Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander, Yuna Hollander, Hayden Pike, Cliff Marlow, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Roger Crowell

Additional Tags:

BDSM, Under-negotiated Kink, Kink Negotiation, Cock Warming, Anal Sex, Food Kink, Spanking, Kink Exploration, Panic Attacks, Kink panic, Anxiety, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Top Ilya Rozanov, Soft Dom Ilya Rozanov, Dom/sub, Sub Shane Hollander, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Anxious Shane Hollander, Aftercare, Spit as Lube, spit positive, Internalized Homophobia, POV Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Come as Lube, hating the commissioner of the NHL, a long time passion of mine, Smut, Cooking, Mentioned Irina Rozanova, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Bad Parent Grigori Rozanov, Autistic Shane Hollander, Rimming, Safeword Use, idiot shane hollander, Scott Hunter Knows About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, author knows hockey, Dom Drop, Sub Drop, Vomiting, Sexual Overstimulation, Canon Compliant, Pre-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Post-Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Hayden Pike Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, tags for the EPILOGUE:, Total Power Exchange, peeing, Outdoor Sex, Hand Feeding, Collars, Rough Sex, Mental Voyeurism, Voyeurism, Praise, Objectification, Light Masochism, Queer author

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Bellboy

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-25 Completed: 2026-03-29 Words: 63,639 Chapters: 15/15

The Boston Year

Summary

A look at the year that Ilya still played for Boston, except they explicitly state their dom/sub relationship, and explore that dynamic (and kink) together.

————

When they first started, it was by accident. Ilya followed Shane’s lead; he read his body and responded with his own. Shane liked to be on his knees for Ilya, and Ilya liked to keep him there.

The first time it went wrong. Shane thought it was his fault. It wasn’t.

————

Now with 10k-word SMUTTY EPILOGUE

Notes

Edit May 8th. Currently working with a beta to copyedit (MASSIVE shout out to TheLionessRoyal). So if the chapters suddenly have more mistakes, that's why, lol.

Chapter 1: The first time it went wrong

Chapter Notes

Edit Feb 11th: changed lyubovnik to lyubimyy; it's a better translation of what I mean. Thank you to the commentator who pointed this out!

See the end of the chapter for warnings.

When they first started, it was by accident. Ilya followed Shane’s lead; he read his body and responded with his own. Shane liked to be on his knees for Ilya, and Ilya liked to keep him there. 

The first time it went wrong. Shane thought it was his fault. It wasn’t. 

They were still at the cottage, the two-week trip had stretched into three or was it four now? The intense need was still very much present. But it was a slower need now. Making up for all that lost time, when they weren’t honest with each other about how much they needed this. 

When they weren’t honest with themselves.

Sex was still a daily occurrence, but the rest of their time was spent competing. Running, rowing, juggling a soccer ball, it was always a competition. And then when that was finished, and they were finished, they’d make dinner, eat it by the lake, or on the patio, or in the grass, or wherever they wanted. They would kiss lazily, then they’d fuck, and then they’d fall asleep. Holding each other like it was their last night together. 

Because soon it would be. 

Ilya knew that last night was coming. He hoped that if he didn’t think about it, it would just disappear. It would be forgotten, and the universe would just decide that September would never come. They could live out the rest of their days in an endless summer. 

In reality, they had maybe another two weeks, max, he knew that. If he was feeling responsible, he knew he’d have to be back in Boston in 8 days, but Ilya wasn’t often feeling responsible. 

He surely wasn’t tonight. 

On a whim, he tangled Shane's hands in his borrowed tank top before the other man could escape the grey cotton. He wrapped the fabric once, twice around his wrists like a sort of makeshift bound. Shane whined like he usually did when Ilya held him down, pressing his wrists into the bed. 

“You like that?” he asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Ilya, yes, god yes,” Shane responded. Ilya crashed his lips to Shane’s, feeling a little disappointed that there were no fingers running through his hair, no hands pulling him closer. It was an acceptable sacrifice, though, because he pulled back and was rewarded with the glassy-eyed look Shane sometimes got when Ilya ravaged him, fucked him into next week. 

Ilya hadn’t even touched his asshole yet; it was still covered in too much fabric. “Pokhozhe, posyl'nyy vernulsya,” he said, smiling. Looks like my bellboy is back.

Shane’s brow pulled together, and Ilya quickly translated his thought. “Posyl'nyy, it means bellboy. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you like it when I take control.” Ilya leaned forward, lips, teeth, teasing Shane’s ear, and he whispered, “How much you like it when I fuck you like only I can do.” 

“Ilya,” Shane whined. He turned his head to meet Ilya’s lips. It was only a quick press before he begged, “Ilya, please.” Shane’s voice was breathy. Desperate. Perfect.  

Ilya could see how hard he was. Straining in his swim shorts, still on after a day lazing in the sun. Shane tried to press his cock into the air, looking for any pressure, any friction. He was beautiful like this. Wanting. Needing. 

Ilya reached down and applied pressure, grabbing Shane’s heated length with his hand. Pressing him. “Do you want me to be in charge, moy posyl'nyy hmm?” He leaned forward, not letting go, and whispered in Shane’s ear, “My bellboy.”

Shane swallowed. “Yes, please. Ilya, please.” Ilya tightened his grip for a fraction of a second before releasing.

He dropped to his knees and pulled Shane's swim shorts down, releasing Shane’s thick, uncut cock. Not one to look a gift horse (or a cock) in the mouth, he swallowed Shane down swiftly. He tasted of sweat and skin and summer days spent by a lake. Perfect. 

Two quick pumps with his mouth, and he pulled off with an obscene pop, letting a trail of spit and precome connect them. Ilya looked up. He saw that glassy-eyed smile that drove him to the ends of the earth (if the ends of the earth were a cottage by a lake on the other side of the world from where he was born). 

He smiled back and wiped his lips to break the connection. “Step,” he commanded, first guiding Shane’s legs out of his shorts and then having him step over his bound hands so they were comfortably tied at his back. 

Ilya then kissed his way up Shane's body, pausing to lick over his hard nipples. He flicked the other. “Excited?” he asked. 

Shane didn’t snap a quip like Ilya had expected, instead he just breathed a simple, “Yes.” 

Ilya crashed his lips back to Shane's, taking what he wanted, like he was trying to climb inside Shane’s body, inside Shane's soul with his mouth. You're already inside my very being, he thought, I’m just returning the favour. 

When he was satisfied, he pushed Shane onto the bed, face first and began directing his attention elsewhere. This was not going to be a drawn-out affair; this was going to be quick and dirty, and thorough. 

***

Shane's face was pressed into the bedsheets he had just put on this morning. Distantly, very distantly, he was thinking he was going to have to change them again. His mouth was slack, and he drooled directly onto them, unable to support himself with his arms bound behind his back. 

Strong hands were at his hips; they pulled him up and positioned his body. He was kneeling now, because that’s what Ilya wanted him to do. 

It was easier for Ilya to prepare him like this. Preparing him was the only way to describe what was happening. Ilya was quickly, methodically ensuring his body was ready to be fucked, and Shane fucking loved it. He loved being used like this, being consumed by Ilya, just a useful tool for Ilya’s pleasure. 

It had been so easy to fall into this mindset once Ilya had bound him. If he were honest, he had been halfway there before. This feeling was always lingering under the surface with Ilya— when they had sex at least. Maybe other times too. 

But right now, he was pulled so clearly and sharply to the present. The three fingers inside of him were clinical. Not concerned with his pleasure at all. Just the urgency of getting something more important inside of him as soon as possible. 

Suddenly, there was pressure in just the right spot. It lingered as he whined. Then empty, gone. He whined more. Words were too hard right now. Thoughts were hard too, but he didn’t even try to express those. Instead, he pushed air through his voice box in hopes that Ilya would be able to translate his need. 

Even if he could, Shane wasn’t sure Ilya would have complied. If that's not what Ilya had wanted in that very moment. He’s only going to get what Ilya wants to give him right now. That thought made him whine more, fall deeper. 

“You want my cock, bellboy.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, one they both knew was true. 

One hand found his bound wrists and pulled them back; it provided tension on his shoulders. The other lined up a round peg with a round hole. Pushing in for a perfect fit. 

“Da, perfection.” 

Then his hips were pushed forward only to be pulled back hard. His cock bobbed against his stomach, brushing the bed, otherwise not receiving any attention. 

Shane was in bliss. Floating away, tethered to the ground only by skin hitting skin. Hard. Fast. Relentless. 

After a moment, he became aware of Ilya speaking filthy things to him. 

“You like that so much, you shlyukha. No, this is not the right word. Cockslut. That is better, da. English is such an interesting language. So many ways to say how needy you are for me. Cockslut.”

Shane preened under the insults, and Ilya could tell. 

“You like it when I call you a slut? Is what you are. You are always so easy for me, bellboy. And of course, you love cock. So cockslut.”

Ilya was slamming Shane's prostate now, over and over again. “I bet you would love to put on a show for all the hotel guests. I bet you want them to see how bad you need to be taken.”

Shane wined some more; that was apparently the only way he could communicate right now. Forming words had become a lost art to him. 

“So hungry for cock, I bet you fuck anyone who walks through that door.” 

Ice ran through Shane’s veins. 

“I bet once I was finished, you would beg me to let someone else fuck you.”

Shane didn’t want that. He didn’t want that at all. How could he tell Ilya? How was he supposed to communicate that when he couldn’t speak? Panic was building up in his throat, choking him. 

“Would you like that, Hollander?”

Shane was trying to scream no no no no. No. No one else. No one else. No one else. His ears were ringing. Everything felt wrong.

Something must have gotten through because suddenly his arms were free. He tried to push himself up. Crawl forward. Move. But strong hands were trying to pull him. A blanket was wrapped around him, and arms wrapped around that blanket. 

***

Everything was amazing, intense, incredible, until suddenly it wasn’t. Ilya was close; he could tell Shane was too. Then he was pulling away, breathing heavily. Not in a good way. Not in a fucked-hard way, but instead panicked. Breaths turned to sounds turned to words: “No, no, no one, no one, no, no one else.” 

Ilya had already stopped, frozen in place, but at the first ‘no,’ his mind kicked into gear. The tank top, which was really just the idea of a restraint, was carefully but quickly pulled away. Shane ripped his arms forward and started to move away from Ilya. 

For a moment, Ilya’s heart shattered. Then he remembered. He had had a lot more sex than Shane. A lot more. With different people. Varied people. With varied, how you say, interests. 

Shane hadn’t. Ilya wasn’t even sure if Shane had slept with another man, let alone someone like the dom Ilya had spent two weeks with in Russia after his sophomore season. She had shown Ilya many things about his body. Ilya was supposed to return the favour—

No. 

He was supposed to have the duty, the honour, of showing Shane everything that sex could be. 

But right now he was doing a shit job of it. “Trakhni menya,” Fuck me. 

He could fix this.

***

Something, someone was holding him tight; he thought he should struggle against it. But that would be so much effort. “Ilya, please,” he called out. 

Thankfully, Ilya responded quickly; he sounded close. “Here, sweetheart, here, I’m here.”

Ilya was what was holding him. Oh, thank god. “Ilya, no one else, I don’t want anyone else, no one else.”

“Shhhh, dorogoy, shhhh. It’s just me and you here. We are at your cottage. We are alone.” 

Alone. With Ilya. Good. That can’t be bad, can it? Just the two of them. Shane's breath began to slow. Then he remembered what Ilya said. “But you said—” His breath started coming fast again. 

“No, Shane, No. No one else touches you. Just me. Only me. I won’t let them.” 

Shane's breathing slowed. He started counting quietly,  “One two three four, one two three four. One two three four five, one two three four five, one two three four five six.” Continuing until his breath evened out, and he could focus on the sounds around him. Crickets outside, chirping. A motorboat on the lake in the distance. Ilya’s breath beside him. Keeping time with his. 

Shane felt itchy all over, dirty, wrong in some way that he couldn’t describe. “Ilya.”

“Da, dorogoy?” 

“I think I need a shower.” 

“Da, of course. I am going to unwrap you now.” The tight bands around him loosened, as if they were no longer needed to hold him together. The blanket was pulled away from his skin, letting the cool evening air blow across it. Shane tried to stand, and Ilya was there to support him. He walked on shaky legs to the bathroom. The trip was somehow exhausting despite being only seven or eight steps from the bed. 

“I can come in with you. Or I can stay out here,” Ilya gestured to the square meter or so of space in the bathroom that wasn’t occupied by a shower stall, sink or toilet. “But I can’t leave you alone. I won’t.”

Shane hadn’t even considered that Ilya wouldn’t shower with him. Did he not also feel the permeating wrongness on his skin? “Come,” was all he could manage. 

Standing was such a chore that Shane sank to his knees before sitting on the tile floor of the shower stall; Ilya followed him. “Can I hold you?” he asked after he turned the water on. 

Shane nodded. The warmth seeped through him. First from the water, then from Ilya’s gentle hands, soothing his skin, his soft lips pressing kisses wherever he could. He was murmuring softly, “Ya tebya lyublyu,” over and over again. It hadn’t been long, but Shane knew those words. Every once in a while, he said something different, “Mne zhal,” before going back. Shane just enjoyed the warmth and the pressure while he sorted his thoughts back into their neat little boxes. 

After an eternity, or 15 minutes, Shane wasn’t sure which, he asked, “What are you saying?”

“I love you.”

“No, the other thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shane was confused. “For what?”

Ilya tensed before he spoke. “We should not have done that,” he said, “I should not have had that kind of sex with you. Without talking about it first. Properly.” 

“What do you mean?” Shane pulled himself away so he could look at Ilya. His eyes were red-rimmed like he had been crying, but it was impossible to tell with the water spray coming down. 

“I was, what's the English word? Dominating you. And you were submitting to me.”

“Ilya, that’s not what we were doing. You weren’t like hitting me or anything.”

“Chert voz'mi. Shane!” he took a steadying breath. “We were. And then I did something you did not like. And you didn’t know how to tell me to stop. And I didn’t know you wanted me to stop. So I didn’t. Because we didn’t talk about it beforehand.” Ilya was breathing hard. “Did I hurt you?” he asked. 

“No, I just. No.” Why was Ilya taking this so seriously? Shane was used to having Ilya's full attention while they were fucking, making love, whatever. But now they were just talking about sex, which was something they had never really done before, except maybe to say yes, please. We should have some. 

Ilya continued, “I usually read you so well. I spoil you. We don’t talk about sex, we just do. But went too far tonight. I am sorry. I hurt you.”

“I just said you didn’t.”

“Da, physically. But maybe emotional hurt. I will not hurt you again.” Shane believed him, even if he wasn't quite convinced that Ilya was in the wrong here.  

Suddenly, Shane was exhausted. Bone-deep tired. “Can we go to bed?” he asked. 

“Da, sweetheart.” Ilya turned the tap off and quickly grabbed a towel, wrapping Shane once again. 

“I can dry myself,” Shane was feeling a bit more centred and felt silly letting the other man direct his movements. 

“Please. Shane,” Ilya started. “Please let me do this for you. I need to.”

“Ok,” Shane replied, letting himself be cared for. When he was dry, Ilya used the same towel to quickly wick away the remaining droplets clinging to his body. He grabbed a fresh towel, wrapped it around Shane's shoulders and guided him out to the bedroom. Directing Shane to sit in the chair that sometimes served as Ilya's laundry hamper for this visit (much to Shane's annoyance). The clothes were tossed aside, and Shane was delicately placed on the seat. 

Ilya bent to meet Shane’s eyes. “Can I leave you for a moment?” he asked.

Shane didn’t love the idea of being alone, but he nodded anyway. Ilya must have seen the concern on his face because he kissed Shane's forehead and whispered, “Trust me, please, I know I have not given reason for you to. But please trust me.”

Hadn’t given a reason? “Ilya, I love you. I trust you.” Shane could have been imagining things, but it almost seemed like his words had stitched something back together inside of Ilya. 

Ilya left the bedroom and went straight to the kitchen. Shane could hear him gathering things from the cupboard, the fridge. He left Shane's line of sight but began speaking immediately. “I am going to laundry room. You will not see. But you will hear me because I am narrating what I am doing. Like first, I am opening the dryer. And now I am reaching in and taking out the sheets, and now closing the dryer. But with my feet because I am skilled athlete. I am coming back now, and I see your pretty face. Always so pretty for me. Ah, there is smile. Good. I like it better when you smile.” 

