft brown eyes were fixed on Ilya's lips.

Ilya nodded, no words coming out of his mouth. Shane nodded back silently, and Ilya watched his back as he retreated to grab his gear bag. Ilya whipped out his phone to text Svetlana.

***

Svetlana looked stunning. Her hair fanned out like a halo, a dress that clung to all the right places. She had gamely agreed when Ilya suggested spending their evening lurking around his two teammates that he had ostensibly been trying to wingman. He hadn't disclosed that he had been largely unsuccessful so far, or that he was in a bizarre sex stand-off with one of them.

Troy and Shane had arrived before Ilya and Svetlana. Ilya's stomach lurched when he saw that they were already occupied. Troy was patiently smiling while a man draped off his shoulder, talking in his ear. Ilya knew Troy well enough by now to see that he would need rescuing.

Shane was another story. He was standing a polite distance from a man who was, unfortunately, fairly pretty. He was a couple inches taller than Shane, with curly dark hair. They were chatting animatedly, and Hollander's hands were flying, gesticulating in a way Ilya had never seen before.

Svetlana was champing at the bit to talk to them, and Ilya was all too grateful when she dragged him over and interrupted his friend's conversations. Troy shot Ilya a grateful look, Shane didn't make eye contact.

"Everyone, this is Svetlana, my best friend. Sveta, you know of Troy and Shane. I do not know these two." The words came out with more bite and accusation than Ilya meant.

Ilya trained his eyes on Troy's hopeful paramour and didn't even register his name. The man talking to Shane was named Elliott, he did something with computers, and he was from Montreal originally. He and Shane had bonded over speaking French. Ilya decided that Elliott's eyebrows were too tweezed, and his ears were just a little too big. Not nearly handsome enough to deserve Shane.

Svetlana slipped between Troy and his admirer to opine about the Admirals defense, and the other man promptly got bored and left. Troy looked immensely relieved, and Svetlana winked at Ilya. She had rescued his friend who wanted to be saved.

Ilya had to begrudgingly admit that Shane looked perfectly content to chatter away with Elliott in a language that Ilya didn't understand.

Elliott's eyes kept traveling over Shane as he spoke, and eventually Ilya had to turn away. It felt like Ilya was an unwilling third. Shut out by a language barrier, watching this man eye-fuck Shane. All the while Shane was bright eyed and animated, oblivious as ever.

"Anybody here who seems better than Harris?" Ilya distracted himself by antagonizing Troy.

Troy groaned. "I never should have told you."

"Who is Harris?" Svetlana leaned in, pressing her hand on Ilya's shoulder for balance. He had already admonished her twice for wearing such impractical heels.

"He is sweet, cute man that Troy has huge crush on. But Troy does nothing about this," Ilya shook his head dramatically, laying the disappointment on thickly.

Troy glared at Ilya. "It’s complicated, ok? He works for the team. If he doesn't feel the same way, I could make things really awkward."

At the word "complicated" Svetlana's eyes shot to Ilya's, the phrase evidently reminding her of their conversation from last night. His eyes instinctively flicked to Shane, and he started kicking himself when her gaze followed his. An accusing, disconcerting expression began to form on her face. Ilya should never have brought her. She was too perceptive.

"Come, dance." Ilya grabbed her hand, leading her away from the table before she could say or do something that would embarrass him. He gave Shane one last glance, unsure of what he would do if Shane saw him staring. It didn't matter, the annoying Montreal man had all of Shane's attention.

It was too loud on the dance floor for Svetlana to interrogate him, she just shot him a knowing look that pierced right through his armor.

For two songs, Ilya was able to distract himself. Six minutes of dancing with Svetlana, the way they had for years, joyfully and with abandon.

When Ilya was unable to resist any longer, he turned to look for Troy and Shane. Shane and Elliott were gone, and Troy was scrolling on his phone.

Ilya got incredibly drunk that night, and Svetlana had to feed him water and aspirin before tucking him into bed.

***

Shane snuck back into the hotel at 1am. His roommate, Holmberg, was snoring loudly. Shane washed his face and brushed his teeth and then laid awake, tried to make sense of his night.

Elliott had been enthusiastic and fun and totally understanding that Shane didn't feel prepared to go any further than perfunctory blowjobs. The entire time that Elliott was going down on Shane, Shane had been comparing him to Ilya. Elliott hadn't made Shane cry out when he came. Elliott hadn't sighed around him in a way that made Shane feel desperately wanted.

It was completely unfair, and it nagged at Shane as he lay in bed.

Ilya Rozanov being his first ever queer experience was probably a stupid idea in hindsight. It was like starting at the peak of Everest, comparing each subsequent hookup would only feel like Shane was tumbling downhill.

Shane thought about Ilya dancing with Svetlana. They had looked good together, their bodies fitting comfortably, fond smiles on their faces. Ilya had looked so light and happy with her when Shane left.

In a stupid, impulsive, spiteful moment, Shane reached for his phone.

***

Shane: what are you doing tomorrow night?

***

Ilya had woken up at 3am to run to the bathroom and puke. He checked the time on his phone before he returned to bed, and his stomach roiled for a moment when he saw the message. Shane's text was timestamped at 1:30, and Ilya laid in bed with his head pounding, trying to work out what it meant.

Had Shane's hookup gone so poorly, that he had reached out to Ilya afterwards? The thought worried Ilya.

When Svetlana had first tucked him into bed, Ilya had fallen asleep picturing the man from the bar giving Shane head. It had made him feel sick, and he was preparing himself to see Shane in the morning, looking luminous, freshly fucked.

His stomach twisted as he replayed every moment of Shane at the bar, on the receiving end of another man's adoration. Maybe Shane's text was an attempt to schedule another visit to a bar to pick up a stranger, not an implication that he wanted Ilya. Ilya decided to ignore that possibility.

Before he could overthink, Ilya grabbed his phone.

***

Ilya: I'll send you my room number when we land in Philadelphia

***

Shane could feel Ilya's gaze on him when they got the bus the next morning. Shane scrambled to sit next to Wyatt on the plane, and kept his eyes trained to his phone when Ilya walked past him.

When they took off and Shane connected to wifi, he got a message from Ilya.

Ilya: you are pretending to ignore me?
Shane: no, I'm not
Ilya: you still want to see me tonight?
Shane: of course

Shane started to put his phone away when it pinged again.

Ilya: come sit with me. we can watch movie together, stop being weird.

Shane checked over his shoulder, and Ilya waved him over with a determined look on his face. Begrudgingly, Shane got up.

"Here," Ilya handed Shane an earbud as he sat. He pressed play on his tablet without saying anything else, and they watched in silence for a while. It was some action movie about fast cars, which shouldn't have surprised Shane. Ilya was known for his ostentatious car collection.

When the villain began explaining their convoluted plan, Ilya turned to Shane. "I thought this could be fun, but it is not fun if we are weird around each other."

Shane cringed. He was right. They were both being weird.

"I know. I just didn't really know how to ask if you...and you didn't seem to want to..." Shane trailed off, searching for the words. Ilya's eyes softened.

"I want," Ilya's words felt like they sank into Shane's bones. They sat for a moment before Ilya cleared his throat. "I say I will help you, I mean it. Now tell me, how was ugly man from the bar?"

Shane scowled. They both knew Elliott was decidedly not ugly. He might not have been as stunning as Ilya, but he was cute enough.

"Fine. It wasn't...amazing," Ilya's brow furrowed at that, looking concerned. Shane searched for details. "His apartment was kind of gross."

Ilya's eyebrows shot up, and Shane could see him fighting a smile.

"Gross how?"

"Just dishes in the sink, there was a towel on the bathroom floor." Shane wrinkled his nose. Neither of those details explained why he had been so distracted, but Ilya didn't need to know that.

Ilya nodded, grinning. "Too bad. Poor man lives like a raccoon and now he will never know the joy of Shane Hollander's mouth again."

The compliment sandwiched in the snark made Shane's limbs tingle, but he smacked Ilya's arm as payback for the joke. They returned to their movie, settling into comfortable silence this time.

***

An hour after they got to their hotel Shane yanked on his sneakers and spat a quick lie to Holmberg about going for a run. Ilya was one floor up, and Shane took the stairs to avoid being spotted. He texted as he was walking down the hallway, and Ilya cracked his door open. Shane darted in, and Ilya had the grace to wait until the door was closed to laugh.

"You are planning for a workout?" Ilya raised an eyebrow.

"Fuck off. You don't have a roommate who's going to wonder where you went." Sharing hotel rooms was the disadvantage of being a rookie, and Shane resented it.

Ilya shook his head. "Holmberg does not care where you are." He looked at Shane's running shorts and smart watch and smirked. "You want to track heart rate while I make you come?"

Shane immediately started fumbling with the clasp for his watch to yank it off, and Ilya broke into laughter.

For a moment, Shane considered leaving, just to irritate Ilya. Instead, Shane launched himself across the room to kiss him.

Ilya's laughter vanished, and he grabbed Shane closer, hitching his hands around Shane's ass before hoisting him up. Shane gasped, and the sound was swallowed when Ilya's tongue slipped past his open lips. Wrapping his legs around Ilya, Shane felt his hips roll into Ilya involuntarily. The movement made Ilya groan, and he crossed the room, laying Shane on the bed.

He stood, pulling his shirt off, and then looked at Shane with a raised eyebrow as he moved to take off his pants.

"Could do sexy role play. I see hot man jogging, pull him into bushes and get on my knees," Ilya gestured towards Shane. "Or you can just get naked. I want to see you."

The last sentence was said with a tenderness Shane hadn't expected. He stood, removing his clothes without looking at Ilya, folding them on the desk of the hotel room. When he turned around Ilya had an unfocused look in his eyes. He grabbed Shane's wrist and pulled him in for another kiss before backing up him up to the bed.

Shane scrambled up the bed in a movement that felt decidedly unsexy, but Ilya didn't stop to smirk at him, he just crawled till he was straddling Shane. They stared at each other for a moment, something stirring in Shane before he crushed his mouth against Ilya's. As they kissed, Shane could feel Ilya's palm squeezing his chest, and he lost his breath for a moment when Ilya briefly teased his nipple.

"I want to finger you," Ilya sighed in between kisses. Shane stilled, mind stuttering to a halt. Ilya immediately stopped and pulled back an inch.

"We do not have to," Ilya began, but Shane cut him off.

"No, I want to," Ilya smiled, his familiar cocky smirk this time.

"Do you ever? With yourself?" Ilya's finger was lightly tracing Shane now.

Shane squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeah. I have...I have a thing."

Ilya's hand stopped and he looked confused. "Explain. A thing?"

Shane could feel how red his face was getting. "A dildo, ok? I've used a dildo on myself."

Ilya's eyes lit up in excitement. "What color?"

Shane's hands flew to his face to cover his eyes, mortified. Ilya began kissing his torso gently, as if he was trying to apologize.

"Hollander, please don't be shy. Is hot, I just want to know what to picture."

Shane scowled. Fantasizing about each other wasn't really part of the arrangement, but Shane wasn't one to talk. He had spent too many nights looking at shirtless photos Ilya posted. "It’s black."

Ilya rolled his eyes. "Boring. I was hoping purple." His expression adjusted to something steely. "Is smart. Fucking yourself with toy, good practice when you are ready for real thing."

Ilya lowered and began gently sucking on Shane's cock, teasing him and drawing embarrassingly loud moans from Shane. When Shane gasped "Please," Ilya pulled off and grabbed his bottle of lube from the nightstand.

He traced Shane's hole, skimming slicked fingers along the seam and taking Shane into his mouth again. When Shane's sighs sounded like ragged gasps, Ilya gently slipped a finger in. It was so much better than Shane's attempts to finger himself. Ilya coaxed and stretched, and when his second finger worked in he found the spot that made Shane's vision black out for a second.

"That feel good?" Ilya knew it did, could see how Shane was completely at his mercy, but he looked entirely caught in the moment, needing affirmations. All Shane could manage was a jerky nod, and Ilya began slowly pumping his fingers.

"Fuck, you feel so good for me. So fucking tight. I want to feel you, make you come on my fingers," Ilya was beginning to speak rapidly, breathlessly. Then English seemed to become too hard and he switched to Russian. Something about the confidence and roughness of his voice made Shane's heart rate pick up.

When Ilya leaned down to suck on his neck, he circled his fingers, stroking Shane's prostate, and Shane came without warning. He could feel himself coating his chest, and Ilya was groaning, repeating a phrase in Russian over and over. They laid there for a moment, Ilya stroking Shane's thigh now as Shane panted and recovered his breath.

"Oh my god," Shane finally said. Ilya grinned. "Um. Do you want me to do that to you?"

Shane was curious and nervous, but overwhelmingly he just wanted to do whatever he could to hear Ilya come.

Ilya tilted his head. "Mm. Sometime. But I want your mouth right now. See how good you have gotten at blowjobs." As he said it, something cloudy crossed his expression. Shane moved on top of him, stopping to kiss Ilya for a moment, before nipping his earlobe. That drew a delighted laugh from Ilya, and Shane felt bold enough to move down the bed, grasping Ilya and wrapping his lips around him.

Shane wasn't really sure what Elliott had liked last night, he hadn't asked for feedback. He remembered what had made Ilya moan the first time, and he worked on taking him as deep as he could. When Ilya began trembling, Shane cupped his balls, holding their weight while he ran his tongue along Ilya's rigid cock. Ilya began gasping in Russian again, threaded his fingers in Shane's hair, and came. Shane sucked and swallowed and reveled in the expression on Ilya's face as he watched.

They stayed like that for a moment before Shane got up to get a washcloth and wipe his chest. When he got out of the bathroom, Ilya patted the bed next to him, and Shane sat for a moment.

His head was swirling. This was definitely working, in some ways. He was undeniably learning what he liked. He felt more confident in bed, with a man at least. He still worried that starting his experience with Ilya was setting him up to fail. What if the next guy who fingered him wasn't able to make him black out from pleasure? What was he supposed to do if Ilya Rozanov was the best sex he ever had?

"I should go. Holmberg will start wondering where I am."

***

Ilya knew this was untenable. He was having incredible sex with Shane, and he was also supposed to be helping Shane have sex with a new man in each city. Ilya blinked, he was being dramatic again.

Maybe a man in every city wasn't exactly what he had offered in the fluster after their fateful shower, but it wasn't far off from his original vision. Either way, hoarding Shane because he was amazing in bed was selfish and counterintuitive. It was also exactly what he wanted. He wanted to be able to have Shane every night.

When he felt Shane come on his fingers, clenching and shaking, Ilya had found himself saying the same words in Russian over and over, an embarrassing desire that was evaporating with the post-sex haze. "Mine, mine, you are mine."

Not even 24 hours ago, Shane had left a bar with another man, just like he was supposed to. That was the plan, and that was what Ilya had to offer. Assistance in getting Shane laid, by men who were not Ilya.

Ilya rolled over, eyeing Shane as he yanked his ridiculous running disguise back on. "What is your type?"

Shane blinked at him. "My type?"

"Yes, what men do you like?"

Shane frowned deeply, like he couldn't make sense of Ilya's question. Ilya rolled his eyes. He was starting to realize that Shane really needed things spelled out sometimes.

"Will help me set you up, if I know what men you like."

Shane started chewing on his bottom lip and Ilya had to train his eyes on the ceiling for a moment to regain his composure.

"I guess..." Shane's voice was very quiet. "I don't know if I have one."

Something about that disappointed Ilya. "Ok. Just thought it could be helpful." He shrugged, suppressing a grimace as he made a mental note to start cataloging the men Shane preferred.

Chapter End Notes

I bet Ilya's notes and research on the men Shane likes will be super chill and normal!

Poor Shane is just brutal when he's reflecting on his first non-Ilya hookup. They can't all be the Mount Everest of sex, whatever that means.

Also Ilya was absolutely taking notes and going "Ok, deep clean the house if you ever have him over again."

Ilya's choice of superhero is directly stolen from an interview with baseball's greatest himbo, Nick Castellanos.

Up next: Ilya finds out that there's thing called dating, and some people want to do it with Shane.

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

They beat Philadelphia, and it wasn't even close. Ilya wanted to smack a congratulatory kiss on Shane's cheek more than anything, he was flushed and his eyes were gleaming and happy. Instead, Ilya grabbed Wyatt in a celebratory headlock.

When they were boarding the team bus, Ilya nudged Shane. "Come to hotel bar. Our flight is too early to go out tonight."

An early flight had never stopped Ilya before, but tonight he just wanted to relax and enjoy the win. He didn't feel like going out to a loud bar and watching random men hit on Hollander.

Shane nodded, and a thoughtful look crossed his face. "Yeah, maybe tonight you can help me set up profiles on some apps?"

Ilya gritted his teeth and nodded. That would be a productive use of their time.

Back at the hotel, Ilya changed into a shirt that was objectively too nice for hanging out at the hotel bar. For a moment, he examined his curls in the mirror, contemplating whether or not to style them, and then abruptly came to his senses and left.

Shane was already at the bar, pale drink in hand that looked suspiciously like ginger ale. He was huddled over his phone with Troy. Ilya swallowed irritation. Of course Shane had invited Troy, he seemed to be leaning on Troy for advice and guidance almost as much as he was with Ilya.

Ilya's heart squeezed for a moment while he thought about a key difference between his approach and Tory's. He couldn't imagine Troy doing something as stupid as suggesting practice sex. In fact, Troy having practice sex with Shane was the last thing on earth he wanted to imagine.

"What are you looking at?" Ilya sat next to Shane. Troy propped his chin in his hand, blue eyes snapping with amusement.

"Shane's trying to figure out what to put in a dating profile."

Ilya raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure if dating was the right word to use for these apps. He held out his hand, and Shane warily slid his phone over. Ilya squinted, the interface was unfamiliar.

"It’s for, like...famous people," Shane mumbled, reading the confusion on Ilya's face.

Ilya's eyes snapped up.

"Just feels safer. Since I'm not out yet," Shane shrugged. Troy nodded encouragingly.

"It’s a good idea. I was telling Shane he should start talking to some guys in the towns we're going to next. Get to know them a little before meeting up."

Ilya's brain was still catching up. "You want advice on how to sext them?" He offered. "I am very good at it, just ask Troy. I write texts for him, he gets laid."

Troy groaned. "That guy tried to get me to talk dirty to him when we met up, and I totally disappointed him because I was nowhere near as filthy as you."

Shane turned bright pink, and for a moment Ilya was hypnotized by the way the peach contrasted with his freckles.

"Uh...I don't know if it'll get to that point before a date."

Ilya could feel his eyebrows shoot up. He'd been prepared to help Hollander with hookups, dating felt far out of his depth.

Ilya hadn't ever dated much. Sometimes meeting women for a drink, but it was always just a prelude to sex.

He turned his attention to Shane's phone. The photos were endearingly chaste, nothing even resembling a thirst trap. He paused on a photo of Shane in Bood's living room that Harris must have taken at Bood's party. He looked radiant, happy, relaxed.

"Hmm. Need a gym selfie," Ilya mused. Shane's cheeks turned redder, and Ilya tried his best to suppress a grin. "Or maybe jogging?"

Shane's spine was rigid, and Ilya enjoyed it for a moment before he remembered that Troy was there. He handed Shane back his phone and decided to refocus on easier tasks.

"Troy, how are you? Ready to give up on other men and ask your crush out?"

It was Troy's turn to flush, and Shane looked relieved to have the heat off of him.

"I told you, it feels too complicated. Things could get weird between us, and I would still have to see him all the time. It's a bad idea."

Shane was nodding thoughtfully, and Ilya chewed the inside of his cheek. Troy sounded completely rational, responsible, and correct.

Troy changed the topic to their next game, and he and Shane fell into easy conversation while Ilya focused on slowly peeling the label off of his beer bottle.

***

Shane stared at his phone. Following Troy's advice, he had changed his settings so he could match with men who would be on their upcoming travel schedule. An Olympic figure skater who lived in Minneapolis had messaged him an hour ago, and Shane had been so surprised and anxious that he almost hurled his phone at the wall.

It was an extremely innocuous message, just a general "You're cute, want to grab a drink?"

Shane chewed his fingernail. He'd gone on dates with girls before, and always felt incredibly awkward.

Nothing he had done lately—going to bars, his encounters with Ilya—approximated a date. What was he going to talk about? Shane self-consciously knew that the only topic he could talk about for hours was hockey. What would he do if it went badly and he wanted to leave?

Shane found himself typing back, and they quickly scheduled a meet up when Shane would be in town.

The morning that they flew to Minneapolis, Shane sat next to Ilya on the plane.

"Can I ask you something?"

Ilya looked tired, but he sat up straighter. "Always."

"What should I do if I want to get out of a date?"

Ilya frowned deeply, as if he was mulling over possibilities. "You have a date you do not want to go on?"

Shane shook his head. "No, I'm going. But I'm trying to figure out what to do if I don't like him. I don't know, an excuse to leave or something."

Ilya's hazel eyes were flashing intently, drawn in by Shane's question. He glanced out the window of the plane for a moment and then turned back to Shane.

"Text me. Give me address of your date, I will get drink in the same area. If this date is bad, text me and I come save you."

Shane felt a little less anxious, and nodded in relief. "You'd do that? It wouldn't fuck up your whole night?"

Ilya shook his head with a serious, determined expression. "No, I said I will help you."

***

In a moment of panic, Shane had asked Holmberg for advice on what to wear for a date. His teammate had looked as baffled as Shane felt, and Shane turned to desperate measures.

Shane: what should I wear?
Shane: I only have my suit and athletic clothes

Ilya: yes, I know what you wear.

Ilya typed for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he replied.

Ilya: come to my room. I have nice clothes you can borrow.

***

Ilya watched Shane trying on his clothes and dug a fingernail into his palm to distract himself from the urge to throw Shane on the bed.

"Can you tell me anything about your date?" Ilya leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, hoping he looked nonchalant as his eyes clung to Shane's abs, which were sadly being concealed, button by button, as Shane put on his shirt.

"Yeah, I mean he's out. His name is Max, he's a figure skater. He won bronze at the last Olympics."

Ilya nodded, retaining the details so he could look the man up as soon as Shane left.

"Only bronze? Your standards are so low?" Ilya teased, and for one beautiful moment Shane grinned at him. Then he unbuttoned the shirt and Ilya's mind unfocused. Shane reached for a soft sweater that was Ilya's favorite. As Shane turned it over in his hands, Ilya's throat felt tight.

"That. Wear that." Ilya said, and he could hear that his tone was brusque. Shane caught it too, looking confused.

"Is my favorite sweater. Do not spill on it. But it will look good," the last sentence was the truth that made Ilya feel like turning away. It looked perfect on Shane, something about the navy threads brought out the warmth in his brown eyes. As Shane looked at himself nervously in the mirror, Ilya was overcome with a need to be alone.

"Go, you can fix your hair in your room. Text me address of the bar. I will rescue you if Olympic loser is bad date." Ilya made a shooing motion with his hands and Shane nodded seriously before he left. Once the door closed behind him, Ilya sank onto his bed and pulled out his phone. He spent the next half hour looking at photos of Shane's handsome, accomplished date.

***

Max looked better than his photos. He had a sweet, crooked smile and straight, dirty blonde hair that Shane felt was cut a little too short.

Shane had only watched one video of him competing, and he didn't know enough about figure skating to really understand how good he was. Just that he had powerful thighs and an Olympic medal, and now he sat across from Shane smiling and making small talk about Minneapolis.

Shane found himself overanalyzing everything. Was Shane asking enough questions? Did he come off as boring? Was he talking about hockey too much?

He didn't quite feel like Ilya needed to come save him from Max, he was pleasant and friendly enough. But maybe Ilya needed to come save Shane from himself, his anxiety and self-criticism was ramping up by the minute.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I'm good at this." Shane blurted out. Max looked bewildered.

"Good at what?"

"Uh...being on a date?" Shane winced, gesturing between them. Max smiled sympathetically.

"No. You're doing fine, I promise. I've been on some bad dates, this is not one of them."

Shane straightened up, curiosity piqued. "Can you tell me about them? It might make me feel better."

The tension in his shoulders loosened as Max laughed and leaned forward, conspiratorially.

"Ok, well one guy made it like ten minutes into our first date before he asked if he could wear my bronze medal while we fucked."

Shane's mouth dropped open, aghast.

"That's not even close to the worst story I have," Max laughed, and he gestured at the bartender for another drink.

***

Ilya was drumming the countertop of the bar with his fingers, an angry staccato. He'd wound up at a pretentious wine bar a few blocks from Shane's date, and immediately regretted it. The bartender kept trying to flirt and extoll the virtues of orange wine. Ilya hated orange wine and he couldn't summon the energy to flirt back.

Shane's date had started an hour ago. Ilya had hoped for a quick exit, Shane sitting down and realizing after ten minutes that his date was all wrong for him. As the minutes trickled by, Ilya's core felt heavier and heavier.

A few weeks ago, he had been so ready to usher Shane towards other men. Shane's tentative but eager curiosity had been so charming, and at the time Ilya was all too willing to play the part of wingman. Then Ilya had completely fucked himself over by suggesting they hook up, and Ilya had found himself embarassingly hung up on Shane. Two quick hookups, and Ilya could barely think of anything else.

He'd never fixated on someone like this, and it unsettled him. It was probably because, for some unknown and infuriating reason, Shane Hollander was as incredible in bed as he was on the ice. And Ilya had to assume he was also fixated because he knew it was a bad idea.

There was no long-term possibility in hooking up with his teammate. If it came out, they'd be a laughingstock at best, and Ilya could picture the way the league and fans would rake them over the coals.

So far, all the queer players who had come out were dating civilians, the league hadn't had to contend with the fervor that would accompany two active players dating. Ilya rubbed his temple, a headache coming on. Sleeping with Shane wouldn't lead to dating, in theory they should be safe.

He still had to go back to Russia every summer, it felt like his father's health was worse every time he visited. He really shouldn't jeopardize his ability to go home by having a recurring hookup with a high profile man.

And yet. Something about Shane made the risk and the sneaking around feel absolutely worth it. As Ilya sat there, tapping his fingers on the bartop nervously, he sifted through memories, wondering if he could identify anything specific that Shane did that made him feel so irreplaceable.

Ilya could pick out individual elements—an adoring mouth, beautiful brown eyes, breathtaking freckles, moans that felt etched in Ilya's memory forever. But the whole was greater than the sum of its parts, Ilya knew he couldn't go search out a hookup who met the same criteria, and expect them to be as enchanting as Hollander.

An hour and a half. Ilya finally caved and texted Shane.

Ilya: do you need saving?

He managed to wait ten minutes before he was completely crawling out of his skin. Ilya threw cash onto the bartop and bolted outside. He lit a cigarette immediately, checking the address that Shane had given him. He was only two blocks away, and Ilya told himself it made sense to at least walk past.

Ilya strolled briskly, the air dry and biting with cold. For a wild moment, he envisioned getting the text he'd hoped for.

He might go in and really mess with Hollander, pretend to be a shocked boyfriend, finding the love of his life cheating on him. That idea gave him an odd sensation of his insides being scooped out. Even in jest, he didn't want to think about Shane as a heartless cheater, capable of stepping out on Ilya.

Ilya slowed his pace as he approached, the bar had wide windows, and he could spot Shane immediately. He was smiling and nodding attentively.

Ilya could only see a sliver of his date's profile, he was twisted away from the window. In an effort to help Shane, Ilya had resolved to figure out Shane's type. So far he had identified height as a desirable factor. Not too tall, just an inch or two taller than Shane. He might have looked up Max's height, and then Shane's, to confirm the theory.

Max's hair was a similar shade to Ilya's, which made him frown. Elliott's hair had been dark, a little long and curly. There wasn't a common factor there.

As Ilya stared, Shane's date said something that made him tip his head back in laughter. Ilya felt frozen for a moment, stomach churning and fingertips shivering slightly in the cold as he took a long drag from his cigarette. As if he could feel the intensity of Ilya's stare, Shane's gaze started to shift slightly. Ilya ducked before Shane could see him, and hustled down the block in the opposite direction.

He'd find someone else to sleep with tonight. Eventually his fascination with Shane would fade, and Ilya would feel like he could breathe normally again. But for now, as Ilya raced down the street, it felt like there was an elephant sitting on his chest.

***

Ilya avoided speaking to Shane the next morning, too embarrassed that he had found a girl with freckles to fuck the night before, and he was all too aware why he had chosen her to go home with. Shane had returned his text last night, a few hours after Ilya sent it, and it had made Ilya feel ill.

Shane: Thanks for checking! The date went well.

Ilya's avoidance as a form of self preservation evaporated when he saw Shane and Troy huddled on the ice during practice. Ilya slid up to them.

"How was your date?" Ilya asked.

Shane smiled, and Ilya's heart sunk.

"It was fun. He's funny." Ilya nodded, as if this wasn't the worst news in the world.

"Did you have late night?" Why was Ilya asking this? Troy gave him an odd glance, and Ilya studiously avoided his gaze.

Shane shook his head. "Not really."

Ilya couldn't figure out how to extract any more details without sounding desperate. Troy stepped up, and Ilya had never appreciated him more.

"Are you guys going to go another date? I think we're back in Minneapolis next month."

Shane shrugged. "Maybe. He's nice, but...we don't have as much in common as I hoped we would."

Ilya could feel the smile spread across his face too quickly, he pretended to cough to rein it in.

"Too bad," the words came out in a chipper sing-song patter.

Troy nodded. "That’s ok. You're seeing that guy in Montreal next, right?"

Ilya's head swiveled to Troy, and then quickly to Shane. Why was Troy looped in on Shane's dating schedule?

Shane looked at him apologeticly. "I asked Troy for advice texting. Since, uh..."

"You kind of have a one-track mind for texting," Troy said. It wasn't untrue, but somehow that made Ilya feel worse. Shane wasn't sexting a random guy on an app, he was having pleasant, real conversations with the intent to meet in person.

Ilya nodded and slapped on a smirk. "When you are ready, let me know. I am expert."

Shane's cheeks were turning pink, and then Wiebe called at them to break it up, and they had to scatter.

***

Ilya and Shane had played beautifully and savagely again, as always. But the lack of depth at center was killing Shane mentally. They had scraped a win tonight, but it had required absolutely everything from Shane and Ilya. As they got on the bus to go to the airport for a redeye, Ilya nudged him gently.

Oddly, even though Ilya had his fingers inside him a few days ago, he always seemed hesitant to touch Shane outside of the bedroom. Shane saw him wrapping other teammates in bear hugs and headlocks, smacking affectionate kisses on Bood or Troy's cheeks after a goal. It made Shane feel both seen, and a little lonely.

He'd never loved casual physical touch, but in the moments where Ilya was embracing their teammates, his love and care looked like it burst out of him. Shane knew Ilya cared about him, he had become one of his closest friends. But they didn't share those moments of abandon, where Ilya acted like he couldn't contain his love to just his body, he had to envelop someone else in it.

But tonight, Ilya nudged him, and his expression said everything Shane needed. It said "I know why you're stressed. We can't keep going like this."

Shane shot him a weak smile. As they boarded the plane, Ilya jerked his head for Shane to follow him. They sat, Shane rubbing his eyes and readying for sleep.

"Is there another reason why you don't like this figure skater?" Ilya asked. Shane was taken aback, he hadn't expected another debrief.

Ilya was fidgeting with the buckle of his seatbelt. "He was...OK about everything?"

"Oh!" Shane could tell what he was asking. "Um. Yes. He didn't want to go any further than I did. And he...uh...had some nice things to say about me."

Why was Shane handing in his report card like he needed to prove to Ilya that he was a great teacher?

Ilya's fidgeting abruptly stopped. Maybe it had been an overshare? But Shane thought back to the first few weeks of training, how Ilya would talk frankly about hookups and his prowess, how long he had been able to go down on a woman, how many times he had made her come in one hour. That talk had made Shane feel completely out of place, and he was grateful that it had seemed to slow.

"Hm. Nice things?" Ilya glanced at Shane with a guarded expression.