Ilya was back with the set of sheets Shane had washed this morning. He dropped them on the floor, kissed Shane, then turned and left again. “This time, I will not be gone long. Just back to kitchen to pick up some things. I think maybe I could have done in one trip, but is safer to do in two.”

This time, he came back with an armful of snacks. “Ok, moya lyubov, I bring an apple, a protein bar, and a bag of trail mix. You must eat one. I also bring you ginger ale and water. You must drink one. Please, for me.” Shane reached for the apple and the water. He took a bite of the apple, and Ilya smiled. 

Ilya then turned to strip the sheets off the bed before putting on the fresh set. “Do I have to change pillow cases too?” he asked. 

Shane shook his head. Ilya smiled and then pointed at the water. “Drink.” Shane obeyed. 

The pillows were placed at the head, and a new flat sheet was pulled across the mattress. “Come, please.” Shane took another bite of his apple before looking around for a place to put it. There is nowhere to place a half-eaten apple that he won’t be thinking about for the rest of time. Ilya huffed a laugh. “Here” he said, and took the apple, taking a bite before heading to the bathroom. Shane made his way to the head of the bed. 

Ilya returned appleless, but with a damp towel, which he used to gently wipe up any lingering juice from Shane's hands. He then returned the towel to its place, gathered the comforter from the floor, placed it over Shane's legs, and climbed in next to him.    

Ilya wrapped himself around Shane like he was trying to tie a permanent knot with their limbs. “Can you sleep?” he asked.

“Yes,” Shane responded. 

“Then let's sleep.”

***

It was three a.m., and Ilya was staring at Shane’s sleeping form. Every time he tried to close his eyes, his mind replayed the events from earlier. If he just kept them open, if he stared at Shane’s slack-jawed face, he could focus on the present. He could make sure that his lyubimyy was alright. 

Chapter End Notes

Shane has a panic attack during sex; these idiots haven't talked about anything

Talking is coming in the chapter tomorrow.

Comments and kudos help me feel like I'm not just SCREAMING loudly into the void (meaning they are most most welcome (I might be cracked right now (frfr)))

Chapter 2: Cockslut

Chapter Summary

They talk.

Chapter Notes

I think I just like it when people talk about the sex they are going to have.

Ilya looked exhausted. Shane had learned over the last few weeks that he couldn’t sneak out of bed without waking Ilya. This morning was different. He was up at the crack of dawn, too wired thinking about last night. He was able to easily slip out of Ilya’s arms.

Shane's thoughts were tangled, slow and repeating. Stuck. That was common after an attack. He knew what to do. He found Ilya’s red gym shorts and slipped them on over black briefs. He pulled on a clean Under Armour shirt from the drawer and white workout socks. 

He looked back at Ilya, almost peaceful in his sleep. Almost. Not quite. There was a slight furrow to his brow, like he was trying to understand something. Maybe Shane was projecting. 

He started running. Down his gravel driveway, onto the lane that connected his cottage to the main road. Onto the trunk highway that made its way into town. 

It was early enough that he was only passed by an old pickup truck. Some kid, probably trying to get home before their parents realized they didn’t come home last night. 

The weird feeling Shane woke up with was fading, but his thoughts were still scrambled. He knew. He knew that Ilya wouldn’t let anyone touch him. Let alone fuck him. Why had he believed that there was someone else there last night? 

Except did he believe that? Shane thought about last night. He thought about how much he liked it when Ilya kissed him. When Ilya directed his body with his hands. He thought about how it felt to be used by Ilya. That heady feeling of letting everything else fall away, until nothing else mattered but whatever sensation Ilya was making his body feel. 

But then Ilya started talking about how he wanted someone else to fuck him. The thought, even now, made him feel itchy all over. Fuck. He had to get over himself. Ilya would never do that to him. Right?

God, but before that. He wanted that peaceful feeling he sometimes got again. He just had to suck it up and make sure not to freak out again. He could do that; he could make sure he didn’t repeat what happened last night. This wasn’t going to be a problem again. 

Perfect. It was a plan.

Shane realized he was at the halfway point of his run, at his parents' cottage. He didn’t even notice turning onto their lane. 

There were no lights on in the house yet, so he didn’t bother knocking or even using the spare key hidden in the bird house. Instead, he turned around and started back home, focused on his pacing and his breathing. 

***

The bed was cold when Ilya woke up. For one heart-stopping moment, he panicked. 

Shane. 

Then he heard the clank of silverware, a drawer closing, plates being stacked. Ilya rolled out of bed. He went straight to the kitchen, not bothering to put on clothes. 

Shane was moving on to the glasses, emptying the dishwasher they had forgotten to start the night before. “Ilya,” Shane's eyes lingered on the state of his undress. “What are you doing?” he asked. 

Ilya ignored him; instead, he closed the distance between them and pulled Shane into his arms. “Are you ok, moya lyubov?” he asked into Shane's neck. 

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” Ilya pulled back. He took in the man before him. Shane was wearing his workout clothes; he could tell that sweat was dry on his skin. Shane hated not showering after a workout—or at least after sex, which was usually a workout when Ilya was involved. 

“Because last night?” Ilya asked.

Shane tensed. “What about last night?” He looked away. 

“We have to talk about it.” He was trying to meet Shane’s eyes, but the other man was looking everywhere but at him. 

“There is nothing to talk about,” Shane insisted. Finally, he turned towards Ilya, his eyes pleading for him to drop it. Unfortunately, Ilya couldn’t. 

Ilya held fast to Shane’s shoulders, and he pressed a quick kiss to his lips. God, he wished he wasn’t going to have this conversation, buck ass naked, but here they were. Ilya began, “When I come here, you asked me to be honest. And I tried. And this is the best decision I have ever made in my life. Because I have finally admitted to myself that I can’t live without you. I can’t, Hollander.”

“I love you too,” Shane responded instantly—but that wasn't quite right, that's not what Ilya had meant. 

“Neyt,” Ilya began, but this caused Shane to look up at him, panic in his eyes, just like last night. Fuck. “Fuck. No, no. Is not what I mean. I love you.” Ilya was frustrated. “Blyat! I wish you spoke Russian! This would be so much easier to say in fucking Russian!” he shouted to the ceiling. 

Shane tried to calm him. “You can speak Russian to—” 

“That's not the point! I need you to understand this time!” Ilya closed his eyes and took a breath to center himself. God, why didn’t he put pants on? Anything! “Listen. I love you, yes. I but have loved you for long time. Many years. I know this. However, since I come here, to your cottage, I have finally admitted to myself I cannot live without you.” 

Shane started to say something, but Ilya shook his head, trying to silently communicate that he needed Shane to listen and to give him time to say what he needed properly. “Reason I know that I can not live without you is because you ask me to be honest. It was a good idea being honest. Maybe the best idea you ever have.”

Shane snorted, and god he was beautiful when he smiled. 

Ilya continued, “So trust me when I say, it is a good idea to be honest about sex, too. Is first time we are together for so many days. And the type of sex we had last night. It can be incredible. But it only fucking works if we talk about it! If you want that again. We can have it. If you don’t, that's fine.  But we have to talk about it. I do not want to accidentally do it to you again. Please. We need to talk about it,” Ilya pleaded. 

Shane was silent, eyes searching Ilya's face, looking for something he wasn’t sure what. So Ilya continued,  “If you never want that again. If you never want me to tie you and fuck you until you forget your own name. If that is not what you want. Is ok. I promise. But you have to tell me.”

It looked like a thousand thoughts were going through Shane's head at a million miles an hour. Shane finally spoke, “I need time, Ilya.”

“Da, ok. When you're ready.” Ilya hoped that Shane would actually come to him when he was ready. 

***

Shane wasn’t ready to talk about it the next morning. That was fine. Ilya was still exhausted. 

Or the next evening. Ilya gave him space. Instead, they traded lazy blowjobs in bed and then canoed in the late afternoon sun. Shane was planning to barbecue again, but the weather decided not to cooperate. Instead, they pan-fried the chicken breast and foraged in the fridge for vegetables. 

Ilya caught him staring at the bowl of apples the next morning, ignoring his (disgusting) protein powder-enhanced oatmeal. 

***

“—Shane?” He was suddenly aware that Ilya was speaking to him. “Sorry, what?” he asked.

“Shane, can we talk now?” Ilya repeated. 

His heart beat started picking up. “About what?” he asked, trying to play dumb. Maybe that would somehow work.

“You know what.” Ilya levelled his gaze at him. 

Shane looked away and huffed, laughing, but there was no joy in it. He could feel his skin flush red, and his eyes couldn’t meet Ilya’s. “About how I freaked out over sex,” he said it like a statement. Not a question. Because it was. That’s what happened. Little ol’Shane freaking out over sex. Again.

Ilya took a deep breath. “Shane, moya lyubov, that's not what happened.” He came over and wrapped his arms around Shane. “I crossed a boundary. And you reacted, is what happened.” 

“Overreacted is more like it. God, Ilya, it was just words. Can we just forget about it?” Shane pleaded. 

“No. We cannot forget. Shane, please. Ya tebya lyublyu, I will not let you deny this part of yourself out of shame. If we talk and then you decide you don’t ever want that sort of thing again, then it's done. I will never speak of it again. I do not need it, Shane, but I think maybe you do.” 

“I’m not ashamed, Ilya! I just can’t believe I freaked out over nothing.”

“Glupyy Kanadets,” Stupid Canadian, “Is sounding a lot like shame. I will not have shame in our bedroom, rest of world supplies enough. How about I talk, and you listen. Hmm?” 

Shane nodded. Breakfast had been completely forgotten at this point. 

“I have had a lot of sex. Men, but mostly women. A long time ago, when I was trying to forget this Stupid Canadian hockey player, I had a lot of sex with this one woman. Miss Anastasia. She was not like any woman I ever had before. Miss Anastasia. She taught me many things about myself. About how to be a good lover. I know you do not like this word, Shane. But is what I want to be for you. I want to be your lover.”

Shane had to smile at that; his eyes softened. “It's not... It’s not the word, it's using it in front of my parents.”

“Ok, fine, I don’t need to talk about our sex life to your parents. But I need to talk about it with you.” Shane nodded, so Ilya continued. “She dominated me. She took me apart, piece by piece and then put me back together again, whole. In a way I have never been before. She made me feel things that I can not hope to communicate in this stupid, clunky language.”

Ok, Shane could do this. “Is that what you want me to do for you?” he asked. 

“Nyet, moya lyubov, is what I want to do for you.”

“Didn’t you just say—”

“No. I say I do not need it to be happy. But you, Shane, you. Have you not noticed that you get this floaty, faraway feeling sometimes?”

Shane nodded. He knew that feeling. 

“And do you like that feeling? Does it make you feel good? Happy? Cared for?”

“Yes,” Shane whispered. How did Ilya do this to his body? How did he know so easily and talk about it like it’s nothing? Like it was normal?

“Do you want to feel that way again? More? Deeper?”

Shane nodded again; his body felt like it was on fire. Heat. Dread. Excitement. Fear. All swelling inside of him. 

“You need to use your words, moy lyubimyy. Not using words got us into this mess in the first place.” 

“Yes,” he breathed out.

“Before I take you to that happy floaty place again, we need to talk about what you like, what you want. What you don’t like, what you don’t want. Last time. What did you like?”

“I liked it when you tied me up. I liked it when you...” God, why was this so hard? Why was it embarrassing to talk about things like this? It was just Ilya. Beautiful, wonderful Ilya. Safe Ilya. And he wanted this, with Ilya. He was allowed to want this. With Ilya. Shane had spent so much time wanting the man in front of him. Wanting him, a future, wanting a life. And sex. Wanting his body. Needing it. Like he needed air. 

Now he had Ilya. They had a plan. They could be together. He could finally breathe. He was allowed to want this. He was allowed. He just had to make himself accept that. 

Ilya was patient. Letting him work through these thoughts. His curls were a little wild after so much sun and lake water. His eyes, god his eyes. So open. So full of life, the late-summer morning sun was hitting his face, making him glow. 

“I liked it when you called me a slut.” Shane was red in the face. He was sure of it. Waiting for Ilya to tease him about it. But he didn’t 

Instead, Ilya smiled, his big, genuine, unguarded smile. “A cockslut?” he asked. 

“Yes. That. And I—” Shane could do this. He could talk about sex he had that he liked with his boyfriend. “I liked how you talked to me. How you pushed me into the bed. I liked how I couldn’t really move. How I needed you.” His sentences were staccato, but he was rewarded with more of that unguarded joy from Ilya. Maybe that's what he would get addicted to next, not his lips or his cock or his hands, but Ilya’s joy and happiness. Maybe he was already gone. Who was he kidding? He had been addicted to Ilya’s joy for months, years. He was just allowed to admit it now, just like he was allowed to admit this. “I liked feeling used. By you. Or just something, someone for you to play with. Like I was a toy almost.”

“I liked all that very much too, moy lyubimyy.” Ilya closed his eyes and took a breath. Like he was remembering now, how needy and desperate Shane was. Because Shane had been needy and desperate. The embarrassment of that was slowly washing away.  

When Ilya opened his eyes, they were a little sadder now. “And what didn’t you like, moy lyubimyy?”

Shane went cold again. “You know,” he said in a clipped tone. 

“Da, but I need you to say it.” 

Fine. “I didn’t like it when you talked about passing me around. Like you wanted someone else to fuck me.” His thought swirlled in his head. He could make his voice work again. Just over and over, no one else, no one else, no one else.  

“Shane, moy lyubimyy, Shane. I will never talk like that again. I will never suggest anyone else fuck you. Because they can’t. I will not let them. You are mine. For as long as you want me. You are mine. Ya tebya lyublyu, I love you.”

Shane focused back on the present. “Ok,” he breathed. 

“Moya lyubov, that is a hard limit. I have them, you have them. Everyone does. I will always respect your hard limits. And I hope you will respect mine.”

“I... yes.”

“Da, good. Maybe it's time for a break. Do you want me to beat your ass at NHL15?”

Shane flushed. “Yeah, ok.” He smiled before letting Ilya pull him up into a gentle, all-consuming kiss. 

***

Ilya let Shane come to him with questions and small confessions over the next few days. Sometimes they were about Miss Anastasia. Sometimes they were about Shane, sometimes about Ilya. They still fucked regularly. But not like before. Both were so careful not to accidentally fall back into things before they were both ready. 

—----—

“I like it when you're in charge.”

“I know.”

—----—

“Did she like...”

“You can ask Shane. I will tell you anything. Always.”

“Did she fuck you, with like a dildo?”

“Ah, no.”

“But you said she dominated you.”

“Da, but does not mean she used toy in me like that. Just because I was in her, does not mean she was not in charge.” 

—----—

“I still liked it when you talked about other people watching.”

“Ok.”  

“Is that weird?” 

“No.” 

—----—

“What do you need? What do you get out of this?”

“Besides the mindblowing sex part?”

“Yeah, besides that.”

“I like to take care of you. I need to take care of you. When you are all glassy-eyed and happy. It... Ya znayu, chto smogu pozabotit'sya o tebe.” I know I can take care of you. 

“Ya znayu, chto smogu sdelat' tak, chtoby tebe nichego ne prichinilo vreda.” I know I can make it so nothing hurts you. 

“Ya smogu zashchitit' tebya.” I can protect you. 

“Mne eto nuzhno.” I need that. 

It’s cheap to confess that in Russian, but he tried to translate. “I can protect you and love you. I need that.”

“I really need to learn Russian."

“Da, glupyy Kanadets.”

—----—

“I think I need you to kiss me. If we try again.”

“Ok.” 

“Like I need it. Always.”

“Da. Ok, I understand moya lyubov.”

—----—

“I think I’d like you to tie me up sometime.”

“I can do that.”

“Maybe I want you to be in charge of me coming a little too.”

“They make these things that—” he gestured to his crotch and squeezed.

“Cock rings?” Shane asked.

“Nyet. It's more like a cage. Won’t let you get hard. At all.”

“Have you done that?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“No, not really, but doesn’t mean you wouldn’t. We can try. If you want. And if you don’t like it. We stop. Is simple.”

“Ok?”

“Ok.” 

—----—

“I like being on my knees for you.”

“I like that too.”

“Not just like blowing you, but actually being on my knees.” 

“Ok.” 

—----—

“Did she hit you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Da.”

“Was it intense?”

“Yes. Very intense."

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes and no, it was a good hurt. Like how you feel after long series. Exhausted, sore, but in a good way. It was... the most control of my body I have ever felt inside Russia.” 

—----—

“Did you ever have to safe word? With her?”

“Da.”

“Can I ask...”

“Da. Just. Give me a moment.”

“Ok.”

“She wanted me to call her daddy. She asked me A kto teper' tvoy papa? Who is daddy now?”

“And you couldn’t?”

“I freaked out. I tried to run away, but I was still half tied up. She wouldn’t let me. Thank fuck. I fell, is how I got this scar.” He pointed to a faint mark on his shin. “She held me as I cried and puked and pulled me back together.”

“You vomited?”

“Da, this thing. It can be wonderful and beautiful. But also very intense. Is easy to accidentally fuck it up. Like I did with you.”

“I forgive you for that, you know that, right? God, Ilya, of course I forgive you for that.”

“Thank you, moye solnyshko.”

—----—

“I think I want to try again with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

“Ok.” 

***

Shane was on his knees in the TV room. The afternoon sun was high overhead, bathing the room with light. 

Ilya had kissed him while slowly removing all of his clothes. Piece by piece, until he was naked and hard. Wanting. He then used a thin piece of kitchen twine to loosely bind Shane's wrists together. It was more effective than the T-shirt, but not by much. Still, it served its purpose, preventing him from reaching forward. Reminding him who was in control. 

Ilya had then directed him to a pillow on the ground in front of the couch. Shane sank fast. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Ilya positioned himself on the couch in front of him. 

His hand carded through Shane’s hair, cupping his face. “Shane, what is your colour?”

“Green.” 

“How do you tell me if you can’t speak?”

Shane snapped his fingers twice. 

“Good, moye solnyshko.” His thumb found its way into Shane’s mouth, resting lightly on his tongue. “And what if you want to stop?”

Shane's mumbled voice was clear enough, even with the intrusion, “I say red.” He closed his lips around the digit. 

“And if you can’t speak.”

Shane snapped three times. 

“Good, moy lyubimyy. Good.” Shane preened under the praise. “And if you want to take a break, or you want to talk?” 

“Yellow.” He snapped his fingers once. 

“So clever. So hungry.” Ilya removed his hand from Shane's face and untucked a soft cock from his red basketball shorts; he left his testicles still tucked away. “I have a little treat for you.” His voice was husky, his accent thick. Heavy. 

“How are you still soft?” Shane asked. 

“Is because I am not a little cockslut like you.” Ilya lifted a foot and pressed his toe to Shane's rock-hard cock bobbing in front of him. Pushing his length to the ground before releasing and letting it spring back up, proving his point rather effectively.

“Go ahead. Have your treat. But don’t try to get me hard. Just keep me warm. If you need a break, you can pull off. But I want you to rest your head in my lap, ok?”

“Ok.”

Ilya fed Shane his soft cock. It was warm. It smelled like cotton and heat, and Ilya. It was so soft on his tongue. The salty, tangy taste was there, but muted. Hidden away, unlike when Ilya was erect. 

Shane licked around for a moment before a warning hand was placed on his neck. “Not yet, moy lyubimyy. Don’t get me hard yet.”  

Shane steadied his tongue, steadied his breathing, relaxed. Spit pooled in his mouth, leaking from between his lips. Above him, Ilya had turned on the TV and was setting up a video game. 

“I think I will play as the great Shane Hollander again.” Ilya was carding his hand through Shane's hair again before turning his attention back to the TV. Shane heard the sounds of video game ice. 

“Do you know this guy? Cockslut? Do you know about Shane Hollander, Captain of the Montreal Metros? Two-time Stanley Cup champion. Rookie of the year in 2010. Have you heard of him?”

Shane whined.

“I think maybe you have. But not because of his hockey, no. But because he has a good mouth. Like you. Keeps me warm.” Ilya went back to his game. Shane could feel him moving around, jerking the controller as if that would make the pixelated version of him move just how he wanted. 

Didn’t Ilya know that the real version of him would do whatever he wanted? He just had to ask. A hand returned to his hair. Maybe Ilya did know. 

The next round of the game started, and Shane pulled off. He rested his head in Ilya's lap, just like he was supposed to. His eyes stared at the slightly plumping but still soft, wet cock in front of him. 

“Colour,” Ilya asked.

Shane snapped twice. Green. Words were hard again. 

Instead, his focus was on what was in front of him. Ilya's cock. That was his. He was supposed to hold it. For Ilya. Because he asked. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else could touch him here. Just Ilya's occasional hand patting him. Shane reached forward with his lips again, gathering the familiar heat in his mouth. The hand left his hair, returning to the controller.

“Ah, 2014 Stanley Cup Finals, Shane Hollander leading the Montreal Metros against the Pittsburgh Puffins. Not exactly how I remember it. Hey cockslut. Do you know who actually won the cup in ‘14?”

Shane smirked. 2014 was the year Montreal went out in the second round, and Boston won it all. Shane suckeled for a moment, just enough to let Ilya know he was still there. A hand pulled his hair. He settled back in again. Drifting again. 

“There we have it,” Ilya said some time later. “Shane Hollander, Stanley Cup Champion. Again. I think I’d like to fuck him, but I guess you’ll just have to do, cockslut. Get me hard.”

Shane obliged, sucking and licking. His jaw was sore, but still he worked. Then, large hands were pulling him off. They guided him up for a crushing kiss, and Shane could do little more than receive it, spit and pre-come drooling off his chin. 

Ilya then flipped him around and pushed him down onto the coffee table. Chest flush with the cool wood, his hips digging into the edges. Ilya used his feet to push Shane’s knees apart, spreading him wide. 

He reached for the bottle of lube and squeezed out a generous amount directly onto Shane's lower back. Fingers gathered some of the cold, slick substance before being pushed in. One quickly followed by two. Shane’s hands were still bound behind his back. Face pressed to the hard surface, unable to support his weight. Stuck there just taking what he could get. 

Ilya pressed a third finger into him and pulled the string that bound his hands tight—just like last time. 

No. Better than last time.   

Suddenly, he was empty. Alone. Shane whined. Like a needy animal. Unable to form words. Express ideas, reduced to this. A tool. A toy.

“Shh shh, moy lyubimyy. I’ve got you.” Ilya pushed into him with his thick cock. The stretch was incredible. Intense. Everything. “You know, I hardly had to use lube at all, you got me so wet with your mouth. I think next time I might make you gag on my cock before I fuck you. Would you like that?”

Shane snapped once.

“Ok, ok, we'll talk about it later. Right now I fuck you until you see stars, da?”

Shane snapped twice.  

Ilya fucked into him, hard, fast and relentless. “Good, just like that, Hollander. You were built for this, built for me. My perfect cockslut. No one else's. Mine.”

Shane whined. He was getting close. The slow tease of the afternoon had built to this near-perfect moment. The love of his life was fucking him like a madman. The pain of his hips hitting the table over and over again was mixed in tandem with the pleasure of his prostate getting pounded. Shockwaves of pleasure crashed through his body. Nothing else in the world mattered. He was here. And he would stay here until he was told otherwise. 

Behind him, Ilya shuddered and stilled. Breathing heavily, he pulled Shane back up and onto the couch with him. Using his legs, he kept Shane spread open and went straight for his neglected cock. 

Ah perfect. 

Shane came screaming, the orgasm ripping through his body, painting his chest. 

When the world came back into focus, tears were leaking from his eyes. He had been cleaned with a warm cloth and was wrapped in Ilya's arms on the couch. Ilya was holding a glass of water to his lips. He was distantly aware of the taste of apple on his tongue. 

Ilya was whispering in his ear, pressing kisses wherever he could reach. “Moy lyubimyy, Ya pozabochus' o tebe.” My lover, I will take care of you. “Ya budu lyubit' tebya do kontsa svoikh dney.” I will love you for the rest of my days. “Ya otdam tebe vso, chto smogu.” I will give you everything I can give. “Chto by ni sluchilos', my s toboy protiv vsego mira.” Whatever happens, it's you and me against the world. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” I love you. 

Shane’s mind was quiet. Calm like he hadn’t been before. Not every time, he thought. I don't want this every time. I don't think I need this every time. But sometimes. 

“I love you too,” he mumbled and then slipped away again. He settled into a peaceful afternoon nap.

Chapter End Notes

Will post the next chapter on thursday I think.

kudos, comments, thoughts, prayers, all welcome

 

Also fuck ICE. Nothing to do with the story, I just hate Nazis

Chapter 3: Boston

Chapter Summary

The air in Ilya's house is stale. Empty. Lonely. He tried to remember if this was what it felt like last year, when he got home from Russia. Or the year before that, or the year before that...

Chapter Notes

The air in Ilya's house was stale. Empty. Lonely. He tried to remember if this was what it felt like last year, when he got home from Russia. Or the year before that, or the year before that... 

He sent a text to Jane <3, the contact card had been updated. 

The message was read instantly, and he got a response just as fast. 

Ilya smiled and began unpacking. 

***

Sveta showed up unannounced after the third time he dodged her call. 

“And how was your summer?” she asked when he finally answered the door. 

Ilya just moved aside, letting her into his home. She didn’t comment on the take-out containers stacked next to the sink, nor the pile of clean laundry on the couch. She simply picked up a towel and started folding. She told him about what was new from Russia, about Alexie’s daughter, Katerina. She played football again this summer, and she was getting very good at it. At least according to Sveta, who’s always had a soft spot for (some of) the Rozanovs.  

Sveta folded, and she took out the garbage, and she talked, filling the house with sound. Ilya listened. He didn't add much. 

When she asked again how his summer was, Ilya said, “Good.” Nothing else. Sveta, thankfully, lets him be. 

She came back the next day and the next and the next. She didn't ask about his summer again. Instead, they watched tape from last season and gossiped about players. Their usual.   

One night, Sveta made Ilya watch three Rose Landry movies in a row, but otherwise she didn't push. And after a few days, he was out of his funk. 

***

Conditioning bled into training camp, which bled into the preseason, which quickly became the regular season. 

The season opener. Against New York. Why did it have New York? The media was in a frenzy. They kept asking the same questions. 

What does this mean for the league?

Are there other gay players? Are they going to come out now?

How do you think Scott will be treated on the ice?

They loved to ask Ilya these questions. He was Russian. Everyone knew how Russia felt about gay people. So, of course, Ilya must feel the same. It was a balancing act for him. Translate the question, read the subtext, and answer in a way that wouldn’t flag the ire of the Russian Federation. But also make sure that his words wouldn’t come back to haunt him in five, ten, or fifteen years. 

Make sure his words won’t hurt other players in the closet. 

Make sure his words wouldn’t hurt Shane. 

Or him. 

Why did they have to fucking open against New York? In fucking New York. 

***

The banner was raised. Then Ilya met Hunter at center ice for the ceremonial face-off. They had the last Admiral's Captain who won a cup there to drop the puck.  

Ilya couldn’t resist the easy chirp, “Hey, Hunter, why are you such an attention whore?” he asked.

“Shove it, Roz, let me have my big gay hockey moment.”

They bent for the faceoff, the puck was dropped. And hands were shaken. Ilya pulled Hunter close so only he could hear. “Let me know if you get any trouble tonight. Bad trouble, I mean. I plan to give you lots of good trouble tonight.” He winked.

Hunter pulled back. “Careful, Roz, I’m taken.” 

Ilya looked offended. “Gross, you’re so old! No thank you,” he said. They skated to their blue lines, getting ready for the anthem and the season. 

***

Of course. The cameras didn’t pick up any of the conversation. Only Ilya sharing a few words, then looking disgusted at Hunter. Of course, the reporters ran with that.  

Question after question, trying to figure out if Ilya had a problem with Hunter (he did) and if it was because he had come out (it wasn’t, obviously). But they didn’t know that. Ilya couldn’t just say I am dating a man. Or I’m not gay, but my boyfriend is. Or something else equally cheesy and upsetting for Shane. Or Russia. 

He couldn’t do anything like that. Yet. 

Instead, Ilya put his cocky media face on and tried to skirt the same line he had been for the whole preseason.  

***

Ilya did not have high opinions of the commissioner. Roger Crowell was a hateful little businessman who had never played hockey in his life. Ilya wouldn’t be surprised if he had never skated a day in his life. Money was the only reason Roger Crowell was in charge of the NHL. So Ilya was undeniably surprised when he woke up to an email from the commissioner.

He read it quickly, and then again more slowly.

...I had the pleasure of watching your opening game in person last night. Of course, as the commissioner, I attend the banner raising every year. I noticed that you and Mr. Scott Hunter exchanged pleasantries after the puck drop. Unfortunately, I must remind you of the Hockey-is-for-Everyone campaign. 

I understand if supporting such a thing would be upsetting to you, given your heritage. Please know that our legal team is working diligently alongside the league's public relations department to ensure any conscientious objector is exempt from planned Hockey-is-for-Everyone events. We will, of course, treat any players who do not wish to participate with utmost respect. The last thing anyone at the NHL wants is a distraction from the game we all love. 

Good luck with your season. 

Roger Crowell 

Ilya forwarded the email to Shane. Then called him right away. 

“Hey, you,” Shane answered. Right, he was in Minnesota. And sharing a room with Pike. 

Ilya also remembered that Marley was passed out next to him. “Shit, sorry, did I wake you?” Ilya asked.

“No, I was up.” Shane was betrayed by the long yawn that he let out after his statement. 

“Sure. Anyway, did you see the email I forwarded you?”

“No, hold on, let me check.” Ilya heard the tapping of thumbs on a screen from the other end of the line. After a few moments Shane was back. “Holy Shit. What an asshole!”

“I know! I should send this to the fucking reporter who asked me if I thought hockey was inherently homophobic.”

“You can’t. You can’t draw attention—”

Ilya cut him off before Shane could fully panic. “I know, I know. Is only a joke.”

The second part of Ilya’s statement finally caught up to Shane’s sleep-addled brain, “Wait—someone asked you that last night?”

Ilya sighed. “Yes. Is ok.” It wasn’t, but Shane didn’t need to know that. The line was silent. They both knew this was the start of a very long season. A very long year. A very long career. 

Hopefully. 

This kind of stuff was bound to happen often, at least at first, with Hunter still being big news. Ilya broke the silence. “Listen, I have to go. Marley is waking up.” He wasn’t. Ilya just needed to get off this suffocating phone call. 

“Right. Yeah. Hayden too. Well, you know.”

“Yeah, I you know you too. Talk later, maybe?”

“I’ll text you.”

The line clicked off. Ilya's phone buzzed with a text from Jane <3:

Ilya hoped that feeling in his chest would go away. He knew, by now, he knew that there was a chance it would. Or a chance that it would grow. Only time would tell. 

 ***

Shane kept his head down. He wasn’t sure if the locker room talk was worse this year because of Scott or if he just noticed it more. So he kept his head down. He nodded along with the guys when he should. He was used to doing that. 

They had a plan; they would get through this year, and then they would be closer. Everything was so much easier to deal with when they were together. So Shane just had to get through this year, and it would be better. 

Chapter End Notes

I'm cooked. My brain is soup. I couldn't write tonight, so I posted this instead.

I really hope people actually like this story, but also I need to remember that I write for myself, and just hope other people like it too

Also, I love Scott Hunter so fucking much AND SVETA. And I am LIVING for how much Rachel Reid hates the commissioner of the NHL. As a fellow long-time hockey lover, she makes me feel so seen with these books and how hockey isn't kind to people who are different. I guess that's why I have written 32k (and counting) words of smut. To honour what she has created

 

p.s. I'm just messing with creator skins for the first time (MAD RESPECT to anyone who writes whole fics with them.) Please let me know if the formatting is funny or anything. If I knew how to link something in an a/n, I would link to the tutorial I used, but that is simply a bridge too far tonight. It's called ***Whatsapp Work Skin Template /Revamped*** by ***etc e tal (pe_pe_peperoncinocandy)*** and it's on AO3

p.p.s. The long space at the end is intentional, its suppose to represent the distance they are now feeling

Chapter 4: Sveta

Chapter Summary

Svetlana Vetrova, noted best friend of Ilya Rozanov

Chapter Notes

“Sveta, I have something to tell you.” 