"Yeah. I don't need to say what, right?" Shane frowned. He wasn't really asking for permission, he just wanted to see if they were on the same page.

Ilya nodded emphatically. "Of course not. Just...good to hear. Happy you are quick learner."

Shane nodded. Max had told him he had a fuckable mouth, and Shane's first thought was that the only person he trusted to fuck his mouth was Ilya. That felt entirely too personal and vulnerable to share with Ilya.

"So you have date in Montreal?" Ilya asked. Shane shook his head, and Ilya's forehead crinkled in confusion.

"I'm talking to someone," Shane said. "But it's not like, flirty or anything. Could just be a friend."

Ilya's forehead smoothed a little, and then the plane finally rumbled to take off. Once they were in the air, Ilya asked him something worse than any of the date interrogations.

"I forgot my pillow. Can I sleep on your shoulder?"

Shane nodded weakly, and Ilya balled up a sweatshirt, tucked it onto Shane's shoulder, and was asleep in minutes. Shane was rigid, awake for hours, before he finally succumbed to the soothing sound of Ilya softly breathing in his ear, and he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter End Notes

Yes, Ilya. Hanging around a bar for over an hour in case the man you've recently fingered wants to cut his date short is super casual, friendly behavior!

I wanted Shane to have some perfectly fine, angst free dates/hookups. Nothing was really wrong with either guy (aside from Elliott having dirty dishes in his sink). They are, unfortunately, just not Ilya.

Ilya hasn't reached his full potential for a jealous crash out, but waiting at a pretentious wine bar and then staring longingly through a window while getting sad about an imaginary scenario where Shane cheats on him...that is approaching jealous crash out territory!

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

Any time Ilya saw Shane on his phone, his stomach curled in on itself. There were moments of weakness where he couldn't help himself. He'd peek over Shane's shoulder or outright ask, and then be tortured by details about nice men who were understandably jumping at the chance to go on dates with Shane.

Shane's details of said dates and hookups were sparing. At this point Ilya really only wanted to know if they had gone OK, if Shane felt safe. Fortunately, he always did. Sometimes it seemed like Shane was holding back, like there were details he wanted to share, or questions he wanted to ask. Ilya didn't have it in him to needle it out.

Ilya had tried to distract himself with a parade of freckled women, but it wasn't working. He'd lie awake fantasizing about texting Shane, having him slip out of his hotel room and into Ilya's arms. It was getting out of hand.

When they landed back in Ottawa for a stretch of home games, the team went out for drinks after a bolstering win. Shane still looked distraught when they lost, which was often. Ilya hated it, hated that they had potential they were squandering, that Shane felt the weight of each loss on his shoulders. So often after a loss, Ilya wanted to grab him and shake him affectionately and tell him it would be ok.

Ilya had felt it his rookie season. A young star expected to save the team, only to highlight that one incredible player couldn't drag a team to the playoffs. Ilya had to adjust his expectations, resign himself to trusting the rebuild that Wiebe was steering them through. Shane had been the brightest spot of Ilya's career so far, and Ilya didn't know if that was wonderful or heartbreaking.

Ilya sat next to Shane as he reflected on this, crammed into a booth with Bood and his wife, Cassie. Shane was making small talk about their son, and eventually they had to leave to relieve their sitter. The second they got up, Shane slumped, his facade relaxing.

"I am sorry." Ilya said. "It will get better. You and I are too good, it has to get better."

Shane looked at him, half hope, half exhaustion. He bit his lip and Ilya almost leaned over to bite it himself.

"I hope it gets better."

A silence lapsed, and then Ilya found himself asking the question he hated most.

"So. When is your next date?"

Shane shrugged. "Not for a bit. Not going on dates in Ottawa yet."

Ilya felt himself straighten in his seat. How could he have forgotten? Perfect, sleepy Ottawa, where he didn't have to think about the possibility of Shane in another man's bed.

As if Shane was reading his mind, he cleared his throat.

"I've been thinking. Um, about what we've done before."

Ilya couldn't look at him, he felt too hopeful. He kept his eyes trained to the peeling label on his beer bottle.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I was wondering if you feel like...doing it again?"

Ilya's nervous gaze snapped to Shane's. Shane was a little pink, but he looked focused, direct.

"Of course." Ilya kicked himself. Desperate, needy. It was such an obvious answer.

Shane fidgeted. "I just...I don't think I'm comfortable with a stranger, doing it the first time. And I trust you."

Ilya's heart thudded at those words. Shane trusted him. Shane was implying he wanted to...

"You want me to fuck you?" Ilya asked quietly, and Shane cringed. The words could have come out better. Less disbelieving, some euphemism that was more delicate, but that evaded Ilya in English.

"Yes. If you don't want-"

"I want," perfect, even more desperate. This conversation was a disaster. "If you want, we can."

Shane was bright red now. "Great. OK, thanks. Maybe Friday?"

Ilya fought to hide his smile at Shane's formality. Two days. He could make it through two days of Shane texting other men, if it meant he'd have Shane in his bed.

***

Shane had hoped that he wouldn't be comparing every man to Ilya at this point. He'd gone on a handful of dates and had some fun hookups, and none of it had made him feel the way he had with Ilya.

Shane struggled to be fully present in all aspects of his life. The only time that he felt completely absorbed in the moment, all background noise silenced, was when he was on the ice. He could rely on his body to carry him without thought, he moved without analyzing, trusting his instincts. The only other time he'd experienced that sensation of total trust in himself was with Ilya.

It had been weeks since he and Ilya had their frantic encounter in Ilya's hotel room, and Shane wondered if he had just built it up in his head. Shane would kiss a perfectly nice, handsome man, and find himself waiting for his consciousness to switch off like it had with Ilya, and it never happened.

Shane spent all morning readying himself to go over to Ilya's. Ilya had offered to come to Shane's, but something about that felt too intimate. The mental image of Ilya leaving Shane's condo after fucking him made Shane feel ill. Shane would rather be the one that left.

Shane's nerves were in overdrive until the moment he knocked on Ilya's door. Ilya opened the door without a shirt on, and it was like everything else went silent. Ilya smirked, all too aware of the way Shane's eyes fixed on him as he stepped into Ilya's house.

"Do you want a drink?" Ilya asked, following Shane as he stepped down the hall. "I have ginger ale."

Shane knew Ilya's drink orders from enough nights out together, it shouldn't have felt so charming that Ilya knew his. But the thought of Ilya going to the store to get some, anticipating Shane's visit, made Shane feel fizzy.

He shook his head. "No, thanks."

Ilya frowned for the slightest second, and then cooly nodded, straightening his shoulders.

"Where do you want to be? Bedroom?"

Shane nodded, eager to stick to their plan. Ilya gestured for Shane to lead the way.

When they entered Ilya's bedroom, Shane noticed that it looked pristine. Ilya's home had been tidy the last time, but now his bedspread was tucked in, tight and orderly like a hotel. Ilya's rug was fluffed, as if had just been shampooed. There was a vase of eucalyptus leaves on Ilya's dresser that hadn't been there before, suffusing the room with a calming scent.

Shane found it embarrassingly erotic, the care and attention Ilya paid to his home. He swiveled around and grabbed Ilya, pulling him in for a kiss. The moment their lips met, Shane wondered why he had let weeks lapse since their last hookup. He felt like he had been starving and he didn't know it until now. For his part, Ilya returned with equal enthusiasm, cradling the back of Shane's neck as he swept his tongue into Shane's mouth. Seized by an urge to recover lost time, Shane started to run his hand over Ilya's sweatpants, tracing the firm outline of his cock.

Ilya groaned and then broke away for a moment. "Slow down. We have time."

Shane started to flush, worried that his eagerness was too much. Ilya dipped his head down to meet his gaze.

"Shane, is ok. I just want more time. Can't fuck you if I come right away, yes?"

It settled his nerves, and Shane exhaled a steady breath before grabbing Ilya for another kiss. They stood, swaying and kissing like they had all the time in the world. Ilya kept tracing his thumbs over Shane's cheekbones, sighing into his open mouth. Finally, Shane's patience was ground to dust and he started walking backwards, dragging Ilya with him. Ilya's mouth stretched into a smile that made it physically impossible to kiss, and when the backs of Shane's legs hit the bed, Ilya paused to begin unbuttoning his shirt.

Shane's head was swimming as Ilya smoothed his hands over his chest, and then Ilya leaned in to murmur in his ear.

"Take the rest off yourself."

Shane moved quickly, so ready that he didn't have time to feel self-conscious. He stacked his folded clothes on the dresser, and turned around to a mercifully naked Ilya, lying in bed watching him. As much as Shane wanted to dive on top of him, he paused for a moment, drinking in the sight. Ilya looked chiseled, almost untouchably handsome. But his languid posture and bright hazel eyes were so inviting, made Shane feel incredibly secure and wanted.

Shane crawled across the bed, Ilya's eyes glinting with interest, and when their mouths met, Ilya flipped him so Shane was on his back. Ilya started kissing and sucking on Shane's neck, and then he whispered in Shane's ear.

"Can I bite you? Will leave a mark."

Shane's breath was unsteady, and he answered without thinking. "Yes, please."

Ilya growled and sank his teeth into Shane's shoulder. Somewhere that would be easily covered by clothes. Ilya planted a gentle kiss on the mark that began to bloom, and then nipped another one next to it. Shane started to twist his fingers in Ilya's curls, and Ilya groaned at the sensation.

Ilya lowered, kissing the inside of Shane's thighs before tapping for him to roll over. He grabbed Shane's ass, fingers gripping firmly while Shane squirmed with pleasure, and then he lowered, running his tongue along Shane's hole. Shane was moaning instantly, trying to resist the urge to rock back into Ilya as he lapped and kissed and worked his tongue into him.

"Fuck, Ilya" Shane couldn't summon any other words, just squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Ilya groan against him, the needy, hungry sound reverberating. Ilya's tongue came away, and before Shane could protest, he was filling Shane with his finger, stroking and gently working him open.

Ilya was already murmuring in Russian, his tone alternated between adoringly sweet and aggressively commanding.

Ilya began dragging his fingers along the spot in Shane that made him gasp, and then he abruptly stopped. Shane whined, and he could hear him softly laugh.

"So greedy. I do not want you to come yet." Ilya leaned down and bit Shane's ass before he smacked it playfully and got up to reach into his bedside table. When he got back on the bed he tapped Shane to roll over.

As Shane turned, he lost his breath. Everything he had felt and heard made him feel like Ilya was confident, teasing, playful. Ilya's face as he looked at Shane said another story. He almost looked nervous, his eyes were searching Shane's face for something he couldn't locate.

"Do you still want?"

That must have been the cause of his uncertainty. Shane nodded vigorously, but Ilya's expression only lightened a fraction. He swooped down to kiss Shane, cradling Shane's cheek in his palm for a moment.

He rolled the condom on, slicking Shane's entrance, and then shot that same cautious look at Shane.

"Please," Shane begged, and Ilya lined up, pushing gently.

Shane's gasp as he first felt Ilya inside him made Ilya pause, and Shane dug his fingers into Ilya's arms. "Please, fuck. Don't stop."

Ilya's breath was ragged, inching into Shane at a pace that was driving him insane. Faintly, Shane had a moment of rational thought, that this was exactly why he had wanted Ilya for his first time. He was careful, gentle, he kept checking with Shane, and when he was buried inside Shane he let out a groan that sent shivers up Shane's spine.

"You feel so good," Ilya twisted his face into the crook of Shane's neck, gasping for a moment. He rolled his hips gently and Shane cried out. It was like Ilya couldn't organize any thoughts after that. He began speaking Russian rapidly as he fucked Shane. Slowly and tenderly at first, and then harder when Shane began meeting his thrusts.

The room filled with the sound of Ilya's skin meeting Shane's, his rough words wrapping around Shane's ears. All Shane could do was moan, and needlessly beg. Ilya was pounding him into the mattress and all Shane could ask for was more. As Shane arched his back, Ilya got a flash in his eyes. He pulled out, smiling at the offended expression on Shane's face.

"Turn over," Shane flipped immediately, and Ilya lined up behind him. It was overwhelming, Ilya felt impossibly deep and Shane could hear him gasping with each thrust.

Shane pushed back against him, and the angle suddenly made a heat pool in his belly.

"Fuck, Ilya, I'm going to-"

"Please, yes. Fuck, Shane. come on my cock," Ilya was digging his hands into Shane's hips as he ordered him, and the words were enough for Shane's orgasm to crash over him. He was on the verge of sobbing, burying his face in Ilya's bed. Ilya sped up as Shane clenched and shook, and then Shane felt him still inside of Shane as he cried out.

They laid there for a moment, Ilya panting and pressing wet kisses on Shane's back. Shane felt like his joints were made out of pudding, he could only sigh a little when Ilya slipped out of him and got up. Ilya returned with a washcloth, and began carefully cleaning Shane. When Shane flipped over for him, Ilya didn't meet his gaze, he looked focused on wiping across Shane's abdomen.

"I will shower. Do you want to come with?"

Shane hesitated, feeling all too spent for another round so soon. Ilya smirked. "Just shower, pervert. I promise."

He held out his hand and helped pull Shane up. Ilya's shower was enormous, and Ilya still managed to crowd Shane against the tile as he rubbed soap over him. Shane closed his eyes under the water and had a brief, irrational thought that he wanted more of this. Not just incredible sex with a man who was gently cleaning him, but more moments of bizarre domesticity. Showers together, touch that wasn't necessarily sexual, but that felt sensual and intimate.

He turned around and Ilya's eyelids looked heavy as he stared at Shane for a moment. Ilya kissed Shane softly, cupping Shane's face. Shane sighed into the kiss, feeling wobbly, completely full of bliss. Then, with an awful twisting sensation, he was hit with the feeling that it was all too intimate. He wanted too much, and he felt exposed. Shane pulled back, blinking water out of his eyes, and Ilya quickly switched the shower off, stepping out first and grabbing a towel for Shane.

After they dried off and Shane started to get dressed, Ilya said something that made him freeze.

"You should stay."

Shane whipped his head around, but Ilya wasn't looking at him while he yanked sweatpants on.

"Stay?" Shane could hear his voice crack, and Ilya finally glanced up, shrugging.

"Yes. Could have more fun. You should stay."

Shane dwelled on the thought for a moment, but it felt like they were careening over a guardrail. Maybe Ilya had hookups spend the night all the time. But Shane's fear was beginning to gnaw at him. What if he liked it too much? Ilya clearly cared about Shane as a friend, but his reputation for being a playboy was notorious and earned. And Shane was beginning to feel like he wasn't emotionally prepared to be part of Ilya's rotation of casual hookups.

There had been a brief time where Shane had hoped they could do this, be friends with benefits, Ilya gently guiding Shane through this newness. But the reality was squeezing in and becoming too loud to ignore. Shane wanted more.

He wanted to spend the night and not wake up wondering what it meant. He wanted to shower with someone and not be too nervous about kissing them tenderly. Shane felt hungry, as if Ilya had sat him in front of a feast and then snatched it away. Ilya's casual pose, his eyes carefully watching Shane now, made Shane's defenses go up.

Ilya nodded, interpreting the silence. "Is ok. Another time, maybe."

Shane withered inside. He could have said something. Could have agreed to at least stay and drink a ginger ale on the couch. Hang out for an hour, try to hammer his feelings for Ilya back into a shape that felt friendly and casual, not overwhelming and wanting.

But Ilya stood there, hands in his pockets, unconcerned by the fact that Shane said no to staying.

"Uh. Yeah, maybe. I should get going." Shane fumbled with his jacket for a moment. Ilya opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but then he shut it and nodded.

"See you tomorrow," Ilya said. He didn't see Shane to the door. Shane slipped out quickly, afraid that his willpower would shatter at any second, and he'd march back inside, ask Ilya to forget what he said, that he wanted to stay more than anything.

***

Ilya had been sitting on his couch for hours, frozen with anger and confusion. He had fucked something up. The problem was that he couldn't point to one specific thing he did or said that had scared Shane off, there were too many possibilities. When Hollander had run out of his home, Ilya had started replaying every moment, wishing he could savor them, but he was reduced to examining each second with a fine tooth comb and dawning dread.

Getting ginger ale was stupid. Ilya had thought it might make Shane feel welcomed and comfortable, but in retrospect it seemed creepy.

Trying to get Shane to stay still and just kiss him for a moment was a mistake. Shane hadn't come to Ilya for tender kisses and caresses of his freckles.

Biting Shane was about as subtle as a dog pissing to mark its territory. Ilya had just felt like he would explode if he didn't see evidence that this was real, that it was actually happening.

For a blood chilling moment, Ilya wondered if Shane somehow understood Russian. If Ilya had been unable to conceal the possessive fantasies he spun out loud, that Shane was all his.

Ilya scowled. No, he decided his mistake was kissing Shane softly in the shower, outside the bounds of anything sexual, then asking Shane to stay. It had all been too transparent and desperate and Hollander had retreated, afraid of his friend wanting a type of intimacy that Shane couldn't offer.

He sank into his seat. It was apparent that the line between them had been reinforced, and tomorrow he'd return to safety. Hopefully Shane would also pretend this never happened.

***

Ilya seemed completely at ease the next day. That almost rattled Shane more, the casual normalcy and familiar friendliness. He joked with Troy, he passed to Shane in a drill without even needing to look, and he chirped Dykstra for being "slow little snail."

In short, Shane felt more assured than ever that yesterday hadn't meant anything to Ilya, and that they could proceed as friends. There should have been comfort in that familiar norm, but Shane just felt off-balance and feverish.

Things went truly off the rails for a moment when they were in the locker room after practice. Holmberg saw Shane strip his shirt off and yelped.

"Jesus, Shane. Who got ahold of you?"

The blood rushed to Shane's face as he followed Holmberg's eyes and remembered Ilya biting his shoulder.

A few other guys craned their necks and gave approving nods. Shane really wanted to stick to the script, but he couldn't help glancing at Ilya, wondering if he was as jarred as Shane. When Shane looked over, Ilya's back was studiously turned and he looked very busy fishing something out of his bag. For a moment, all Shane felt was disappointment, but then it turned to anger.

Ilya had known this would happen, he'd known that he'd mark Shane up and leave him to fend off awkward questions by himself. For the first time since they'd started hooking up, Shane felt like he had been used for Ilya's entertainment. There was no other reason for it.

Shane took a long shower, hoping everyone would be gone by the time he got out. To his dismay, Ilya and Troy were still in the locker room when he got out. Ilya was fully zipped up in his jacket, he looked like he had been ready to go when Troy caught him.

Troy smiled at Shane as he walked in. "Nice one, Shane. Was that the Montreal guy? Didn't you say he was talking about coming to Ottawa?"

Shane shook his head, keeping his eyes away from Ilya. "No. Uh, I'm seeing the Montreal guy when we go there this weekend."

"Maybe he can make your other shoulder match." Ilya said airily.

Shane had nothing to say, and shortly after, Ilya excused himself and left.

***

Ilya was determined to be normal and casual and act like fucking Shane hadn't been a life-altering experience. He resented Shane, but mainly he was furious with himself. The whole thing had been his stupid suggestion, and it wasn't really Shane's fault that his moans haunted Ilya, that Ilya couldn't look at his bed without imagining Shane in it. It was pathetic and depressing.

What was worse was that Shane didn't act differently. Aside from some blushes about the stupid, impulsive marks on his shoulder, Shane behaved as if nothing happened.

The team went to Montreal, and Ilya found himself filling with dread. Not to face the Voyageurs, but because Troy could not lay off this fucking Montreal guy that was going to meet up with Shane. Finally, Ilya lost his cool.

“Oh my god, we get it. Hollander will go fuck a hot man after the game,” Ilya snapped as Troy warmed up with him.

Troy squinted. “Did he not show you? He's meeting up with Miles fucking Allen.”

Ilya stared at him blankly, even as he wished he could go scramble for his phone to look the man up.

“He's a big movie star. Look, even I've heard of him,” this was a fair dig, Troy was illiterate when it came to pop culture. “He's best friends with Rose Landry, they're both in this superhero movie that's filming in Montreal.”

Rose Landry, Ilya had heard of. She was often in bad movies, the kind Ilya watched on a plane to fall asleep to, but she was an undeniably great actress. Magnetic, expressive.

Ilya started to feel even more ill. Shane was going to go meet a famous movie star, a man who had been talking to Shane for weeks at this point. They'd look beautiful together and Shane would go home with him, and this movie star would get to experience Shane the way Ilya had, hearing him cry out in pleasure and lose his breath, and go limp and relaxed in his arms.

Ilya was confident he was ten seconds away from snapping his stick in half. He grumbled some excuse and skated off the ice to collect himself.

That night, he played viscously. Unnecessary checks, brutal chirps, a lengthy stint in the penalty box that only left him vibrating with anger.

Wiebe admonished him after the game for going too far, and Ilya almost felt shameful.

By the time Ilya got out of the shower, Shane was long gone, no doubt getting ready for his date.

Ilya's phone pinged, a text from Shane. At first, nervous excitement bloomed, but then he opened it and the hope came tumbling down. It was a group message, one with Troy and Wyatt.

Shane: hey, I got invited to go to this party with the cast of that superhero movie filming here? You guys should come if you want.

Shane: Wyatt, please act normal

Wyatt responded with a string of exclamation points and emojis and then apologies and promises to behave. Troy said he was in. Ilya rubbed his eyes, considering.

He could skip it, find someone to sleep with to distract himself. Or he could go, and miserably watch Shane flirt with a movie star. A terrible impulse streaked through Ilya. He could go and be an absolute brat, try to ruin Shane's date and fuck up any tentative friendship they had left.

Ilya fired off a text promising to be there.

Chapter End Notes

I love ending a chapter with a Checkov's Rose Landry.

Poor Ilya got his rug professionally cleaned because Shane complained one time about a guy's dirty apartment.

Ilya is fully out of the "I don't have feelings for Shane" stage, and about to be in "I have feelings for Shane and I will make it everybody's problem" mode.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

Ilya entered the bar and scanned the room quickly. Shane was easy to spot, even with his back turned to Ilya. His glossy hair was getting a little long in the back, and Ilya regretted that he hadn't twisted his hands in it when he'd last had the chance.

Before Ilya could cross the room and shove himself between Shane and whoever he was talking to, Troy and Wyatt waved him over to the bar.

"Wyatt's about to explode," Troy said when Ilya reached them. Ilya ordered a shot and a beer, and resisted the urge to turn around and stare at Shane.

"I promised Shane I'd be normal, but it's harder than I thought," Wyatt's eyes were shining, and Ilya could see his gaze darting around, surrounded by stars who had brought his favorite comic books to life.

"Hm. Where is Hollander?" Ilya asked casually, as if the back of his neck wasn't prickling with an awareness that Shane was a few feet away. He and Troy turned around at the same time, and even though he anticipated it, Ilya's stomach plummeted when he saw Shane.

He could see who Shane was talking to now. Miles was infuriatingly handsome, and to Ilya's chagrin, he had great taste in clothes. He was wearing a Gaultier top that was the exact same as one of Ilya's favorite shirts. It was silky and ostentatious. Ilya was instantly grateful that his was hanging in his closet back in Ottawa, because showing up wearing the same shirt as Shane's date felt like a unique level of humiliation that he wasn't prepared to weather.

Ilya watched carefully for a moment before throwing back his shot. He strode over, weaving between the crowd and announced his presence by cupping his hand on the back of Shane's neck. Shane choked on his drink in surprise.

"So nice of you to invite us," Ilya murmured in Shane's ear. Brushing his lips against Shane's ear sent a shiver up Ilya's spine, and he noticed goosebumps raise on Shane's skin. Ilya faintly registered that Wyatt and Troy had scrambled to follow him.

"Uh. Ilya, Troy, Wyatt. This is Miles, that's Rose." Shane gestured towards the two strangers.

Ilya had only begun a pointed stare-down with Miles, but he ripped his eyes away for a moment to look at Rose Landry. She gave the group a dazzling smile, but when her gaze landed on Ilya's hand, still firmly resting on Shane, one of her eyebrows shot up.

In a self-conscious reflex, Ilya loosened his grip for a moment, but he felt Shane relax too much. Ilya shifted his hand down, splaying his fingertips between Shane's shoulder blades as if Shane needed to be braced. It was the kind of gesture he did when his teammates needed to be lifted up or comforted, but with Shane it was decidedly different. Instead of calming and grounding, it felt like an abrasive, possessive scream, one that said "Please don't forget me. I know how to reduce you to a quivering mess, all you need to do is ask."

Shane didn't move away, which made Ilya feel triumphant for a moment, before self-doubting disappointment set in. Maybe it didn't have the effect he had been hoping for. It certainly wasn't having an effect on Miles, who seemed undeterred, his attention was focused completely on Shane.

Ilya was too distracted to really track the conversation. Miles was describing a stunt sequence on a previous film. Wyatt was nodding enthusiastically, and Shane laughed at all the right parts of the story. But Shane's laugh sounded hollow, it came a fraction of a second too late.

Eventually, Ilya leaned into his ear again, unnecessarily close, so he could smell Shane's sage shampoo. "Come to the bar with me."

Shane nodded, and Ilya couldn't resist throwing a smug, irritating smirk at Miles. Infuriatingly, Miles looked completely unbothered as he continued regaling Wyatt and Troy.

Ilya kept his hand on Shane's back as they twisted through the crowd, and only dropped it when they reached the bar and were comfortably away from Miles. His hand felt ice cold in the absence of touching Shane.

They ordered drinks, and Ilya turned to Shane before he could lose his nerve.

"How is it going with Miles?"

Shane squinted. "Fine, I guess."

Awkward silence threatened to overwhelm them.

"Do you like him?"

Shane looked irritated, and he raked a hand through his hair. Ilya was distracted for a moment, tracing the movement with his gaze.

"I don't really know yet. He could be...he seems like the kind of guy who wants a boyfriend."

Ilya wanted to hitch Shane over his shoulder and run out of there, leave Miles as a distant memory. He swallowed.

"Who wants a boyfriend? You just started seeing men," Ilya could taste the bitterness on his words. Shane wasn't supposed to get locked down like this, it had never been part of the plan.

"I might want a boyfriend!" Shane looked offended. "Sorry if I'm being boring, or whatever."

It was a complete punch to the gut. Ilya shrugged, flailing. "Fine. I cannot help you with boyfriend things, I have not done this." Voicing his deficiencies felt humiliating, but he was too busy quickly pounding guardrails between them to care. He couldn't stomach giving Shane dating advice, hearing Shane talk about falling in love. Ilya's stomach was swooping and he realized he might be sick if they talked about it even a moment longer.

Shane scoffed. "Yeah, I know. You can just help me sext random guys and learn how to give head, right?"

The air between them was frigid now, they were circling something that Ilya had hoped to ignore. It felt like Shane was moments away from acknowledging that it felt different, last time. That Ilya had crossed a line, and now Shane wanted to cut him off.

Ilya stared at him, completely unsure of what to say. Shane had fixed his gaze to the bartop, but he finally raised his eyes to meet Ilya's. For the hundredth time, Ilya worried that he could get lost in them, their amber depths swallowing him whole.

They stood for a moment, a silent exchange happening like they so often had on the ice. Shane's expression was searching, waiting for a cue from Ilya. Ilya thought about asking Shane to come back to his hotel room, to fall into bed together. It felt like the only thing he could offer, and he knew it was inadequate. As Ilya hesitated, Shane's expression clouded.

"I'm gonna go make sure Wyatt hasn't scared Miles and Rose."

***

Shane felt shaky all evening. He tried to focus when Miles spoke to him, worked his hardest to think of interesting things to say, and he pointedly avoided looking at Ilya.

Their conversation at the bar was ringing in his ears. Shane felt that he had all but screamed at Ilya that he wanted something more, and Ilya had made it clear that wasn't his thing. Shane had known it, it was why he had sprinted out of Ilya's home, but he still felt hollow inside at the finality.

Eventually, Troy couldn't stave Wyatt off any longer, and Wyatt cornered Miles to pepper him with questions about some spin-off movie.

Troy was chatting with Ilya, who kept glaring at Shane. If Shane had any self-respect, he would have asked Ilya what his problem was. Instead, Shane miserably fidgeted and waited for Miles to wrap it up with Wyatt.

Rose nudged him. "Good game tonight."

Shane almost jumped out of his skin. She hadn't said much all evening, just hovered near Miles and offered funny one-liners when the conversation lulled.

"You watched?"

Rose nodded. "I watched some of it, when they were taking my makeup off after the shoot. My family is big on hockey."

She continued. "My oldest brother played through college, my younger brother was in the AHL for a few years. I'm the disappointment of the family, really. My mom is still pissed my dad let me drop hockey to take musical theater classes."

Shane laughed, the first genuine laugh he had felt all evening. Rose smiled, a dazzling, warm smile.

"My mom would have done the same. Not that I ever wanted to do musical theater."

Rose tipped her head, mulling it over. "You never tortured your family by rehearsing 'Send in the Clowns' a hundred times?"

Shane shuddered and it was Rose's turn to laugh at him. For the first time that night, Shane felt a little more relaxed.

***

Ilya was thrilled Wyatt had been invited. Troy had worked very hard to rein him in until Ilya started distracting Troy by talking about a video Harris was working on. Wyatt had sprung on Miles like a bad hunting trap.

What Ilya hadn't anticipated was Rose fucking Landry swooping in on Shane. Where Shane had been stiff and nervous with Miles, he was loose and happy with Rose. Ilya felt like his eyes were going to burn a hole through Rose's skull when she made Shane laugh so hard that he inhaled some of his drink. She pounded on his back as they dissolved into breathless laughter and Ilya wondered where the fuck this woman had come from.

A frantic thought bubbled in Ilya's mind. He hadn't asked Shane to pin down his sexuality. He had started to assume Shane wasn't interested in women, but he also hadn't seen Shane enjoy himself like this before. Ilya had been so focused on running interference with Miles, he hadn't even bothered to worry about the other beautiful movie star who had been latched onto them all evening.

"Did you hear what I said?" Troy knocked Ilya out of his furious reverie.

"No, sorry. Was watching Hollander almost die." Ilya nodded at Shane, who was still catching his breath. His cheeks were Ilya's favorite shade of peach, and Ilya couldn't even enjoy it.

"I was saying that Harris wants to get us a team dog."

Troy had said the only thing that could get Ilya to stop glaring at Rose and Shane.

"We can do that? When? How soon?" Ilya interrogated Troy, getting lost in the excitement for a moment too long. When Troy had finished showing him photos of the contenders, Ilya glanced up.

Shane and Miles were chatting again, Rose had moved to calmly sit next to Wyatt and chatter away about her new project. Ilya scowled.

"Miles, are you a big hockey fan?" Ilya interrupted him. Shane shot Ilya a glare that only emboldened him. It was better than Shane ignoring him.

Miles shook his head. "No, it's not really my thing," he smiled coyly at Shane. "It’s all just a sweaty blur, you know?"

Ilya couldn't let it slide. "Too bad. It is Shane's thing."

Ilya had no idea where he was going with this, he just wanted to yank Shane's focus, shove his nose in the fact that this movie star was all wrong for him.

"Well, movies aren't really my thing, so I think we're even," Shane retorted. Miles looked confused.

"What, like all movies?"

Shane seemed embarrassed, and Ilya should have felt bad, but he was too pleased.

"We're so busy, I never really have time," Shane deflected.

"We watch Fast and Furious together," Ilya said proudly. It was true, it had become a routine for them to watch those movies on planes. Ilya would pretend to get tired halfway through so he could rest his head on Shane's shoulder. Ilya now had a Pavlovian response to the franchise, he got butterflies in his chest at the sight of the title cards. Shane Hollander had reduced him to pitiful depths of pining.

Miles finally seemed to catch on, his eyes narrowing. He reached out a hand to rest it on Shane's arm, a chaste, territorial gesture that made Ilya want to scream. He stood up and excused himself for a cigarette.

A voice in the back of his head told him it was too risky to leave Shane with Miles, that Ilya needed to wedge his way between them all night, and insist that Shane go back to the team's hotel. But he knew if he stayed at that table he'd do something that would probably piss Shane off to the point of no return, so he needed to put himself in time-out for a moment. As Ilya shuffled outside, his other concern materialized at his elbow.