It was November, the air was cooling, leaves were dying. The summer was well and truly gone.  

“Da Ilyusha?”

Her voice was tinny over the phone. He had tried to make this call at least three times before. He had told Shane that he needed this. Sveta was his best friend; he spent more time with her than with anyone else (if you didn’t count anyone on the Raiders’ payroll). Shane didn’t like it, but he understood, and that’s all Ilya needed. 

Why was this so fucking hard! “I am seeing someone,” he finally managed

Sveta squealed. “Ily! It is Jane, yes?”

“Da.” Svetlana squealed some more, and Ilya let her. “Sveta, listen, that's not her name.”

“Ilyusha, I know who it is. You don’t have to say.”

“I know. I know you know, but I think I need to. I...” Ilya paused, trying to work up the nerve to even say the first part, “You know why we can’t tell people, and I... I just need someone to know, to hear it from me.”

“Ok.” She waited for him to continue. 

“I am in love with Shane Hollander, and he loves me.”

“Da Ily. I am happy for you.”

Now, the part that Ilya was actually dreading. The real reason he had to tell her. “I didn’t think it would be this hard to be together,” he confessed. “He’s... I miss him every day. I just thought it would be easier once we were together. For real. But it’s so much worse somehow.”

Sveta listened before she responded, “That's what it’s like, to be in love, I think.”

***

Sveta insisted on meeting Shane properly. Of course she did. Ilya expected nothing less from her. He wished he could have delayed it a little longer. 

At the same time, he couldn’t wait for two of the people he loved most in the world to meet. His two oldest friends. 

Shane was in Boston the day before they played. It was the end of a two-week road trip that took Montreal through Dallas, Florida, South Carolina, Washington and finally to Boston. 

The game was scheduled for 7 pm the next night, and both Shane and Ilya would have practice tomorrow morning. It was unlikely that Ilya would be able to convince Shane to stay the night. 

Too risky,  he’d say.

Ilya could push the thought away, push through the disappointment of not seeing Shane after the game tomorrow- Montreal was, of course, desperate to get home and rest after a long road trip. Thankfully, the team got in early enough that Shane is waiting for him in his bed, asleep for his afternoon nap. 

Ilya paused to stare at him, his sleeping form. He can hardly contain the joy bursting out of him, seeing the love of his life in his bed, comfortable enough to fall asleep.  

Ilya marvelled at the sight for another moment before he shucked off his clothes and climbed into bed next to Shane. He pulled their bodies close and felt the heat of skin touching skin. Ilya pressed a kiss to the back of Shane's neck and closed his eyes. He knows Shane will have an alarm and wake him when they need to get out of bed. 

For now, he just pushes everything else in the world away and holds his boyfriend, like this is something they are allowed to have. Because, for right now, for this moment, in this house, on the outskirts of Boston, they are allowed to have it. 

***

Shane’s phone buzzed, and wind chimes played. He was warm. He hit his phone until it quieted. 

The nine-minute snooze was all the time he allowed himself to linger in bed. They had plans this evening. They had to get up, make dinner, and tidy the house. They had to make sure the wine and the vodka were chilled. Shane had a plan for a dip that his mom told him to make. The salmon had to be on the grill by 6, which meant he had to start soaking the cedar planks by 3 pm at the latest. 

But those thoughts had to take a back seat right now. He made them take a back seat. 

Usually, Shane would will him self awake at the sound of his alarm. Get ready to move on to the next part of his day. But right now, he simply can’t let himself get out of bed. He wants these 9 minutes; he needs these nine minutes. 

Ilya is behind him. Warm, present, there. 

It’s not about sex anymore. For so long its just been sex. Shane gets to have the time to linger here; he’s allowed to have it. The time to enjoy that he is warm, and safe, and loved.

So yes, for the first time in his life. Shane lingers in this in-between moment. In between awake and asleep. In between, being out in the real world, the world of hockey. In between running, hiding the very core of his being. And right here. In the arms of the love of his life. 

He was in that in-between spot. 

Here he’s safe in Ilya's arms, safe away from everything he had to do. His mother's relentless updates on how receptive each of his brand partners was. The power-play that Coach insisted was terrible and sloppy (even though it was second in the league in production). Hayden and Jackie’s insistent attempts to get him to settle down. But here in this moment, the world would go quiet, and Shane could just enjoy the warmth of the body next to him. 

***

Ilya woke up to Shane turning in his arms, a distant chime, the dreaded sound of Shane’s alarm. But Shane wasn’t leaving right now. Instead, he was pressing a trail of kisses into Ilya’s neck, then teeth were scraping along the same path lips had just walked. 

Ilya moved his head so their lips could meet. His hand found their way to the nape of Shane's neck, cradling his head, directing motion, taking what he wanted. What he needed. It wasn’t air his lungs needed, but Shane. Fire burned through his body, a need that he always had, but burned brightest when they were first together after any time apart. 

Ilya rolled Shane over, ending on top of him. He pulled his head back to look at his lover. He saw kiss-stained lips, messy hair, and a need to match his own. 

Ilya gave in and kissed Shane again, hard, crushing, quick. He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the lube, dropping it next to his leg. He pulled Shane’s briefs down, alongside his own and then took them both in his hand.  

Hot. Soft. Needy. That's what he felt between them. He paused after a few strokes; it was just enough to take the edge off and remind himself why he got the lube. With slicked hands, he got to work. One of Shane’s hands joined the effort while his other directed Ilya’s lips back to his own. 

It was over fast. That was the goal. Mess sandwiched between them as Ilya collapsed on top of Shane. 

“Hi,” Ilya said, face mashed into Shane’s chest. 

Shane snorted, “Hi,” he replied. 

Ilya pressed a kiss to where he was lying, then another, and another. “I love you,” he said. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Good, good, I am just going to stay here forever, da?” Shane laughed as he tried to push him off, but Ilya let his body go limp, making it impossible. 

***

The door opened as Shane finished plating the veggie sticks to go with the whipped cottage cheese dip he had made. There were rice crackers in a bowl next to the plate. He was debating whether to try to cut a carrot flower for garnish or stick with the curly parsley. 

A woman called out from the hall. She was speaking Russian. Ilya called back and began excitedly greeting their guest. 

***

Svetlana turned and saw a very strange sight– even if she had expected it. Shane Hollander, in track pants and a white T-shirt. The shirt was well-fitted, and obviously his, but the pants weren’t. “And you must be Jane.” She eyed him intensely before turning towards Ilya, “And you said he’s not hot,” she said in Russian. 

“I never said that.”

“Bullshit,” she replied before switching back to English. “It is very nice to meet you. Ilya thinks you're hot. He has for a very long time.” Colour floods Shane Hollander's cheeks. Svetlana files blushes easily in her mind before she stuck out her hand to shake. She used that contact to grab hold of him and placed a kiss on each of his cheeks. 

Apitizers and drinks were rushed, and dinner was on the table within 20 minutes of her arrival. She knew why; they didn’t have much time.

Ilya kept looking between them as if he couldn’t believe these two sides of his life had collided. Svetlana kicked him under the table as if to say we are Russian, pull yourself together. It didn’t work; he just kicked her back. 

There was one awkward moment. Svetlana turned to Ilya and said, “If you need me to, I can marry you for citizenship.” She was a little surprised he hadn’t asked her yet. It would be the easiest way to clear up his passport problem. 

Shane’s fork clattered to his plate. 

“No, Sveta, that will not be necessary,” Ilya said. 

Svetlana clearly sensed it was a sore topic and quickly moved on. 

***

Ilya had insisted that he would clear the table. Shooing Shane Svetlana to the living room to bond. Shane was a little off balance ever since she had offered to marry his boyfriend. Ilya had tried to explain it before, but Shane just couldn’t. 

She must have sensed his discomfort, because as soon as they sat down, she said, “You know I have loved him for longer than you. Is not a bad thing, but it is true.” 

Shane’s thoughts were moving so fast, his mouth couldn’t keep up. “I uh,” he managed, but Svetlana cut him off. 

“No, listen. Our whole life, my father and his father think we are going to marry. And I would have done it. I would still do it if he asked me. Because I love him, and I know that he loves me. But not like you.”

Shane doesn’t know what to say. So he doesn’t manage to say anything. Svetlana continued.

“When you are from Russia, you do what you must to survive. Especially if you like men. One man, in particular. He loves you. He loves you more than he lets you see. But it is not always easy for him. So this is why I offer, for security, for safety. For the two of you. To keep you both safe.”

“Thanks,” Shane (finally) managed to say something. He is still confused and a little scared. And more than a little intimidated. If Svetlana can tell, she ignores it all. 

Instead, she continued again, “We’re in the loving Ilya Rozanov club together now, Jane. You and me, is not a big club. He does not make it easy, but it is worth it.”

Shane smiled at that, “I know, he really doesn’t.” He considers her for a moment before adding, “For what it’s worth, my parents are right there with us.”

“That's worth a lot, actually, maybe more than you know.” Svetlana kissed his cheek. 

***

Sveta left. As soon as the door was closed behind her. It was like she had never been here. 

They didn’t have long, but they didn’t have to rush either. 

Ilya pressed Shane’s body against the wall, crowding his space. Lips met. Softly, no urgency. Tasting. Breathing against each other. Slowly connecting, lingering. 

Ilya's hands found their way up Shane’s body. He cupped Shane's head, holding him steady as he deepened their connection. Electricity flowed through his body, spiking through him when his lover whined. The urgency settled deep in his groin. 

Shane pulled him closer, hands gripping his hips. Grinding them together. 

Ilya’s mouth found its way to Shane's neck, and he breathed in his scent. The soft shandelwood of Ilya’s soap, the cotton of Shane’s white tee-shirt, and the undeniable scent of Shane’s body. “Fuck, I love you,” Ilya breathed.

“I love you too.” Shane sounded as desperate as he felt. 

Ilya was sure that someday he would be able to hear those words and his knees wouldn’t go weak. He wouldn’t go half-crazed with need; he wouldn’t forget that a world existed beyond the beautiful man in front of him. But not yet. “What do you want tonight, moya lyubov?” he asked, pressing himself against his lover. 

“I want you, I always want you.”

They broke contact, his hands moved to remove layers separating him from more skin. He needed skin, now. Clothes dropped to the floor, and Ilya’s hand reached down to grasp the back of Shane’s thighs. 

Shane got the message, and his arms wrapped around Ilya’s neck. In a practiced motion, Ilya had Shane’s legs wrapped around him. He pressed a few more kisses to Shane's neck, his collarbone, before pulling him away from the wall. 

***

Shane loved how easy Ilya could carry him. He loved it when the powerful body of the league MVP directed all of his strength towards him. Shane wasn’t weak, not by any stretch of the imagination. And he had also won the Heart trophy. But he’s never even tried to lift Ilya, never felt the need to carry his boyfriend. 

Shane’s thoughts are interrupted when he is placed onto a bed; the sheets had been straightened after their nap earlier. But right now, Shane doesn’t care; he only cares about Ilya. Needing Ilya, touching Ilya. Getting fucked by Ilya. 

Pants, socks, boxer-briefs all removed, Ilya quickly does the same. And then they are together again, touching, tasting, wanting, needing. Shane feels the sounds pulled out of him, rather than making a continuous effort. His vocal cords vibrating high-pitched and often, trying to express to Ilya Yes, I need this, that feels good. “Please,” he manages to say. Ilya has his mouth on him, sucking his cock down over and over again. He pushes Shane’s legs open without breaking the contact. Fingers tracing over his hole

Shane is desperate now, needy in a way that only Ilya makes him. His heart is in his throat, and he feels like he might explode if Ilya doesn’t start filling him with something soon. 

Ilya got the message, he released Shane’s cock, and broke all contact, while he quickly got the condoms and lube. Shane took a deep breath, then another, and another. Trying to make sure this doesn’t end too quickly. Because once it's over, he has to go back to his hotel.

Ilya is back, and he doesn’t waste any time giving Shane exactly what he wants. One finger, then quickly two. “You are so pretty like this,” Ilya says to him as he relaxes into the intrusion. “So pretty and so needy.”

Shane reaches for the hand that started lazily stroking his cock. “I need you, asshole,” he grasps the fingers and pulls them to his lips.

Ilya frowns, “So pretty and needy and rude,” on the last word, his fingers pushed Shane in just the right spot, making his body light up like it's on fire. The pressure and pleasure are relentless.

“God, fuck you, Rozanov,” Shane moans.

“Neyt, I fuck you, Hollander,” Ilya adds a third finger, stretching Shane open. Filling him up. Giving Shane everything that he wants. That he needs. Well, almost everything that he needs.

“Ok, ok, I’m ready,” Shane says. He’s open enough that it won’t affect his game tomorrow, but not so much that he won’t feel the burn later tonight and into the morning. He wants to remember this; he needs his body to carry the memories for longer than he gets to have Ilya.

Ilya pulls his fingers out of him, he scoots up the bed, and grabs a condom. Then he’s lying on his back, slicking up his dick with lube. Shane climbs on top of him, and they line themselves up before Shane starts to slowly sink down onto Ilya’s cock.  

He leans forward and kisses Ilya as he settles himself, breathing through the brief flashes of pain. 

“Is ok?” Ilya asks. 

“Yes,” Shane breaths into his lips. Strong hands grip his hips. His body is on fire wherever they touch. “I love you,” he says. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Their foreheads press together as they exist in this moment. Their bodies were tied together as one. Nothing else matters. Nothing at all. Shane isn’t thinking about brand deals, or contract negotiations, or the drill that he and Hayden have been working on to enter the zone on the rush –They plan to test it out against the Boston defence tomorrow– But Shane isn’t thinking about that right now. 

Instead, he is looking at Ilya’s eyes, overwhelmed with sensation. Love and pressure and sex. “Fuck me, please,” he says. Ilya tilts his head up and captures his lips, and then starts a gentle movement in his hips. 

Shane responded in turn. 

They build a rhythm together until the sound of heavy breaths and wet skin slapping together fills the room. “Ilya, please!” Shane whines. A need is building deep in his gut. 

“Please, what? What do you want, moy lyubimyy?”

“Fuck me harder!”

“Colour?” Ilya asks. 

“Green”

***

Ilya plants his feet flat on the bed; his trust becomes erratic and hard. A hand finds his Bellboy's cock, bobbing between their bodies. Shane is finished quickly, but Ilya is just getting started. 

He let Shane have a moment to breath, cock still rooted deep inside of him. Tacky Seamen cooled his burning chest. “Colour, moy lyubimyy, do you still want?” he asked. 

“Still green, Ilya.” Shane is loose and free. Relaxed. He can probably guess what Ilya is planning and is ready to just let it happen. 

Ilya gently tipped Shane onto his side, pulling out of him. Shane is so pliable when he’s like this. Gentle hands turn him further so he is lying on his stomach. 

Ilya stood and grabbed hold of Shane's ankles, pulling them back over the side of the bed. He stretched Shane’s legs wide until his hole was gaping in front of him. He grabbed the lube and squeezed a generous amount onto Shane's tailbone, then used his finger to pull down, dripping into Shane, down his testicles, and onto the floor. 

“You look so good like this, Hollander. So needy for me, even after you’ve been well fucked.” This is what Ilya craves. To have the most valued man in hockey, laid out in front of him. Needy. Wanting. His.

Shane is never satisfied. Not on the ice, and not in bed. He always wants more. Ilya will always give him more. “Are you ready, pretty boy?” He asked. Shane whined in response. Ilya positioned himself behind his bellboy. At the last moment, he pulled back and used his finger to gather Shane’s release from his chest. He added it to the mess leaking out of Shane’s hole. 

They hadn’t talked about condoms yet. Soon. But not yet. Until then, Ilya could still look down and see the direct evidence of Shane’s pleasure leaking out of his body. 

He pushed in again, pressing himself onto Shane. With more leverage, he could set a bruising pace. Shane was moaning beneath him. Ilya’s hand pressed in to back of his neck, “You like that, da?”