"Can I bum one?" Rose asked brightly. "I quit to train for a musical, but I could use one right now."

Ilya held out his pack and lighter wordlessly, and she helped herself. They stood there in silence for a moment, and Ilya preserved his dignity for a moment by ignoring the impulse to turn and stare through the window at Shane.

"Your teammates seem nice. Different than I expected." Rose finally said. Ilya nodded.

"My brothers played. I expected you guys to be jerks. Shane, especially. I thought the poster boy rookie was too good to be true."

Ilya tipped his head back, staring at the evening sky and wondering what he had done to deserve this. It was bad enough that Ilya was infatuated with the golden boy of hockey. Apparently he couldn't even sulk and smoke without being confronted by the fact that everyone wanted Shane.

"Yes. We are all nice hockey boys."

"How close are you with Shane?" Rose had no idea she was skipping across a field of landmines.

"We are close." It was true, until a couple days ago when Ilya acted like an idiot.

Rose made a humming sound, and then she was quiet again. Ilya looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked like she was solving a math equation in her head.

"How do you like Miles for him?" Rose asked.

Ilya wanted a sinkhole to open beneath her, to stop this line of questioning. No, he corrected. He needed a sinkhole to open beneath him, he needed to vanish this very instant.

"You tell me. I do not know Miles." As much as Ilya hated it, he was curious. He wanted to know.

"Miles is great. I love him so much, and I think Shane could make him happy," Rose was twisting a knife in Ilya and she had no fucking clue.

Then she leveled Ilya with her gaze and said something that tipped everything off balance. "I just wonder if Shane might be better with someone else. Someone he has more in common with."

The words hit Ilya in his core. He couldn't look at her. He turned and stared at Shane, just like he'd sworn he wouldn't. Shane had that same, stiff posture. His face was doing what it was supposed to, attentive and curious and laughing at the right times. But he wasn't loose, carefree, the way he was with Rose.

The bud of hope in his chest that Rose's words had just planted was suddenly crushed with realization. She was talking about herself. A woman who understood that hockey was intrinsic to Shane. A woman who made Shane laugh until he choked. Ilya suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. Shane would date Rose openly, and Ilya would have to watch and pretend it wasn't destroying him.

Ilya pictured it all too clearly, and it made him feel hollowed out.

He stubbed his cigarette out and excused himself. He left for the hotel without saying goodbye.

***

Shane squinted at his phone, bleary eyed from the lack of sleep. He had gone back to the hotel Rose and Miles were staying at, and the three of them had stayed up talking. He and Miles had exchanged a nice, brief kiss when Shane left.

None of that computed with a headline that Wyatt had excitedly sent in their group chat, a tabloid article about Shane and Rose "stepping out on the town together."

Blurry photos of them in the bar, laughing. A shot of them walking to Rose's car. Miles was right next to Shane, but Shane had to admit that his attention was focused completely on Rose in the photo.

***

Troy: wow! Shane, these photos are kind of crazy. Sorry someone took them.

Ilya: good for you

Wyatt: I know, I can't believe you're dating Rose Landry!

Ilya: not what I meant. good for you, you look hot in your paparazzi photos.

Troy: yeah, I bet you're going to get a lot of DMs

Wyatt: that's not new. everyone already wants Shane, the comments on the Centaurs social media are unhinged.

Troy: seriously, Harris said he has to filter comments on any posts about Shane.

Ilya has left the chat

***

Ilya allowed himself to wallow for one horrific morning. He scrolled photos of Shane with Miles and Rose, read infinite comments, and stalked everyone who wrote something thirsty about Shane. When his eyes burned and his thumbs were tired, Ilya decided to stop feeling sorry for himself.

“How are you?” Svetlana's voice was cautious when she answered the phone.

“Fine, why do you sound worried?”

“Have you been online at all today? Seen anything about your teammate?”

Ilya pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Shane Hollander and Rose Landry. Or Shane Hollander and Miles Allen, whichever.”

“Or both,” Svetlana mused, and Ilya hissed, his aloof facade dropping immediately. Svetlana pounced on it.

“This is why I asked if you are OK! Talk to me.”

Ilya could picture her standing impatiently with one hand on her hip. She was more stubborn than he was, she could always wear him down.

“Fine. I don't care.”

“We can skip this. Whatever you are trying, we can skip it. I didn't push in New York because you got drunk and sad.”

Ilya gritted his teeth. She continued.

“Have you told him you want him?”

It was useless denying this line of questioning. “No. But I think he knows.”

There was a heavy sigh. “That isn't the same thing.”

It felt like the same thing. Shane looking at him at the bar like he could see straight through Ilya.

“I…” Ilya's words caught in his throat. “Even if I did, I can't give him what he wants.”

“Why not? What if all he wants is you?”

Svetlana was describing a dream and a nightmare.

“Look at what happened last night. That can't be us. Not if I want to go home.”

Svetlana was quiet for a moment, and Ilya knew she was chewing through words, deciding how to cut to the quick of it.

“Yes. But you have not given him that choice. Why not try?”

A thousand reasons floated in Ilya's head. What if all Shane liked Ilya for was sex? What if they tried, and Ilya was a disaster as a boyfriend? What if Shane was swept off his feet by Miles, or fucking Rose, while Ilya stood on the sidelines, paralyzed?

In that moment, Ilya had only one decision.

Ilya resolved to make himself obnoxious and impossible to ignore. Ilya was willing to return to the way they had been before, if that was all they could do. Friends who had incredible sex. If Ilya's feelings freaked Shane out, he could keep it casual. What Ilya absolutely could not do was watch Shane become someone else's boyfriend. If Shane was going to try to date a movie star, Ilya was prepared to breathe down his neck the entire time until he reconsidered.

***

Ilya was 90% sure Shane wasn't interested in dating Rose. That conviction dipped to 70% when he saw Shane watching one of her movies on the plane, smiling at his phone. But still, he was 90% sure on a good day, because Shane hadn't expressed any interest in women in months, and it would be completely absurd for Ilya to lose Shane to Rose Landry of all people.

Ilya was too nervous to voice concerns about Rose into existence. Instead he harassed Shane about Miles constantly. Miles, Ilya could comfortably contend with.

“Oh my god, for the thousandth time. No, I haven't figured out when I'm going to see him again.” Shane finally lost his cool after their game in Detroit, when Ilya was pestering him about follow up dates.

“Why not? Nothing in common?”

Something about that made Shane stiffen. “Did you talk to Rose?”

The hair on the back of Ilya's neck stood up. “Did you talk to Rose about Miles?”

“I asked first.”

“No, why would I be talking to Rose Landry?” Ilya rolled his eyes. There was only one thing they could talk about, one shared interest. And Ilya didn't want to check in on his competition.

Shane frowned. “I just asked because Rose said…she asked if I feel like Miles and I have anything in common.”

So Rose was playing the exact same game Ilya was. Ilya's mind raced, wondering what her strategy was. Ilya tried to soothe himself with the knowledge that he had the upper hand with proximity; Shane's life was hockey, and that meant Ilya was an unavoidable barnacle, always latched onto Shane.

Ilya smirked. “True. You do not have anything in common with Miles or Rose.”

Shane looked thoroughly annoyed. “I don't know, Rose and I have some stuff in common. And Miles is fine, even if he doesn't like hockey.”

Fine was hardly a ringing endorsement, but it still stabbed at Ilya. And the implication that Shane and Rose had anything in common besides Rose's passing knowledge of hockey kept Ilya up that night. He tossed and turned and fantasized of ways to get Rose Landry kicked out of Canada.

***

Ilya was being obnoxious and weird with Shane. He kept nagging about Shane's dates, bringing up Miles over and over. Even worse was his behavior on the ice.

They played fine together. Mechanically, it all functioned, but the instinct and blind trust had evaporated overnight. For whatever reason, Ilya's mind seemed preoccupied. He now played with Shane like he played with the rest of the team, and that felt like a limb had been ripped from Shane.

Things with Miles had stagnated. Rose was kind of right about compatibility. Miles didn't have much to say about hockey, and Shane didn't have much to say about movies, and their texts were more and more sporadic.

Rose, on the other hand, had become one of Shane's favorite people to talk to. She'd call when she was bored in her trailer, they would text when Shane watched one of her movies on a plane, and she made plans to visit him when he got back from his road trip.

Shane found himself staying in more nights, sometimes canceling on dates when his body was tired and his mind was stuck on the deficiencies of their team. He told himself it was because he was too busy, that it was fine to take a break from dating and hooking up because hockey was so important.

Shane knew, all too well, that it was because it was getting harder and harder to keep Ilya out of his mind. Despite the fucked up chemistry on the ice and the intrusive questions about Shane's dates.

Shane would sit on a date across from a nice, polite man, and wish that he was a chain smoking, loud Russian who pushed his buttons and kissed Shane like he'd never get enough of him.

***

Chapter End Notes

As usual, Rose and Svetlana are the smartest people in the room and Shane and Ilya are circling each other like idiots who are too scared about the depth of their feelings! The girls are trying their best.

This chapter took forever because I went back and forth making Ilya act like an unhinged brat vs having a more internal crash out. I went more internal, but he's not done doing stupid things in the name of keeping Shane single.

And Rose felt like a Sondheim girl, but would love to hear your thoughts on what musical she's prepping for now.

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

Ilya peeked over Shane's shoulder in the hotel lobby. "What happened to Miles?"

Shane slammed his phone facedown. He was texting a guy named Ivan, a model who lived in New York. The last thing Ilya needed was seeing that Shane had now resorted to hooking up with Russian models who had curly blond hair.

"I don't know, I haven't talked to him in a bit. I think you can stop asking about him."

Ilya nodded thoughtfully. "So I should ask you about this new guy?"

Shane understood why Troy had regretted telling Ilya he had a crush on Harris. He was relentless.

"Maybe. I might see him in New York. We're just talking."

They played Buffalo next, and it went terribly. Both Shane and Ilya were out of sync, and when they struggled the team didn't have a chance. Shane went back to the hotel and stewed, livid at himself.

He pulled out his phone and texted Ivan.

Shane: What are you up to?

Ivan: Is this you trying to sext?

Shane's cheeks burned. Ivan had suggested phone sex when they first started talking. Shane was mortified at the thought, so Ivan had asked if Shane would ever consider sexting, and Shane said he'd think about it. Maybe it would help him keep his mind off their loss, off of the way Ilya's hazel eyes had looked cold after the game.

***

Ilya didn't feel like going out. He briefly contemplated texting Shane and making up some excuse to hang out. But Shane was probably wallowing just like he was. The team was bad, and they were wasting an incredible rookie season from Shane. Ilya's phone buzzed and his stomach plummeted when he read the message.

Troy: Shane needs your help

Ilya: What's wrong? Where is he?

Troy: He's trying to sext

Ilya: Oh

Ilya: He does not need my help

Troy: We both know that's not true. Just text him some pointers, please. He asked me and I have almost nothing to offer.

The last thing Ilya wanted to think about was Troy sending Shane sexts, even by proxy.

***

Ilya: Troy says you need my help

Shane: No! I'm fine

Ilya: That is what I told him

Shane was going to kill Troy. He was going to murder Troy and then he'd have to ask Ilya to help him hide the body, so he really couldn't afford to make things awkward between the two of them by getting sexting advice. But Shane stared at the message from Ivan and wondered what had gone wrong.

Shane: What do I say if someone asks what I'm wearing? I said my pajamas and he sent an angry emoji

Ilya:....

Shane: Forget it

Ilya: You are supposed to tell them you are wearing nothing.

Ilya: You have really never done this?

Shane: Obviously
Shane: It's fine, I'm Googling ideas right now

Ilya: Ok.
Ilya: Google seems like a bad teacher.
Ilya: So. What are you wearing?

Shane stared at his phone. He tried to picture Ilya alone, lounging in his hotel room. Ilya was probably completely relaxed, he didn't need to deadbolt his door like Shane had in case his roommate came back early.

Shane: Is this a quiz?

Ilya: Maybe. What are you supposed to say?

Shane: Sure. I'm wearing nothing.

Ilya: Good. Very convincing. 
Ilya: Are you hard?

Shane: No, I'm not already hard from one text.

It was a lie. Thinking about Ilya stretched out in his bed had already gotten Shane half-hard. He cupped himself through his sweatpants.

Ilya: You always say yes, doesn't matter if you are not yet. Keep things moving.
Ilya: And I don't believe you anyway.

Shane: Fuck off.
Shane: Are you hard?

Ilya: Of course.
Ilya: Now you tell me what you would do with my hard dick if you were here with me

Shane: I don't know. Blow you?

Ilya: You really are bad at this.
Ilya: You are supposed to say something like this.
Ilya: I want to hear you beg for it. Want you to get on your knees and wrap your pretty lips around my cock and let me fuck your mouth.
Ilya: You sound so good when your mouth is full.
Ilya: I'm so fucking hard right now, I need your mouth.

Ilya: Shane?

Shane: Sorry! Fuck.
Shane: Um
Shane: I want to do all of that

Ilya: More

Shane: I want you to fuck me.

Ilya: More

Shane: I need you inside me. Fuck. When you're inside me I feel like I'm going to black out, it feels so good.
Shane: I want to hear you moan in my ear.

Ilya: Good
Ilya: You should send a voice note when you touch yourself.

For a moment, Shane wondered if Ilya meant it in a prescriptive sense. If he was offering advice for Shane to use with other men, or if he was demanding something for himself that Shane felt all too eager to give him. Before he could talk himself out of it, Shane hit record. He wasn't sure what Ilya would be able to hear over his ragged moans. The sound of his hand slicking his cock with lube? The bed creaking as he arched into it? Shane got close, before he let out a frustrated groan and sent it.

The pause between messages nearly killed him.

Ilya: Fuck
Ilya: You sound so good for me
Ilya: Don't come yet

Shane: I don't know if I can wait

Ilya: Beg for it

Shane: Fuck you
Shane: Please?

Ilya: No
Ilya: I don't think you want it badly enough

Shane: Please
Shane: I want to come for you so bad
Shane: I need it
Shane: I need you

Ilya sent Shane a photo of cum on his abs, and Shane wasn't able to control himself any longer. He came, shaking and gasping Ilya's name, wishing he was there to kiss as Shane came back down to earth.

Ilya: You can come now. But I think you already did, yes?

Shane: Fuck
Shane: Yes. Sorry

Ilya: Hm. I will make you be patient next time.

Shane didn't know what to say. He lay there blinking at the ceiling. It felt so stupid that they had just jerked off over text messages when they were in hotel rooms a few floors away from each other. But it also felt much safer than being in the same room, where Shane would be tempted to grab Ilya close and dig in, unable to let go.

Shane cleaned up and when he got back into bed he stared at the words “next time” until his eyes hurt. He didn't even remember until the next morning that he had left Ivan on read.

***

Ilya walked back into the airport lounge with a deep scowl on his face. His father had called, asking him to get bread at the store. Ilya had tried to remind him that he wasn't in Moscow, hadn't been for months. Then he had frantically tried to call his stepmother, tried to call Alexei. He had finally gotten ahold of Alexei's girlfriend and she had promised to go look in on his father.

Ilya needed to figure out how to hire a live-in nurse, his family clearly couldn't be trusted to take care of his father.

Ilya scanned the room. Troy, Wyatt, and Bood were all laughing together. Shane was sitting alone, staring out the window. They hadn't acknowledged their sexting from the other night. Ilya didn't want to know if it had been helpful, if Shane had turned around and used those lines on the man who he had originally been talking to.

Ilya would have probably picked sitting next to Shane a hundred times, regardless, but right now he especially didn't have the energy to front for his other teammates and pretend things were fine.

He collapsed in the seat next to Shane. Shane did a double take, Ilya's terrible mood must have been a loud presence.

"Are you ok?"

Ilya considered lying, but instead he just lifted one shoulder helplessly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Shane's voice was quiet and careful.

Ilya shook his head firmly. He felt exposed. The fluorescent lighting suddenly hurt, the happy laughter of their teammates felt offensive.

Then Shane did something that almost made the hideous helplessness vanish. His hand shot out to grab Ilya's quickly. He squeezed once, firmly. When he let go he brushed his thumb over Ilya's knuckles carefully, and then his hand retreated. It was invigorating and torturous. Ilya wanted to grab Shane's hand back, yank him onto his lap, and hold him close until everything felt a little quieter, a little more bearable.

Instead, Ilya just shot Shane a grateful smile. They sat in silence until it was time to board the plane. Once they sat down, Shane cued up a Fast and Furious movie, and Ilya only waited twenty minutes before he pretended to be tired so he could rest his head on Shane's shoulder.

***

"Shane, I can stay at a hotel, it's fine," Rose laughed. Shane had called her while he was at the grocery store to ask what kind of pantry items he should buy for her visit.

"No, that's no fun!" Rose was one of the few people Shane felt he could talk to for hours, and they never actually had a lot of time to talk. Shane hadn't even seen her in person again since the night they met. He was really looking forward to her visit.

"Ok, ok. I'll stay at yours. We can stay up late eating popcorn and prank calling our crushes," she teased. "Do you think I'll get to see any of your teammates? I know you have an afternoon game, do you guys usually go out after?"

Shane squirmed. "Maybe. Would you want that? I mean, you saw how Wyatt was."

Rose waved it off. "I'm used to it. No pressure, it would just be fun for me to spend some time with everyone, after hearing you talk about them."

***

"Hey," Shane had been working up the nerve to ask something. Things were still back and forth with Ilya. He was pestering Shane for dating details, and Shane was getting more deft at avoiding the topic.

The bigger barrier between them seemed to be Ilya's mood. He wasn't as boisterous right now. Ilya kept having long, angry sounding phone calls in Russian, Shane would see him in the parking lot at the practice facility, chain smoking. It always seemed like he was either yelling or pleading, and Shane wished there was something he could do to help.

Shane fidgeted with his stick while Ilya stared at him and waited for him to spit out whatever he was struggling with.

"Rose is coming in a couple days, and she wants to meet the team. Do you think you could get the guys together?"

Ilya's stare was blank. "What do you mean?"

"Just like, see who wants to get a drink or something. We have an afternoon game, so there's lots of time after. You're the captain, the guys will get together if you ask them to."

Ilya shook his head. "Do not feel like helping Rose Landry become a WAG."

Shane tried to not feel hurt by Ilya's bizarre obstinacy. In retrospect, it felt childish to ask Ilya to invite everyone anyway.

***

Shane: Hey guys. My friend Rose is coming to town, she would love to meet you. If you feel like it, come over to my place for drinks after the game.

Wyatt: !!!!! Rose Landry???

Bood: What kind of food are you going to have?

Harris: Can't wait!!

Troy: I'll be there

Dykstra: Is anybody else from the X Squad going to be there?

Shane: I don't know about food yet. No, nobody else, just Rose. Wyatt, please be normal.

***

Rose arrived in the late afternoon with two suitcases for a 48 hour stay. Shane had spent the whole morning nervously prepping his guest room, and as soon as she wheeled one of her suitcases in, she started laughing.

"Shane, do you only own books about hockey?"

Shane could feel a blush creeping over his face. "No! I have some others in the living room."

Rose was at the bookshelf, running her fingers over the spines and shaking her head.

"Do you want to go out for dinner? I don't think Ottawa is as exciting as Montreal, but there are some nice spots."

Rose shook her head. "Let's do takeout. I have sheet masks and I want to change into sweatpants."

Shane knew it was irrational, but all morning he'd worried that maybe he'd gotten it wrong. Maybe Rose would come to visit and he'd find they were horribly incompatible, and then he'd be stuck with someone in his guest room for two days that he couldn't stand. He was relieved to find out his fears were completely unfounded.

Rose had brought an enormous case of sheet masks, and they pored over them before selecting the best ones and settling to watch her home team, Detroit, play Nashville.

"Do you ever miss playing?" Shane asked.

Rose held the sheet mask in place as she shook her head. "Not even a little. Women's hockey is great, but that culture doesn't always start in youth leagues. And my family didn't have a ton of money when I was growing up. It can be such an exclusive, rich kid sport, you know?"

Shane frowned. He knew this, but he'd never really had to worry about that side of hockey. He was an only child to well-off parents, and when he was a teenager he had started getting sponsorships. He knew his condo was much nicer than what a rookie could typically afford, and for a moment he started to feel self conscious about the team seeing it tomorrow.

Rose nudged his foot with hers. "Was there ever anything you didn't like about hockey?"

Shane hesitated. "Some things. I know what you mean, about the culture. It's such a white sport. I've heard every slur you can think of."

Rose's face crinkled sympathetically under the mask.

"And even though there are a few queer players, I'm still kind of afraid to come out. I mean, I'm not exactly hiding that I'm meeting up with guys, but it's different, once the assholes in the league can yell homophobic slurs at me and know it's the truth."

"Have you told your parents you're gay?" Rose asked.

Shane hadn't even said it out loud to himself, in those exact words. He thought back to Ilya waving away Shane's concern, trying to figure out how to label himself after that fateful shower. Lots of dates and experiments and a debilitating crush on his teammate confirmed it, Shane was gay.

If anything, Rose was the nail in the coffin. She was pretty, funny, and kind. Shane liked her a lot. And he felt absolutely no attraction to her.

He shook his head. "No, I haven't told them yet. I think I might tell them during the holidays, when we're spending a few days together."

Rose peeled off her mask, skin dewy now. "That's awesome, Shane. Everything you've told me about them makes me think it'll go well."

Shane sighed. "Yeah, although I know they're going to ask if I'm seeing anyone, and I don't have a great answer for that."

Rose smiled. Shane had filled her in on his attempts to flirt and date and sleep with men. "Miles says hi."

Shane felt his stomach twist with guilt. He hadn't talked to Miles in a bit.

"Shane, it's fine. I'm pretty sure he knows why things never went anywhere between you two."

Shane felt his eyebrows shoot up. Rose held out her hand for Shane's sheet mask and then walked to the kitchen to toss them. When she returned Shane didn't bring it up, and neither did Rose.

She fell asleep on the couch while they were watching a musical Shane had never heard of that she insisted was a classic. Shane covered her with a blanket, and went to bed wondering if Miles somehow did know why Shane hadn't taken things any further.

***

Ilya didn't even want to look at Shane the next day, but he found himself staring in the locker room. Rose didn't leave any hickeys on Shane, at least.

The sickening and undeniable fact was that Shane looked happy. He was flushed, his eyes were bright, and his skin looked like it was glowing. If Ilya had to guess, Shane looked like he had the best sex of his life last night.

Warm ups were like a sick joke. The jumbotron kept cutting to Rose sitting in the stands, wearing a Hollander jersey. The first couple times, Ilya would glance up in surprise to try to see why the crowd went nuts. One time Ilya saw Shane grin and wave at her, and Ilya tried his best to tune it all out.

He played angry. He played with an intensity better suited for the playoffs, not for a Saturday afternoon game against Colorado. At first, Shane seemed startled, then he quickly synced up with Ilya. They terrorized Colorado, punishing their defense and abusing their frazzled goalie. When the dust settled Ilya and Shane were stuck doing lengthy post-game press, trying to come up with an explanation for their incredible performance.

As a result, they were the last in the locker room.

"You never said, are you going to be able to come tonight?" Shane asked.

Ilya had been considering excuses ever since Shane sent out that text.

I would rather have my eyelids taped open and be forced to watch Hayden Pike attempt to shoot goals.

Sorry, can't make it. Rose Landry activates my gag reflex.

No, I am busy tonight. I plan to stare at my bed like a loser and think about how much I wish you were in it.

Ilya had been dying to see Shane's home though. He wanted to snoop, even if it might make him ill to see Rose's toothbrush nestled next to Shane's on the bathroom counter like a married couple.

"Sure. I cannot stay long. But I will come by."

***

Shane really loved Rose, but he was beginning to regret indulging her request to meet his teammates. Wyatt's wife, Lisa, was doing her best to keep him in line, but his other teammates kept pestering Rose or just staring at her like they'd never seen a celebrity before.

Rose was handling it all nimbly, and she had flashed Shane an excited smile a few times, which helped him relax a fraction.

“Shane, have I shown you the team dog we're going to get?” Harris held out his phone. Shane was about to ask what a team dog even was, when Ilya entered and Shane completely lost his train of thought.

Ilya was wearing the sweater that Shane had borrowed for his date in Minneapolis. It looked perfect on him, somehow his golden curls looked richer, and his hazel eyes looked greener.

Seeing Ilya in his own home made Shane's chest feel tight. It was a distance he had been trying to maintain since the start.

Ilya walked up, but his neck was craning, taking in his surroundings.

“Did you know we're all getting a dog?” Shane asked.

Ilya's eyes lit up. “Yes, we will name him Chiron.”

“That is a terrible name,” Troy shook his head. Shane kind of agreed, but he didn't want to put a damper on it. Ilya had been in such a stormy mood lately, this dog was making Ilya the happiest Shane had seen him in weeks.

Ilya waved off Troy's rebuttal and cooed over Harris’ photos like a proud parent. Chiron was getting his shots and then he would be visiting the rink next week.

After Ilya had swiped through the photos a dozen times, he trained his gaze on Shane. “Do I get a tour?”

Shane chewed on his bottom lip. He didn't want to parade the whole team through his home. As if reading his thoughts, Harris held his palms up.

“I don't need a tour. You don't either, right Troy?”

Troy squinted at Harris and then nodded. “Yeah, you guys go ahead.”

Ilya's eyes were piercing Shane, he had to look away. “Sure, come on.” Shane decided to start upstairs and work their way down, and as he started up the staircase he made eye contact with Rose through the crowd. Her smirk sent ice through his veins.

***

Ilya had spent weeks trying to picture Shane's home. It had become something he'd fixate on when he couldn't sleep. He had decided that Shane probably had navy bedsheets and a wall of hockey books. He would have been more excited for this tour if he wasn't terrified to see evidence of Rose, settling her life into Shane's.

They entered the guest room first, where there were two enormous suitcases, but otherwise no signs of Rose.

“I knew it,” Ilya couldn't help laughing as he walked over to inspect Shane's bookshelf.

“Not you too. Rose gave me shit for that yesterday,” Shane pouted, unaware that Ilya had frozen at the mention of Rose.

Shane had begun talking about when the condo was built, what his plans were for renovating. It all bounced off of Ilya as he wandered the guest room, looking for any signs of Rose having slept there. He poked his head in the ensuite. Skincare and hair products were strewn across the counter. Maybe Shane had told her to keep her mess to the guest bathroom.

They trailed down the hall to a useless office.

“Who are you? Mr. Businessman?” Ilya rolled his eyes at the desk.

“I have work! Kind of. I'm working with an architect to build a cottage, near my parents.”

Shane eagerly pulled out what Ilya suspected were the only non-hockey books he owned. They were boring architecture books, Shane had color coded post-its of homes that inspired him.

He showed Ilya home after home that all looked the same, and Ilya didn't really look at a single page. He just stared at Shane, with his long lashes and stunning freckles, and thought “I am so far gone for this beautiful man, and it is ruining my life.”

Instead of voicing that, Ilya cleared his throat and asked “Where is your bedroom?”

Shane looked startled, but he nodded and padded out of the office and down the hall.

Ilya almost laughed again when he entered and saw Shane's blue bedsheets, just as he'd imagined. But the laugh died on his tongue when he saw Shane watching him nervously.

Ilya wandered, looking at a photo of Shane's parents on his dresser. Running his hand over the soft throw blanket on his bed. Shane's brown eyes kept following him, and eventually Ilya walked slowly toward him, watching Shane's breath hitch.

Being in Shane's room felt dangerous. Ilya wanted to scoop him up and throw him on the bed. He wanted to do something stupid like kiss his freckles and ask to spend the night. Instead, Ilya slapped on a crooked smile.

“Nice home,” it came out too softly to be casual.

Shane's bottom lip was a little damp and swollen from nervously chewing on it. Ilya couldn't help himself. He swooped down and sucked on Shane's lip. Shane instantly bent into him, grabbing his sweater.

It was a completely reckless, needy kiss. It wasn't pre-arranged and scheduled like any of their previous kisses, there was no pretense that this was some kind of lesson. This was just pure desire that Ilya couldn't contain any longer.

Ilya ran his thumb across Shane's cheek, stroking his freckles, faded from winter. Shane sighed into his mouth, a tiny sound that Ilya wanted to hear a thousand times. Ilya was a moment away from getting on his knees, when they heard Bood, just outside the room, yelling to ask if anyone knew where the bathroom was.

Shane leapt back, and Ilya felt like he'd just been scorched.

“Bood, use the one in my guest room!” Shane hurried out without a glance, and Ilya was left, feeling stung and panicked yet again.

***

Ilya had told Shane that he couldn't stay long, but he found himself lingering. Shane wouldn't make eye contact, whenever Ilya was near, his cheeks would flush and he'd find an excuse to walk away.

After an hour of pathetically lurking, Ilya stepped onto Shane's balcony, bundled against the bitter December cold to have a cigarette. Rose slipped out to join him a moment after, and Ilya felt cornered.

“Do you want one?” Ilya asked. Rose waved him off, which only served to instill a deeper sense of dread.

She peered over the balcony, sleepy Ottawa laying below.

“How do you like Ottawa?” Ilya gestured. Rose shrugged.

“It seems fine. I haven't really gotten to see much.”

Ilya could feel his jaw clench. Rose had probably spent every moment in Shane's apartment or at the rink. Of course. The movement in his face caught her attention, and she squinted.

“Last night we hung out on his couch in sweatpants and watched The Bandwagon,” Ilya didn't know what that was and he wasn't going to embarrass himself by asking. “I fell asleep there, I woke up at like 7am to Shane making eggs.”

Ilya started to feel a creeping fear. That there was a reason why she was telling him this, that his relief was too apparent on his face. Her smile all but confirmed it.

Rose turned away, looking over the balcony again. Her tone was casual, her words were simple, but it all made Ilya want to sprint out of Shane's apartment.

“You should talk to him.”

She left it at that. Ilya stared as she smiled and went back inside. Two minutes ago, he had resented her. Now he was terrified of her.

Chapter End Notes

Shane: does a face mask with his bestie
Ilya: God, his skin is so gorgeous, it must be because he had sex with my enemy, Rose Landry

Shane being really bad at sexting is just very important and funny to me, and obviously it works on Ilya anyway.

I promise they're going to talk to each other very soon!

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

Even hungover in sweats, Rose looked stunning. She clutched a mug of coffee, watching Shane while he set eggs and toast in front of her.

"Are you glad you met everyone last night?" Shane asked.

Rose nodded vigorously and then winced. She and Harris had invented some kind of incomprehensible drinking game towards the end of the night, and she was wearing the consequences.

"It’s nice to put faces to names. Or I guess, real faces? Seeing your friends on TV in a bunch of hockey gear isn't the same thing as seeing them in your kitchen."

Shane nodded, chewing. He thought about how different his kitchen felt, now that he knew what it looked like with Ilya in it. His bedroom had felt like a foreign country when he tried to sleep last night. He'd tossed and turned and tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Ilya had been there, and had kissed him like he was starving for Shane.

Shane had been completely unable to make eye contact with Ilya after that kiss, darting away whenever Ilya drew near. Shane knew it was cowardly and immature, but he also felt like had no fucking framework for what had happened between them. Ilya could have just been feeling reckless and horny, living up to his reputation. A tiny voice in Shane's head wondered if it meant that Ilya took the risk because wanted him for real, in some way that was more than friends who occasionally hooked up. It felt too hopeful to wish for.

"What did you and Ilya talk about?" Shane asked. He hoped he sounded casual. He had craned his neck to stare at the two of them when they were on the balcony last night.

The corners of Rose's mouth tugged, like she was trying not to smile. "Nothing, really. Whether I like Ottawa. What you and I got up to during my visit. He seemed very relieved to hear that I didn't sleep in your bed."

Shane's eyebrows shot up. "Why would you sleep in my bed?"