Shane moaned louder; he sometimes didn't speak when he got like this. Just took exactly what Ilya wanted to give him. 

A bead of sweat dripped down Ilya’s back. He was close. Shane might have been close, too. Or he might have been soft and just taking it. It didn’t really matter; this was purely about Ilya chasing his own pleasure. 

That was easy when his heart was lying before him, his body open and wanting, moaning his name. Ilya didn’t stand a chance. He was coming, falling over Shane, pressing kisses into his back, over his shoulders. They were both hanging off the bed, completely spent. 

***

“Are you sure you have to go?” Ilya knew the answer. 

Shane did too. 

“It’s too risky, you know that.”

“Da, I know.”

Shane was gathering his clothes, getting ready to head back to the team hotel. Ilya was still in bed, showered, but not dressed. Their time was up. 

Shane had to leave. He had to. 

That doesn’t mean he wanted to. “I love you”, he said, kissing Ilya again. 

***

Hayden had the room to himself because Shane is out with Boston Lily again. He noticed it last year. Late in the season, Shane was suddenly taking calls all the time. He’s been texting more, too. Hayden has definitely noticed Shane has been smiling more. When they are on the road together this season, Shane checks his messages last thing at night and first thing in the morning like he’s waiting for something. They are definitely dating for real now.

So Hayden doesn’t expect him back in the room at all the first night of the season that they’re in Boston. But then he turns up after 11 pm looking freshly showered and, frankly, well fucked. 

“Come on, man!” Hayden started, “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked. Shane looks like a deer in the headlights, like he forgot Hayden would even be here. 

“What?” he managed in that cute Shane way, like he’s trying to reboot his face.

“Why are you here and not at Lily’s?” Hayden asked directly.

The look Shane was giving him was now one of shock. 

“I told you, I know about Boston Lily. You're not subtle, dude. Listen, I don’t know why you don’t bring her around. I don’t care, but you gotta know I love you, man. And like you deserve to be happy or whatever. So you should have like, stayed over. I would have covered for you if I needed to.”

“I uhh–”

“It's totally fine, bro. I’m just happy you're happy.” Hayden paused for a moment. “You’re happy, right?” he asked. 

“Yes, I’m happy.”

Thank fuck, “Awesome, next time– hell, tomorrow, man. We have a day off, then afternoon practice on Thursday. You should totally spend the night, fly back after the team.” 

“I... I’ll look into it.”

“Awesome.” Hayden went back to looking at Twitter. Half an hour later, Hayden saw Shane looking at plane tickets on his phone. 

***

Ilya is alone again. Shane surprised him after their game; he stayed the night. And some of the morning, but he had to go. He would always have to go. It would be so much easier next year. 

Or would it? 

They would see each other more. But they would also say goodbye more, too. The real problem was that the first thing Ilya did in the morning was love Shane Hollander. The last thing he did at night was love Shane Hollander. And every moment inbetween he loved Shane Hollander. Unfortunately, other things like his professional hockey career, his stupid brain, and the entire country of Russia keep trying to get in the way.

So now he was lying in bed, the same spot that Shane had left him four, no, five hours ago. Trying to will himself to go get some leftovers out of the fridge. 

Instead, he calls Sveta. 

“Ilyusha?” she answers. 

“Sveta.” He didn’t try to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. He couldn’t. 

“Are you still in bed?” 

“Da.”

“You should get up. Do you want me to come over?”

“Neyt.” It was a lie; they both knew it. 

“Then get your chilseled ass out of bed.”

“Shane is gone.” 

“I know.”

“I hate it when he leaves, Sveta. It was so much easier before.”

“Was it? Was it really?”

“No. Sometimes, I don’t know.” Hands raked over his face. 

“I knew, as soon as you came back, from your first Juniors. You couldn’t stop talking about him. How much fun it was to beat him. I knew you were half gone then.”

“Bullshit.”

“Is true, Ilyusha. You are so obvious when you like a boy.”

Ilya sighed. Tears pricked behind his eyes. After a long moment, he confessed, “I wish I could have just been able to marry you. It would have been so much fucking easier.”

“It might have been easier, but I know you don’t wish that.”

She was right. “No, I don’t. Fuck.” Sveta was always fucking right. Time for the final confession. “I’m going to sign with Ottawa this summer. We talked about it, and it makes the most sense.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want to be closer to him.”

“Ok, Ilyusha, then I will come visit you in the vibrant metropolis that is Ottawa.”

“Thank you.”

Don’t thank me yet, you’re paying for my plane tickets.”

Ilya laughed. 

“Ok, I am leaving now. Should I pick up food on my way over?”

“Da.”

“Ok, I get your usual, you have a shower. See you soon, Ily, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Chapter End Notes

I LOVE SHOW SVETA SO MUCH

The best (and maybe biggest) change from the source material

Comments, kudos, screams into the void are always appreciated

Chapter 5: Hunter

Chapter Summary

Does what it says on the Tin. It's my bottle chapter

Chapter Notes

Roz was at the Kingfisher. 

Scott shouldn’t be surprised; he had invited him. But like. He didn’t think Roz would actually show up. Yet here he is, sitting in a sticky booth in a gay bar in New York City. 

They both had beers in front of them. Barely touched. Roz kept staring at him, like he was trying to probe Scott's mind with his eyes. Kip was behind the bar, and Carter might stop by later with Gloria. But right now, it was just the two of them. 

“You’re old,” Roz finally said. 

Scott snorted, “You’re getting bad at insults,” he replied. 

“Da, I know. My heart is not in it tonight.” Roz picked up his pint and took down more than half of it. “Tell me. What is like to be NHL poster boy?” he asked. 

Scott took a drink, “I’ve always been the poster boy,” he said. 

“True, but is new poster now, yes?”

“Yeah,” Scott thought for a moment, choosing his words wisely, “it’s complicated.” Ilya nodded along, so Scott thought he’d push the envelope a bit. He waited till Roz was taking a drink, “Why? Do you want to join me?” he asked 

Roz sputtered, choking a little on his beer. He looked at him like he had two heads, “I am Russian. Go fuck yourself,” he said. 

Yeah, that made things complicated. “I know, Rozy, I’m just teasing you.” Roz scoffs. He makes a hand gesture that could mean don’t worry about it, or it could mean fuck off. It's Roz, so it’s probably both. 

Scott doesn’t think Rozanov is asking these be polite; he doesn’t think Roz is some kind of ally to the gay community. If he’s here, at the Kingfisher, asking how the league is handling Scott, then he really wants to know. So Scott takes a drink and tells him. “It’s tough; they like to talk a big talk. The league, I mean. I get included in all the email chains about how inclusive every team is being. Then there are these events, you know, the pride nights, and everything. It’s all so prefomative. Kip calls it rainbow capitalism. But when I wanted to put a pride sticker on my helmet, just a small one, they told me no. Said it would be a distraction to other players.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah, there's plenty of that going around. And every time I try to push back on anything. Whenever I suggest something that might actually make it easier for other guys to come out, they give me this look. The one that says You should be grateful that we are allowing you to have this conversation.” They were silent after that. Sounds of the bar washing over them. They both looked around, sipping their beers. 

“Was it worth it?” Roz said suddenly. 

Scott looks over at Kip, he’s laughing at something Kyle said. He looks around at a space that he has made safe for himself. That he has carved out of the brick and stone and galvanized rubber of New York City. “Yeah,” he said, “worth every pain-in-the-ass thing that it caused. Including hanging out with you.”

“Fuck you,” Roz laughed, “Here, I get you another shitty American beer, old man.” he stood and walked towards the bar. 

Scott was left wondering exactly why Rozanov was asking. He knows, of course, he knows exactly why he would. But like Roz said, he’s Russian. He doesn’t have the same options that Scott had. Has. 

Roz comes back with beer and the remote. He flicks the channel on the TV nearest them to the Monarchs-Metros’ game. They spent the next drink picking apart the West Coast teams' defence, trading insider tips on the goalie. They don’t talk about the Metros; they face them too often with all three in the same division. But there is an unspoken brotherhood between their division, a deep-seated desire to keep wins on the East Coast. 

They finished their beers, and the game is over. The post-game presser is almost finished, and Hollander is giving the locker room interview that Scott has done a thousand times. Scott decided to push his luck, “How’s Hollander?” he asked. 

Roz stiffened; he levelled a glare at Scott. “He is fine. Don’t worry about him.” 

I guess that firmly answers that question, thought Scott. “Ok. Just know I’d understand. If there was something to understand,” he said. 

Roz softened. Slightly. “Don’t talk about things you don’t know about,” he bit back. 

Scott made a show of rolling his eyes, “Ok, ok, I’m old, and I don’t know anything. Got it,” he said. 

“Da” Roz was standing now, pulling his coat on. “Hey, Hunter,” he said, “You should wear the sticker. Fuck them. What are they going to do about it? Stop you from playing?”

“No, but they said they’d fine me.”

Roz looked at him with his patened, Rozanov crazy eyes. “What you are broke?” he asked. “Pay fine, it’ll be worth it. Especially to see Crowell’s face. I’ll pay fine to see that!” Roz laughed and made his way out of the bar, phone coming to his ear before he hit the door. 

Ilya Rozanov was one crazy Russian asshole, but Scott suspected it was an act. At least in part. Maybe only a small part. Actually, Hollander was one crazy fucker. 

Chapter End Notes

Sorry, it's a short chapter, but I really needed a sort of interlude and a setup for future conversations.

I will pause posting until I'm fully finished writing... this story is longer than I thought. And I need to sort out my feelings on the last 7 chapters.

I expect to start posting again sometime next week.

Big thank you to everyone who's commented and kudo'd this work and the others in the series (check them out if you haven't). I didn't understand until I started posting my own work how much energy and life those interactions give the author (I will shamelessly ask for more as I try to finish this story).

Comments, kudos are always always always welcome.

Cheers,

Mags

Chapter 6: Christmas

Chapter Summary

Christmas (and sex)

Chapter Notes

The two days before Christmas were like a breath of air after a long time underwater. Ilya was in his bed again, and he didn’t have to leave until Boxing Day. They decided. Or rather, Shane’s mother decided that they would drive up from Ottawa on Christmas Day and cook Christmas dinner in Shane’s condo. 

Shane had told Hayden that he was spending the whole holiday break at his parents' house. So they had these two uninterrupted days to themselves. 

The first night, Ilya had delicately tied Shane’s ankles to each leg at the head of the kitchen table. He bent Shane in half and spread him out over the polished wooden table top. His arms were stretched out in front of him, pulled tight by blue silk ties that attached to the other two legs at the foot of the table. 

Ilya had then carefully arranged his takeout sushi on Shane’s back. “You are the most beautiful serving tray I have ever seen,” he said. Shane could feel the cool pieces of sushi and sashimi, the faint spice of tuna rolls on his shoulder blades. He could feel the bamboo chopsticks as they picked a piece of carefully wrapped rice and fish and dipped it into the small pool of soya sauce that rested in the curve at the small of his back. And he could feel his cock straining to get hard, pinned between his body and the wood of the table. 

Gentle fingers danced over his exposed hole; he had to keep his body still. He couldn't wriggle or press back. He had to be still. It was his job to be still right now; he was determined to do a good job. 

Ilya ate slowly and deliberately. Every few pieces, he slipped part of a roll or piece of fish into Shane's mouth. “Such a pretty plate, I have,” he’d whisper. “How luck I am to have you to eat off of,” and “You are so good for me, so well behaved.” The praise filled him, it settled in his bones, and quieted his mind. The hard edge of the table top dug into his pelvis, keeping him ever so slightly grounded.  

Eventually, the soya sauce and all the sushi were gone, eaten off his back. Ilya pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade, one then the other and back again. The kisses deepened, presses harder. Eventually, Ilya licked at him, cleaning the last taste of fish and rice from his skin. Methodically working his way across and down and back again. Ilya blew soft breath over his wet skin, making goosebumps appear and a shiver run through Shane’s body. 

“Good, I thought you were being a too perfect plate, but there is my Bellboy.” A warm, wet cloth cleaned the remains of spit and dinner from him before a finger returned to his waiting hole. 

This time it slid in, waiting, teasing, stretching. Shane was more than ready now, more than eager, more than hard. He needed it. He needed Ilya in him with a singular focus. 

He needed Ilya in him more than he needed air, and water, and hockey. He needed Ilya more than he needed hockey. He wanted both. God, he wanted both. But he needed Ilya more, and he was pretty sure that wasn’t just his sex brain talking.

His thoughts were interrupted by a second, then, quickly, a third finger entered him, stretching him. His focus narrowed to the burning sensation, lighting a fire in his body. Need need need. Spilling out of his lips, high-pitched and whining. 

“Are you ready, moy lyubimyy?” He felt Ilya’s cockhead against his skin, resting, waiting. 

Shane snapped twice. 

Ilya pushed in, resting his weight ontop of Shane. He was pressed, trapped between the warm body and the hard table. Hips snapped once, just testing the feeling out. Then they continued, Ilya pulled back off of him, but his hand rested on Shane’s face, pressing it into the table further. 

“You are a good plate, but an even better fuck toy, my Bellboy. So beautiful, so good for me. Clench.”

Shane tightened his loose muscles as much as he could. Ilya was moaning above him, “Da, like that. Perfect. OK, now release.” Shane let his body go completely lax and let himself be used as he floated away completely. 

***

Some time later, Shane became distantly aware of the tight muscles of his shoulders being relaxed. He felt cooling semen dripping down his leg; he wasn’t sure whose it was. It didn’t matter. 

Ilya was carrying him upstairs into the large stall shower, under the hot water spray. Orange segments were held to his lips as he let the hot water and Ilya’s hand work the knots from his muscles. 

Then he was in a soft bed, with strong clinical hands working out any lingering effects of holding a position for so long. He was pulled against a warm body and finally finished drifting all the way away. 

~

“Privet moye solnyshko, there you are. Hello. How are you?” Shane's eyes blinked awake. Ilya was softly cooing above him. Shane wanted to kiss him. Fuck, he wanted to kiss him so badly. It took a moment to remember he could, and another to remember how to use his arms. He pulled Ilya to him and crushed their lips together. 

***

“Ok, how did you like yesterday?” They were both lazing on the couch, Hand in hand. It was morning on Christmas Eve. They have no real plans for the day, or at least that's what Ilya let Shane think.

“Yesterday?” Shane asked. Like he didn’t know exactly what Ilya was talking about. 

“Da, yesterday. Did you like being tied to the table?”

Shane closed his eyes and answered “yes.”

Ilya knew it was easier for Shane not to make eye contact when they talked like this. That was ok, he didn’t need to see Shane, he just needed Shane to answer him. “Did you like me eating off of you?” he asked. It was a clear, direct question. 

Shane hesitated before responding, “kinda, yes?”

“What does that mean, moya lyubov?”

“I liked being used, but maybe not as a plate? Like that was fine, but it didn’t add anything for me. And maybe it was a bit messy.”

“Ok, my bellboy.” Ilya pressed a kiss to his neck, right in the spot that he knew made Shane’s knees turn to jelly. “Was there anything else?” he asked. 

“I liked it when you said I was good.” A hit of pink was clawing at Shane’s cheeks. 

“Da, I noticed, my beautiful lover. You are always so good for me.” Ilya enjoyed watching the flush spread across his face, down his neck, and onto his shoulders. 

“How are... was it good for you?” Shane asked. He looked at Ilya now, like he was scared that Ilya didn’t enjoy last night, like Ilya didn’t think he was the luckiest man alive every time he got to fuck Shane Hollander into a sex coma. 

“Da, moya lyubov. It was good to see you be good for me. I liked it when you held so still while I ate. I liked it when you took my cock so well, I liked it when clentched on my command. And then I liked it when I got to carry you upstairs and put you to bed.”

Shane smiled and closed his eyes. Ilya suspected a blow job was in his near future.

***

Ilya slipped out of the house while Shane was doing his afternoon yoga. He was wearing a disguise. Thankful the Montreal winter made it easy, sunglasses, a toque and a scarf pulled high over his face. No one would be able to recognize him from just his nose, even if it was a very nice nose. 

Ilya had a list. Sveta had given him the recipe and the instructions. It wouldn’t be his mother's borscht, but he hoped it would be close. Ilya hadn’t had it in years; he refused when Polina tried to make it, back when she was trying to connect with him and Alexie (it didn’t work). 

The butcher was further away, so Ilya went there first. The shop was busy with people picking up their meat for the holiday at the last minute. Ilya loaded up on ox tail, broth bones, and stewing beef. He slipped some bacon on his order, hoping Shane would go for Christmas Day bacon and eggs. 

The small backpack he wore was heavy as he slipped into the small market two blocks over from Shane's apartment. He wasn’t sure what Shane had in his kitchen besides salt and pepper, so he had to get everything. Garlic, dill, whole peppercorns (just in case!), along with the root vegetables and cabbage. 

He was back before Shane finished his yoga. Letting himself into the building with his brand new key fob and key. They rested against his own house key on a small keychain, safe in the pocket of his track pants.   

Ilya emptied his bags onto the counter and looked at his haul. How the fuck was he supposed to turn this into dinner? Quickly, he popped his AirPods in and called Sveta.

“Hello, Ilyusha,” She answered.

“How do I make borscht?”

“Hi Svetlanana, you are so beautiful and wonderful. I am so happy to ask all about your holiday plans.”

“Sevta, please.”

“I sent you the recipe.”

“I have bones! I have never cooked bones before!”

“Men. Fine. Did you get everything on the list?”

“Da.”

“Ok, first you have to roast the bones, preheat the oven to 450 degrees. You know how to preheat an oven, right?”

***

Shane found Ilya standing over a bubbling pot, skimming solids off the surface. The kitchen was a disaster zone, but it smelled amazing. He slid his arms around Ilya, startling the other man. Ilya turned, and he kissed him, slow and lazy. Shane pulled back and asked, “What the hell are you doing to my kitchen?” 

“I am cooking borscht for you,” he looks like a proud kid showing off his science fair project. 

“What is bore-shit?” Shane asked, trying and failing to copy Ilya’s pronunciation. 

Ilya smiled, “Borscht moya lyubov, is sour stew my mother make me. Is not Christmas food, but is nice in the winter, da?” 

“Do you need any help?” Shane asks. 

“Da, if you want,” Ilya smiled at him, one of his whole face smiles. The kind that Shane had gotten addicted to. 

“Put me to work, Captain,” Ilya directed him to start chopping cabbage and potatoes, while he was removing hollow bones from the stock pot Shane didn’t even know he had. In went cubes of meat to boil, and Ilya started to fill the sink with hot, soapy water. 

When Shane was finished, Ilya had him peel and grate beets. Shane knew he didn’t have beets in the house this morning. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure he didn’t have bones either. “Did you go shopping?” he asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Da,” Ilya said without turning around. 

“Did you get a soup pot too?” he asked.

“No, you had that. I check before. Last time I was here. To make sure.” 

Shane was surprised at that, “How long have you been planning this?” he asked. 

Ilya’s finger was tracing over the sharp edges of his golden crucifix. Shane knew it was somewhat of a nervous habit of Ilya’s. Ilya turned back to the sink, “I don’t know, a month maybe two. Is um, is Sveta’s idea actually. She helped with the recipe. And the bones. I have not cooked bones before.” Ilya shrugged, “is not a big deal.”

“Well, it is to me,” Shane wraps his arms around Ilya, resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder. Pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. 

***

In the end, it took much longer for the stew to finish than Ilya had expected. Also, it resulted in a massive amount of food. Ilya sat down with a bowl after 9 pm, starving. It smelled just like his mother's, at least he thought it did. It had been so long since he had borscht, his mother's borscht, that he couldn’t be sure.

He’s lost in memories, the sharp taste of garlic, the sour-sweet of the broth, the richness of the beef and soured cream. He eats a bowl and remembers his mother; he would help her grate the beets. It was her least favourite part (Ilya’s too), but she was so happy when he’d helped her. He thought he understood it better today, with Shane's help. He didn’t really realize how his life had changed until he saw Shane helping him, grating the beets. 

Ilya eats and remembers. He remembers how she would make him deruny on Christmas day. His father insisted they were called draniki, but his mother taught him the difference, while he shredded the potatoes. In the summer, they would walk to the park near their apartment building, stopping for Ice cream on the way. She would get chocolate, and Ilya would get vanilla. 

The deruny stopped when he was twelve. Ice cream stopped when he was eleven. 

Ilya didn’t realize he was crying until Shane pulled him close, tucking his face into Shane's chest. It was awkward; they were still sitting at the large table, mostly empty bowls of a deep, rich red soup sitting in front of them. Ilya cried, letting his tears stain Shane's shirt, as he tightly clutched the only physical evidence he had left of his mother. “Sorry,” he managed, even if he knew Shane would dismiss his apology. Old habits died hard, or something like that. 

“Are you thinking about your mother?” Shane asked. 

“Da.”  

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Neyt,”

“Should you?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

Ilya pulled back, whipping his face. He stood and began clearing their bowls. The kitchen was still a mess, but it could have been worse. He had been cleaning as he went. It needed to be spotless by the time Yuna and David got here tomorrow. 

The giant pot of stew was placed on the balcony to cool before going into the fridge. A trick he had learn in the Russian winters. 

Shane blocked his path back to the kitchen. “Ilya, you don’t have to clean right this second.”

Ilya tried to push past, “I do. Your father. He will need—” he started, but Shane cut him off again. 

“It’ll be fine, we can do it together. Just please look at me.” Ilya relented. He fit himself against Shane's body, closing his arms around his lover. 

“I haven’t had Borscht since my mother make it for me,” he whispered into Shane’s shoulders. “It’s been many years, and I just—” Ilya stops. Pauses. “I am ok, I just— is a lot, you know.”

“I know,” Shane says, and holds him. Keeps holding him, tight. He doesn’t ask any more questions, and Ilya is grateful. Eventually, Ilya remembers the stew outside and breaks the hug. He feels lighter now, but not light exactly. The pain deep in his chest is still there, but less by a fraction. 

***

Later, when the kitchen is clean, and the apartment is quiet, and they are in bed, Ilya asks Shane to ride him. To ride him slowly, to be in control of it for a change. 

Shane climbs on top of him, legs braced on either side of Ilya’s hips and fucks himself down on Ilya’s cock. He fucks himself until there is sweat dripping down his back. Ilya’s hands are braced on Shane’s hips, holding him. But not directing him. Just moving together. 

Need builds, but the speed doesn’t. Steady, until they are centimetres apart, breathing the same air. Kisses pressed gently to lips. But Shane's hips keep their pace. 

Finally, Shane takes himself in hand and paints Ilyas' chest with his release. He pauses for a moment, coming back to himself before adjusting his hips and fucking down onto Ilya hard and fast. 

Ilya spills inside of him hard and fast. They collapse into each other, breath heavy. Mess still between them. Breathing together. Being together. Together. 

Shane looks up at the clock, it read 12:09 am. “Merry Christmas,” he said and kissed Ilya.

***

Yuna Hollander, force of nature, arrived at 9 am sharp. She had Shane and David bring two totes and a cooler up to the apartment. Gifts were piled under the small tree Shane had been instructed to set up. 

Shane managed to force her into a chair at the table and placed a plate of deruny in front of her, bacon on the side. Bowls of sour cream and applesauce (thankfully, Shane had some for this last-minute breakfast plan) were on the table in front of them. More plates, more deruny and more bacon, then the four of them sat. 

“Happy Christmas,” Ilya said as he sat with his own plate. 

“Merry Christmas,” David and Yuna responded. “Did you make this?” Yuna asked. 

“Da.” Ilya had already dug in, spooning a generous amount of sour cream and applesauce onto his plate. The other three were much more restrained. 

Yuna took a bite, “Are these latkes?” she asked. 

“Close, deruny. Is similar but from Ukraine, I think.” They ate, and Ilya let the conversation wash over him. Shane usually spent the whole Christmas break with his parents, so they were taking up all his attention this morning. Ilya almost felt guilty about the change in their routine, but then he remembered waking up in Shane’s bed this morning. 

It was nice though, he let the three catch up as he poured more coffee and served up the last three deruny. He was starting to clean the kitchen when David joined him. They worked silently to load the dishwasher and wipe down the counters. 

Yuna joined them and started unpacking the cooler they had brought. She obviously knew how barren Shane’s kitchen could be. Ilya was just putting on a third pot of coffee when Yuna opened the fridge, “Shane? What’s in the giant pot? And how long has it been there? She asked.

“Borscht, Ilya made it. There is a lot left, actually.”

“Is like beet stew, is beter second day if you want some.” Yuna had a calculating look on her face. Ilya had seen it before, the first time they met, properly. She was planning.

“Shane, sweetie, will you cook chicken if we leave some in the freezer?”

~  

They cook, and open presents, and Ilya listens to stories about Shane. He doesn’t say much; he hasn’t spent Christmas with anyone (except Sveta when she’s not in Russia) since before he was drafted. He’s quiet, he knows he’s being quiet, but he can’t help but listen. Listen to a family that he feels like he can almost have. But it just seems to be out of reach, like he is an observer watching on the outside. Ilya doesn’t know if it’s because he’s cooked more in the last 36 hours than he has in years, or if it's because he's made so much food that reminds him of his mother. The sharp edges of his cross grounded him in the moment. 

***  

Dinner ends up being the sides Shane’s father had planned, and the borscht. They left a few things in the fridge and more in his freezer, along with instructions for how to cook the marinated chicken breast, which were supposed to be for Christmas dinner. 

“Ilya, this is delicious. You made this?” his dad asked, after a few bites of stew, the bowl was piled high with sour cream and fresh dill. 

“Is not much, Shane helped me,” Ilya was staring at the food, he had been quiet all day. 

“Is this what you would have for Christmas dinner in Russia?” His mom asked. 

“No, is...” Ilya paused; he looked lost in memories again. Shane placed his hand on Ilya’s leg and gave him an encouraging squeeze. Ilya looked up at him and spoke softly, “My mother would make it for me.” They were all waiting for Ilya to continue, but instead he asked, “Does anyone need more wine?” Ilya was out of his seat before anyone answered. Shane cursed his open floor plan because there was nowhere for Ilya to duck away, nowhere where Shane could privately corner him and see if he was alright. 

Before Shane could excuse himself, Ilya was back with the bottle of white. It was like a switch flipped, smiling, joking Ilya was back. Thankfully, his parents didn’t ask any more questions about the food. They all just ate and drank (except David, who was driving back to Ottawa tonight) while Yuna told stories about how Shane refused to get off the ice when he played peewee hockey. 

As they were leaving, his mom pulled Ilya into a tight hug and told him to come for dinner the next time Boston plays in Ottawa. Ilya shakes his father's hand. And then they are gone. 

It had been a long day, but it was still early, the sun just setting. Shane relented and let Ilya pull him away from the kitchen to watch a dumb Christmas movie on the couch. They were silent, legs hooked together as they decompressed. 

Eventually, Ilya’s toes made their way to Shane's croch, resting there, applying firm pressure. Not teasing, just making his presence known. God, Shane was so gone on him because even that little touch was starting to get him excited. He opened his legs a fraction more and felt his hips moving of their own accord. Ilya smirked, but he didn’t take his eyes off the screen. 

When he was more than half hard, Ilya started to move his toes gently, teasing. “You are so easy moya lyubov,” he said. “Maybe I should give you your Christmas present now.”

“You already did,” Shane had unwrapped a book about the history of hockey in Russia, and a Radier’s jersey with Rozanov on the back. His mother was not impressed. Shane had gotten him back, though, gifting Ilya a Metro varsity jacket and matching Metro’s socks. 

“That was only the first part.” Ilya stood and left. He came back with a small box wrapped in tacky Christmas paper. “Here is second part.”

Shane took the box and unwrapped it. Inside were silver loops of metal, moulded and shaped like a flaccid penis. The large metal ring that was supposed to slip behind his testicles had a hinge that would let his cock have limited movement. The device was weighty in his hands. Heat instantly pooled in his groin; he wanted.

Shane looked at Ilya, who was smiling down at him. “Do you want to...?” he asked. 

Did Shane want to? Of course, he wanted to. God. They had talked about it, but he didn’t know Ilya had actually gotten him a cage. He swallowed, “Yes, please. Green,” he said, his throat thick with need. 

Ilya smiled, “Ok my Bellboy, first we have to get you soft.”

It was like a switch flipped, “Yellow,” he called before even realizing it. 

“Shane?” Ilya asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I... I don’t know. Like, I know that's what it does, that’s the point. But as soon as you said I had to get soft– it was like, I don’t know, I just really didn’t want that. Is that ok?”

“Da, of course. Of course.” Ilya moved towards him, but he paused, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes”

Ilya pulled him in and met his lips, hands guiding his face, holding him close. Ilya pulled back a fraction, their foreheads resting against each other, “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Can we tomorrow? I still want you to be in control tonight, just maybe not like that.”

“Da tomorrow, but you tell me if something is not good, right?”

“I will,” Shane kissed him again. 

“Do you want me to choose vozlyublennyy?” 

Shane knew that meant beloved. He also knew he needed Ilya tonight, needed something to remember when they had to say goodbye again tomorrow. “I want you to pick, but I want to feel you, I want us to be touching.”

“Da, ok. Take off your clothes and go get yourself cleaned up while I get ready.” 

Shane did what he was told, clothes folded neatly on the coffee table, while Ilya went upstairs. He followed the other man, but went straight to the bathroom for an incredibly quick shower, not even getting his hair wet. When he came out of the ensuite, towelling his body dry, the jersey Ilya had given him was laid neatly on the bed. Shane rolled his eyes, but still hung up his towel and pulled the Raiders’ jersey over his head. It was huge, falling loose over Shane’s shoulders. 

That's when he noticed the familiar smell. It was Ilya’s detergent and stale sweat. Shane smiled. He found Ilya on the couch, cuing up Die Hard. There was a small pile of things hidden under a towel, and Ilya had another towel on his lap. 

“Is this game worn?” Shane asked. 

Ilya looked over at him and smiled, “Da. I had a hard time sneaking it away from the equipment manager.” Ilya reached out to grab Shane’s hand and pulled him down until their lips met. “Worth it,” he whispered into Shane’s lips. 

He pulled Shane down onto his lap and flipped him around until he was lying on his stomach. Shane’s feet bump into the mysterious pile under the towel until Ilya directs his legs open slightly. His ass was in the air, and his hard cock pressing into Ilya’s lap. 

Strong warm hands palm at his glutes, fingers dance over his exposed hole. The other hand pushes the sweater up a little out of the way. “Colour?” Ilya asks. 

“Green.” Shane breathed.

“Did you know I love it when you wear my clothes?” Ilya’s fingers were teasing him now, “You look so pretty dressed like me,” pressing in the barest amount, “do you like it, moy posyl'nyy?” A finger tip breached him dry, “Do you like belonging to me?”

Shane whined, “yes” he breathed, “Yes, I love being yours.” he couldn’t see Ilya, but he knew the other man was smirking. Two fingers pressed into him, tacky with lube. Shane moaned, the burn faded quicker than he would have liked, but that was ok. He was only supposed to have what Ilya wanted him to have. Ilya was clinical; this wasn’t for pleasure, it was simply to open him up. Shane understood why when he felt the cool rubber tip of a plug resting at his opening. 

“Colour?”

“Green,” it slid home. Ilya paused for a moment before fucking into him with the plug over and over again, until Shane was panting and searching for friction on his neglected cock. 

“So needy, so greedy, aren’t you my bellboy? I think you need to learn some patience, no?” Shane whines, and Ilya slides the plug all the way in. He taps on it, sending shivers up Shane’s spine. 

“On the floor,” Ilya directs. Shane’s thoughts are slow for a moment; he doesn’t move immediately, so Ilya pushes him off his lap. Shane’s stomach drops as he falls, bracing for a hard impact, like he is trained to do. Instead, he lands on a pile of pillows. Still shocking, but not painful. 

“You can be my foot rest, or you can kneel. But the couch is off limits to cocksluts for now. Colour?” 

“Green. Foot rest.”

“Da, ok. Get comfortable.” 