Rose shrugged, and now her smile couldn't be contained. "I think he might be looking for reasons to convince himself that you don't like him."

Shane set down his fork and glared. To her credit, Rose didn't flinch at all.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Rose sighed. "You two are adults, you can figure it out yourself if you actually talk to each other."

She was giving Shane an out, an escape from talking about feelings that Shane wasn't ready to vocalize to anybody yet. Shane felt unsettled that the way he felt has been so obvious to her without Shane saying a word. He wanted to prod further into her thoughts about Ilya, peel open what she'd said about him thinking Shane didn't like him. But it all felt like a conversation that Shane needed to have with Ilya first, if he could ever work up the nerve.

***

Shane was a little muted when Rose left. Ilya hated it. He had begrudgingly accepted what Rose loudly telegraphed on Shane's balcony. She and Shane might not be sleeping together, they might not be romantic, but they had developed enough love between them that Shane was a little quieter when she left.

Ilya let Shane's dour mood linger for one day before he lost his patience.

"You are sad," he said it as a blunt fact to Shane while they warmed up. Shane's mouth fell open.

They hadn't talked about their kiss in Shane's bedroom, how Ilya had initiated something that betrayed the ruse of lessons or casual hookups with a friend. They hadn't talked about their sexting, they hadn't talked about the time Ilya kissed Shane in his shower and asked him to stay.

Svetlana always said that Ilya was the worst communicator she knew, but Shane might give him a run for his money. So Ilya didn't ask Shane how he was feeling, he just delivered the assessment, and Shane stared at him.

"Yeah, ok. I miss Rose," Shane admitted. Ilya felt a completely expected and irrational surge of jealousy. "And...we talked about some stuff that just has me in my head."

Ilya wrestled for a second, considered giving Shane privacy, and then immediately let curiosity win. "What did you talk about?"

Shane bit his bottom lip, and Ilya had to look away to restrain himself. It was incredibly inconvenient that he was so turned on by one of Shane's anxious habits, because Shane was perpetually anxious.

"Um. A few things. Like how I think I'm going to tell my parents I'm gay."

Ilya's eyes snapped to Shane. He tried to place the ache that was immediately constricting in his chest. Happiness, a little pride that Hollander was ready to be brave with his family. There were ugly feelings, ones Ilya resented for flying in. Envy, that Rose had heard this first. Bitterness, that Shane could nervously but courageously tell his parents. Ilya would never have that, and that pain gnawed at him.

"I am very happy for you." Ilya whispered, and Shane's eyes widened a little. If Ilya's sadness was on display, he didn't have time to explain it, because Wiebe called for a huddle, and the moment was gone.

***

Shane was nervous about Christmas. He had always loved the holidays, but this year he had decided he would come out to his parents on Boxing Day. He had talked to Ilya about it a little, since their first conversation. Ilya seemed happy for him, if not concerned about how his parents might react. Without saying so many words, it was clear that Ilya's personal experience made it hard for him to picture parents being supportive of a queer son, and that made Shane want to cry and scream at the same time.

Shane had rehearsed the conversation a few times with Rose. She teased him for being a "bad scene partner," but she had good questions and ideas about how to introduce the topic, and what to anticipate.

Shane realized there was another person who could offer advice. In the weight room one day, when it was just the two of them, Shane approached Troy.

"Troy, are you out to your parents?"

Troy's face twisted, and Shane began to regret even asking. The topic was a minefield, he had just hoped to talk to somebody who had been through this before.

"I'm out to my mom. She's amazing about it," Troy's face was soft as he said it, but it sharpened at his next words. "My dad doesn't know yet, I don't think he'd react well. Are you thinking of coming out?"

Shane filled him in on his plan, and Troy gave him a ginger half-hug, an uncomfortable gesture from his sweet but awkward friend that made Shane feel like his heart might burst.

"I'm really happy for you. Text me, or call or whatever. After you talk to them, I'd love to hear how it goes," Troy said.

Shane felt like there was a calendar looming over him now, the days ticking away to the 26th.

"I didn't even ask. Will you get to see your mom soon? Are you going home for the holidays?"

They only had three days off, but lots of players took that time to go back to their families, instead of staying in Ottawa.

Troy shook his head. "My mom is traveling through South East Asia right now. So I'll stay put. Harris invited me and Ilya to do Christmas with his family."

Shane sat up. He had been so absorbed with his own plans, he hadn't thought about Ilya. Three days wouldn't be enough time to go home to Russia for Christmas.

As soon as practice wrapped up that afternoon, Shane went looking for Ilya. He found him leashing up Chiron, who had been attending practice with Harris for a few days.

Ilya adored the dog, and the feeling was clearly mutual. The fluffy excitable mutt was friendly with everybody, but when he saw Ilya Chiron would go bounding down the hall to tackle him. It seemed that Shane was able to find a bittersweet edge to everything about Ilya these days. He looked at Ilya, petting Chiron with hearts in his eyes, and he wished that Ilya could live here permanently so he could get a dog of his own.

"Come to my parent's place for Christmas," Shane realized it came out more as an order than a request.

Ilya's eyes veered from surprised amusement to indifference quickly. "Harris already asked, I will spend it at the Drover farm."

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think we should let Troy do Christmas with Harris alone?"

Ilya looked startled, and then his expression changed to one that Shane was able to slowly place. It was the look he had whenever Shane took his clothes off. His eyes were a little glassy, and they traveled over Shane's face for a moment. They still hadn't talked about their kiss, although Shane thought about it constantly. For a fleeting moment, Shane was sure that Ilya was going to try to kiss him again.

Instead, Ilya dragged a hand through his damp curls. "Maybe. Will let you know," Ilya whistled to Chiron and they walked off together.

Shane was confident that "maybe" meant "yes", and he pulled out his phone to text his parents.

***

There was no way Ilya was spending Christmas with the Hollander family. He couldn't show up, blatantly infatuated with their son, and pretend to just be a teammate that Shane had brought home like an abandoned puppy. It felt risky and embarrassing.

Svetlana thought otherwise.

"Ilya, please say yes. I will murder you if you say no," she shoved her stern face up to the camera so Ilya could see how serious she was. Ilya was balancing the phone on his bathroom counter as he flossed his teeth.

"I will be fine. I can stay home, or I crash my friend's date. You know December 25 doesn't mean much to us anyway."

Svetlana and Ilya, like most Russians, hadn't grown up celebrating the holidays in December. Sometimes Ilya's mother would take them to church for Orthodox Christmas in January. But then she had passed away, and even that tenuous tradition had vanished. New Year’s had always been the main event, and Ilya found himself faintly wondering if Shane had plans for New Year’s.

Ilya had been content to stay in his Ottawa home this year, to sleep in and watch bad movies, until Harris invited him to his family's. Christmas at the Drover farm sounded cozy and pleasant, and Ilya hadn't considered that Troy should really go by himself. He had gotten too absorbed with Shane to think clearly about anything.

And that was evidenced by the fact that Ilya was now fantasizing about Shane at Christmas. Shane watching expectantly while his parents unwrapped presents that he'd carefully chosen for them. Shane probably opened presents methodically and neatly folded the used wrapping paper, just like he folded his clothes before sex. Ilya found himself wondering if people actually hung up mistletoe in their homes, or if he had just watched too many cheesy Christmas movies last year.

Svetlana snapped him out of his sappy fantasy, literally. She clicked her fingers at him, shaking her head. "You will be like this all day if you do not go, and I don't want you moping and sighing and dreaming all day. Please, for me."

She sealed her argument with her most dazzling smile, and Ilya groaned, covering his face in his hands. She was right. He would be terrible company if he decided to go to the farm to cockblock Troy and Harris. He'd feel distracted and lonely all day at home, because Shane Hollander had stood in front of him and thrown a door open to a fantasy he hadn't even considered. And the most pressing reason to go, the one he hadn't voiced to Svetlana, was that he didn't think he could handle Shane's expression if he blew him off.

***

"I will come," Ilya said. Shane looked up at him, confused. They had just beaten Detroit, and Shane was sitting in front of his locker, getting ready to text Rose to apologize and simultaneously gloat.

"Where are we going?"

Ilya looked nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "If you still want me to come for Christmas. I can come."

Shane could feel how stupid his smile was. "That's great! I already told them to expect you."

Ilya narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and Shane wondered why he thought he had convinced Shane he was ever on the fence about coming.

"What should I bring?" Ilya asked.

Shane found his manners endearing, he hadn't seen this side of Ilya before. Cocky, boisterous, teasing. Gentle, with Shane. But timid and proper looked new on Ilya.

"Nothing, my dad's got all the food covered."

"But you will have gifts, yes?"

"Don't bring anything. My parents don't expect it, it'll be fine. They're just happy they can host you," Shane shook his head

Ilya frowned. "No, this is not good answer. You have to help me."

Shane had thought this would be nice for Ilya. Something fun, and a way that Shane could make sure he wasn't lonely. If Ilya had said no, like he pretended he might, Shane probably would have shown up at his door on Christmas anyway and marched him to his car.

It was dawning on Shane now that Ilya seemed nervous. Maybe even scared.

"Ok. I mean it, they really don't expect anything. But yeah, I can help you figure out something small to get them, if it'll make you feel better."

Relief flooded Ilya's expression, and Shane took a moment to enjoy it before he realized he needed to clarify something else.

"Just..don't get me anything. Because I'm not getting you anything."

Ilya nodded solemnly. "Deal."

***

The team went out for drinks after the Detroit win. Ilya felt too tense, too tightly wound to sit next to Shane. Instead, he settled in beside Troy.

"I'm happy you will spend Christmas with Harris," Ilya nudged Troy gently. For as much as Ilya had teased and threatened to shove Troy towards his crush, he really did want to see them get together.

Troy exhaled a shaky breath. "Me too. But I'm so nervous."

"Will be great. If his family is anything like him, they will be loud and funny and kind." Ilya knew it was true.

"I'm not worried about them. I mean, I am. But more like...I don't think I'm good enough for Harris. And they're going to see that." Troy muttered all of this while staring at the table. Even if Ilya could acutely relate to the emotion, he felt angry hearing his friend voice those words about himself.

"Troy, no. You are good. I have high standards for friends, trust me." Ilya's tease got a small smile out of Troy, but he still looked distraught.

"Ilya, I was best friends with Dallas Kent." Troy had been on a line with Kent in Toronto, and the two had a reputation of being nasty. Ilya had punched Troy in the face his rookie year for using a homophobic slur. Troy had a hard time coming to terms with his past behavior, unable to give himself any grace for shitty behavior that was borne out of fear and a terrible need to hide.

Ilya had been leery when Troy was traded, but the video of Troy beating the shit out of Dallas Kent had almost immediately made Ilya receptive to his apologies. He had seen Troy gently, slowly, blossom into himself over the past year and a half. And that Troy, the sweet and quiet core that was stripped of an angry facade, was more than worth loving.

Ilya was struck with the familiar feeling that English was inadequate. He grabbed Troy by the shoulders. "Just kiss the nice apple man who likes you, or I will be very sad."

It wasn't poetry, but it would have to do. Troy finally, faintly laughed.

"Maybe. What about you?"

Ilya felt his shoulders hitch up defensively. "What about me?" His tone was pure ice, but Troy didn't even seem to register it. 

"Harris said you're not coming because you're doing Christmas with Shane's family. Are you looking forward to it?"

For the first time since they'd arrived at the bar, Ilya allowed himself to glance at Shane. He was sitting with Wyatt and Bood, thoughtfully nodding as Bood held up a deck of cards, evidently explaining the rules of a game.

"I am also scared. Hollanders invite me to their nice home, what if I am asshole?"

Troy looked mad now. "Why would you be an asshole?"

Because it's all I know how to be sometimes. Because my father is falling apart and I still hate him, even though it hurts. Because Shane's family is probably as perfect as Shane is, and I will show up feeling ugly and sad and it will be so obvious that I don't belong.

"Forget it," Ilya grumbled. Troy looked concerned. He took a long sip of his beer and then followed Ilya's gaze across the bar.

For a wild, irrational moment, Ilya wanted to slap his hands over Troy's eyes. It was a stupid instinct that he had been feeling and fighting for too long now. They had just talked about how Troy was head over heels for Harris, but Ilya felt like anybody who glanced at Shane for more than a second had to register that he was stunning, and they'd add themselves to the long list of would-be suitors that Shane had scattered across North America.

Ilya habitually cursed the version of himself a few months ago who had promised to show Shane the wonderful world of casual sex. He should have recognized from the beginning that he wanted Shane all to himself.

Ilya watched Shane laugh with their teammates, and felt a silent wash of gratitude that they were not heading on the road before the holidays. At least Shane wouldn't be going on dates anytime soon.

***

“Does your mother like anything besides hockey?” Ilya grumbled. Shane fumbled to put him on speakerphone while he put away his groceries. Ilya had called him to ask for help while he shopped for gifts, gifts that Shane had stressed over and over were completely unnecessary.

“I mean, sure. She likes gardening…”

“Is winter, Hollander. I do not want to give her something she cannot use for months.”

Ilya’s anxiety was equal parts adorable and heart wrenching. Shane wished there was some way to soothe him, but it seemed like the worry was a runaway train right now.

“Um…” Shane tried to think. He had gotten his mom a Metros jersey, signed by former legends. He had been so proud of himself when he realized he could leverage his status as a player to track down the signatures of her childhood idols.

“Svetlana says jewelry or cashmere scarf. Those are boring.” Shane could picture Ilya right now, twisting his curls anxiously.

“Um. There is this tea she likes.” Shane was truly wracking his brain now, trying to think of things that reminded him of his mother.

“Tea,” Ilya said flatly, evidently finding Shane’s answer even more boring than jewelry or cashmere.

“Yeah, it’s like a comfort thing for her. Reminds her of her parents,” a soft hum came from the other end of the line, and Shane realized with a start that his mom and Ilya probably shared that common understanding. Immigrants who missed the mundane, everyday things that reminded them of home. His mom’s family had come to Canada when she was fourteen, not much younger than Ilya when he had been drafted.

“Anyway, I can tell you where to get it from. There's an Asian grocery store in Uplands. She said they have a good selection, although it’s obviously better in Japan.” Shane settled on his couch. “Are you…do you get homesick this time of year?”

Ilya laughed. It sounded bitter. “Not really. Not any time of year.”

Shane felt like apologizing, but in an uncharacteristic moment, Ilya decided to fill the small silence between them.

“I do miss my mother. I think about her on New Year.”

Shane was torn. He felt that Ilya might spook like a horse if he even breathed too hard. But he was aching to ask more, to pry at the tiny scrap of vulnerability Ilya had exposed. He never talked about his family.

“What do you guys do on New Year’s?”

Shane could hear the flick of a lighter and prepared himself for a brush off.

“She always made pelmeni for New Year’s. Russian dumplings, I make them sometimes. And we would dance in living room and go watch fireworks.”

Shane smiled at the thought of a tiny Ilya, curls bouncing while he twirled around a living room with his mother.

“What’s her name?”

Ilya was so silent that Shane checked his phone to see that their call hadn’t dropped.

“Her name was Irina,” Ilya said thickly, and Shane felt like his insides had cracked open.

“Ilya, I’m so sorry.”Shane wasn’t sure there were any adequate words for the admission he had stumbled into. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Is ok. Now you know,” Ilya sounded so tired, and Shane searched for something meaningful to say to him. How Shane realized how significant it was that Ilya had chosen to share this with Shane. How much Shane wanted to be that person for Ilya, to make him feel safe sharing the sad parts of himself.

Ilya cleared his throat, changing the topic before Shane could speak. “Ok, now tell me about your papa. He cannot only like puzzles, yes?”

***

Ilya had spent most of the 24th parked in front of his TV, eating takeout and watching the Christmas films that seemed to be on every channel. He had been enjoying a comedy about a woman who was mistaken for a man's fiancee while he was in a coma. But then the man's family showed up, took her home for the holidays, and accepted her as their own. Ilya had quickly clicked away to watch a stop-motion movie about a reindeer instead.

He had panicked at one point while trying to wrap his gifts for the Hollanders, and had called Svetlana for opinions on tissue paper and gift bags. She hadn’t teased him even a little bit, and that had the converse effect of making him feel more jumpy and out of sorts.

Shane had insisted on picking him up the morning of the 25th. Ilya would have preferred driving separately, so he could make a clean exit if things went terribly, but Shane had ranted at him about Ilya’s irresponsible sports cars and the road conditions in the winter.

So Ilya climbed into Shane’s boring, practical SUV, and he tried his best to ignore Shane’s curious stare at the gifts Ilya tucked in the back seat.

“I like that sweater,” Shane said abruptly as he peeled out of Ilya’s driveway. Ilya froze, feeling like he had just been caught.

“Yes, I know. You borrowed it for date with bad figure skater.” Ilya’s words had more bite than they should have, and he had betrayed his cool exterior by retaining too many details about the man Shane had met up with in Minneapolis. Shane didn’t seem to register any of it.

“It looks better on you,” Shane took a moment to glance at Ilya, and the beautiful honesty in his expression made Ilya feel so scared that he debated throwing open the door of the car and running home.

Instead, Ilya turned up the dial on Shane’s radio and they drove the rest of the way without saying anything, cliché Christmas songs filling the silence.

Chapter End Notes

Svetlana told Ilya he's the worst communicator and he said "just wait, Shane can make that competitive too"

I love writing the dynamic of Shane doing nice things that are accidentally inflicting psychological terror in Ilya.

Ilya watched While You Were Sleeping and had a "is this fucking play about us?" moment (only in the found family way, nobody is going into a coma/falling in love with someone's brother)

I usually get new chapters out every few days. But this upcoming week is going to be super hectic, so I probably won't put the Christmas chapter out for a week. Sorry! It is coming. And I promise they are going to kiss and/or talk about some feelings in it.

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

Shane had been looking forward to this for days. For a moment, when he had been on the phone with Ilya, he had wondered if he was going about things backwards. Introducing the man he had an enormous crush on to his parents, and then coming out the next day.

He knew he wasn't inviting Ilya as an act of altruism. Shane did genuinely want Ilya to spend Christmas with people, thinking about him alone in his house—particularly now that Shane knew about his mother—broke Shane's heart. But there was also the selfish fact that Shane wanted to spend time with him. Time where Ilya couldn't ask about who Shane was hooking up with, time where they weren't surrounded by teammates.

As they exited the car, Shane saw Ilya square his shoulders and take a beat.

"They'll love you. Remember, they're Ottawa fans," Shane tried to reassure him.

Ilya nodded grimly, and marched to the door as if it was a walk to the gallows.

Shane knocked, and his mom threw open the door, beaming.

"Come in, come in! How was the drive?"

She gave Shane a big hug, and gave Ilya a small side-hug while he juggled the gifts in his hands.

"I hope Shane told you we didn't need any gifts, we're just happy you could join us."

Ilya nodded stiffly. Shane found himself wondering if his dad had any vodka, Ilya looked like he was in desperate need of a drink.

"Thank you for having me. Gifts are my thank you for hosting," Ilya flashed his sweetest smile at Shane's mother, and Shane had to leave the entryway before anybody could see how much his cheeks were burning. Maybe this was a stupid idea, they were two minutes in and Shane felt overcome, seeing his mom and Ilya briefly interact.

Ilya and Yuna trailed into the living room, Ilya pausing to drop his presents under the tree.

"Ilya, this is my dad," Shane gestured towards the kitchen, where David was in his element.

"Hi," Ilya hung back in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the scene. The Hollanders had been celebrating the holidays as a little trio for years, and David always made too much food. This year, he had heard they were expecting one more person and it was as if he decided to cook for ten.

"Hope you're hungry," David crossed the kitchen to shake Ilya's hand. It looked formal and funny, and Ilya looked like he was a bashful ten year old. Shane found himself leaving the room again to try to collect himself. Ilya stayed, David wrangling him for a drink.

"You drove together?" Yuna nodded to Shane's car in the driveway. Shane rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, he has all these sports cars, nothing very practical. I wanted him to be able to get home safely if the weather turned."

Yuna looked like she was fighting a laugh, which made no sense to Shane.

"Shane, why do you not tell me your father has good vodka?" Ilya rounded the corner, his voice already sounded lighter. Shane heard his dad chuckling from the kitchen.

"Ilya, how do you feel about Ottawa's depth at center?" Yuna asked abruptly.

Shane wanted to groan and tell Ilya he could ignore his mom. There was nothing Shane loved more than talking about hockey, but his mom bombarding his captain to discuss the deficiencies of their team felt a bit much.

"Is this trick question? We have no depth." Ilya frowned.

Yuna nodded. "It’s killing you guys. I keep saying I want to see the team call up Luca Haas, I think he could make a real difference on your second line."

Ilya flashed Shane a brief smirk, a smile that said "Now I know where you get it from," and indulged Yuna in a conversation about the meager merits of the Centaurs season so far.

When Ilya mentioned that Shane was the best player he had ever been on the ice with, Shane wasn't sure who was happier, himself or his mom.

"Ok, food's on." David started carrying plates to the dining table, and Ilya moved to help before Shane swatted him away.

"Shane, let me help your father," Ilya's tone was deadly serious, but Shane grabbed his arm to steer him to the table and Ilya's rigid posture relaxed for a moment almost to the point of melting into Shane.

David kept bringing out plate after plate. Nothing really went together, only a few dishes fit under Shane's meal plan, and it all smelled heavenly. Shane was plating his salmon when David set the final dish on the table. Ilya went still, and for a moment Shane worried he had overstepped.

He watched Ilya staring at the pelmeni that David had made, and Shane saw Ilya's eyes get very wide and very wet for a moment. In an instant, it was gone, and Ilya's patented charm offensive was back. He beamed at David and then Shane.

"Did Shane tell you?"

David nodded, and then waved his hand. "You'll have to give me your honest opinion. I'm sure they're not as good as the ones you grew up with, but Shane said it might be nice to have something that reminded you of home."

Shane was filled with trepidation when Ilya turned the full force of his smile on him. Behind the grin, the face that Ilya could use to make anybody feel lightheaded, was a heartbreaking and earnest melancholy.

"I....I love it. Thank you," Ilya's eyes flicked over Shane's face, as if saying those words wasn't enough. Those words lodged in Shane's chest, creating an immediate ache that Shane fought to ignore for the rest of dinner.

***

Ilya was completely fucked. Shane's nervous smile when David brought out the dumplings was almost too adorable to even look at. Ilya thought it might blind him, like looking at the sun. If it had been Troy, Wyatt, Bood, any of his other teammates, he would have instantly blurted out a "Thank you, I love you," but those words somehow felt inadequate, or at least not correct in this context, too private to say at dinner with his parents.

So instead, Ilya stared at Shane with his heart constricting and his stomach fluttering, and he was both thrilled that Shane had invited him, and greatly regretting that he said yes to coming. It was growing harder by the minute to act normal with him.

"David, these are perfect," Ilya said as he finished a bite of pelmeni.

"You'll have to make them with me sometime, I wasn't sure if I was rolling the dough thin enough."

Ilya nodded, allowing himself to picture it for a moment. Laughing in the Hollander's kitchen, making his mama's recipe. He wanted it so badly that he felt like he was swallowing glass. He now ached for a fantasy he hadn't even considered a minute ago. Ilya downed an impolite gulp of vodka and tried his best to be light, fun, and charming.

Yuna and David were every bit as perfect as Ilya had feared. They adored their son, they were fluent in the common love language at the table: hockey. In no time, Ilya identified that Yuna was where Shane got his intensity and drive. David was the source of Shane's quiet thoughtfulness. They loved each other easily and openly, and Ilya felt an outsized twinge of gratitude for them. Shane had been raised with such care, Yuna and David had helped shape this beautiful man that was inconveniently consuming Ilya's every thought.

"Was Shane always like this about hockey?" Ilya asked after Shane ended a breathless play-by-play of their recent game against Detroit. He knew the answer.

David started laughing. "Ever since we put him in skates. I remember driving home from a game, telling off Yuna for being too hard on one of his teammates when he was nine, and Shane piped up from the backseat 'well he does have terrible hand-eye coordination."

Shane raised an eyebrow as if he'd say it again, and Ilya shot David a gleeful smile.

***

Ilya insisted on washing the dishes with Shane's mom after they had eaten. Shane tried to hover and offer help, until Ilya told him the way he loaded the dishwasher was a rookie mistake, and he should leave it to the veterans. Yuna laughed too hard at that stupid joke for Shane to even pretend to be mad.

Shane was feeling a familiar mix of excitement and anxiety, an anticipation that always seemed present around Ilya these days. He had no idea what Ilya had gotten his parents, and he worried that Ilya might find their present underwhelming. He knew what it was, it was wrapped the same as Shane's, and it was the same gift his parents had given him the past few years, when Shane's income from early endorsements meant he could buy anything he really wanted for himself.

When all of the dinner dishes were done and drinks had been topped up, David set out dessert. It was, again, an absurd array for four people. A bûche de Noël, mochi filled with red bean, and little treats rolled in powdered sugar that Shane had to assume were a Russian dessert his dad had researched, because Ilya's face lit up when he saw them.

"Ilya, we have a present for you, it's just a small thing," David pointed under the tree. Ilya shot Shane a surprised look, but he reached under the tree. His hand froze on the identical lumpy square next to his, and he looked over his shoulder.

"Can Shane open his, too?"

Shane held his hand out, and Ilya passed it over. He looked as if he needed permission to open his gift, so Shane decided to start opening, and Ilya followed suit

His dad had knit him a scarf and gloves, just like he had the past few Christmases. This year they were a deep blue, and David had used a buttery soft yarn. It was a tradition the Shane had come to expect and love, every time he wore them he thought about his dad hunched over knitting needles and patterns.

Shane shot a cautious glance in Ilya's direction, but Ilya was staring very hard at the forest green scarf and gloves in his hands.

"It’s not anything fancy, I'm not a professional knitter, and I don't know if you like to wear those colors—" David's self-effacing disclaimers were cut off by Ilya.

"I really love it. Really. Thank you," Ilya's tone was sincere, but he shifted his face into that same easy charm that he had provided at dinner. It nagged at Shane, he found himself wishing that Ilya felt he could be sad, or quiet, or whatever it was that a scarf and gloves made him feel, because Shane could tell that Ilya was feeling something more complex than cheerful gratitude about a homemade gift.

Shane distracted himself by fishing the gifts out that he had gotten for his parents. His dad loved the puzzle Shane got him. Ilya had peered curiously over David's shoulder and shot Shane an incredibly derisive glance when he realized it was all one color, intended to be as difficult as possible.

Yuna was thrilled with her signed jersey, although she felt the need to stress to Ilya that even though the Metros were her first love, the Centaurs mattered more now.

Ilya looked grim as he retrieved his gifts, and Shane wished for the thousandth time that he had followed Shane's guidance. The stress of shopping for Shane's parents seemed to have shaved years off of Ilya's life.

Ilya thrust a square box in Yuna's hands, and then an oblong one in David's. David peeled away the paper to reveal a wooden box, when he opened it he started beaming.

"Oh, these are beautiful." He pulled out a knife, the blade looked like a rectangle, and the handle was rich, warm wood.

"Shane said you like to cook, so..." Ilya was twisting his fingers in his curls, nerves right on the surface.

"I can't wait to use them," Shane's dad was holding another one up to the light, and he squinted at the handle. "Are these Japanese?"

Ilya nodded. "My friend Svetlana, she travels there often. She says all the best knives are made in Japan."

Shane felt a small chill in his veins at the mention of Svetlana. He still replayed those memories of Ilya and Svetlana dancing together, whenever he laid awake and wondered if Ilya felt anything for him.

Yuna wrenched Shane out of his self-pity for a moment by opening the box Ilya had given her. She gasped, and Ilya flinched, his nerves too tightly wound to register the delight on her face.

Shane craned his neck to peer into the box. There were bags and bags of hojicha, Shane could tell that much, but he couldn't read any of the labels. His mom had enrolled him in kanji lessons when he was in primary school, but hockey quickly consumed all his available time, and he never really learned how to read the characters. It was always something he felt irrationally shameful about, a displacement from his mother that always left Shane with a sense of guilt and embarrassment, even though she never seemed to mind.

Nestled amongst the tea was a set of pretty mugs. Yuna began setting everything on the table, and Shane picked one up, turning it in his hands. It was a rich amber color, with marks flecking the surface like it had been scorched by the sun.

"Ilya, where did you get these? I haven't seen these anywhere, this smells so much better than the brands I get in the shops here." Yuna was holding a bag up to her nose, a smile on her face that looked laced with nostalgia.

Ilya was shifting uncomfortably. "I said, my friend. She is in Kyoto now, I ask her where the best tea is. She helps arrange for this shop to send it to me."

Shane felt logic swimming to the surface, even as he battled against a current of irrational jealousy. Ilya had asked his friend to help him ship gifts internationally. Because looking at his father's knife set, it was now apparent that Ilya had not purchased that somewhere in Ottawa. He had phoned Svetlana and hunted down thoughtful gifts that Shane's parents were looking at with adoring eyes. Shane wanted it to mean something, and that desire terrified him. The possibility that it meant nothing felt like a devastating spectre.

Shane glanced up and saw Ilya nervously watching him. Shane shot him a smile that he hoped was reassuring, but he felt too many raw, enormous emotions to make it convincing. Ilya sent him a small, tight grin back.

***

Ilya felt like a fucking idiot. He had been so worried about Shane's parents liking him, about getting a gift that said “Thank you for inviting me to your home, this is the best holiday I have had since I was eleven," that he hadn't considered how inappropriate it might be. He had considered lying about where he got them, but he didn't particularly want to lie to the Hollanders.

Ilya had obscured the truth a bit. He had pestered Svetlana with so many questions, seeking advice once Shane had told Ilya that Yuna had a favorite type of tea, and that it was better in Japan. Svetlana had been in Hong Kong, partying with friends, and answered enough frantic phone calls from Ilya that she bumped up her flight to Kyoto and worked a miracle, getting the tea and knives that Ilya had selected after hours of research.

Shane had looked so conflicted. When he watched his parents open their gifts, he had been beaming. But by the time he looked at Ilya, it was like something was troubling him. It was that same expression he had in games when he was up against a strong defense, working out a problem. And Ilya was clearly a problem, his friend who had feelings that were growing all too apparent.

Ilya felt like his nerves had been shaved down to stubs for the rest of the evening, and it worsened when Shane was ready to leave. They climbed into Shane’s boring car laden with leftovers. Ilya had wrapped the scarf around his neck before going outside, cherishing its soft threads and the fact that Shane's father had spent hours working on something for him.

The drive was predictably quiet and awkward for a while, until Ilya couldn't take it any longer.

"Thank you. I really appreciated this," it was hardly the reassurance Ilya had imagined saying. He'd intended to convey that things were casual, no big deal. But his need to express gratitude had betrayed him.

"I'm really glad you came," Shane's voice was so soft, it was hard to extract any emotion from his words. Ilya knew he was staring at Shane, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He wanted to see if Shane was still worrying, if he was deciding whether to halt their friendship because Ilya had been unable to restrain his feelings.

Shane continued. "I did mean it, it seemed right for Harris and Troy to spend the holidays together. But I felt so sad, thinking about you doing the holidays alone. And it was nice, spending time with you. I feel like we haven't done that in a while."

"Yes, you have been very busy. Many men to sleep with, no time for your friends," Ilya kept the tone light, so cool and casual, but he saw Shane frown.

"I'm sorry. If that's like, made me an absent friend. I thought you wanted me to get out there," Shane's eyes darted to Ilya's for a moment, and for a breathless second, Ilya thought he saw that same puzzled expression. As if he was searching for his answer with Ilya, as if Ilya had any power to claim time with Shane.

Ilya felt dour at the thought of Shane finding motivation to see other men because Ilya had encouraged him to do so. He had created a personal hell for himself without even realizing it.

"Is ok," Ilya lied. "I understand you are busy."

Shane's mouth twisted for a moment, as if he was physically holding back words. Ilya fantasized about prying his mouth open, tugging Shane's bottom lip between his teeth, so the words could escape. Too many of Shane's glances and expressions tonight had been inscrutable. As much as Ilya feared their inevitable result—the end of their friendship, firm rejection of Ilya's unrealistic desires—his morbid curiosity was too hard to suppress. When Shane pulled up to Ilya's house, he decided he couldn't put it off any longer.

"Come inside?" Ilya's words seemed to shock Shane. "It is still early. Will be nice, spending more time together?"

If he was laying on a little guilt, so be it. It worked, and Shane nodded. Ilya felt a surge of victory for a moment.

When they got inside Ilya carefully hung his new scarf, tucked the gloves in the pocket of his coat, and busied himself getting the fireplace lit.

"You don't have a tree," Shane said. Ilya raised an eyebrow.

"You do?" Ilya so deeply wanted to see Shane's home now, know if he decorated with tinsel and wreaths.

Shane flushed. "Just a small one. I don't have ornaments or anything, just lights. It didn't feel like December, not having one in my apartment."

Ilya shrugged. "Was nice, sitting around a tree today. I felt like we were in Christmas movie." Ilya's mother had always decorated a tree for New Year’s eve, but that tradition had halted when she passed.

Shane's eyes flashed with interest. "You've seen many Christmas movies?"

In fact, yes. Ilya had probably watched half a dozen yesterday, and a dozen the previous two Christmases in Canada. Many of them were cheesy and overly sentimental. Ilya had initially felt like a wildlife researcher, watching them through foreign eyes when he still felt jarringly out of place in North America. But now there was a comfort to it, the holiday break had a routine and a self-sufficiency that hadn't felt lonely. Next year, he realized he would feel stabbingly, achingly lonely now that he had experienced Christmas with the Hollanders and would have to go back to his previous routine, watching movies alone on his couch.

"They are on TV all day, I have nothing else to watch," Ilya lied. Shane looked unconvinced.

Ilya steeled himself for his next question, remembering the last time Shane had been at his home and had run out.

"You want something to drink? I have vodka, beer, Coke, ginger ale," he tried to throw it in casually, as if the ginger ale wasn't sitting in his fridge, constantly taunting him from the last time Shane came over.

"I'll take ginger ale," Shane nodded. It took everything Ilya had to not break into a goofy, triumphant smile.

Ilya poured it into a glass, splashed some vodka into his own glass, and handed Shane his soda. They sipped at the same time, and then stared at each other. Ilya jerked his head in the direction of the living room, and Shane trailed behind him, settling on the couch a few inches away from Ilya. It felt like a mile.

"The presents you got for my parents were perfect," Shane finally broke the silence with a simple sentence that felt perilous.

"They liked them? It was...not too much?" Ilya couldn't stuff his fears down, he had to know.

Shane shook his head. "No, not too much. I mean...yeah, you're kind of crazy for getting presents shipped from Japan. But it was really thoughtful. And that's very you."

Ilya stared at the floor and took another long sip of his drink. He didn't feel brave enough to look at Shane in that moment, to absorb the quasi-compliment.

"Um. I guess I'm surprised you had Svetlana help," Shane's tone shifted, and Ilya's eyes jerked up. That same troubled expression was on Shane's face now.

"Yes. I had ideas, I needed help getting them," Ilya struggled to place the edge in Shane's voice.

"It’s just...that's a lot for her to do, too. She must really care about you," Shane chewed his lip. The realization thunked into place, and Ilya's tongue felt too loosened by his drink to keep the thought in.

"You are jealous?" Ilya couldn't believe it, but it was the probable explanation for this tone, this cranky expression.

"No!" Shane snapped. "I just...OK, fine. Maybe. I don't know why, I'm sorry."

Ilya gave up. He felt worn thin, he had spent too much of the evening battling back his surging emotions. "Shane, I feel jealous all the fucking time, and you are jealous because my best friend helps me buy present for your parents, because I want them to like me?"

Shane went pale, and Ilya wanted to stuff the words back into his mouth. He sat, frozen, staring at Shane.

"Tell me what you mean," Shane's tone was soft, but demanding. If Ilya didn't see the remnants of their friendship circling the drain, he would have grabbed Shane and kissed him, for his funny, direct response.

It all felt pointless. What face was Ilya possibly saving at this point? He had followed Shane to his parent's like a puppy, demonstrated how badly he wanted them to like him. He had let it slip that he was overwhelmed with jealousy, he had shown Shane over and over that he felt something for him.

Ilya sighed and set down his glass so he could rub his eyes. He felt so tired, like a wrung out sponge.

"I do not know what is wrong with me," it was a lie. He knew, or at least he was coming to terms with knowing. "I just...I am jealous, sometimes," all the time, it was consuming every moment.

"Jealous of what?" Shane sounded more confused than made any sense.

Ilya covered his face with his hands, an immature attempt to make this easier to say. "The men you see. They get to have you, really have you, all of you. We get...teammates, friends, me asking you to stay for five minutes after I fuck you."

The words spilled out of him with complete abandon, Ilya found himself unable to care anymore. It wasn't lost on him that he had a bit much to drink, that he might regret this. But he was too fucking exhausted.

"I'm sorry," Shane's words felt a gentle beginning to rejection, and Ilya couldn't stand to look at him.

"I'm sorry I didn't stay, when you asked." That was not what Ilya had expected Shane to tell him, and he dropped his hands to stare at Shane. Something bright was burning behind Shane's eyes, his jaw was set in a determined line. "I wanted to. And I know, I... today was nice. Having more, with you."

Ilya wanted to memorize this picture. Shane, his freckles dancing in the firelight. Perched across from Ilya with a tension wound in his posture and a bone-chillingly direct expression, as if he knew exactly what Ilya wanted in that moment.

Ilya had only just begun to open his mouth, unsure of what he would even say, when Shane launched himself at Ilya, crashing into him with a neediness that should have been comical, but instead it sent Ilya's brain offline. Ilya heard himself growl, hitching Shane over so he was on Ilya's lap. Shane was gasping between kisses, tugging at Ilya's bottom lip before slipping his tongue against Ilya's in a frantic, messy kiss. Ilya wrapped his arms tightly around Shane's waist, sliding him closer, and when Shane ground against him, Ilya let out an embarrassingly loud groan.

"Bedroom?" Ilya pleaded, palming Shane's ass. He wanted to throw Shane on his bed and fuck him into the matress. Shane shook his head before leaning down to nip at Ilya's earlobe and press soft, breathy kisses along the column of his throat. Ilya could feel his pulse racing under Shane's lips, yanked him even closer out of fear that he might come to his senses and run out of Ilya's house again. Shane rocked against him and moaned when he felt how hard Ilya was. In an instant, he was fumbling with Ilya's pants, then his own. Ilya was stunned by the difference, how Shane guiding everything somehow made Ilya feel more wanted, more essential, than ever before.

Shane tugged the waistband of Ilya's briefs down, grasping his cock, squeezing gently as Ilya exhaled and tried to not cry out. It had been too long, it felt like an eternity since he had touched Shane. He wanted it to last, he wanted to take over and tease and torture Shane and exhaust him so Shane had no choice but to spend the night here, but then Shane raised his hand in front of Ilya's mouth, and he lost any sense of self control.

Ilya spat, watching Shane's lips part in a haze of lust. Shane grasped them both, and Ilya threw his head back. He couldn't decide where to look. He kept watching Shane's hand, stroking their cocks, but when the sensation became too consuming, he found himself staring at Shane. Shane's eyes were fixed on him, brown and warm, and full of determined hunger. Shane bit his lip and Ilya cupped him by the chin to kiss him, sucking on his soft lower lip and coaxing a deliciously needy whine from Shane.

"Shane, that feels so fucking good," Ilya managed to hiss.

"You feel amazing" Shane's forehead was pressed against Ilya's, all Ilya could see now was the rosy flush of Shane's lips as he panted and moaned. "I can't stop fucking thinking about you."

It was too much. Ilya heard those words and his hips thrust into Shane's hand, back arching as he came. He felt Shane speed up, gliding as Ilya's cum coated his hand, and then he was crying out. Ilya twisted to stare at his wrecked expression, feeling nothing but awe and desire as Shane rode out the crest of his orgasm, gasping for air.

When Shane released them, Ilya twisted his arms to tug Shane closer. He lazily rubbed at his back, knowing that Shane would want to get up in a moment to clean himself off. There was a question bubbling to the surface, one that Ilya was valiantly trying to save for a more appropriate moment. Not right now, when he needed to enjoy the heat of Shane's breath on his neck, and the weight of his body pinning Ilya to the couch.

Ilya's hand stilled when Shane spoke, mumbling the words against his neck that Ilya had been rehearsing in his mind.

"Can I stay? Tonight?"

Ilya turned to press a kiss onto Shane's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut to savor all of it for a moment. To ignore the fears and logic and noise that were crowding into his mind.

“Yes, please stay.”

***

Chapter End Notes

They are finally (barely!) talking about their feelings!

Ilya doesn't really know how to be understated, so of course he's going to decide that the Hollanders need the best imported gifts that money can buy.

Shane: I wonder if it's weird that I bring a boy home and then come out to my parents the next day. Oh well, they won't suspect anything!

I have not made a full head canon of the Christmas movies that Ilya watched, but in my mind he got creeped out by one of the dozen problematic plot lines in Love, Actually and turned it off halfway through. Let me know what movies/specials you think he's seen during his movie marathons!

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

They take one step back, then two steps forward.

Shane woke, squinting at the sunlight that streamed through the windows. It was the first cue for his half-asleep mind that he was not in his own bedroom, where he had blackout curtains. The second cue was the heavy arm curled over him, and warm breath against his neck. Shane closed his eyes again. He and Ilya had stayed up late, fucking and lazily kissing, and then fucking some more. They hadn't really talked about any of it, too absorbed in the luxury of a whole night together, but now Shane was dying to figure out what this meant.

He blinked his eyes open again as Ilya stirred, and he thought to himself that Ilya needed to install blackout curtains if this was going to become a regular thing. Because one night with Ilya already had Shane craving for more.

Shane turned to face Ilya, who was squinting at Shane with a smile on his face that could melt butter.

"Good morning," Shane said, suddenly feeling shy. Ilya pressed a kiss to his forehead that felt impossibly tender.

"Good morning."

They lay there, half asleep, Ilya tracing a hand along Shane's arm.

"When do you see your parents?" Ilya asked. His tone was quiet and cautious.

"We have time," Shane wasn't sure if he was even asking that. "They're expecting me in the afternoon."

Ilya hummed, squeezing Shane's forearm for a moment. "They will be good, I think?" He sounded more sure than he had in their previous conversations about Shane coming out, meeting Shane's parents yesterday must have solidified some of his nerves.

Shane nodded. "I'm still nervous. But yeah, they will."

Shane propped himself up, turning to look at Ilya directly. His hazel eyes were illuminated by the sun streaming in, his curls rumpled from sleep. He looked gorgeous, and Shane wanted to just stare at him, but he couldn't put this conversation off any longer.

"I...what I said last night," Ilya's expression immediately shuttered, a wall had gone up, and Shane cringed. He had to forge ahead anyway. "I meant what I said. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

Something complicated that resembled relief crossed Ilya's face. He nodded. "Me either."

"Yeah?" Shane couldn't keep the smile off his face. Ilya tried to give him an embarrassed glare, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, I cannot stop thinking about this mouth," Ilya planted a kiss on the corner of Shane's lips. He pressed a gentler one to Shane's cheekbone next.

Shane wanted to climb on top of him and kiss every inch of Ilya, but he desperately needed to hear something more serious, that it was more than just physical. Ilya's confession from the night before was ringing in Shane's ears. He nudged Ilya. "You said you're jealous?"

Ilya groaned and threw his head back dramatically. "Yes, fine. Fuck, I am jealous. Was a fucking mistake, trying to help you sleep with other guys, ok? I lie here and I think about you and I am fucking mad they get to hold you, fuck you, hear you come."

Shane's grin seemed to register with Ilya, and he grabbed Shane's chin to kiss him.

"I am better than them, no?" Shane could hear the earnestness under Ilya's teasing tone, and he drew back.

"Yes. From the start," Shane's eyes were searching Ilya's now, trying to figure out what to say next. "I'm sorry. That me going on dates upset you. I wanted them to be you, always. I was kind of an asshole to them, I guess. I just went on these dates and wished I was sitting across from you instead."

Something pained flitted across Ilya's face, and a twisting feeling of regret churned in Shane's stomach. The air between them had changed instantly. Ilya took his hand off of Shane's arm and started twisting his curls, a nervous habit that sent chills up Shane's spine. Shane had said the wrong thing.

Shane cautiously drew his arm away, tucking it at his side so Ilya couldn't see the way it was trembling.

“Come, you want breakfast?” Ilya stood abruptly, and Shane felt sick. Ilya was completely refusing to acknowledge that Shane felt something for him, wanted more than casual sex. Ilya stood there with his stony expression, and Shane felt like he was slipping through his fingers.

“Um. No, I should get home, I think. Clean up before I see my parents.”

Ilya nodded, like it made all the sense in the world, when just moments ago Shane had said he could stay all morning.

Shane got out of bed and fumbled for his clothes as Ilya watched, motionless.

Once he was dressed, Shane stood there, feeling breathless. He stared at Ilya for another moment, feeling rejected. Worse, he felt disposable. Shane wanted to yell at Ilya, force him to hear how confused he was, how much he wanted from Ilya. But Ilya was standing there with his mouth screwed into a tight frown, his shoulders sagging, and Shane couldn't muster the energy. Instead, he turned and fled without a word.

***

Ilya had driven Shane out of his home again. He had whiplash from the blissful sensation of waking up with Shane in his arms, to the cold dread settling in Shane's absence.

Yesterday had felt too perfect, Ilya had gotten carried away, dreaming of more. The instant Shane admitted that he wished he could go on dates with Ilya, logic rushed in and Ilya completely shut down. He couldn't give Shane public dates, be out in the open as his boyfriend, all of the things that Shane had eagerly sought out in recent months.

Ilya realized now the depth of his jealousy. He had envied the men who got to date Shane, not just because they stole Shane's time and attention away from him, but because Shane could be with them freely. They all possessed a freedom that escaped Ilya. A freedom that meant no sick father in Russia, the guilt and obligations that consumed Ilya and kept him locked in a closet.

Ilya flopped back onto his bed and considered staying there all day. He would mope and sulk, and somehow scrape himself together tomorrow to meet Shane at practice and pretend nothing had happened. That Ilya hadn't held Shane on his couch like he was drowning, and Shane was a life preserver. That he hadn't felt butterflies in his stomach this morning when he got to see Shane's freckles in the sunlight.

Ilya laid there for what felt like an eternity, scowling at his ceiling as if his glare could burn a hole through it. His wallowing was only interrupted when his phone rang. For a moment, he considered letting it go to voicemail, but he glanced at the caller ID, and hauled himself up.

"Did you kiss Harris yet?" Ilya asked.

"Oh my god. Merry Christmas to you too, Ilya," Troy sounded scandalized by Ilya's blunt greeting. "But, um. Yeah, we did."

At least one good thing had come out of Shane's scheme to peel Ilya off of Harris' Christmas plans.

"I am happy for you," Ilya murmured. He stood, he needed a cigarette. "Just kiss?"

"No. Uh, more," he could practically hear Troy blushing over the phone. Ilya reached his entryway, where he planned to fish for his cigarettes in his jacket pocket. His feet lurched to a halt as he looked at the new scarf he had hung there last night.

"How was your Christmas?" Troy asked. Ilya's heart was pounding, an ugly, irregular rhythm that sent guilt and hurt coursing through him.

"Christmas was nice. Hollanders are nice," it was all true. Ilya's answer didn't seem to be enough for Troy.

"How's Shane?"

Ilya yanked the cigarettes out of his pocket, threw on his coat, and stepped into his yard.

"Shane is fine," Ilya took a drag, hoping his curt answers would deter Troy. He gritted his teeth when his friend didn't get the hint.

"I know he was really excited about it," Ilya squeezed his eyes shut, it felt like Troy was shoving his face in the mess he'd made. "Did his parents like the gifts you got?"

Troy hadn't heard the lengths Ilya had gone to, had only known Ilya fretted over what to get them.

"Yes. I think they liked them. Let's talk about Harris, please," Ilya flipped the uncomfortable questions on Troy.

"Um. Harris is good. His family is amazing."

Ilya nodded, as if Troy could see him. He was still reeling a bit himself from how much he had liked David and Yuna.

"Troy, you did not call me to give me no details. Tell me whole thing, who seduced who?"

Troy launched into the whole evening, start to finish—to Ilya's tutting disappointment, Troy refused to share any actual intimate details, but he sounded like a breathless man in love, even if he couldn't articulate it as such yet.

"I am very happy for you," Ilya said emphatically. "And for Harris. You will be a great boyfriend."

"Oh. We didn't get that far," Troy sounded self-conscious.

Ilya wanted to groan. If his own pathetic crush couldn't get off the ground, he at least needed his friend's love life to flourish. "Troy, you need to lock him down. Harris is very popular."

"I know, I know. You're one to talk," Troy griped.

Ilya clutched at his phone. "What do you mean?" His tone was light, but he spoke too quickly, betraying his nerves.

Troy was silent for an agonizing moment. "Just...Shane's pretty popular too, and if you wait around forever, someone else might swoop in."

Ilya wanted to protest. To lie and pretend that he didn't care. To interrogate Troy to ask what gave it away. Part of him was too unsettled by the truth of what Troy said, what he had grown to fear and resent these past months. Now that he had truly driven Shane away, he would have to inevitably stand by and watch while Shane fell for another man.

Ilya's silence must have spoken volumes, because Troy muttered "Never mind, forget I said anything," and moved on to safer topics, like their upcoming game against Seattle.

Ilya reacted at the right times, said his usual quips, and thought about Shane's hurt expression when he left that morning until Ilya felt his insides shrivel up with regret, self-loathing, and helplessness.

***

Shane was fine. He had gotten home and immediately thrown his clothes in the wash because they smelled like Ilya. He had showered for half an hour, trying to scrub away any trace of the man he was furious at, and afterwards he had spent another half hour trying on different outfits. His phone buzzed, and for a moment he half-hoped it was Ilya, apologizing and trying to explain. Instead, it was an encouraging text from Rose, cheering him on and asking him to call her after he talked with his parents.

Shane squared his shoulders. He had more important things on his mind than the disaster that happened that morning. He allowed himself a fleeting moment of stabbing pain when he grabbed his coat and scarf, realizing that Ilya now had a matching scarf. Shane reassured himself that Ilya wouldn’t possibly wear it again, he had accepted it because he was being polite, it wasn't the kind of thing a casual hookup wore.

The drive to his parents felt interminable. He kept picturing the same drive with Ilya yesterday, wondering if Ilya had been thinking about how completely inappropriate it was for him to come to his parent's, like he was a fucking boyfriend.

Somehow, channeling all his anger at Ilya had caused any nerves to evaporate. Shane parked in front of his parent's home and took a couple minutes to calm down. He realized he was so worked up, he might just knock down the door and yell "I'm gay," so instead, he sat and took deep breaths and tried to banish any thoughts of Ilya and his gorgeous curls and his tight frown.

When he felt he was sufficiently settled, Shane jogged up the front steps, letting himself in.

"Shane! Ready for leftovers?" Shane's dad poked his head out of the kitchen. "Your mom is brewing some of the tea Ilya got her."

Shane had to dig his fingernails into his palms to compose himself, focusing on the pinching pain for a moment. "That sounds great, thanks."

Shane helped Yuna load plates of leftovers onto the table, and the family sat down to graze at the spread. David was in the middle of describing an article he had just read about zoning laws in Ottawa, when Shane decided he needed to rip off the band-aid. He took a steadying breath, and looked at his parents. His parents who ended every phone call and every visit by telling him that they loved him and they were proud of him.

"Um, there's something I want to tell you guys," Shane set his fork down and saw his parents exchange a glance. "I'm gay."

Yuna smiled and reached out, covering his hand with hers. "Sweetheart, thank you for telling us."

David nodded, beaming, and Shane felt nothing but a surge of gratitude and love in that moment.

"We had kind of wondered. I'm so glad you felt comfortable sharing, we love you kiddo," David said.

"You wondered?" Shane felt his cheeks heating, thought of how he probably could have done all of this sooner, with less anxiety.

Yuna shrugged. "I think we thought, maybe. And then yesterday, we wondered if Ilya was your...lover?"

"Oh my god, gross. Don't use that word," Shane groaned, covering his face. He felt like a child, embarrassed by his parents. "And no, he's not anything."

"Oh!" David sounded startled, and he exchanged a quick, concerned glance with Yuna. Shane watched them silently agree to drop it, and he oscillated between humiliation and anger.

It had been a terribly stupid idea to bring Ilya over, but he hadn't been able to help himself. Back in his parent's home, everything seemed to remind him of Ilya. The way his face had lit up when David made Russian food for him, how he had made Shane's parent's laugh, his nerves when he gave Shane's parents their Christmas gifts.

Shane wanted to crawl under the table and hide from the world. He was deeply, catastrophically infatuated with a man who didn't return his feelings.

***

Shane had promised Rose a phone call, so he called her first thing when he got home.

"How did it go?" Rose picked up on the first ring.

"Good. They, uh...they said they kind of already guessed," Shane still felt a funny mixture of warmth and embarrassment at that. He thought he had been keeping secrets, but the truth had been apparent the entire time.

"That makes sense, you guys are so close. Shane, I'm so happy for you!" Rose said. "Do you feel better, now that you've told them?"

Shane flopped on his couch. "I do. I mean, I was pretty sure they would be ok. But it still felt scary, it's not like I can just take it back once I say it. And it changes how they see me, the future they imagine for me," Shane had shared these anxieties with her before, but Rose still hummed sympathetically. "It feels good, having them know."

"I'm so proud of you," Rose sounded sincerely emotional. Even if she had expected the best, she had helped him rehearse coming out over and over.

"How's your family?" Shane propped his head on a throw pillow. Rose had wrapped filming in Montreal, and was stopping in Detroit for the holidays before she went home to LA. Shane was counting the days to his next game in LA.

"Oh, they're good. Loud, my throat is sore from having to yell over all the noise, so I really should be on vocal rest now. But I'm nosy, I needed to hear how today went. And yesterday," Rose's voice pitched a little lower, excitement rippling through her tone.

Shane groaned, and Rose's demeanor completely shifted. "Oh my god, that bad? Shane, I'm sorry, I was hoping you guys would finally make some progress."

Shane decided it was time to drop any pretense, so he told Rose the whole thing. What he and Ilya had done these past few months, the feelings he was desperately trying to ignore, how overjoyed he'd felt last night, and how devastated he felt this morning. Rose was appropriately sympathetic and livid at all the right parts of his story, and when he finished she was extremely quiet.

"Please say something," Shane pleaded when he couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm trying to figure out how to say it..." Rose said thoughtfully. "I don't want to give him too much benefit of the doubt, but you didn't really talk to him, did you? I mean, sure, he acted weird. But you're assuming a lot.”

Shane squirmed. He felt that he had been pretty clear, and he felt that he knew Ilya's expressions better than anybody. Shane still felt a chill when he thought about the way Ilya's eyes had lost all their warmth.

After their call ended, Shane tried to busy himself. He washed the perfectly clean sheets from his guest bedroom. He cleaned all of his mirrors. He sat on his couch and stared at the spot on his arm that Ilya had been stroking that morning.

A few months ago, that day in the showers, Shane physically sprinted away from Ilya. Even with the most undeniable physical evidence in those showers, he had been unable to accept that he was attracted to Ilya. That had worn away rapidly, through hookups that were supposed to be informational, and instead plunged Shane into deeper confusion. Everyone he had seen since then, the dates that Ilya had encouraged, didn't compare.

Rose's words kept threading through his mind. It was true, Shane hadn't talked to Ilya. He was too afraid of the answer if he asked for what he wanted. Too afraid that he'd lose Ilya completely. He hadn't stopped to notice that they'd crossed that line a long time ago.

***

Ilya stared at his fridge. David's pelmeni sat in a Tupperware, and it felt like they were screaming accusations at him. He had taken the Hollander's warm Canadian hospitality and smothered it. Ilya considered tossing the dumplings out, from a sheer sense of guilt and shame, but that felt worse.

So he stood in front of his kitchen counter, cracked the Tupperware open, and ate them cold, with his hands. His mother would have been aghast by his poor manners. Ilya thought ruefully that his mother would have been disappointed in more than his terrible table manners right now.

He should have stopped himself. Not just last night, when all he wanted was to fall asleep with Shane and ignore the reality that he was all wrong for Shane. Ilya decided he should have stopped himself in that fucking locker room. Allowed Shane to brush off and ignore what had happened when they showered together, and kept himself at a platonic distance.

Ilya pressed his forehead to the cool marble countertop. It was useless. Every bone in his body felt drawn to Shane, it had been that way since they met. Maybe even before then, when he had eagerly watched Shane get drafted. He had no idea how he had wrapped himself up in lies and denial to the point that he been the architect of his own unhappiness, sending Shane off to date and find the love of his life. Someone that Ilya would inevitably meet one day, Ilya could already picture how he'd have to shake his hand and pretend to be happy for him and Shane.

Ilya's doorbell chimed before he could conjure any more hypothetical scenarios about Shane's future boyfriend. Ilya eyed the clock on the microwave suspiciously. The only person who came to his house with any regularity was Troy, and it was late.

Ilya trudged to the front door, preparing to open it and admonish Troy for showing up at his house, when he should be railing Harris on the apple farm or something.

Instead, he yanked the door open and his heart plummeted into the floor. Shane was standing there, bundled up, wearing the twin to the scarf that was hanging in Ilya's coat closet. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were turning pink from the biting cold, and Ilya ushered him inside without even thinking.

Ilya shut the door and turned, flinching as he took in Shane's accusing expression.

“We need to talk,” Shane sounded determined. Ilya wanted to plead, to ask him to forget everything, but it was pointless.

“Fine,” Ilya gestured to the living room. When Shane sat on the couch, he sat in the armchair.

“Last night felt different. It wasn't just me, right?” Shane's tone was pleading, and it wrenched at Ilya's heart.

“Not just you,” Ilya whispered, nodding. He should be ushering Shane right back out the door, nothing good could come of this conversation.

The adorable flush had drained from Shane's face, he looked pale and exhausted.

“I…I was talking to Rose, and—”

“What were you talking to Rose Landry about?” Ilya could hear the ugly snap in his voice, but Rose was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now.

“I was telling her that I want…I want something more, with you. And this morning I got scared, it seemed like you didn't. You wouldn't even really talk to me after I told you how I felt,” Shane couldn't make eye contact with Ilya right now. Ilya's throat felt tight.

"Shane..." Ilya trailed off, looking at the ceiling as if the words he wanted to say were written there. "I want you. But I cannot give you what you want."

"What do you mean?" Shane's voice was raspy now, words coming out through brute force.

Ilya grimaced. "You...you want to be out, go on dates with me in restaurants, like you do with third place figure skater," Ilya's tone dripped with distaste. "This, I cannot do. Cannot be out, cannot be public. Russia is not safe for this, I could never go home."

"So what, you just...you wanted to be casual?" Shane flinched as he said it, the idea of it sliced Ilya too. They couldn't pretend to be casual.

Ilya didn't say anything for a beat, but then his shoulders slumped, defeated. "Is not fair to you, when I cannot be what you want. So we should not."

Shane looked at him sharply. “I don't know what you mean. You're what I want.”

Ilya had to hide his face in his hands. He was going to replay those words in his memory for far too long, the joy of hearing it almost outweighed the sting of reality.

“Shane. I told you. You want—”

“I'm telling you, I don't think you get to decide what I want,” Shane sounded calmer than ever, and Ilya had to peek at him. He didn't look distraught anymore, a little color had returned to his face. He looked determined, hyper-focused. “You think all I care about is dating a guy in public? If you don't think it's safe for you, that's one thing, I can get that. But don't try to tell me you're saying no for me.”

Ilya could feel his mouth drop open, and Shane seemed to take it as permission to continue.

“I just…I told you. I've tried it, I've gone on dates and slept with guys,” Ilya's stomach twisted. “And the only person I really like, that I can't stop thinking about is you.”

Shane looked breathless, and it took everything Ilya had to resist kissing him.

“Shane…” Ilya found himself at a loss for words. “I want more for you—”

“Please, stop,” Shane looked livid now, and it halted Ilya's train of thought. “I just…tell me if you don't want this.”

“I do. I want this,” Ilya was impossibly weak, Shane's self-assuredness was rattling any defense he had. “It is scary, but I want.”

Shane started smiling, and any reserve Ilya had left began melting away. They stared at each other, stupid grins on their faces.

“I cannot take you on dates,” Ilya said helplessly, as if Shane hadn't heard his warnings before.

Shane started laughing. “I think we can figure something out. I've been tons of them, remember?”

Ilya glared at him, and realized with a dawning sense of horror that Shane could now mercilessly tease him about his failed wingman attempts.

“Not that many dates,” Ilya rolled his eyes, as if he hadn't counted every single one. It was more than Ilya had ever been on.

“It was a lot of dates. I had a really great teacher. He took me to bars, he gave me sexting advice, he even fu—” Shane was cut off by Ilya striding over and hoisting him over his shoulder. “Ilya, what the fuck!”

“You are such a brat,” Ilya growled. Shane was heavy, pounds of sturdy muscle bearing down on Ilya. He shuffled Shane in his arms so Shane had his legs wrapped around him, and Shane ducked his head down to kiss Ilya.

Everything went quiet for a moment. Just Shane's lips softly meeting Ilya's, Ilya tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth. Then Shane groaned, a breathy, needy noise that sent a jolt up Ilya's spine, and it took immense self-restraint to not sprint to his bedroom.

“I am sorry for this morning,” Ilya murmured. “I am…” he took a steadying breath before he exhaled the full truth of it. “I am fucking terrified.”

Shane stroked the curls on the back of Ilya's neck and just nodded in complete understanding and agreement. Somehow Shane's silence prompted Ilya to keep speaking, to let the words spill out of him to make up for being tongue-tied this morning.

“I like you.”

Shane smiled. “I like you too.”

“I think I have liked you since I met you, and I think I will always be mad at myself for trying to get you to see other men.”

Shane laughed, but Ilya needed to forge ahead.

“I only want you. I only think about you. I think about you so much,” Ilya finally started moving towards his bedroom, which took tremendous willpower because Shane was staring at him with his warm brown eyes, and Ilya felt like he might stop and drown in them.

“What do you think about?” Shane's smile was too shy, Ilya threw him on his bed and began kissing his spray of freckles.

“I think about your freckles,” Ilya moved to take his shirt off. “I think about the way you fold your clothes,” Ilya began pressing kisses into Shane's abdomen as he traveled down to unbutton his pants. “I think about how good you sound when you gag on my cock.”

The last sentence made Shane moan so loudly that Ilya couldn't tease him anymore. He yanked Shane's pants off, briefs next. Shane was so hard, and Ilya took a moment to grasp him, hear his breath hitch for a moment. Ilya lowered to take Shane into his mouth, and Shane gasped.

Ilya worked his way up and down Shane's length, swirling his tongue at the head of Shane's cock, taking him to the back of his throat. When he hummed, Shane's head jerked up to stare at him. Ilya lost himself in that moment, sucking on Shane with hollowed cheeks as Shane looked at him. He was wrecked, lips shiny and swollen from biting them, eyes wide and wet. Ilya had to ease off of Shane, delighted by the whine that elicited.

“I need to fuck you,” Ilya gasped. He gripped Shane's thigh as he rose up to kiss him hungrily.

Shane seemed to have already forgotten words, staring into Ilya's eyes like he trusted him with everything he had. For a moment, Ilya buried his face in Shane's neck, unable to face how much he felt for this man. How incredibly stupid and beautiful and fucking stupid it was that he had fallen for his teammate, of all people.

When he had collected himself, Ilya rolled over to grab condoms and lube, and then he patted his thighs.

“On top,” Shane had a moment of hesitation, and Ilya moved to get up, switch positions, but Shane straddled him. Ilya could feel his mouth hanging open, reveling in the sight of Shane above him, pinning him in place.