Shane gathers a pillow in his arms and pulls it under his head. He thinks the one under his crotch might be permanently ruined after this, but he can’t bring himself to care. Ilya’s feet rest on top of him, the weight grounding. Shane drifts off as the sound of the movie starts. He can see half the screen between the legs of the coffee table, so that’s where he looks. But he’s floating, drifting away, peacefully.

Bruce Willis is climbing out of an elevator when Ilya pulls him to his knees. He’s on a pillow, shoulders bracketed by Ilya’s calves. A hand runs through his hair, kneading his scalp, pulling just on the other side of painful. And he floats.  

Ilya asks him questions, and he snaps. Eyes glassy, thoughts slow, peaceful. For once, he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be; he's doing exactly what he’s meant to be doing. Distantly, he thinks Ilya is telling him how good he is, how beautiful he is, like this. He just lets the sound wash over him.

Some men are in a bathroom(?) on the screen when Ilya pulls him onto the couch with him. He's naked, but Shane still has the jersey on. He goes to take it off, but Ilya stops him, says he likes the way it looks. 

Ilya is lying down now, and he’s gently pulling the plug out of Shane. He adds more lube with his fingers and then pulls Shane down onto his cock. He doesn’t move, and he doesn’t let Shane move either. He says he wants Shane to keep him warm. Ilya adjusts the jersey around his hips, and they keep watching the movie. 

Shane is so full, so much fuller than the plug. He stuck; he can’t move at all. His senses start to come back into focus. He can feel his nipples hardening; they rub against the scratchy material of the jersey with every breath. He’s sweating with the exertion of staying still when Ilya moves beneath him. At first, he thinks Ilya’s just readjusting his position, but then he moves again. 

It builds slowly, slower than last night when Shane was in control. Hands find his hips, and guide him up a fraction of a centimetre and pull him down. The slight motion sets off fireworks in his body. Ilya continues, building slowly until Shane is begging, “Please, please, Ilya, please.” Tears start slowly streaming down his face, mixing with sweat. They fall onto the jersey, mixing with the sweat Ilya had left, permanently altering the fabric. 

“You need it moy lyubimyy?” he asks, “You need my cock? You need me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Shane whines, “I need you, ya tebya lyublyu,” he says. Shane knows that this always sets Ilya off, and he is right. Ilya fucks him, fucks into him hard, directs Shane’s down to meet his own. 

“Touch yourself,” he commands, “I want to feel you come on my cock, you slut. I want to feel you come while you're mine. While I own you.”

“Yours”, Shane obeys, hand giving his cock the friction he craves. He’s coming, and clenching, baring down on Ilya, because Ilya tells him to. He can feel Ilya shudder and thrust through his climax. Then hands are pulling him back, resting against Ilya’s chest. Arms wrapping around his body. “Yours,” Shane whispers. 

“Moy,” Ilya agrees. 

Chapter End Notes

Now complete! will be posting once(ish) a day until it's finished.

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Chapter 7: Ottawa+Vancover

Chapter Summary

They are apart.

Chapter Notes

warning for homophobic slurs

It was hard to leave Shane’s apartment. It was so much harder than leaving after one of their games. Christmas had felt like he had time again.

Shane seemed to be doing so much better with the distance than Ilya. Like before, when he just fit Ilya into little boxes of time. Except now the boxes were slightly bigger. Ilya, as greedy as he was, wanted more. He always wanted more. 

Instead, he kissed Shane goodbye for the third time. He was getting dangerously close to missing his flight. He had to go. He had to. Fuck. 

They didn’t end up talking; they used their time instead to hold each other. It would be almost a month before they saw each other again, the week before All-Stars. They could talk any time, but Ilya couldn’t rest his head on Shane’s shoulder and curl into his arms whenever he wanted. 

And then he was gone. It would be better next year. He would be able to breath next year when they were two hours apart by car, and not an international flight separating them. 

***

They didn’t talk. Shane didn’t want to. He couldn’t. Not yet. He had to get his thoughts in order. And Ilya let him get away with it. Too soon, Ilya was gone. 

***

He stared at the cage. It didn’t stare back. It was a hunk of metal; it didn’t have eyes. Shane wanted it. He wanted it so badly. But every time he touched it, he couldn’t... this wrongness coursed through his veins. 

The cage ended up in the box they kept under the bed, full of other things Ilya had gotten for him. Gone were the days of his lonely red dildo. Instead, Ilya would bring things for Shane, plugs and vibrators and soft silks. 

They had talked about the cage before Ilya had given it to him. They had talked endlessly about sex these days. So Shane had no idea why, when confronted with the thing he wanted, it suddenly made his stomach drop, and not in the good way. 

Shane ignored a tiny voice in the back of his mind that was screaming at him. Rose.

***

“You should have dinner with them. They really want you to.” Shane had the phone pinned to his ear as he chopped a banana for his smoothie. 

Ilya’s voice was tinny in his ear, “But why?” he asked. 

Shane was exasperated. This was the third time he had brought up dinner with his parents since the new year. Boston was playing in Ottawa in two days. “Because they love you!” he yelled into the phone, before starting the blender. 

Ilya waited to respond, “But how do you know that? How do they know that?” His voice was small on the other end of the line.

“Ilya, please. All they want is for you to come for dinner. They’ll make you what ever carb filled meal you want. Please, for me?” he was playing dirty. But now was the time to play dirty, because he had already assured his mom that Ilya was coming. 

“Chicken parm?” Ilya asked.

Got it! “Yes, I already suggested that to them,” he said, smiling. 

“Da, ok. I go.”

“Thank you, now why were you and Marley getting into it with Troy fucking Barret?”

“Ahh, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

***

Ilya arrived at a modest detached house in the suburbs of Ottawa. He came there straight after his game, a convincing 5-2 victory over the Centaurs. It was late, past 10 pm. He felt like an uninvited fool. But he promised Shane that he would do this. Sure, he had spent time with the Hollenders before. But never without Shane as a buffer. He never had the full attention of Yuna and David Hollander directed squarely at him. Ilya steeled himself and knocked on the door. 

Quickly, almost too quickly, Yuna Hollander was there to greet him. “Hello,” he said.

“Ilya! I’m so happy you came!” She pulled him into the house and into her arms for a hug. Ilya tried to act natural as he returned the hug, but he knew he was stiff.

Yuna either didn’t notice or ignored Ilya’s awkwardness and led him into the living room. He was directed to sit on a well-loved leather sofa next to a burning fireplace.  

“I am sorry is so late,” he said, still in his pregame suit. He didn’t want to waste time going back to the hotel to change. 

“Nonsense, we are used to Shane’s schedule when he plays the Centaurs.” Yuna was sitting in a love seat across from him. 

Ilya smiled and nodded, and didn’t add anything to the conversation. He could hear a clock ticking from somewhere behind him as he looked around at his boyfriend’s childhood home. Without his boyfriend. 

Well, that wasn’t totally true. The room screamed Shane Hollander's family home; there were pictures of Shane everywhere. Him on the ice, of the three of them at the beach, a professional shot of Shane graduating high school. His rookie card was framed on the mantle, along with a picture of him receiving his rookie of the year trophy.  

David came in from the kitchen wearing an apron. “Hi, Ilya,” he said, very pointedly. “Can I get you anything?” He asked, “Beer? Wine? Coke? Vodka?” 

Ilya knew he probably shouldn’t, he had an early flight to New York tomorrow. “Vodka,” he replied. 

David smiled and went back to the kitchen, returning after a moment with a glass of white wine for Yuna and a tumbler of vodka with ice. “Dinner will be ready soon,” he said, as he settled against the arm of the sofa where Yuna was sitting.  

They sat in silence while their drinks quickly disappeared. After a few minutes, beeping came from the kitchen, “diners ready,” David said. He popped up and went back to the kitchen. Yuna directed him to the table. This place felt very lived in, even more so than their cottage. 

They talked about nothing at all while Ilya had two servings of chicken and pasta. Yuna offers to help him look for a house in Ottawa when the time is right, and David asks him if he wants more garlic bread. He says yes to both. 

He knows that David Hollander is not his father. Gregori and David share nothing in common, beyond the familial title. Yet Ilya can’t stop keeping track of him from the corner of his eye. Looking for evidence of his displeasure, seeing if Ilya’s short answers are acceptable. David is quiet; he lets Yuna do all the talking. That alone proves he’s nothing like Grigori Rozanov. 

But Ilya can’t stop wondering. Is that who they see when they look at him? A Russian asshole? Somebody who could hurt their son? 

It’s like Yuna is reading his mind because she asks if he’ll be visiting Russia this summer.  

Ilya looks up at her, at David. Sitting across the table from him. He doesn’t see any malice or animosity in their eyes. “Has Shane told you about my family?” he asks. 

“No, sweetie,” Yuna says, her eyes betray her, and she knows she’s been clocked. “Well, just a little, just enough to say it’s not his to tell. And you don’t have to share if you don’t want to. But when you’re ready. If you’re ready, we’ll be here.” It's like a promise. One that he hasn’t had in a very long time. So he tries. For Shane, for them. For himself. 

“I— Russia is not good for people like me.” Yuna nods, she understands what he is saying without saying it.  At least the whole family is not as oblivious to geopolitics as Shane is. “My family is— was not good for me,” Ilya pauses, waiting for follow-up questions that don’t come. They let him speak on his own time, his own schedule. “My father is dead, my mother is dead, and my brother is as good as dead to me. I have no one in Russia left.” 

When it’s clear that he won’t be continuing, Yuna breaks the silence. “Well, you’ll always have us, honey. As long as you want us, we’ll be here. The three of us, I mean.” David nods along with this statement

Forever, he thinks, he wants this forever. 

Pin pricks behind his eyes let him know he needs to get out of this conversation quickly. But before he does, Ilya needs to make one thing very clear. “I love Shane very much. He makes—” he had to pause before he continued, “he makes me very happy. In a way that I didn’t think I could be.”

Sitting here, at this kitchen table in the capital of Canada, Ilya thinks they are the three people in this world who love Shane Hollander the most. It's a very strange feeling for Ilya; he’s loved Shane alone for longer than he cares to think about. But now he’s not alone. Now he has two more people who he can share that love with. 

David smiles and then asks, “Do you want to see baby pictures of Shane?” It breaks the moment, and Ilya and Yuna laugh. 

***

“Next time you're in Ottawa, please come for dinner again.” Yuna hugs him as he stands at the door. 

“Da, I will. Thank you.” Ilya says into her neck. It's like hugging Shane, but different. Smaller body, but the same strong arms. She lets him go, and then David is there. Ilya sticks out his hand, and David shakes it. It’s like he knows to treat Ilya like a wounded animal. Giving him space to get comfortable. It's different when Shane is there with him. He doesn’t know why, but it’s different. Maybe someday it’ll be different when Shane isn’t there. Someday, Ilya will get there, and he thinks David will wait for that day.

***

Ilya still has a dopey smile on his face when he gets back to the room he’s sharing with Marley tonight. Marley is still up even though they have a flight in seven hours. 

“Roz! Who’s got you smiling like that?” he asks. 

“Nobody,” Ilya chirps back. He starts undressing, putting his game suit into his travel bag. 

“Bull-fucking-shit,” Marley replies, “You only get that dopy grin from your Montreal girl.” 

Ilya doesn’t know what it is, maybe the happiness of spending a night with the people he is starting to think of as family. Maybe the second vodka is hitting him hard. But he just can’t deny it right now. He can’t tell Marley that he isn’t so very happy right now. Because he is. So he says nothing, but apparently that's as good as a confession for his teammate. 

“You dog!” Marley throws a pillow at him. “She came to visit you? What is it from Monreal– like a two-hour drive?”

“Yeah, it is,” Ilya admitted. Of course, he had looked up the distance already. “But no, she didn’t, she was working tonight. I uh, I was seeing here parents.” Ilya couldn’t believe he revealed so much. But Marley was the closest thing he had to a friend on the Raiders. And Ilya couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Oh my god! This is serious! ROZ! You had dinner with her parents, without HER? Who are you, man?” 

“Somebody in love.” Ilya felt happiness bubbling up inside of him. 

“I have to meet her. Why haven’t I met her yet?”

Right. This is why he didn’t talk about it. Because these sorts of questions came up. “You can’t,” he said too quickly. Why did he say ‘can’t’? That implied that there was a real reason why he would keep his girlfriend a secret. Which, of course, there was. Many reasons. 

Marley was looking at him now, brow furrowed. He paused for a moment before asking, “Roz, is this like a Scott Hunter situation?” he asked. 

Ilya cracked. The happiness he felt just minutes ago was replaced by that deep sadness he sometimes got when he thought about how unfair it all was. “In a way?” he said, hoping Marley would drop it, without Ilya giving too much away. 

Marley didn’t drop it. “You know I’m cool with that, right? You know I don’t give a shit. Like my sisters, gay or whatever.” 

Ilya didn’t know that. But that wasn’t the problem. He levelled his eyes at Marley. “Please, you can’t meet him. I just— Not yet. Ok?”

“Ok, ok, whatever.” Marley was finally taking a hint. 

“And you can’t tell anyone, I mean anyone, about this. Russia... Is not safe for me.” 

That finally got Marley’s attention. “Oh shit, Roz, I didn’t even think about that.” Ilya didn’t feel bad for telling this half-truth; it was half true after all. It would be bad for him in Russia when (if) he were ever out. But Ilya planned on never going to Russia again.

He levelled a stare at his friend and put on his best Slavic scowl, “Da. So please forget about this,” he said.

“I will, Roz. I promise. I just— I’m happy you're happy, man.”

Ilya turned away so Marley couldn’t see his face, sofen. “Me too,” he whispered, and turned out the light. 

***

Vancouver. The same night. 

The game had been a slog. Stop and start the whole way through the third. There had been two fights, along with slashing, boarding, roughing, and tripping calls. Vancouver had done everything to ensure that, even if they didn’t win the game, the Metros would certainly feel it afterwards. 

Shane didn’t care. A win is a win is a win. And they got the win tonight.  

Comeau and JJ cornered Shane at his stall in the visiting locker room. He was pulling on his post-game attire while the other men were hardly decent, just returning from the showers. Shane knew what they were here for. JJ wanted to celebrate. JJ always wanted to celebrate after a win; this time, most of the team agreed with him. 

Vancouver nightlife was solid, and there were generally no hard feelings between the city and the visting east coast team that whipped the hometown Orcas mammalian behinds. Shane was more than half convinced before they even started their pitch. 

“Captain!” JJ started, “What do you say? Shall we show this fucking town how to party?”

“I dunno, JJ, I’m pretty beat. What does Hayds think?” Shane turned towards his best friend and tried to wink. 

“Well, Mr. Hollander. I think we Shall”

***

Comeau came back to the table that Shane was holding down. JJ and a few of the others were on the dance floor. “Fuck me. There are a couple of fags kissing on the dance floor, what the fuck. Don’t they have their own bars for that kind of shit?” he asked. 

Fuck. Comeau was always a little shitty, but he lost a lot of his filter after a few drinks. Shane wanted to melt into oblivion. 

Thankfully, Hayden spoke up, “This is Vancouver, every bar is a little bit gay,” he said.

Comeau was the worst sort of homophobe, the kind who genuinely thought they were supportive of queer people. He would wear the pride tape on his stick. He would say Hockey is for everyone. But in the same breath, he’d insist he just didn’t want to see it in public. “I have nothing against lesbians. That shit is hot. But like I don’t want to see two dudes kissing.” 

Shane nodded numbly, but didn’t say anything. He could see Hayden looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Shane looked away, eyes filtering over the crowd until he saw the offending couple. It was a tall, dark-skinned man holding a shorter East Asian man close to his body. They moved their hips together with the music, not kissing so much as sharing space, sharing air. A stab of longing ran through Shane’s chest for something he knew he couldn’t have. Most likely, he would never have that freedom, that bravery, and certainly not in front of the Metros— even if those two men probably didn’t know they were surrounded by NHL players. 

Comeau was saying something else, but Shane wasn’t listening. His eyes kept flicking over to the couple. He couldn’t stop watching how free they were. Shane pulled his phone out and looked at the last text Ilya had sent him. 

He hadn’t responded yet. He would when he was tucked into bed, which hopefully wouldn’t be too far in the future. Shane was pulled from his thoughts by Hayden. 