Ilya slicked his fingers and reached down to stroke Shane's entrance, gently circling and teasing until Shane's eyes flashed with anger. Ilya pushed one finger in, then two, and Shane sank on them, eyelids fluttering. They both exhaled heavily when Shane circled his hips, crying out when Ilya nudged his prostate.

“Please,” Shane found enough words to raggedly demand what he needed, and Ilya managed a weak nod before he lined himself up.

Something changed the instant that Shane took him, slowly burying Ilya's cock in him. Ilya felt like he was floating, watching Shane in total control, riding him and chasing the sensation that made Ilya gasp his name. Ilya was overtaken with an urge to tell Shane everything, the totality of what he felt, and English was failing him. He gasped in Russian, and Shane threw his head back as words washed over him that he couldn't understand.

“You're so beautiful, such a fucking vision for me. You take me so well, this is all I'll be able to think of tomorrow. I can't believe you want to be with me, you're so fucking perfect.” Ilya planted his feet and thrust into Shane. He was so close now, and he switched to English with the last shred of coherency.

“Shane, touch yourself. I need to feel you come. Please,” Ilya's broken plea was answered, Shane grasped himself, he was so wet that his hand glided easily, moans escaping his lips. Moans, and Ilya's name, gasped over and over. Ilya couldn't take it. He thrust into Shane hard, pumping his hips as he cried out, coming while gasping in Russian.

“You're all I want. All I want now, all I want forever.”

Shane cried out, and Ilya felt him spasm and clench, felt Shane's head crash to his chest as he rode out aftershocks.

They laid there, Ilya stroking Shane's hair, Shane breathing heavily into Ilya's chest.

Ilya could only think two things. A heart singing fact: he and Shane were going to try this, to really be together. An earth shattering truth: he was already in over his head.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry to make them miserable for the bulk of the chapter! I did need to have them crash out one more time, but that's it in terms of them questioning whether or not to be together.

Now it's time for Shane to flex his newfound dating skills!

I knew as soon as David made the dumplings for Ilya, Ilya was going to moodily eat those leftovers with his hands and think dramatic things like "he was the architect of his own unhappiness." He likes to indulge in moments of Russian tragedy.

Editing is a lot slower right now, sorry! Despite my best efforts (writing fanfic on hours and hours of company time) I accidentally became important at my job and it is ruining my life (aka diminishing the hours in the week I can work on this fic)

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

"You need blackout curtains," Shane grumbled, rolling so he could burrow his face into Ilya's chest. He felt Ilya sigh.

"What, so I can be like a vampire? Would be too dark," Ilya sounded half-asleep.

"It’s too bright in here," Shane protested. He sat up, sunlight defeating any chance of going back to sleep. Ilya squinted at him, smiling.

"Going somewhere?" Ilya's tone was teasing, but Shane heard the sincere need for reassurance underneath it.

He shook his head. "No, not going anywhere. Unless you start pretending you don't like me."

Ilya rolled his eyes dramatically. "Did not pretend I do not like you, just...did not say I like you."

They sat for a moment, Shane pretending to be mad, Ilya beaming mischievously, when Ilya yanked Shane by the waist to pull him on top.

"Good morning. I like you," Ilya's smile was so bright, so excited that it felt like Shane's limbs were tingling. He leaned down and pressed a kiss onto each corner of Ilya's grin.

"I like you too," Shane straightened up. They had so many logistics to talk about, questions that Shane had tried so hard to repress last night. Ilya frowned, reading his face.

"Shane, you are thinking very hard."

"There's just a lot to figure out. Like...is there anyone you want to tell? Or like, what do you need to do to be safe? I know we can't be like, public—"

Ilya grimaced, and it reminded Shane of how hard he'd protested last night, trying to convince Shane to forget him. It was impossible, the pull Shane felt to Ilya had only intensified over time. Refusing to be with him wasn't an option, but the fear Ilya carried about being outed had sent a chill over Shane. Wherever this went, Shane needed reassurance that Ilya would be safe.

"It’s ok, it's really OK that we aren't public," Shane smoothed over Ilya's chest with his hands, it only seemed to soothe Ilya a bit. "I mean, fuck. How would the league react to two teammates being together?" Hypotheticals had swirled in Shane's head for ages, when he had only first started to realize that he had feelings for Ilya. If word got out, Shane felt it was entirely possible one of them would get traded, or maybe the league would drop them entirely, labeled as a distraction. Shane tried to banish those worries as he stared down at Ilya, half-asleep and gorgeous.

"But like, maybe we tell my parents. They asked if we're together."

Ilya's expression transformed from stony and guarded to open and eager. "They did?"

Shane could feel a blush rising on his cheeks. "Yeah, I guess bringing a guy home and then coming out the next day wasn't subtle."

Ilya smiled, but it was soft, not the teasing grin Shane had expected. He gripped Shane's hips. "Yes, we can tell your parents. I can tell Svetlana?"

Shane nodded. "I can tell Rose?” Ilya made a face like he smelled a mountain of garbage. Shane chose to ignore it, Ilya had been making it any time Rose was mentioned. “Do you think Troy could keep it a secret?"

Troy had become a close friend, and Shane knew he was one of Ilya's best friends, so he was surprised when Ilya shook his head.

"Not yet. He is..he and Harris just got together. Let them have a moment, I think," Shane nodded. Ilya's eyes dragged down Shane's body in a motion that made him shiver. "We have time before practice, yes?"

"Yeah, I should leave in an hour," Shane warned. Ilya growled and flipped him over.

"Not enough time, but we can figure something out."

***

Practice was torture. Any moment where Ilya couldn't hold Shane felt like torture. Shane had shown up to practice hilariously bad at acting casual. He had dropped his phone twice in the locker room for no reason, laced his skates up wrong, and avoided all eye contact with Ilya until Ilya had to hiss at him to act normal.

In recent weeks, they had been so hot and cold, and the team never seemed to register it. So Ilya had instructed Shane to be normal, and then he proceeded to act like a total headcase himself, running drills far too hard because he needed to drum out his anxiety and excitement. As he skated, he fixated on the memory of Shane Hollander crawling on top of him this morning and saying he liked Ilya.

Ilya felt like a school kid with a crush, replaying that moment over and over. He knew that "like" was insufficient for what he felt. But for the time being, he felt like Shane had handed him the world with that simple term.

Nobody else on the team noticed that Shane and Ilya vacillated between soft stares and dopey smiles across the ice, alternating to forced cold shoulders when one of them came to their senses.

Between trying to outrun his energy and forcing himself to behave, Ilya ended practice feeling like he had finished a marathon. All he wanted to do next was to collapse in Shane's arms.

After practice ended, Ilya lingered, waiting for Shane to get out of the shower so he could coax him back to his place. Instead, Troy was fidgeting and taking a long time to pack his bag, and Ilya realized with a heavy sigh that he needed to be a friend first. He yanked out his phone.

Ilya: Taking Troy to get coffee because he is being weird. Come over later?

As Ilya wrangled Troy out to the parking lot, his phone buzzed.

Shane: No, come to my place. I can't do another morning getting woken up at dawn because your room is so bright.

Ilya could feel the smile stretch across his face, even as he rolled his eyes. Shane didn't need to know that Ilya had ordered some blackout curtains this morning, when Shane was brushing his teeth.

***

"Ok Troy. What is wrong?" Ilya had given Troy a couple minutes to settle, sipping coffee across a rickety table at a Cafe near the practice rink. Troy's body language was screaming discomfort, his shoulders were ratcheted up to his ears.

"I haven't done what you said," Troy muttered. "I know I should, I've been such a coward and I haven't talked to Harris about how I feel, and I can tell he's trying to give me space, but I don't — he can't want—" Troy cut himself off, a helpless expression.

If Ilya felt like they were repeating themselves, going in circles from conversations they had over and over, he kept those thoughts to himself. The same spiral of inadequacy had caused him to hurt Shane yesterday morning, to almost torpedo his chances of being with Shane. It was through Shane's pure stubbornness and obstinacy, showing up on Ilya's doorstep and bluntly calling him on his bullshit, that they had made any progress. Ilya found himself, for the thousandth time, blissfully happy and grateful that he had fallen for Shane, the person who had taken a bulldozer to Ilya's defenses and snapped him out of his self-loathing.

Ilya couldn't blame Harris, giving Troy space was a mature decision, and Harris would probably circle back in a day or two and coax him to talk. But Ilya was sitting across from his friend now, and he thought, for an awful moment, of Rose Landry. Rose, who Shane said Ilya was a little indebted to, because she had been a good friend and had pointed out that Shane hadn't actually said how he felt.

"Troy, I love you," Ilya took so much pride in being able to openly and genuinely express his care for his friends. His father and his brother never set the example, his mother had passed too early. But Ilya did have Svetlana, and through the years she impressed upon Ilya the importance of telling people you love them when you are able. Ilya now took every opportunity to tell his friends he cared about them.

It had been desperately hard to resist that impulse with Shane, when he realized his care and affection had outgrown what they were supposed to be. Or really, that they had always existed outside the bounds of platonic friendship. Ilya allowed himself to wonder for a moment if Shane would be more open now to Ilya hugging him on the ice, or if that was playing with fire.

Ilya shook himself out of his thoughts, he was being a terrible friend. He knew it was ironic for him to be giving Troy relationship advice, from his first day of being...something to Shane. But he was the best relationship resource Troy had for now. "I love you. Harris is good. If Harris is good and he wants you, you are good, yes?"

Those words were inelegant and easier said than done. Ilya was too self aware to not register that they applied to him and Shane as well. However hard it was to believe, Shane was good and he wanted Ilya. He was going to have to internalize his own advice eventually.

Troy nodded miserably, staring into his coffee. Ilya tapped his hand, hoping to yank Troy out of his thoughts. "Call Harris. Please."

They walked back to their cars and Ilya threatened to wait in the parking lot until Troy got on his phone. Only when Ilya saw Troy tapping the call button did he drive off.

***

Shane eyed Ilya when he let him in that evening, trying and failing to mask his disappointment.

"What?" Ilya looked concerned.

"I just...I thought you were sleeping here." Shane eyed him, and Ilya's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, Shane. That is whole plan, you have dark curtains and we will sleep forever, no?" Ilya's forehead was wrinkling in confusion.

"You didn't bring anything," Shane gestured. Ilya was bundled in his winter coat and the gloves and sweater David had knit for him. He didn't have a bag.

Ilya's mouth quirked up in surprise. "Ah. No, I did not. I...I have never planned to spend night with someone before."

Shane must have rolled his eyes, because Ilya hurried to explain.

"Yes, I have slept over with many people. But never plan, just happens, never packed a bag for it. I did not think," Ilya smiled. "Besides, you and I are same size, yes?"

Shane's mind stuttered for a moment when he thought about Ilya wearing his clothes tomorrow morning. There was something about Ilya that made Shane immediately possessive, and Ilya in his clothes felt deliciously possessive. Ilya could read his thoughts, they must have been abundantly clear on Shane's face, because he winked, and Shane felt his brain turn to static.

Ilya could see it, and smirked as he crowded Shane against the wall of his entryway. "Or maybe you want me to walk around naked tomorrow morning."

Shane exhaled, watching Ilya's mouth as it curved into a softer smile. Ilya cupped his chin and titled, eyes searching for Shane's. Playfulness had seeped out, desire had rushed in.

"Hated not touching you today," Ilya breathed.

Shane groaned in agreement. It had felt impossibly hard to make it through practice without grabbing Ilya and kissing him. Shane leaned in and pressed his lips to Ilya's softly.

Last night had been frantic. Pent up feelings, angst, a need to reassure each other. Tonight Shane kissed Ilya and savored how secure he felt. Ilya cradled Shane's face carefully, sweeping his tongue against Shane's.

When Ilya moved his hands to gently tug the hair at the nape of Shane's neck, all thoughts of a slow and tender kiss escaped Shane's mind.

"Bed?" Shane gasped, and Ilya nodded, grinning. He allowed Shane to grab his hand and lead him, as if he hadn't been there before, hadn't asked for a tour of Shane's home and kissed him during that party.

Shane stumbled up the stairs, Ilya's low laugh rumbling behind him. As they neared Shane's bedroom, his breath went ragged. He turned around, taking a beat to stare at Ilya. Ilya's face was impossibly soft, fondness etched across it. It sharpened into hunger and Shane felt the energy in the room crackle. Ilya walked towards him and tugged at the hem of Shane's shirt.

"Off," Ilya's voice was raspy. Shane began yanking his clothes off rapidly, hurriedly setting them on the dresser as he folded. When he turned around, Ilya was standing, naked, watching him with a heat in his eyes. Shane scrambled, pushing Ilya onto the bed and climbing on top of him, mapping his chest with his hands.

"I can't believe you're here," Shane said. The words felt melodramatic, but he'd resisted the idea of Ilya in his bed for too long. Worrying that when Ilya inevitably left after one of their casual hookups, it would gut Shane. It was evident now that it had never been casual, and seeing Ilya laid underneath him, knowing that he'd return over and over, felt like a dream.

Ilya cupped the back of Shane's neck and drew him in for a kiss before murmuring something that sent a chill up Shane's spine. "How many times did you get off to me in this bed?"

Shane's cheeks flushed, and Ilya began planting kisses along his warm cheekbones. "I have no idea. Too many times."

"Mm. I want to see," Ilya drew back, hazel eyes sparkling.

"Want to see what?" Shane's head was already swirling, intoxicated by Ilya.

"Want to see how you touched yourself, thinking of me."

Shane swore he could feel his heart pick up pace, blood coursing at the thought.

"You have toy, yes?" Ilya smirked. He shifted, swinging so he was beside Shane as Shane nodded. Ilya leaned in, tugging Shane's earlobe between his teeth. "Let me see."

Shane slid up the bed, fumbling at the drawer in his nightstand. When he drew out his dildo and lube, Ilya's jaw went slack for a moment, as if he hadn't fully believed Shane would give him what he asked for.

Shane slicked his fingers and started stroking himself. Ilya settled next to him, running his hand over Shane's chest. Shane's breath caught when Ilya thumbed his nipple, and Ilya took that as a cue to lean in and catch it between his teeth. The sensation made Shane cry out before Ilya licked and sucked and kissed away the sting of it.

"Fuck yourself for me," Ilya ordered between kisses along Shane's chest.

Shane moaned and shakily reached down, circling a finger. His eyes snapped open when he heard Ilya exhale sharply. As pliant as Shane felt, he had a moment of clarity that Ilya was just as entranced as he was. Shane watched Ilya's eyes follow the movement as he sunk his first finger in. They moaned in unison, and Ilya began stroking Shane's hard cock, his voice taking a rougher edge.

"You're so fucking perfect," Ilya's breath paused as Shane slipped a second finger in. "You want to be so good for me, don't you?"

Shane had lost his words, all he could do was gasp and nod. Ilya's hand was dragging lazily up and down his cock, teasing him unfairly, and all he could think was how badly he wanted to please Ilya, to do whatever he asked.

"I think you need something bigger," Ilya fake pouted, watching Shane's fingers slipping in and out, stretching. "Too bad your toy isn't as big as me."

Shane had enough consciousness to roll his eyes, even if he had privately felt that same lament. After Ilya had first fucked him, Shane had felt ruined. Maybe he had resisted buying a bigger toy because he knew that all he wanted was the real thing.

Ilya picked up Shane's dildo, drizzled lube on it, and ran it along his palm, slicking it before handing it to Shane. Shane paused for a moment, staring at him. Ilya's eyes had gone glassy, his jaw taut. The intensity of his stare was overwhelming, and the satisfaction on his face when Shane coaxed himself open with his toy was electric.

A ragged groan punched out of Shane's mouth as he slowly sank onto the toy, burying it inside of him. Ilya had been stroking his hair, but he went completely still, gazing at Shane's face, eyelids hooded.

Shane began to move and Ilya grabbed his wrist.

"Slow," Ilya glowered at the whine that escaped Shane's lips. "So greedy. You cannot wait?"

Shane tried to glare, but his eyelids dropped as he started slowly thrusting his toy in and out, dragging along his prostate with excruciating patience.

Ilya leaned in, kissing Shane's neck between Russian phrases that felt like praise and commands.

"You do this many times? Fuck yourself on your small toy, wishing it was my cock?"

Shane's growl was half lust, half irritation. He wasn't sure he could count the number of times he'd come to the idea of Ilya, and now he actually had Ilya in his bed, and all he was doing was teasing him with kisses and occasionally stroking Shane's cock in a lazy grasp that made him forget to breathe.

"Do you wish you had my cock right now?" Ilya asked. Shane nodded, even as he writhed on his toy. Ilya shook his head, and Shane almost wailed from hungry need.

"I spent so many nights trying to picture this," Ilya said slowly, tracing his hand down Shane's abs. "You have no idea. You tell me you have a toy, and all I can think about is how much I want to see you fuck yourself."

"Please," Shane reached for the only thing he could think of: begging. "Please fuck me." He was trying so hard to obey, to fuck himself slowly, but he was losing control with every second, shaking with his crumbling restraint. He needed Ilya to take over.

Ilya swiped his thumb at the head of Shane's cock and then pressed his thumb on Shane's lower lip. Shane darted his tongue out, swirling and sucking on Ilya's thumb until Ilya groaned. A tortured, angry sound that betrayed how much willpower Ilya was exerting right now.

Shane scraped together the last shreds of coherence to land a final blow. "I need you."

It worked perfectly. Ilya cursed and got up, yanking open the bedside drawer. Shane watched as Ilya opened the box of condoms he'd purchased that afternoon, and Ilya quickly rolled one on before leaning down to grasp Shane's wrist and drag the toy out of him. Shane felt achingly empty.

"You need me to fuck you?" Ilya asked, pushing Shane's shins up, crowding to kiss at his neck.

Yes, Shane was filled with a fervent, burning desire for Ilya to fuck him, but that wasn't the totality of it. He had meant it when he told Ilya he needed him, it felt like the whole time they had known each other, Shane needed him. The only person who could get him out of his head after a terrible game. The only person who seemed to read his thoughts. The only person who made the rest of the world feel quiet.

"I need you," Shane emphasized, and Ilya's mouth dropped open a fraction before he positioned himself and pushed into Shane. Shane felt his back arch when Ilya had buried himself in Shane completely, and he managed to force his eyes open. Ilya looked awestruck, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

"You need me," Ilya forced through gritted teeth as he rolled his hips. "Only me."

Shane nodded, but his entire body was moving as Ilya started pounding into him. "Yes, fuck. It's just you, I need you."

Ilya leaned down to kiss him, roughly. Their mouths kept missing each other, and with only a fraction of his brain working, Shane dug his nails into Ilya's back in a feeble attempt to hold him still long enough to kiss him. The scraping made Ilya gasp and speed up, and in moments Shane was clutching him, crying out and yelling Ilya's name over and over. He faintly registered Ilya moaning, stilling, and then hiding his face in the crook of Shane's neck as he panted and came back to earth.

Shane had no sense of how long they laid there. Ilya pinning him to the bed, his body limp and boneless, might have been the most comfortable he'd ever felt.

Eventually, Ilya coaxed Shane up and they showered. Shane felt half-asleep, but then he saw Ilya with rivulets of water cascading down his body, and Shane was suddenly alert. He grabbed Ilya's face to kiss him, and the contented sigh that escaped Ilya's lips became Shane's new favorite sound.

***

Ilya woke the next morning from the best sleep of his life. He knew if he admitted that to Shane, Shane would credit his blackout curtains. It was as dark as a crypt in Shane's bedroom, and it was absolutely not the cause.

Ilya had gone to sleep with Shane curled around him, his steady breath in Ilya's ear. Three nights now, Ilya had been able to fall asleep to Shane, fumble for him when he woke in the middle of the night, and pull him close in the morning.

With a wrenching sensation, Ilya realized this would be the last night sleeping together for a week. They were heading on a road trip after their afternoon game, and Shane had a roommate on the road. A roommate who would make perfectly innocuous teasing comments if Shane didn't come back to the room. Ilya had seen Shane attempt to lie, it was one of the few things in the world that Shane Hollander was bad at. It had kind of delighted Ilya, until this moment, when it was deeply inconvenient.

Shane stirred next to him, and despite repeated attempts to drag him back to bed, Ilya followed him for coffee and breakfast. Shane did ogle Ilya when he put on Shane's sweatpants, so Ilya was confident he could convince Shane to rip them off after breakfast and before they had to head to the ice for their game.

“So. Toronto. ” They were sitting at the kitchen island. Shane was staring into his coffee and he sounded like he was preparing to head to the trenches. Which Ilya supposed they were, Dallas Kent was a psychopath with an axe to grind. Mercifully, after Toronto they traveled to Boston and then New York, two teams they could beat.

“I will miss sleeping with you, when we are away,” Ilya blurted out. Something about Shane's bluntness made Ilya willingly pour his heart out.

Shane looked like Ilya had just gotten down on one knee for him, and for a frantic minute, it made Ilya want to confess every embarrassingly vulnerable affection he felt towards Shane.

“Me too,” Shane said softly. He set his coffee down with a gleam in his eye. “There are other things we can do, though.”

Ilya thought about their one hotel hookup and decided he was going to have Shane commit to jogging role play next time.

“I don't mean that, although yes. Obviously, that too,” Shane waved away Ilya's pout. “I meant what I said, I think I can figure out a way for us to go on a date that won't be so…obvious.”

Ilya's stomach plunged into the floor. Anticipation and anxiety started coursing through him. For the first time, they would do something that Shane was more experienced in.

Chapter End Notes

Idk I had a whole plan to send them on the road trip and (spoiler) celebrate New Year’s together, and then it just turned into smut.

I just loved the concept of the two of them acting like a married couple reuniting after a war (4 hours where they can't touch)

Poor Troy is getting advice from a man who has exactly one day of relationship experience under his belt, but it's better than nothing!

Oh, and Ilya is still traumatized from trying to have a sweet shower kiss that time Shane sprinted out of his home. So his legs almost gave out from under him when Shane kissed him in the shower.

In the saga of my job getting in the way of writing/editing: we're probably looking at updates every 6-7 days now, instead of the usual 3-4.

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

The flight to Toronto was brief and tense. The team was often subdued when traveling to a city where they were likely to lose, but Toronto was different. Toronto meant Dallas Kent, a player so unlikeable that even the most positive men on the Centaurs had bad things to say about him. Wyatt and Troy were especially solemn, scarred from prior experience playing in Toronto.

Shane considered sitting next to someone else on the flight in an effort to avoid catching attention, but Ilya sat down first and looked at him pointedly. The flight was too brief to watch a movie together, so Shane read and Ilya listened to music. Shane wished they were flying anywhere else, somewhere far enough away that Ilya would have an excuse to use his shoulder as a pillow. The absence of physical touch between them ached.

When the flight began to descend, Ilya brushed his knuckles against Shane's thigh. It felt obscene, and Shane realized he couldn't have handled Ilya sleeping on his shoulder. It was taking everything he had to not drag Ilya into the disgusting airplane bathroom.

By the time they got to the hotel, Shane was crawling out of his skin. Ilya didn't send him his room number for ages, and Shane finally got tired of waiting and texted him.

“You good?” Holmberg squinted at Shane as he fidgeted and checked his phone for the millionth time.

“Yeah, you know. Just…Toronto,” Shane eyed his screen, infuriatingly devoid of notifications.

“Seriously. I hope you and Ilya fuck Kent up,” Holmberg sighed and flipped on the TV.

Shane almost bolted out of the room when he saw the text come in.

Ilya: 1331. Sorry, was on the phone with my brother.

Shane made up an excuse about going to find a smoothie. Holmberg already seemed to be drifting off for an early bedtime anyway, not questioning the decision to get an 8pm smoothie.

Shane raced down the stairs, ready to leap into Ilya's arms. When Shane got to Ilya's room, he immediately adjusted his expectations.

“Is everything ok?” Shane eyed Ilya's hair, sticking up in disarray. His posture was rigid, his face grim.

“No,” Ilya shook his head firmly. He registered the expression on Shane's face and rubbed his eyes. “It is my father. He is ill, he calls me. I am here, I can do nothing. My brother is in Moscow, but he does nothing.”

Shane's stomach plummeted. Ilya's voice sounded hoarse, like he was hanging on by a thread. Without thinking, Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya. Ilya stiffened for a moment before melting into him, limp.

“Ilya, I'm so sorry.” Shane felt useless. He tried to think of what to say next. “Um. What kind of illness?”

“Dementia,” Ilya's voice was ragged. “He is…fuck,” Ilya drew back and put the heels of his palms to his eyes.

“He is…almost nice now. He was never nice to me. But now it is like he has forgotten he hates me.”

It was gut punch after gut punch. Shane should probably feel some level of empathy for a man whose mind was betraying him, who Ilya had some semblance of complicated attachment to. But all he felt was rage that Ilya's remaining parent hated him.

"I'm sorry, " Shane said. Ilya tucked his face into Shane's neck.

"Can you stay?" Ilya asked in a whisper. It didn't even take Shane a second to answer.

"Of course. I'll have to sneak out early in the morning, so nobody sees."

He really didn't care if Holmberg said anything about him being out all night. It was the least of his concerns right now, when Ilya was in front of him, being brave enough to ask for something he needed.

Ilya sighed, and they stood like that for a while longer. When they finally went to bed, Ilya fucked him while clutching at Shane's hips. Fingers digging into Shane hard enough to bruise, as if he was afraid Shane might run away. As they drifted to sleep, Shane clung to him, wishing he could brace Ilya hard enough to dispel any fear.

***

Ilya made the rounds in the locker room before the game, cheering up the most worried teammates. Wyatt looked like he was going to be ill, Troy could barely look at anyone. Ilya felt an irrational pride when he looked at Shane and only saw steely determination.

He hadn't ever needed someone the way he had needed Shane last night. As much as Shane helped soothe him to sleep, his absence when he had to leave at the crack of dawn sliced through Ilya like a knife.

Shane seemed determined to show up in every way that Ilya needed, and right now he looked ready to go to war against Toronto.

They skated out, Toronto’s arena was loud and Dallas Kent was looming like a fucking ogre.

Intimidation didn't work. Shane won the face-off and flew down the ice, passing to Ilya for a goal that he flipped in before Toronto could even realize what happened. Ilya couldn't help it, he smacked a celebratory kiss on Shane's helmet as he skated past him.

It was a lethal mistake, he saw Kent narrow his eyes at that. In the second period, it came back to bite him. Dallas checked Ilya into the boards and barked Ilya's worst fears.

“Gonna go cry about it to your fucking boyfriend?” Dallas was skating off, but Ilya swung in front of him and headbutted him before he could even think. It was incredible stupid, Ilya could already feel a bruise forming on his forehead where he had impulsively slammed his helmet against Kent's.

Dallas screeched, eyes cold and dead now, “What the fuck, you fucking faggot!”

Ilya's fist connected with Dallas’ chin right as a blur came zooming into his peripheral. Shane slammed into Dallas Kent and began pummeling him. For all his burgeoning reputation as the golden boy of hockey, Ilya was reminded in that moment that Shane had been playing the game all his life, and had clearly participated in more than his fair share of fights. He was livid, hurling insults that made no sense, slamming punches into Kent and drawing blood until Bood was able to pry him off.

They were both unceremoniously sent to the penalty box, and for all the anger coursing through him, Ilya realized he was also very inconveniently turned on.

“Did not need to do that,” Ilya muttered. Shane was chewing on his mouthguard, glaring at the ice and didn't answer for a moment. Maybe he was too locked in, too mad at himself for getting a penalty.

“No, I needed to. Not even for you, for me.” Shane shot Ilya a look, the fury dropped for a moment, and his earnest truth shone through. “Ok. Also for you. I'd do it a thousand times for you.”

Ilya wanted to kiss him, he felt like he might die if he didn't kiss him that very second. Their penalty was up before he could say anything, before he could impulsively grab Shane and blow up every logical precaution.

***

They won. The mood was jubilant as they got on the bus back to the hotel. Even Coach Wiebe, who usually tried to be reserved and calm, was whooping with joy as he slapped everyone on the back. There was only one person Shane really wanted to celebrate with, but the team wanted to assemble at a bar near the hotel.

Shane found himself wedged in a booth between Wyatt and Troy, and tried to not feel irritated that Bood and Dykstra had corralled Ilya for shots at the bar.

“I can't wait to get out of Toronto,” Troy sighed.

Wyatt hummed in agreement. “Shane, you have no idea how satisfying it was to see you unleash on Kent.”

Shane groaned and sank in the booth. Rose had already sent him a clip from Sports Center, the announcers stunned and speculating what could have triggered Shane Hollander to have his first altercation on the ice.

“He said some shit to Ilya that wasn't ok,” a massive understatement, but it was all Shane felt like sharing. Troy seemed to fill in the gaps, and he shot Shane an appreciative smile.

“Hey, uh…in happier news,” Troy leaned in, and Wyatt perked up. “Harris and I are dating.”

Wyatt yelped and attempted to high five Troy, their hands colliding awkwardly in front of Shane's face. Shane pretended to be surprised, Troy seemed too happy and distracted to register his bad acting.

“That's amazing, Troy. I'm really happy for you guys,” Shane said.

“Thanks. He's helping me draft a post I can use to come out. I would do it right now, but…I don't know, we're on the road for a few games, and I kind of want to be with him when I do it?”

Shane nodded. It was easier to be brave when you had someone beside you. In many ways, he and Ilya had forced through fears that felt insurmountable. Shane's fear of rejection, Ilya's fear of abandonment, both trampled by their clumsy expressions of affection for each other.

But there was still a fear gripping both of them, that neither knew how to handle. Shane envied Troy's courage to come out, the relative simplicity of Harris, his boyfriend who wasn't at risk of being unceremoniously traded, or dropped entirely and deported to another country.

Shane felt the back of his neck prickle, and looked up to see Ilya gazing at him from across the bar. He flashed a smile towards Ilya and tried to swallow his anxieties.

***

"We are seeing a movie?" Ilya asked. Shane had told him to keep his morning free for their first date. They had landed in New York late last night and had a rare day off, just an afternoon practice.

When Ilya had tried to guess where they were going, he hadn't even considered that movie theaters were open at ten in the morning.

For the thousandth time, Ilya tried to shove down his overwhelming sense of inadequacy. If Ilya was anybody else, Shane would be able to go on one of his real, romantic dates at a dimly lit bar or restaurant. Not a cinema in Midtown before lunchtime.

Shane didn't seem to share those reservations, he only looked excited, so Ilya squared his shoulders and marched in with him. Shane had purchased tickets ahead of time, which also pained Ilya's pride, so he insisted on getting the snacks. Shane ordered plain popcorn without butter or salt, and barely hid his disgust at the pile of candy Ilya loaded in his arms.

"What the fuck is this?" Ilya set his soda cup down in front of a machine that looked far too high-tech to be dispensing carbonated high-fructose corn syrup.

"When was the last time you went to the movies?" Shane asked.

Ilya shrugged. "Maybe...fifteen? My father had big TV. I have big TV, do not really need to go to a theater." He hurried to explain himself, worried that Shane would misinterpret. "Is nice, I like it."

It was true. Shane probably could have taken him on a tour of the city dump and Ilya would have felt swept off his feet. Antagonizing Shane with sugary treats and having a few uninterrupted hours together felt decadent.

Shane smiled, and then he blew Ilya's world wide open.

"Ok. So I really shouldn't be showing you this, it's the last thing you need access to...." Shane tapped around on the touchscreen and showed Ilya how to concoct an absolute monstrosity of a drink, combining sodas that Ilya had never even heard of.

Ilya tried to get Shane to sample the finished product before he got his own drink. Shane refused, pretending to gag and instead completely underutilized the technology by selecting ginger ale for his cup, and nothing else.

As they walked to their seats, Ilya sipped his disgusting, faintly medicinal blend of pop and wondered giddily if Shane would let him install one of those machines in his home.

"What are we watching?" Ilya asked as they settled. There was one other person in the theater, an old woman with giant glasses seated near the front. Shane had positioned them at the very last row.

"It’s an anniversary release of a martial arts movie that my parents love. It's not in English, I should have asked..."

Ilya waved his hand. "Subtitles are ok."

"Anyway, I think you'll like the fight scenes." Shane seemed adorably nervous as he tried to sell Ilya on a movie that they were already seated for. When the trailers started, the lights dimmed and Ilya was reminded that Shane was a brilliant genius. In a dark theater with nobody around, Ilya nervously darted his hand out and found Shane's, pulling it to rest on his lap. Shane's shoulders relaxed, and he shot Ilya a momentarily shy smile.

Ilya had a very hard time focusing on the trailers. Nothing was sufficiently interesting enough to distract him from the way Shane's freckles danced in the flickering light of the screen, from the warmth of his hand in Ilya's.

Ilya could understand why Shane had picked the movie. The action sequences were breathtaking, the choreography of the fights were unlike anything Ilya had seen before. It was an enormous step up from the mindless action movies they usually watched on the team plane together, that Ilya often pretended to sleep through.

It didn't escape him that Shane had also, probably unintentionally, picked a tragically romantic movie. Multiple star-crossed couples, forced apart by circumstance and society. Ilya realized he was clutching Shane's hand a little too tightly after a scene with a heart-wrenching confession of love, followed by an immediate revelation that the couple could never be together. He tried to lessen his vice-grip, but Shane laced their fingers tighter, squeezing. Ilya felt the sensation echo in his chest.

Ilya politely pretended to not notice Shane’s damp eyes when the credits rolled, just as he valiantly tried to ignore how much it hurt to let go of Shane's hand when the lights came up.

***

The Admirals didn't go down without a fight, but that only made the Centaurs victory sweeter. It wasn't lost on Shane that he and Ilya were playing better than they ever had before, that the absence of tension between them had led to a ruthlessness on the ice that pummeled the Admirals that evening.

The mood in the locker room was riotous as the team scrambled to shower and change so they could ring in the new year together.

Shane wished they were back home, where they could have holed up in Ilya's home, and Shane could have helped Ilya recreate some of his New Year's traditions. When they returned to Ottawa, Shane was determined to learn how to make pelmini. But they were in New York tonight, and the team was happy and relentlessly festive.

They went to a terrible club with eardrum rattling music and strobe lighting. As if he was hell bent on torturing Shane, Ilya wore the sweater that Shane loved so much, and he kept finding small ways to touch him throughout the night.

A hand at the small of his back when he leaned across the table, pressing his thigh against Shane's when they sat next to each other. Shane felt the familiar sting that was becoming embedded in these moments. An irrational hope for more, fantasies of a world where they didn't have to be careful. The clock was drawing closer to midnight, and all Shane could think about was a fervent wish that the new year might magically be different.

***

It was going to be midnight in a few minutes, and Ilya desperately needed to kiss Shane. He'd never cared about that North American tradition before. Never found any significance in who he happened to be kissing when the calendar flipped to a new year, but the thought of the clock striking midnight and seeing everyone kiss, locking eyes with Shane and being unable to... it felt unbearable.

Ilya was standing with Dykstra and Holmberg as they pounded shots they would regret on the flight tomorrow. He found Shane's gaze, tracking him from across the table, and twitched his head. It was a tiny movement that Shane registered the same way he did on the ice, their wordless understanding of each other. Ilya turned and left, pulling out his cigarettes as a prop.

When he got outside, it had begun to snow. Ilya twisted David's scarf around his neck and surveyed the street. The flurry of flakes made things feel anonymous, the dingy corners and alleys momentarily romantic. Some revelers were stumbling down the street, the snow was blanketing New York and muffling noise.

Ilya heard the door open behind him and he knew that he would have felt Shane's presence even without the sound of his feet crunching through the snow. His skin prickled whenever Shane was near, a current of possibility coursing between them. Shane stood next to him for a moment before walking past Ilya, down to the entrance of the alley adjacent to the club. He stood, snow swirling around him, and Ilya felt time stop for a moment. Somehow, this perfect man wanted to be with him. This beautiful man who had snow clinging to his hair, his cheeks and nose already turning pink from the chill. Ilya was seized with a desire to run and tackle him, pin him in the snow and demand he never leave.

Instead, Ilya held up a finger signaling that he needed a minute. Shane nodded and slipped down the alley. Ilya pulled out his phone and shot off a quick email to his agent. When he had first been drafted, she had asked if he wanted to pursue Canadian citizenship. As complicated as his relationship was with Russia, he had bristled at the idea at the time, his prideful streak prompting her to never bring it up again.

Ilya put his phone away and checked the block again, empty as people congregated inside to cheer and countdown.

He ducked into the alley, finding Shane in time to drag him close. The kiss was syrupy and languid, cold lips and frigid noses bumping. They heard counting, then a cacophony, and they only clutched each other tighter, kissing with a kind of headiness that almost left Ilya feeling dizzy. Shane buried his fingers in Ilya's curls, and he was reminded of the first time they had hooked up. It had felt possessive then, and Ilya had been utterly in denial about how thoroughly Shane possessed him, that he was completely gone for him from the very time.

Ilya cupped Shane's face in his hands and wished, in a silent resolution, for a dream in the new year that he had never allowed himself to hope for.

Chapter End Notes

Lots of melodramatic fluff here. Ilya's introduction to the Coke Freestyle machine was inspired by Ryan Coogler's admiration of the Coke Freestyle machine. Highly recommend looking up his interview clip about it.

Shane and Ilya are watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I think David Hollander is a big Ang Lee fan.

Also my worst nightmare happened this week. My best friend (who I trade fic recs with but who did not know I was writing copious amounts of hockey-adjacent smut) sent me a link to this fic and said she thought I'd like it.

I had to come clean and unfortunately now we both have to live with the fact that she's read hockey-adjacent smut written by someone she's known since she was eleven.

It's fine, I only had like ten minutes where I wanted to crawl in a hole and die of embarassment.

Final chapters/epilogue coming soon!

Chapter 14

Chapter Notes

To my best friend who accidentally started reading this fic not knowing that I was the author: when you get to the part where Ilya calls Shane a slut, just avert your eyes and scroll to the next section break

Ilya awoke on New Year’s day irritable and impatient. He had decided, firmly and utterly decided on a future with Shane and he felt like every second that he didn't propel that choice forward was a waste of time.

So he laid there and tried to scheme, and he resented their circumstances. Maybe in another world, where Ilya wasn't from a country like Russia, and their talents lay elsewhere, they could have met and immediately realized they belonged together. Instead, their desire had collided in a locker room shower and Ilya had wasted months convincing himself he didn't need Shane.

Ilya grabbed his phone to do morbid research and lost an hour anxiously scrolling the comments on the post that Troy had made to come out yesterday. All of the expected bullshit comments were there, but most people were supportive. It helped that the first photo was a very cute image of Harris kissing Troy’s cheek while Troy held Chiron up to the camera.

Ilya read articles, Reddit posts, and watched a couple clips from podcasts dissecting the news. Troy wasn’t the first player to come out, but it was still notable enough to cover, and Ilya devoured every scrap of coverage. It was impossible to not try to project their own circumstances. Would ESPN have mediocre platitudes to say about two teammates in a relationship? Would fans leave supportive messages, or would Ilya and Shane get torn limb from limb?

Ilya finally threw his phone down and rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how anybody could look at him and Shane and argue that their relationship was affecting their hockey. If anything, they were better than ever, and they had both just been named All-Stars to prove it.

He could hear the frat bro podcasters rebutting that in his head. “Sure, they play great together, but what happens when they break up?”

Ilya waged an imaginary argument in his head, melodramatic and startling even to him. The truth of it was that he didn't believe he and Shane would break up. He felt an uncanny assurance in his bones, the same steady, centered feeling he got when Shane smiled at him. Somehow, as they accidentally slid from friendship to fucking to dating, Ilya's vision of the future molded around Shane.

Ilya pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes as the truth of the situation cascaded over him.

He had fallen in love with Shane, headlong and with utter enthusiasm, probably from the very beginning of their friendship. It made him want to do desperate things: renounce his Russian citizenship, wage a war with imaginary podcasters and league officials. But the most pressing impulse was the one to admit how he felt to Shane, however terrifying it seemed.

***

Ilya was hovering over Shane's shoulder in the airport lounge while Shane worked on the daily crossword on his phone. Shane and his dad liked to compare times, and initially Shane had worried that Ilya's input would be an unfair advantage. It was proving to be the opposite.

“Shane, I am telling you. This is not real word, I can tell you are just trying to play a mean joke on the man learning English,” Ilya protested.

“I promise! ‘Befuddled’ is a word,” Shane laughed. They had been going back and forth on it for ages, and it was totally screwing up his time.

Ilya pinched Shane's shoulder, and then his phone started ringing. The caller ID was in Cyrillic, which Shane knew usually meant family. Startingly, Ilya answered with a perfectly calm expression instead of the usual grim face Ilya had when he spoke to his father or his brother.

He stood and walked out of the lounge, speaking in rapid fire Russian as he went. Shane knew by this point that Ilya preferred to pace when he spoke on the phone, and the lounge was too packed for that. Shane had seen him practically pace a trench into the floor of his hotel room the other evening when his brother called to ask for money.

Shane was about to resume his crossword when coach Wiebe caught his eye from across the lounge, waving him over.

Shane pocketed his phone and approached with mild trepidation. Wiebe had an ethos that travel time was personal time, he never tried to talk to Shane about lines or defense in an airport before.

“Hi coach,” Shane sat next to Wiebe nervously.

“You're not in trouble, kid,” Wiebe chuckled at Shane's obvious fear. “I just wanted to ask how Roz is doing.”

Shane sat up straight, mind racing. “He's great. He's the best guy I've ever played with, and we're in a groove right now, I really think—”

Wiebe waved his hand gently before Shane could start extolling Ilya's stats. “I meant personally. I'm sorry to put you on the spot, but we both know how he is if you ask about his feelings. He seemed off this past month. But after these Toronto and New York games, seems like he's got a better mindset?”

Shane swallowed. He wondered if Wiebe had noticed anything off the ice, how he and Ilya had been stilted and weird before they figured things out. If he had seen the way that the two of them moved as if they were glued to each other now. Was it all too apparent to anybody who bothered to look for two seconds?

Wiebe touched Shane's shoulder gently and Shane jumped as if he'd been slapped. For a moment, Wiebe's face looked different. An expression that Shane had seen on his dad's face before, when Shane wasn't telling the truth.

Shane was reminded of a time in primary school when Shane's classmates had spent the better part of the week bullying him. He knew if he told his parents, they'd tell his teacher and then he'd get labeled a tattletale and a crybaby.

So instead, he got up that Friday and pretended to be sick to stay home from school. Shane's dad had stared at him hard, taken his very much not-sick temperature, and let him stay home. They watched movies together on the couch all day, and his dad never said anything about Shane's blatant lie.

“I look out for you guys, you know that?” Wiebe's features had settled back to his more neutral and gruff attitude. “I'm glad Rozy has people like you, God knows he won't let me in.”

Shane nodded, at a loss for words, and he was mercifully saved by an announcement that they'd be boarding in ten minutes.

***

The team faltered against Pittsburgh, though not for lack of effort on Shane and Ilya's part. On the bus back to the hotel, Wyatt crammed in next to Shane before Ilya could sit with him. Ilya shot Shane a look, one that must have been loud because Shane's cheeks turned bright pink.

Ilya got to his hotel room and played a game with himself, trying to guess how long it would take for Shane to get to his room. Maybe three minutes to get out of his suit and into something else. One minute to tell Holmberg a bad lie. Two minutes to wait for the elevator, thirty seconds to hustle down the hall as quickly as possible—Ilya's imagination was rattled by a familiar soft knock on the door, and he flung it open.

"You are not jogging?" Ilya took in Shane's disguise of the night. He was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, utterly non-descript and somehow beautiful on him. Ilya wondered if Shane ever noticed his outfits, if Ilya's peacocking designer fashion wasn't even a factor in Shane's attraction to him.

"I didn't even give him a reason. I just said I was going out, he probably thinks I'm a huge slut at this point," Shane grumbled. Ilya could feel the wolfish grin spread across his face, and Shane glared, realizing what he had just opened himself up to.

"Sorry. Is true, you are a huge slut," Ilya shrugged, marveling at the way the words made Shane's lips part.

Reason seemed to snap back into place for Shane. "I don't think that's how that works. I'm not a slut if I'm only having sex with one person," he yanked his sweatshirt off as if he was trying to change the subject, but his statement only made Ilya feel stupidly possessive and smug.

Ilya slipped behind Shane, twisting his arms around him as he began pressing kisses up his neck. When he reached the soft skin behind Shane's ear, he grazed Shane's earlobe with his teeth and whispered. "I think you beg for my cock so much, you must be a slut."

Shane's breath came out in a choked off gasp, and he tried to reach behind him to grasp at Ilya, proving his point.

Ilya wanted to tease him, make him beg for it just to prove Ilya right. But he also hadn't fucked Shane since Ilya had admitted to himself that he was in love with him, and he felt incredibly impatient.

"Get on the bed," Ilya said, hiking his shirt over his head. Shane yanked off his sweatpants and briefs before crawling onto the bed with an obvious intent to display his perfect ass. Ilya followed, smacking him and smoothing his hand over the brief red mark that splashed across Shane's skin.

He gently pushed, rolling Shane from his undeniably hot position on all fours, laughing at the confusion on his face as he came to rest on his back.

"I want to see you," he explained, hovering over Shane's face. Shane's expression melted as he reached up to grab Ilya by the back of the neck, drawing him in for a kiss.

Pressed against Shane, slipping his tongue between his lips, Ilya found himself wishing for the hundredth time that there wasn't a looming clock ticking away on his time with Shane. He wanted to kiss Shane for an hour, wanted to tease him for at least two, wanted to fuck him three times, and more than anything, wanted to fall asleep curled around him. He swallowed hard, blinking back tears that sprang into his eyes without warning.

Ilya broke apart to kiss Shane's neck, but Shane grabbed him and flipped him, straddling Ilya. Ilya wasn't sure he'd ever get over the thrill of having a partner who could manhandle him. Shane's eyes were glazed, and he kept his gaze fixed on Ilya as he began kissing his way down his stomach.

Ilya was reminded of how he'd almost finished in thirty seconds the first time Shane gave him head, how Shane's rich brown eyes had him completely undone.

Shane took him in his mouth, running his tongue along the head of Ilya's cock lazily before he began to bob, taking him to the back of his throat. Ilya found himself gasping for air as he grabbed at Shane's hair. Shane slid his mouth off of him for an agonizing moment, and Ilya propped himself up to glare at Shane accusingly.

"Can I finger you?" Shane whispered, and Ilya's thoughts completely evaporated.

"Fuck, Shane," Ilya yanked him up for a messy kiss, dug his fingers into his thighs as he gripped him closer, and then released, grabbing Shane's hand. He sucked on Shane's index finger, longer than necessary, enjoying the way that Shane seemed to stop breathing as Ilya slicked him with spit.

Shane leaned in and kissed him for a moment like that, tongue darting next to his finger, filling Ilya's mouth, and then he pulled away. Ilya whined, a completely needy and embarrassing noise that only deepened when Shane began tracing his slick finger along his hole. Shane took Ilya's cock into his mouth in the same moment that his finger slipped into him, and Ilya gasped so hard that Shane stopped for a moment.

"Don't stop," Ilya managed to say through gritted teeth. The moan Shane made in response almost sent Ilya over the edge.

Shane seemed as lost in the moment as Ilya, groaning in sync with him when he circled his finger against Ilya's prostate. He seemed like he wanted to choke on Ilya, give himself entirely over, and it was completely intoxicating. Ilya's thoughts were hazy, and the only thing he wanted to say was completely inappropriate to say for the first time during sex. So he cheated, concealing it in Russian as Shane brought him to the edge.

Ilya gasped "ya tebya lyublyu," and he felt Shane sigh around him as if he already understood.

***

“You cannot be serious,” Ilya grumbled.

Shane rolled his eyes. “It’s a good idea, come on.”

He had wanted to surprise Ilya with their next date, but he had caught enough of Ilya's huffs and eye-rolls by now to know that probably wouldn’t have gone well. So instead he had brought up the idea right after they fucked, after Ilya had come for the second time that night, hoping the post-orgasm haze would soften the edge of what he was proposing.

“You and I will get to have dinner together in a nice restaurant, Rose just comes for dessert. If anyone takes photos of us, it’ll just look like we were waiting for her. You saw how the coverage was when I left a party with her and Miles.”

It was true. There had never been a whiff of a rumor when Shane was seen leaving a club with an openly gay actor, because all eyes went to Rose.

Ilya scowled even deeper. Shane wasn’t entirely sure if it was the mention of Miles, or the prospect of having dessert with Rose.

“Ilya, are you jealous of Rose?”

Ilya looked at him blankly for a moment, petulant defiance playing across his face before he gave up and sighed. “Not like that. I know you are super gay-”

“I’m normal gay!” Shane protested.

“You are super gay. I am just…annoyed. That you and I cannot just go on a date together. That anyone who sees us will think you two are together.”

Ilya was tugging at his curls in obvious discomfort, it was clear that “annoyed” was an insufficient word for his frustration.

It broke Shane’s heart a little. Shane was ready to do whatever it took to be with Ilya, but sometimes he worried that the toll of secrecy was wearing on Ilya more than he admitted. It hadn't been very long, and it all felt so inadequate already. Shane wanted to wake up with Ilya every day, he hated sneaking out of his room, feeling the dirty secret of it all clinging to something so precious.

Shane ran his fingers through Ilya's curls, stilling Ilya's nervous tic. Shane smoothed a ringlet on his temple and tried to settle his heart rate as he asked the next question, the one he was far more nervous about.

“Um. And just when we see Rose, I was wondering…” Shane took a steadying breath. “Can I introduce you as my boyfriend?”

The question seemed to dawn across Ilya’s face in slow motion, his grin illuminating every previously troubled feature. He rolled on top of Shane, kissing him with an intensity that knocked the breath out of Shane. When he moved to press kisses down the length of Shane’s throat, Shane’s brain flickered back to consciousness.

“That’s a yes, right?”

Ilya’s laugh was muffled, and Shane could feel the curve of his smile against his skin.

“Yes, Shane. You are my boyfriend.”

***

Their road trip progressed steadily, they were winning more than they lost, and their losses at least felt close. Shane found himself wondering what the team might look like after the trade deadline. They were on the cusp of being a truly successful team, if they only had better depth.

“How's Harris?” Shane asked, shaking himself out of his reverie. Troy had parked himself across the aisle from him and Ilya on the flight to Los Angeles.

“Great, look at these photos of Chiron he sent this morning,” Troy passed his phone into Ilya's outstretched palm, and Shane peered over his shoulder at some admittedly adorable photos of Harris and Chiron.

“Um. How have people been since you came out?” Shane asked. He felt Ilya tense up a bit next to him. Ilya had to have seen the worst of the reactions, Shane practically had them burned into his eyeballs.

To his shock, Troy shrugged. “I haven't paid a lot of attention. I posted about it and then I deleted Instagram off my phone. One of the team owners called, said they support me. Wiebe, um…is more supportive than I would have thought. Which is pretty great.”

Mild relief flooded Shane’s limbs. Not enough to totally relax, but enough that he felt he could breathe. It shouldn't have shocked him that ownership and Wiebe were supportive, Harris was a prominent employee of the team and Shane knew he had been unapologetically out the whole time he worked for them.

Shane tried to picture any of his junior coaches being understanding about a queer player. Shane hadn't been lying when he told Ilya that he hadn’t punched Dallas Kent just for Ilya, he had needed to do it for himself too.

Shane had stood idly by for years, like a fucking coward, when teammates threw around homophobic jokes and slurs. He cringed at the thought that there could have been other queer teammates, that Shane had sat in a scared silence that only contributed to other players being too afraid to be out.

The only time Shane had been motivated to punch anyone was when a teammate made a racist joke about his mom. He had seen red, felt all reason leave his body as he had pummeled the boy, and had to be dragged off of him by two other teammates.

Shane stared at his hands as Troy and Ilya talked over him. That same fury had possessed him when he heard Ilya on the brunt of Dallas’s vitriol. It had unlocked a completely raw reaction that Shane was finally beginning to place.

The simple euphoria of holding Ilya’s hand at the movie. The desperate need to soothe him when he worried about his father. The probably unhealthy response of rage when Dallas had come for him.

It was love. Shane was sitting next to the man he was in love with, and he couldn't even touch him. Shane looked at Ilya abruptly, and Ilya's eyes caught his with slight surprise. He looked quizzically at Shane, and all Shane could think to do was gently slide his foot next to Ilya's.

A miniscule tap. A painful fraction of what he wanted to do, which was press his entire body into Ilya's, cling to him tightly enough that they might somehow knit together.

Ilya’s face softened for a moment, he pressed his foot back, and then he asked Troy something about running trails that he visited with Chiron. Shane was left with his outsized emotions and a pulsing sense of adrenaline.

***

Ilya spent too long fretting with his hair and was almost late to meet Shane in the lobby. When he wheeled around the corner and saw Shane, he had to pause for a moment to collect himself.

Shane was standing near the door, fidgeting and chewing on his lower lip. He was wearing a shirt that Ilya had never seen before, forest green linen.

“When did you get this?” Ilya asked as he walked up. He plucked at the hem for a second, wishing he could wrap his hand around Shane's waist instead.

“Rose picked a couple things out, she had them dropped off at the hotel,” Shane said.

It was the kind of thing Svetlana would do for Ilya, and Ilya recognized that he was begrudgingly coming to accept Rose's nurturing presence in Shane's life. It wasn't Rose's fault that Ilya was closeted and everyone assumed she was the one dating Shane.

As if reading his thoughts, Shane nudged Ilya. “You'll like her. I'm excited for you guys to spend some time together.”

Ilya nodded with trepidation, and they moved out of the lobby into the warm Los Angeles evening so they could wait for their car.

The restaurant was an elegant sushi spot that Rose had recommended. With another begrudging credit to Rose, she had picked a spot that fit Shane's high performance diet, but still had real food that Ilya wanted to eat.

“What is this?” Ilya asked, jabbing a finger at the menu.

“Okonomiyaki? It’s like a cabbage pancake, kind of? You'll love it, we should order it,” Shane smiled at him from across the table. Ilya felt impossibly excited to have Shane all to himself for dinner.

“My dad makes it sometimes, I bet he'd show you how to,” Shane said. Ilya swallowed hard.

“I would like that.” They hadn't spoken about when they might tell the Hollanders that they were dating. Ilya wanted to leave the decision up to Shane, and he was a little petrified of their reaction.

As he often did, Shane saw right through him. “I was thinking maybe I could tell them soon? And then we can all have dinner when we're back in Ottawa?”

They would be back home in four days. Ilya hadn't told Shane yet about his frantic moves to secure citizenship, nor his conviction that he wanted a future with Shane. Despite the intensity of his feelings and the subsequent action he was taking to secure a real chance with Shane, meeting the Hollanders again as Shane’s boyfriend felt like the most serious step they could take, and Ilya was terrified that it might somehow go wrong.

“Yes, we can do that,” Ilya finally murmured. The server saved him, arriving to take their orders.

"Um. How are things back home?" Shane asked, fidgeting with his chopsticks.

Ilya had to take a beat to compose himself. He wanted to shut Shane down, completely avoid the topic that threatened to pierce the buoyant mood he was in.

"The same," was all he could manage.

"I just...it seems like you're getting more calls from Russia?"

Ilya felt his eyebrows shoot up. "You are looking at my phone?"

Shane blushed, a furious red. "I'm sorry, we're just next to each other all the time, it's hard to not see—"

Ilya cut him off. "No, it is ok. You sound like jealous boyfriend," he teased. He wasn't sure how to answer Shane's question. Half the calls he got in the past few days were from his manager or an immigration attorney. He decided to share the least intense answer.

"I am getting home nurse. For my father." Ilya had waged long arguments with his father, stepmother, and brother about it, but ultimately he had won out.

Shane's mouth dropped open. "Ilya, I'm so sorry."

Ilya shrugged, even if his heart squeezed at the tender expression on Shane's face. "Is a good thing. I am not there, and this is better. If something happens and I cannot go back."

That was the closest Ilya could get to admitting where his plans lay. Shane seemed to absorb everything that went unspoken, and his eyes went soft. Ilya felt a peaceful moment of gratitude as Shane didn't say anything, just let the weight of Ilya's intention hang between them.

When their food arrived, Ilya leapt at the opportunity to change the topic. "What was worst date you went on?"

Shane looked aghast. "You want to talk about my other dates?"

Ilya shrugged. It was a sick fascination, curiosity that had plagued him for too long, but he hadn't been able to stomach any details when he thought Shane was out of grasp.

Shane scrutinized him for a moment as he chewed on sashimi.

"Ok. Chicago. I met a guy who was uh...like a fitness influencer, I guess?"

Ilya was already regretting this. His stomach twisted as he tried to picture the body a fitness influencer possessed.

"Ilya," Shane ducked his head to try to get his attention.

"Yes? Tell me more about hot fitness influencer," Ilya said, plastering an innocent smile on his face.

Shane rolled his eyes. "I never said he was hot. Anyway, he kept trying to critique my training."

Ilya fumbled the roll he had just picked up. He would probably pay a million dollars to see Shane's face when a random influencer told him his carefully crafted training regimen needed critique.

"Did he want to be murdered?" Ilya asked, delighted.

Shane looked irritated just by the memory of it. "Anyway, after an hour of that, we went back to his place."

Ilya couldn't resist grumbling. "So he was hot?"

"I probably wouldn't have gone to his place, except..." Shane covered his face with his hands. "This is fucking embarrassing, I'm not proud of this part, ok?"

Ilya set his chopsticks down. "Shane, what is so embarrassing?"

Shane was bright pink at this point, and Ilya couldn't even enjoy it.

"I was just kind of....frustrated because...um...do you remember that Chicago game?" Shane couldn't make eye contact.

Ilya frowned, trying to piece together how that was relevant. The realization dawned on him, sick and sudden. "No. This is my fault?"

Shane groaned and slumped in his seat. "I said I wasn't proud of it. But I didn't think I could just call you and say 'your hat trick was really hot, want to fuck?"

They had been so agonizingly stupid. Ilya probably would have lost his mind and asked Shane to keep him forever if Shane had done that. Instead, Shane had felt he needed to seek out a different man to get off. Ilya stabbed at his sushi, trying to be calm. "So your worst date was bad workout advice?"

Shane shook his head furiously, and Ilya leaned in with grim curiosity.

"We went to his place, and he tried to work out together. He did not seem to understand that I have a routine, i don't just do a bunch of fucking burpees in some guy's living room because he asks," Shane looked disgusted at the memory, and the tightness in Ilya’s chest loosened. "And then he asks me what my steroid cycle is!"

Ilya almost choked. It was an insult of the highest magnitude. This man had firmly placed himself on Shane Hollander's list of enemies, probably second only to Dallas Kent.

"I know!" Shane mistook Ilya's delight for sympathy. "I tried to tell him there's no fucking way, but he started arguing with me, and then he told me they're not even that bad."

"And you slept with this stupid idiot?" Ilya was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he still felt needy.

"No. I took a cab back to the hotel and I jerked off in the shower while Holmberg slept," Shane scowled.

"Hm," Ilya couldn't help smiling. "Jerked off thinking about my hat trick?"

This time, he could enjoy Shane's blush.

***

Shane was deeply, blissfully happy. His only regret that evening was that he couldn't grab Ilya and kiss him whenever he wanted to. And there had been many moments during dinner that he'd wanted to. When Ilya had asked thoughtful and unexpected questions about his parents, when Ilya accidentally swallowed a chunk of wasabi and turned bright red, and when Ilya quietly confessed that he slept better when he shared a bed with Shane.

When it was time to text Rose to join them for dessert, Shane was mentally counting the minutes until he could sneak into Ilya's hotel room.

"Why do you like Rose?" Ilya startled Shane as he set his phone back down.

"Oh." Shane tried to consider it. "She's really easy to talk to. And she's smart, I think she notices things with people that I miss, and she doesn't make me feel stupid for missing them."

Ilya nodded. "She knew right away about me and you."

"Yeah, I think it was more obvious than I realized at my party." Shane squirmed. Maybe his teammates had just suffered too many concussions, because it was insane in retrospect that nobody else noticed how flustered and awkward they had disappeared on the home tour where Ilya had kissed him.

Ilya shook his head. "She noticed before. First night we met."

Shane frowned. "At the bar with Miles?"

"Yes," Ilya said. "When I was hanging off of you like...shell? Shell that sticks to things?"

"A barnacle?" Shane laughed. Ilya smiled, his eyes gleaming.

"Hanging off of you like a barnacle. I was so afraid you were going to run away with movie star. Either one of them."

Shane opened his mouth to give Ilya a probably unnecessary reassurance, but they were interrupted by Rose slipping through the door. She waved at Shane, and darted up. They hugged quickly, and Rose gave Ilya's shoulder a brief squeeze before seating herself next to Shane.

"Sorry to crash your date," she said quietly. Ilya shrugged in a 'what can you do?' gesture, but Shane was relieved to see that there wasn't any animosity in his expression.

Their server came up to get their orders, when he departed, Ilya broke the silence first.

"Thank you for being Shane's beard." Ilya smirked.

"You don't know the word barnacle, but you know what a beard is?" Shane hissed.

Ilya rolled his eyes. "Svetlana likes to say she is mine, I tell her it is not same thing."

"I'm happy to," Rose smiled. "Shane's not the first man I've been a beard for. Anyway, I'm honored to be included on your first date."

Ilya shook his head. "Second date. Shane took me to the movies."

Rose looked thrilled, they were in her territory now. She spent the next few minutes peppering Ilya with questions about the movie, and then his preferences in cinema altogether. Shane wished he had a camera to capture her expression of horror when Ilya said his favorite movie was Tokyo Drift.

When dessert arrived, Rose nudged Shane. "So. I know me crashing your date isn't ideal. But is it kind of hot, sneaking around?"

Shane shot Ilya a glance, and Ilya gave him a weary smile. It had been hot before they realized what they felt for each other. Sneaking around for idiotic sex lessons had been a little thrilling. These days, all Shane could think about were the everyday moments of affection he couldn't have with Ilya. Holding his hand, spending the night in his bed on the road, kissing him when they had a good game.

Ilya seemed to read the answer on Shane's face and decided to bail him out. "A little. But Shane tries to sneak around in jogging costume and will not—"

Shane cut him off with a swift kick under the table before Ilya could complain any more about Shane's refusal to do Ilya's jogging stranger role-play. The conversation turned to safer waters, and Shane tried to focus on the tail end of the best date he'd ever been on.

***

Chapter End Notes

Are they moving super fast? Yes. But I've u-hauled serious relationships faster than this, so I feel fine having them throw themselves headfirst into the deep end for each other.

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

Did not plan to, but this chapter got kind of sad. At least the epilouge is lighthearted!

Everything went to shit when they got back to Ottawa. The nurse Ilya had hired told him his father was in far worse shape than his brother had him previously believe. Ilya had to take long phone calls with his father’s wife and Alexei, talking through doctor's notes and grim, bureaucratic decisions. His family made their resentments known, and Ilya felt both plagued with grief and selfishly, hideously relieved that he wasn’t in Russia.

The lengthy, passive aggressive phone calls and demands for money were somehow all made bearable because Ilya was in Ottawa, with Shane. Shane, who watched without judgement when Ilya paced around his living room hissing into his phone. Shane, who made Ilya some truly disgusting, high protein dinners to wolf down after conference calls with doctors that sucked the life out of him. Shane, who Ilya clung to like a life preserver when he slept.

Ilya woke one morning with his face mashed against Shane's chest.

"Good morning," Shane said softly as Ilya stirred.

"Morning," Ilya shifted so he was pinning Shane to the bed, draped on top of him like a weighted blanket. After evenings on road trips where he couldn't fall asleep with Shane, Ilya found himself hungry and needy when they did get to share a bed. As if smothering Shane's body with his would erase the ache that would arrive when he eventually had to sleep alone.

"Um. So we have an off-day tomorrow," Shane murmured.

Ilya had his head pressed to Shane's chest and he swore he heard Shane's heart speed up. He lifted his head groggily to stare at Shane.

"It’s ok if it's too crazy right now, I know things are bad with your dad and maybe you don’t feel like doing anything.. But...I was thinking of seeing my parents. If you want to come."

Ilya felt a surge of nerves, but it could only have been a fraction of what Shane was feeling, his face was tight with anxiety.

"Yes, I want," Ilya promised. He pressed a soft kiss onto Shane’s lips and then returned his head to his chest, not ready to release Shane from his grasp yet

***

Shane’s parents had generously feigned surprise when Shane called to tell them he and Ilya were dating, and he wanted to bring him over. Shane knew that people usually didn't introduce their partners to their family so quickly, but somehow the fact that they already knew him made the whole thing feel less intimidating. Starting from a foundation of friendship, however messy it had been, had a funny way of stretching the sense of time in their relationship.

When they reached his parent’s doorstep,Shane was hit with an out of body sense of deja vu.

Christmas felt like a lifetime ago, Boxing Day and the twelve-odd hours where it seemed like they were going to be nothing to each other somehow felt even more foreign, like a sick alternate dimension they had managed to escape.

“Ilya! You’re wearing the scarf,” David answered the door beaming. Ilya nodded seriously.

“Is a very nice scarf.”

Shane watched him carefully hang it in the entryway and felt a swell of emotion.

“He wears it every day,” he whispered to his dad as they moved to the living room.

Shane’s mom greeted Ilya with a hug that he handled stiffly for a moment, then melted into.They all settled in to watch the Metros and Boston play a flailing, terrible game. Shane had the distinct sense that his parents were going easy on them, keeping conversation light and focused on hockey.

It became apparent that the strategy had been his father’s idea, because his mother gave up the pretense after the first period.

“So. What’s the plan?” She had affected a breezy tone, but Shane noticed Ilya stiffen next to him.

“Uh. Plan for what?” Shane asked, playing dumb.

“Being together,” Yuna’s tone was gentle but her eyes glinted the way they did when she pitched a brand deal to Shane. “Are you thinking about coming out publicly? I saw that Troy Barrett just did, and the Centaurs made a supportive post.”

“Yeah, I mean his boyfriend is in charge of the Centaurs social media, so that’s not a shock,” Shane griped. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt defensive, as if Troy was a classmate who was performing better on coursework.

Shane realized with a lurch that he had briefly approached his queerness as if it was a lesson he needed to ace. He shot Ilya an uncomfortable glance as he thought about their idiotic pretense that Ilya needed to teach him how to have sex. In retrospect, it seemed incredible that they had persevered as long as they did pretending they didn’t have feelings for each other.

“Troy says the team owner and coaches are good about it,” Ilya said, hurrying to smooth over Shane’s rudeness. Yuna gave him an appreciative smile.

“That’s positive. Well, you could always use that strategy. Or a simple press release, or-”

“We can’t,” Shane interrupted, before she could get too swept up in tempting impossibilities. “Ilya has to be able to go back to visit family in Russia safely. And besides, I don’t think it’s the same. Having teammates who are in a relationship.”

Ilya nodded curtly next to Shane, grabbing his hand tightly.

Shane’s mother nodded, and he watched a fleeting, sad smile cross her face.
The rest of the afternoon fared better. Ilya and David paired off to work on a crossword, giggling over some inside joke they had already developed in the course of the afternoon. Shane and his mom argued about the Admirals weaknesses as they watched them lose to Tampa.

“Honey, I hope you know that I'm happy for you and Ilya, whatever you choose to do,” Shane's mother said as she handed him a mug of tea. Shane kept his eyes trained on the TV, his eyes prickling momentarily with tears.

“I know. Thanks, Mom,” Shane sighed and shot her an appreciative glance.

She rubbed his knee. “Your dad and I just want you to be happy and safe, whatever that looks like.”

Shane glanced towards the dining room where Ilya was gnawing on the end of a pen, deep in thought as he hunched over the crossword with Shane's dad. He looked more carefree than he had in days, momentarily releasing the weight of his father's health and his brother's demands.

“I am happy. Really happy,” Shane said. He wanted to tell his mother all of it, how impossibly in love he was. But she smiled at him as if she already knew, and they turned back to the TV in time to see Tampa score their fifth goal.

Shane watched, his heart bursting at the seams when Ilya hugged his parents goodbye, promising David to send him his crossword score tomorrow morning.

As they drove back to Ilya’s home, they were silent for a bit.

“I do want that,” Ilya said suddenly, as if they were already in the middle of a conversation. “Telling people. Like Troy is. I wish…” he trailed off, the pile of reasons unspoken.

Shane grabbed for his hand. “I know.”

***

Ilya still woke some mornings and heard the voice in the back of his head that told him he wasn't worthy. That Ilya was incredibly selfish to accept Shane hiding who he was, just so they could be together. But the more that Shane made the space and asked Ilya to lean on him, the further Ilya fell.

He had spent time thinking about how to carefully tell Shane that he loved him. Nothing Ilya had done up until this point was well-planned, but he envisioned this being a corrective new step in their relationship.

Ilya would sit in the car on the way to the rink, or watch Shane during practice, and he'd tell himself that he might not be able to give Shane a public relationship, but he could at least properly tell Shane how he felt.

He planned to put his phone on silent one evening, make them something nice for dinner, maybe a recipe that David recommended, and then Ilya would confess to Shane that he was stupidly, deeply in love with him.

But those plans never came to fruition. Instead, Ilya hung up the phone after a grueling call with Alexei one night, rubbed drying tears of exhaustion off of his cheeks, and entered the living room to see Shane sitting on his couch.

Shane was watching an uninspiring matchup of North Carolina and Buffalo, chewing on his lip in concentration as if he was watching a playoff game. He was wearing one of Ilya's hoodies and he was tucked into the couch like he belonged there. He looked at Ilya as he entered the room and stretched out his hand to invite Ilya onto the couch. The moment was so small, but Ilya looked at Shane and felt nothing but steadiness and comfort.

Ilya threw himself onto Shane, kissing his cheekbones and eyelids as Shane laughed beneath him. The words slipped out completely by accident, his heart too full to keep them in.

“I love you so much,” Ilya sighed, and then he immediately froze as soon as he realized what he had done.

Shane was as stiff as a board, and Ilya’s heart kicked up, panic beginning to rise in his throat.

“You love me?” Shane breathed. Ilya couldn’t bring himself to look at him, he buried his face in Shane’s neck instead.

“Yes, I love you. I did not mean to tell you like this, I-”

“Ilya, I love you. I don’t care how you tell me,” Shane gabbed at his face, and Ilya finally looked at him. Shane’s eyes were bright, the glint of a tear in the corners. “I love you so much.”

Ilya had hoped and wished for this longer than he had really realized. Finally hearing these words from Shane felt like a small miracle, and for a moment Ilya couldn't move or think.

Shane kissed him, a syrupy sweet kiss that managed to unravel the tension in Ilya’s shoulders. Ilya pressed his lips to every inch of Shane that he could reach, whispering “I love you,” onto soft, freckled skin.

***

“I want to tell Troy,” Ilya announced one morning.

Shane was brushing his teeth and his mouth hung open for a moment. He rushed to spit out his toothpaste and turned to look at Ilya. “Yeah?”

They had talked about telling Troy, but Ilya had wanted to give Troy time to exist in the happy honeymoon phase with Harris before being confronted with the fact that his friends had been running around for months, falling in love right before his eyes.

Ilya nodded. “Yes. I miss him.”

It wasn't that they didn't spend time together. He saw Troy all the time. The other afternoon they had walked Chiron together and Ilya had felt like his tongue was tied the whole time. He wanted to be annoying about Shane, the same way Troy was about Harris. He wanted to brag to his best friend about how interesting and perfect Shane was.

“Ok,” Shane fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “It would be kind of nice, having someone else on the team know, I think.” A funny expression dawned across Shane's face and he groaned, covering his eyes.

“Shane, what?” Ilya's mind was racing, trying to identify the problem.

“He told you to help me sext that guy,” Shane said. His cheeks were bright red, and Ilya had to bite back a laugh.

“Ah. Yes, Troy has seen us be very stupid. But he was stupid about Harris for a very long time, so is ok. I can blackmail him, make sure he never brings up sexting,” Ilya promised. Shane hadn't been with the team when Troy first joined, when he was dropping cups of coffee and running into walls anytime Harris was near.

That afternoon, Ilya invited Troy over. Shane had gone back to his place, but when Troy entered, Ilya was suddenly aware of Shane's presence in his home. Shane's shoes by the door, Shane's weird smoothie powders next to the blender. If Troy went to the bathroom, he'd find bottles of skincare that were obviously not Ilya’s.

“I have to tell you something,” Ilya blurted out as soon as they sat in his living room.

Troy looked immediately concerned, and Ilya rushed to get the words out.

“Shane and I are together. We are in love.”

Ilya wasn't sure if that simple fact would ever stop feeling miraculous. He watched as comprehension and then incredulity dawned on Troy’s face.

“How long?” Troy asked.

Ilya stiffened as he tried to think of the best answer. “Boxing Day.”

Troy looked stunned. “So you guys got together before me and Harris?”

Ilya expected a little anger, maybe. Some frustration that he had withheld news this big from his friend. He had not anticipated Troy’s next response.

“Fuck. I owe Harris ten bucks,” Troy muttered. Ilya raised an eyebrow, and he rushed to explain. “Harris thought you guys got together months ago, I told him it had to be after he and I got together at least.”

“Ah,” Ilya grimaced. “I am sorry I did not tell you sooner. Wanted to give you two your moment.”

Troy shrugged. “I mean, that definitely wasn't necessary, but that's sweet, Ilya.”

Ilya squinted at Troy. “It was so obvious? How long did Harris think we were together?”

Troy laughed. “It was obvious you guys at least had crushes on each other. He first said something after that party at Bood's, I think.”

Ilya didn't say anything, and Troy noticed the conspicuous silence.

“Wait, you said—”

“We have been a couple since Boxing Day. We were…” Ilya didn't know how to properly phrase the stupid arrangement that he and Shane had before, and none of the terms he could think of expressed how they were falling in love while fucking, desperately pretending that things were casual. “We were hooking up almost whole time we have known each other.”

“You are unbelievable,” Troy groaned. “Here I was, telling you to hurry up and make a move because Shane was dating a whole roster.”

Ilya felt his jaw clench involuntarily, and Troy noticed immediately.

“Sorry. I mean…well, no. I'm not sorry, you were the one trying to set Shane up with different guys,” Troy pointed accusingly.

Ilya scowled, bitter about the truth of it. “Yes, when I first had the idea I thought maybe I would set you two up.”

“You're an even bigger idiot than I thought,” Troy sighed. “Ok, tell me everything, start to finish. Harris will want all the details.”

Even though it had been his entire plan that afternoon, Ilya's heart still leapt as he settled in to boast to his best friend about Ilya's enchanting, perfect boyfriend.

***

Shane exited the showers after a narrow loss to Detroit. He was preparing himself for some friendly trash talking texts from Rose, but when he entered the locker room his blood ran cold.

Ilya was standing stock still on the phone, which was the first sign something was wrong. Ilya always paced, burning off anger and nervous energy as he spoke with family. His tone was all wrong too, low and flat, none of the heartbreaking frustration Shane had heard so much of. When Shane drew near, Ilya made eye contact, and that was the final piece that made Shane sure the sky was falling. Ilya's eyes were completely cold, leeched of life.

He muttered something in Russian and hung up. Ilya stood there, unmoving, his wet hair drying on the collar of his sweatshirt. Shane frantically threw clothes on and followed Ilya as he sped out of the locker room.

The second they got outside, Ilya took in a gasp of cold air.

“My father is dead,” Ilya said. His voice sounded tinny, as if he was a million miles away. Shane felt his heart plummeting, and he clutched at Ilya without thinking.

Ilya caved in on Shane, face buried in his shoulder. He seemed too stunned to cry yet. Or maybe, Shane realized with a hideous lurch, he was too conflicted to cry. They stood motionless for ages, the chill of the winter air burning their cheeks and nipping at their ears.

“Here, give me your keys,” Shane finally said. Ilya rose up as if he was in a trance, and passed them wordlessly. Shane would figure out what to do about his own car in the lot later.

Ilya was absolutely in a state of shock, because he said nothing about Shane going five miles above the speed limit on the way to his house.

When they got to the house, Shane had to resist the urge to leap into action. There were plane tickets to buy, team staff to notify, bags to pack. But Ilya was standing there, shell-shocked, so Shane dragged him to the couch.

He knelt down and took Ilya's shoes off before he laid down on the couch, pulling Ilya on top of him. Shane knew he'd made the right decision when he heard the tiny, heartbreaking sigh that came out of Ilya when his head made contact with Shane's chest.

Shane stroked his curls gently, his hand stilling when Ilya finally spoke.

“It was a fucking stroke. I spend all this time planning for one death, and it never happens.”

Shane's eyes stung with tears. He had spent hours reading about Alzheimer's after Ilya had told him about his father’s diagnosis. Knowing the clinical facts had somehow felt reassuring, and it felt especially cruel that Ilya had that sliver of preparation stolen from him.

They laid on the couch for a long time, Ilya boneless and heavy, Shane petting his hair helplessly. Finally Ilya rubbed his face on Shane's chest and sat up.

“I need to get a flight.”

“Yeah, I can help. We'll need to tell Wiebe we're going to be gone. I don't know what excuse I'll come up with, but we'll figure it out and—”

Ilya was looking at him with a stunned expression, but it slid off his face and was replaced with something unspeakably sad. It was the first glimpse of true grief, of his numb mask cracking.

“You are not coming with me,” Ilya shook his head.

“Ilya, I can't let you go alone. You just lost your dad, I can't—”

“It is not safe. Shane,” Ilya stressed, seeing the argument forming. “I love you, please listen. I would not…my brother would…” Ilya sighed heavily and gave up on articulating his argument. “I need you to stay here.”

Shane nodded weakly, his mind racing. “Ok, I'll stay here if Svetlana can go with you.”

Shane wasn't sure why that was the moment that made Ilya cry first, but a tear escaped as he nodded. Shane grabbed Ilya's phone and set to work.

***

Svetlana met him at his layover in Dubai, linking her arm in his and not letting go until they reached his apartment in Moscow.

Ilya dragged his suitcase into the apartment and wanted to faceplant on the floor. Instead, he checked his phone.

Teammates and coaching staff were sending their sympathies. One message was from Yuna and David, and Ilya had to quickly click away before he burst into tears on his couch.

Shane: I saw your flight landed
Shane: text me when you get to your apartment?
Shane: if I don't hear from you soon, I'm calling Svetlana

Ilya: at my apartment.
Ilya: do not call Sveta, she is your biggest fan. She will never let you hang up.

Ilya glanced up at Svetlana, who was buying herself at the stove making tea.

“Thank you,” he croaked when she handed him a mug and tucked herself into the couch beside him.

They were silent for a moment before she rested her head on his shoulder. “Your Shane just asked me how you are doing.”

Ilya sighed fondly. He should have expected Shane to check in on him even after hearing from him.

“What did you tell him?”

“That you are very sad and tired. But you will be alright, eventually,” Svetlana's tone was so assured, it made Ilya's chest ache. “Because you have me, and him.”

Ilya smacked a soft kiss on the top of her head and repeated those facts to himself as he laid his head on the back of the couch and gradually slipped into dreamless, exhausted sleep.

***

Funeral preparations were hideous. Ilya was being barraged with demands for money, all while trying to wrap his foggy thoughts around the administrative work of burying his father.

He kept repeating Svetlana's words to himself when it all became too much. He had Shane, who researched Moscow florists for Ilya. And he had Svetlana, who helped him pick out a coffin and grabbed Ilya's phone to hang up on Alexei when their arguments reached fever pitch.

They were going to have the funeral three days after he passed, and Ilya began to slowly realize that it served as a countdown for his time in Moscow itself. He didn't plan to come back.

***

“You wear glasses? How do I not know this?” Ilya's eyes widened when Shane picked up his facetime.

“I wear them to read, it's new. And you haven't seen them because I'm not exactly doing a lot of reading in bed with you,” Shane said.

“We must fix this. You can read boring hockey books to me while I suck—”

He saw Svetlana start to peer over Ilya's shoulder, and then the camera went dark and he heard Ilya speaking rapidly in Russian. It sounded like the two were arguing, but honestly Shane couldn't tell. Ilya's hand came away and the camera jostled as he walked with it, still speaking to Svetlana. He slammed a door and sat on his bed.

“What was that about?” Shane asked.

“I do not want Svetlana seeing how hot you are in your glasses. I will get jealous and cranky. Your secret glasses are just for me, yes?”

Ilya's tone was teasing, but his eyes were stormy enough that Shane sat up a little straighter.

Reason told him that it was probably not appropriate to get turned on by his boyfriend's reaction to his glasses when Ilya's father wasn't even buried yet. But Shane was sleeping alone for the first time in weeks, and he felt impossibly needy.

“I miss you,” Shane admitted. It had only been a day and a half, and it felt like an eternity. Being so far away when Ilya needed him felt abjectly terrible.

“Me too. Bed is cold without you,” Ilya sighed. He flopped back, as if to demonstrate.

“How’s your family?” Shane hesitated to ask, but he had to know.

He could see the wall go up for a moment, Ilya automatically tensing. Shane used to ask about his family all the time, when he was getting to know Ilya. He had gradually picked up from the one-word answers and steely expression that family wasn’t Ilya’s favorite topic.

“They are terrible,” Ilya finally said. They both let the silence hang for a moment, and then he continued. “They are scared. They want money. I think…” Ilya’s face crumpled for a moment, an awful twist before he composed himself again. “I think I will give this apartment to my brother and then I will not ever come back.”

Shane felt his mouth drop open in surprise. “Never?”

Ilya shook his head.”Is not home. Anymore.”

Something about that comforted Shane, as much as he wished Ilya’s voice didn’t sound so pained. They sat for a moment, staring at each other, and Shane felt brave enough to say what he felt.

“I can’t wait for you to come home, then.”

The smile that spread across Ilya’s face was impossibly soft.

***

“Holls, get a load of this,” Bood laughed.

Shane slapped his phone facedown on the bench in his locker. He had been looking up the time difference in Moscow to see if Ilya would be awake when practice ended.

Bood had his hand clapped on the shoulder of Luca Haas, the impossibly baby-faced call-up who was filling in as the lines re-shuffled during Ilya’s absence.

“What’s up?” Shane walked over. Luca looked a little pink in the face, and Shane hoped Bood wasn’t teasing him too hard over something.

“I was just telling Bood that I hope I can meet Rozanov when he comes back. I had a poster of him in my bedroom when he was a rookie,” Luca admitted.

Shane felt his eyebrows shoot up. His first thought was that he needed to know what the poster looked like, his second thought was that he really didn't appreciate the way Luca flushed when he said Ilya’s name.

“I was telling Haasy that the poster can be a secret between us, Roz doesn’t need an even bigger ego, right?” Bood winked. Luca looked extremely relieved, and Shane nodded stiffly.

He had never been more irritated that their relationship was a secret.

***

“Shane, you cannot be serious,” Ilya cackled, his laugh devolving into static over Facetime.

“I don’t know what’s so funny!” Shane argued. He had just told Ilya about the exchange in the locker room that day, and for some reason Ilya had been gasping for breath between laughter.

“You are so jealous! Of man I have never met, who maybe had a crush on a photo of me,” Ilya looked almost as happy as he had been when he discovered Shane’s glasses.

“Fine, whatever. I’m glad it’s hilarious to you,” Shane set the phone down as he pressed the buttons to start his rice cooker.

“Shaaane, come back,” Ilya called, irritated that the camera was only showing the ceiling of Shane’s kitchen. “I will stop laughing, I promise.”

Shane picked his phone back up and tried to glare as seriously as possible.

“Shane, does it really bother you?” Ilya asked.

“No,” Shane heaved a sigh. “I mean. Yeah, I don’t love that my new teammate probably jacked off to a poster of my boyfriend,” he watched Ilya muffle another laugh. “I just…” Shane searched for words that wouldn’t hurt Ilya. He was reminded of their conversation about Rose, before their date.

“I wish I could brag to him that I’m with you. That’s all.”

Ilya sighed and nodded.”Me too.”

They sat in a mournful silence for a moment before Ilya seemed to have enough. “I need to cheer up. Where are your glasses?”

***

The incense in the church stung at Ilya's eyes, and it was the closest he got to crying that day. He knew he was still partly in a state of shock. He wasn't sure yet if he truly mourned his father, or if he mourned the finality, that the door had closed forever on any redemption for their relationship.

Ilya had expected to mourn Russia a bit, but when he tried to think of things he'd miss, he came up empty. The dull ache of homesickness only pointed back towards Ottawa now. To Shane, obviously. But also to his teammates. To barbecues at Bood's with too much brisket, to the warm, approving smile Wiebe gave him after a win, to Chiron greeting him with sloppy kisses after practice.

Ilya realized with a stab of grief that Moscow hadn't really been home since his mother passed away. He just hadn’t accepted that fact until he had made a new home for himself.

Svetlana was a blessing, steering him through the funeral and the reception. Speaking when he couldn't summon words, and excusing them when he needed to escape for a few minutes.

When they got back to the apartment that evening, she tucked him into bed.

“This is it, isn't it?” She asked. Ilya hadn't told her he never planned to return. The only vestige of guilt he felt over the whole plan was that he'd relinquish the ability to come to Russia with her.

Ilya nodded silently, and she cupped a hand on his cheek quickly.

“Good,” she said decisively.

***

Shane picked Ilya up at the airport, yanking him for a reckless and quick kiss as soon as he got in the car. Ilya's delighted gasp was entirely worth the risk.

He wanted to lock Ilya in his house for the next 24 hours, to hear him come at least five times and fall asleep with Ilya splayed across him like a weighted blanket.

When they reached Ilya's home, Ilya dragged him to the bedroom. Shane had heard Ilya say he needed him before. Needed his mouth, needed to see him come, needed to be inside of him. But that night, as Shane rode him and Ilya clutched at his hips, Shane saw an entirely raw need that consumed every inch of Ilya.

Afterwards as they laid there with their limbs tangled, Ilya spoke. His whisper was so hoarse that Shane could barely hear him.

“You are not allowed to die. Ever,” he said. Shane turned to stare at him. The sentence sounded like a joke, but Ilya's face looked impossibly vulnerable.

Shane stroked his cheek and thought about Ilya at twelve years old, losing the parent he loved. And Ilya now, as a young adult with no parents, no relationship to speak of with his brother. The framework of family had been ripped away from him, and in that moment Shane had an impulse to lay out all of his resolutions. That Shane was latched onto Ilya for the long haul, that Shane's parents already loved him, and one day he might see them as the family he never had.

But Ilya looked exhausted, so Shane pressed a kiss to his forehead and made a simpler promise. “I'm not going anywhere. I need you, too.”

***

Shane was right. Luca Haas had a crush on Ilya, and it was unfortunately every bit as hilarious as Ilya expected.

Ilya would bark an instruction at him during practice, and Luca would go wide eyed and flushed at the attention, only for Shane to glare daggers at Luca. At one point, Ilya could have sworn he saw Shane consider tripping him.

Luca was good, really good, and Ilya knew Shane would cool off soon enough. Ilya could see Luca slotting into place on the team, giving them the depth that they needed. If there was one thing that could soften Shane's harsh opinion of him, it was Luca's ability to help them win.

When they showered after practice, Ilya thought back to the long nights that he was tortured with jealousy over the men who got to have Shane. He had never imagined that Shane might one day look homicidal because a babyfaced Swiss man blushed in Ilya’s direction.

Shane had lingered after he showered, and by the time Ilya yanked his clothes on, nobody was left in the locker room.

“I heard from my lawyer,” Ilya said.

Shane's face whipped towards him. “What did they say?”

“Things are good. First round of paperwork is filed, but I need two more years to be permanent resident.”

It felt impossibly far, but also more tangible than Ilya had ever dreamed. He smirked.

“They tell me things would move faster if I had beautiful Canadian man to marry.”

Shane turned bright red. “That's not—I want us to do it because we love each other, not for paperwork.”

His answer was far more serious than Ilya had intended, and it made him feel buoyant. Shane fidgeted self-consciously.

“But, if anything happens…I'd do whatever it took, to make sure you can stay here.”

It was reckless and impulsive, but Ilya needed it, and everybody had left. He walked over to Shane and traced the back of his knuckles along his cheekbones.

“I am staying, I do not know anything else, but I am staying,”

Shane relaxed, shoulders slumping, and he leaned his cheek into Ilya's hand.

They both froze when they heard someone clear their throat.

Ilya whipped around to see Wiebe standing there, a resigned look on his face. Ilya realized with a start that his hand was still resting on Shane's face and he dropped it, as if Wiebe might forget what he saw.

“I…” Wiebe seemed at a loss for words for the first time Ilya had known him.

“Sir, we can explain,” Shane piped up. He looked petrified, and he turned his wide eyes to Ilya. Ilya only mirrored his expression. What explanation could they give?

“I…we are lovers,” was the first thought that fell out of Ilya's mouth.

“Oh my god,” Shane muttered, covering his face in embarrassment. “Boyfriends. We're boyfriends.”

Ilya wasn't sure what difference it made, and besides, for some reason he needed Wiebe to know exactly how serious this was. They loved each other.

“How long?” Wiebe asked.

They shot each other looks, a silent conversation waging.

“Official since Boxing Day,” Shane finally supplied.

“But unofficial since before,” Ilya offered, unsure if it was really helpful, but trying to emphasize the timeline. They had been playing well the whole time, practically. Ilya hoped Wiebe forgot the periods where they had been off with each other.

Wiebe nodded, his expression was focused, as if he was trying to solve a math equation.

“Ok,” Wiebe had never been very talkative. Paternal, encouraging, the best coach Ilya had ever had. But not particularly loquacious, and now the silence as he searched for words was agonizing.

“Ok?” Shane finally asked.

Wiebe sighed and walked over, sitting on the bench next to Shane. Ilya felt awkward standing over them both and crowded next to Shane on his other side.

“Ok. Are you two…who else knows?”

Ilya swallowed hard, afraid of repercussions, but unable to lie. “Just Troy.”

Wiebe nodded. “And you're keeping this quiet for now, or…?”

Shane and Ilya looked at each other. Shane's expression was wild, gears turning as he tried to catch up to the fact that they might not be in trouble.

“Yes, we are,” Ilya affirmed.

“Alright,” Wiebe dragged a hand through his hair. “I mean, I don't know where to start. If we all worked in an office we'd probably have you sit down with HR and sign some forms.”

Shane's nose crinkled in confusion, and Ilya had an untimely and very strong urge to kiss it.

“So you're not going to tell us we have to stop, or that we're getting traded or sent down to the AHL, or—”

Ilya grabbed his knee before he could give Wiebe any more ideas. Thankfully, Wiebe shook his head.

“What I say stays here, alright?” Wiebe asked.

Ilya’s head spun as he and Shane nodded.

“When I played, I had…I was in…not a relationship, exactly, with another player.”

Ilya saw Shane's mouth drop open, almost did the same himself.

Wiebe hurried to get the rest of it out. “It didn't end well for me and him. But times were different. It's—” Wiebe's eyes suddenly got a little wet, and Ilya looked away. “I'm happy for you two. Whatever you want to do, we'll work it out. You need anything, you let me know, ok?”

Shane and Ilya were both dead silent, too stunned to respond. Wiebe stood.

“Just keep playing like you have been,” he shook his head a little, obviously processing what exactly had led to them playing so well together. “Get home safe, kids.”

Wiebe exited, and Shane practically crumpled against Ilya.

“You are ok?” Ilya pressed a kiss to the top of Shane's head. Shane's breathing sounded violent, and he only groaned in response.

They sat for a moment, Ilya rubbing Shane's back as his mind raced, trying to catch up to the fact that they were safe. They might be able to have what they'd been dreaming about. Finally, Shane sat upright.

“This team is so gay,” he said.

Ilya burst out laughing, and Shane joined him. They laughed hysterically, and Ilya didn't know if he'd ever felt lighter.

***

One Year Later

“I think it looks fine,” Shane said. Ilya glared at him.

“Fine is not good enough, Shane. Look, these mushrooms are all lumpy.”

Shane had to bite back a laugh as he watched Ilya heave a dramatic sigh and return to shaping the marzipan mushrooms that would adorn the bûche de Noël that Ilya had volunteered to make for Christmas that year. Shane felt it was a little unnecessary, Ilya had already made medovik and would be helping his dad make pelmeni tomorrow afternoon.

“You know they won't care, right? You're already their favorite son,” Shane sighed. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Ilya's mouth before he pouted.

“Fuck, you distracted me. I need to start over.”

Ilya rolled the marzipan into a ball and began to twist and sculpt it anew.

Shane glanced at the time on the clock in their kitchen. Ilya had told Shane he used to spend Christmas Eve eating takeout and watching Christmas movies. At this rate, they probably wouldn't have time to watch a full movie, but maybe they could watch an animated special. Ilya had said something affectionate about “the little dog that belongs to the sad boy,” so Shane resolved to put on the Charlie Brown Christmas special if Ilya ever finished decorating his cake.

Ilya had, for some inexplicable reason, gotten extremely turned on when he watched Shane carefully wrap presents that evening. After they came up for air, Ilya had started baking, and now they only had an hour until midnight, and then it was officially Christmas.

Shane had called Svetlana and Troy for reassurance several times that week, second-guessing his gift for his Ilya. He had scouted the best dog hotel in Ottawa, and his parents had offered to help with walks when practices or games ran at odd hours. If Shane had any lingering doubts, they were eliminated when he had found Ilya yesterday night, after their game, lying on the floor by Wiebe's office with Chiron licking him half to death.

Shane tried to picture Ilya's face when he was greeted with his fluffy Christmas gift at the Hollander's house tomorrow.

“What are you smiling at?” Ilya asked.

Shane's answers numbered the thousands. He was sublimely happy. He and Ilya had come out at the end of last season, after Ottawa was knocked out of the first round of the playoffs. Reactions from fans and the media were mixed, but several couples from the major women's leagues stepped up in support, pointing out that relationships between teammates weren't anything new in women's sports.

Ilya relished the ability to speak openly about their relationship, and with the team playing well this season, he had many opportunities to bring Shane up in post-game interviews. Shane wasn’t sure Ilya really needed to brag to the press about Shane's crossword time in the same breath as his assist stats, but it made Ilya happy, so it made Shane happy.

“I'm just smiling because I'm happy,” Shane finally said, choosing the simple and honest answer.

Ilya grinned at him from across the kitchen counter. His smile was breathtakingly, beautifully radiant.

“Me too.”

Chapter End Notes

Thanks for going on the ride with this one! It started as a fun diversion when I was burnt out writing angsty scenes for Chronically Late, and then this somehow became the longest fic I've written.

The comments have cracked me up, thank you to everyone who wrote one. I've loved reading everybody's reactions to Ilya and Shane's increasingly stupid antics.

Did they move super fast after getting together? Yes, but 1) I think they cannot be normal about each other and 2) U-Hauling is my culture

Shane adopting a dog for Ilya is objectively insane behavior, but again, not normal about each other/I love an Anya reference.

And Shane is using gay as an interchangeable term with queer when he says the Centaurs are super gay. I don't want my boy getting biphobic allegations.

P.S.
Every time I start writing I think "this is my last idea, I'll be done after this story," and so far that has never held up. So if you're interested in reading a niche interest non-hockey au, I'll be posting the first three chapters of a story where Shane and Rose have a travel show and they keep bumping into travel influencers Ilya and Svetlana. I'm having fun with it because it's the first one I've written where they're both safely out at the start of the story (as a queer person, writing about them being closeted/hiding their relationship is draining and hard!)