“Listen, dude.” Hayden looked serious, “I know you’re dating Boston Lily.”

Shane’s mind blanked. “I uh–” he managed, thoughts unable to become words, simply dying on his tongue. 

Hayden continued, “I don’t know why you need to keep it a secret. That’s fine. That’s what ever, I know you’re super weird about all the girls you date. Except Rose, I guess.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. It’s fine. Whatever. But I’m not the rest of the team. I’m not saying she has to be a WAG or whatever. But like. You know that we— Jackie and I, and the kids— we love you, man. So like, if you ever want to talk about it. Or like bring her over or anything. You can.” 

Hayden looked so genuine. His face was so open. Shane wanted to tell him. God, he wanted to tell his best friend that he was in love so badly. He wanted Hayden to know that he did actually want everything the other man had. A house, kids, and a partner who he could come home to every night. Who could lean on in tough times, who was there for all the great moments. But even more than that, Shane wanted to tell him that he was pretty sure he had found that person. Shane wanted to tell him that he had found his Jackie. 

But he didn't know when he would actually get to have everything Hayden had. He didn’t know when he would get the house, the kids, and Ilya. When he would get to come home to Ilya every night. To have Ilya’s support and love out in the open. He didn’t know when he’d get that. He wasn’t even sure he would ever get. Not how he wanted it at least. Not while they were still playing.

Hayden was patiently waiting for Shane’s response. He really was his best friend. He knew it sometimes took Shane a beat to process things. “Not during the season,” was what he landed on saying. “I can’t– Not during the season.”

“Ok, but I can stop pretending she doesn’t exist?”

Shane cracked a smile, “You never pretended.”

“Dude, you’re not subtle. I know you’ve been in love with her for literal years.”

“Fuck Hayden, just– please don’t like tell anyone, ok?”

“Of course, buddy, I mean, I am totally planning on telling Jackie. But no one else.”

“Thanks, Hayds,” Shane then ducked away from the table, saying he was going to get a drink or something. He needed a moment. He had to get away before he told Hayden everything. 

Shane made his way to the bathroom. It was quieter in here, but he could still feel the base pounding. He stared at himself in the graffiti-covered mirror. This was fine. Everything was fine. He wanted Hayden to know; he really wanted his best friend to know.  And now he had at least four months to prepare. Fuck. He could do that. 

His thoughts were interrupted by two people busting through the bathroom door. It was the couple from earlier. The taller man flicked the lock, sealing the three of them inside. They turned and looked at Shane, surprised mirrored on all faces. 

The shorter man was dripping, hair flattened to his face, clothes wet, with beer? The surprise was whipped off his face and replaced with anger.

“Did you fuckers plan this?” he took two steps towards Shane.

“Plan what?” Shane asked. He put his hands up and backed away until he hit the wall. 

“Your friend out there told me to get a room. Then dumped his drink on me!”

“My friend?”

“Yeah, asshole defenceman. Can’t hold the blue line. Is a piece of shit Metros player. Your friend.”

“Wait, you know I am?” Shane was starting to panic. 

“Oh my god! I know who you are! Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I don’t watch hockey!” The taller man was grabbing paper towels, trying to dry his boyfriend, while the shorter many contiuued to tell Shane off. “I’m from fucking Ottawa! For fucks sake.”

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” Fucking Comeau. 

“You’re the captain, shouldn’t you keep them in line!” he was in Shane’s face now. Finger pressing into Shane’s chest.  

“Bobby, Bobby, calm down,” the taller man said. 

“Fuck!” Bobby said. He pulled back and looked at himself in the mirror. “My shirt is ruined!”

“I can pay for it,” Shane offered. 

“I don’t want your money! I want hockey players to stop being homophobic assholes!”

“I– same!” Shane wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe because he was having his own crisis when this one walked in. 

“What did you just say?” Bobby asked. 

“Me too. I want hockey players to stop being homophobic assholes.” Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen Ilya since Christmas, maybe because he looked at this kid: Asian, from Ottawa, probably loves hockey, if his accurate read of Comeau was anything to go by. Shane briefly wondered if he played, maybe he did. And maybe he had to stop because of the other players. 

Or maybe it’s because he was jealous of them earlier. But in that moment, he couldn’t lie; he couldn’t pretend. So he told the truth, “I fucking hate Comeau, he is an asshole, and he can’t hold the blue for shit on the power play, I’m trying to get him moved to the second unit or maybe off the special teams entirely.” Focus Hollander, “But if I thought I could talk him out of being an asshole, I would. And if I thought that I wouldn’t ruin my career, my life, by going out there and decking him, then I would.

“But I can’t, and I’m sorry. And I don’t know how to fix hockey. Right now, I’m not even sure it can be fixed. But god, I wish I knew how to fix it. I wish I fucking could. Because I have been so fucking jealous of you two all night. But I don’t know how to be like you. I just can’t. Not yet, at least.” 

The other men softened their stance. “Oh,” is all Bobby said. 

Shane’s phone started blowing up. He looked down at it. Hayden was rapidly texting him and SOS. “I gotta go,” he said. Shane turned back to the other men as he reached the bathroom door, “Can you please–”

Bobby cut him off, knowing what Shane was asking, begging, for “Of course, of course. Our lips are sealed. And for what it's worth. I think you’ll figure it out.”

“How to fix hockey?” Shane asked. 

“That. And how to be like us. It just takes time. And the right guy.” The two leaned into each other. 

“Thanks, I think I found him.” That simple acknowledgement carried him through as he waded into the sea of people to find his teammates. It carried him through getting JJ and Comeau into an Uber back to the team hotel. It carried him, though, listening to Comeau complain about the fucking fags who ruined their night and then ran away. It carried him through until he was safe in his bed, with Hayden snoring softly across the room from him. 

He texted Ilya.

***

“I don’t think I am very good at being gay,” Shane said without prompting. That usually meant that he had been thinking about it for a while. 

“Neyt, I think you are very good.” Ilya has his phone on speaker as he makes an afternoon snack (two chicken salad sandwiches). He hoped his voice could communicate what his eyebrows were doing. Giving Shane that look, the one that said lets fuck now, please.

“No, Ilya, I mean like, not the sex parts. The other parts,” Shane paused, “Like I don’t know how to have a boyfriend, and like stand up for the community, and stuff.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how to have a boyfriend? You have a boyfriend. Is me?” 

“That's not what I meant, like I don’t know how to be a person who is gay.”

“I really fucking don’t understand. Is this like a Canadian thing? How do you be gay?”

“I don’t know! That's what I’m saying,” 

“Moya lyubov, maybe you should talk to someone else about this.” Ilya took a big bite of his first sandwich. 

“Who? Who can I talk to about being a gay hockey player?”

“I don’t, maybe Scott Hunter?” Ilya said through the cubed chicken and bread in his mouth. 

That shocked Shane into focus, “Really?” he asked. 

“Da, he is good guy— if you tell him I say that, I will not let you come for at least a month. But he knows what is like, and he can keep a secret.”

“I’m not– I wouldn’t tell him about us, or you,” Shane said. 

A look of terror flashed across Ilya’s face for a moment. For once, Ilya was thankful that Shane couldn’t see him, “Da.” he hoped he kept his voice steady enough. 

“Ilya, of course, I’ll keep your secret, our secret.” 

Ilya soffented, “Shane, Shane, it’s fine. I know you will,” Ilya realized he had gotten himself into this mess. He knew Hunter knew about him. He was being pretty obvious about that, but Ilya was also pretty sure Hunter knew about them. That was something Ilya didn’t want Shane to freak out over. He’d have to make sure Hunter would keep his dinosaur mouth shut. He mentally went over his and Shane’s schedules; the Radiers and Metros weren’t going to be playing each other before all-star weekend. 

Ilya was pulled back into the conversation when Shane asked him about dinner at the Hollanders and if he was going back the next time he played in Ottawa.  

Chapter End Notes

I saw something somewhere that said we don't get the book Sveta's relationship reveal because she obviously already knows (show Sveta is so much better than book Sveta, (not RR's fault but it is the best add JT did)). Instead, what they could do is a marley reveal, and I LOVE that idea, but as always, in JT we trust. I will watch paint dry if that man directs it.

Hockey terms:
Special teams--> it's what hockey people call the power-play and penalty-killing units, wierd idk why

holding the blue line--> when you are in the offensive zone, you need to keep the puck behind the other team's blue line. If you don't, and the puck goes into the neutral zone, then /all/ your players have to enter the neutral zone, and you have to enter the offensive zone again.

tldr: not holding the blue line, especially on the power-play, is BAD

comments, questions, kudos so very welcome

Chapter 8: All-Stars Part 1

Chapter Summary

the first few days of the All-Star break.

Chapter Notes

content warning at the end

Because of a scheduling quirk, Boston and Montreal played two back-to-back games against each other the week before the All-Star break. The first game was in Boston. They had a routine now. When they could, Shane would come to Ilya’s house for his afternoon nap, and Ilya would join him after morning skate. They’d wake up, get each other off and then head to the rink (separately, of course). Then Shane would do his pre-game routine, and presumably Ilya would too. 

They would play 60 minutes of hard hockey. Tonight, Ilya scored the game-winner with 30 seconds left in the third, sending the hometown crowd into a frenzy. He winked at Shane as he skated by the Metros bench. Shane knew Ilya meant it as a Looks like we don’t have to waste time going to overtime after all wink, but he had to hold Hayden back from jumping the boards and punching Ilya’s smug-looking face. 

“We’ll get them on Saturday,” he said. Then there were showers and media, and ignoring JJ’s pleas to go out on the town. 

Shane slipped out the players' entrance and walked two blocks away to a side street where he knew Ilya would be waiting for him. They’d go home and fuck, and then later they’d make love (there was definitely a difference) and finally sleep.

Shane would wake up way too early, kiss Ilya goodbye, again, and slip out of the house to make it back to the team hotel to take the bus back to the airport. Hayden would give him a knowing look, and Shane would blush. Thankfully, Hayden was satisfied that Shane would introduce him to Boston Lily this summer. 

The routine was virtually the same after their game on Saturday in Montreal, except Ilya didn’t have to wake up early in the morning to catch a plane to any one of the 31 other cities they played in. Because they were on the All-Star break. They had FOUR full days to themselves before they flew (seperatly of course) to Toronto for the first day of media availability. 

The morning of their first day off, Shane was a little bit on edge. They still hadn’t talked about his Christmas present. Shane had thought about it. He thought about it whenever he could. Hell, he had even been able to put it on once without freaking out. He ignored the two other times he tried but had to stop because his hands were shaking too much. 

Ilya had sensed it, Shane could tell. Ilya watched him with the same focus he watched the puck. Narrow calculating eyes, unblinking, tracking his every movement, watching for a rebound or a diffection— anything out of place he could lach on to an expose. 

Shane cracked. “What?” he asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. 

“What, what?” Ilya asked back.

“You keep looking at me.”

“Da, you're pretty.”

“No, like— god fine. Ok. We need to talk about the cage.”

Ilya smirked, the fucking asshole. “Da. We do,” he said. 

Shane let it go; he knew the only way he’d get what he wanted was by asking for it. “I want to try again.”

“Ok.”

“Ok?

“Da, Ok. Moya lyubov, when do I not give you what you want?”

Shane didn’t have an answer for that. Ilya always gave him everything he wanted, needed, even if he didn’t know he wanted it. “Ok,” he said.

“Ok,” Ilya replied.

“This afternoon?” Shane asked. 

“Ok,” Ilya responded.

***

Shane was sitting naked at the foot of the bed in the guest room. The sheets had been removed and piled on the floor, between the bed and the wall. An assortment of supplies rested just behind him. 

Ilya was standing in front of him, his shirt nowhere to be seen. He still had his designer track pants on and a wide grin. 

Shane was a little nervous; he sat on his hands to keep them from shaking. He felt so exposed. Not in a good way, not in the way Ilya usually made him feel. 

It didn’t make any fucking sense!

He wanted to give up control to Ilya; he wanted Ilya to be in charge, in this way specifically. That he was sure about, so fucking sure. Because the time he managed to get the cage on, it was incredible. The feel of the cool metal warming against his skin. The tension of the ring that pulled his scrotum and testicles away from his body, anchoring the cage. The restriction on his cock, the pressure mixed with pain. 

Knowing, no matter what he did, he couldn’t get fully hard, he couldn’t ejaculate. He fucked himself with a dildo that night, the sound of Ilya’s voice in his ears. Ilya didn’t know he had the cage on; he put it on before he called. He did know that Shane was fucking his ass, doing what Ilya was telling him to do.

Shane came dry. It was the first time he had ever done that, and it was incredible. He wanted that again; he knew it could be, would be, so much better with Ilya in person. 

But it didn’t feel better right now. It felt like those other times, when he thought about how much of a failure he was. How his skin itched because he wasn’t able to do this manly thing. 

Because that’s what men did, right?

They got hard, and they fucked people. If Shane didn’t want to get hard, if he didn’t want to fuck people, was he really even a man?

He was, right? Like he was at least 99.9 percent sure he was. He never felt like not-a-man anywhere else in his life. Except when it came to sticking his dick into things. Like, he knew he didn’t really want to, he had a lot of evidence to support that. But he felt like he always had the option. 

Except that one time. 

Stop it. No. Focus. Fuck.

Shane was pulled back to the present by Ilya kissing him, his tongue deep in his mouth, searching, exploring, taking. Strong hands held his face steady. Shane relaxed into the touch. They guided him to stand. Eventually, the hands released him. Ilya pulled back and reached behind Shane to retrieve the cage.

“Red,” 

Was that Shane? Did he just say that? 

Ilya stepped back immediately, “Shane? Are you ok?” he asked. 

Shane panicked, fuck, why did he say that? Fuck he could do this. “I’m fine, I’m fine, we can keep going,” he was reaching for Ilya, his hands were shaking. 

Ilya stepped back further, “No, you safe worded. What happened?”

Shane stood up, “I said I was fine. Fuck! Just keep going,” his knees were weak, he willed them to be steady. 

“Neyt, Adirondack, red. I tell you that is boundary for me. Someone safe-words, we are done, we talk about it.”

God damn it, “For fucks sakes, Ilya, I’m fine.”

“Shane, you are crying.”

He lifted a hand to touch his cheek. Ilya was right; tears were flowing freely down his face. Shane’s knees gave out; thankfully, Ilya was quick to scoop him into his arms, bringing him down gently to the floor. 

“Shhh, shhh, moya lyubov, I’ve got you.” Ilya pressed a kiss to Shane’s temple. He held him close to his body as ragged breathing settled out. “What’s going on in that big head of yours, hmm?”

“I don’t know. A lot.” Shane huffed. 

“Ok.” Ilya kept holding him. “What do you need?”

“You. This. I don’t know what's wrong with me.” Shane buried his face into Ilyas's chest and breathed in the familiar smell of sweat and spice. 

Ilya stroked his hand through Shane’s hair, “Moya lyubov, nothing. We need to talk, yes. But nothing is wrong with you.”

***

They stayed like that, Shane bracketed between Ilya’s legs, holding on tight, for long enough that Ilya’s ass fell asleep, and his back to ache from where the bedframe was digging in. Eventually, he was able to pull Shane up and onto the bed, covering the pair with a flat sheet he fished off the floor. 

***

“Are you ready to talk yet, moya lyubov?”

“I don’t understand what happened, Ilya, I... I know I want it. I want you to cage me. But I– I– I– I just–” Shane’s voice was stuttering like his mind, he took a breath and tried again, “I just I just keep freaking out when we actually try.”

“Can you tell me what you are thinking about?” Shane could feel the deep rumble of Ilya’s voice in his chest; he was thankful for it. 

He had to try; it was always so much better when he tried. Ilya had proved that to him, time and time again. “Something...” he began, “Something happened. With Rose. I— The cage keeps reminding me of it. And I don’t like it. And I can’t talk about it because I— I never talked about it with her. But I—”

He could feel Ilya tense, “What happened? Why can’t you talk about it, Moya lyubov?” Panic swept across Ilya’s face. “Did she–”

Shane cut him off. “No, no, it was a thing with me. And her. I couldn’t.”

Ilya relaxed, “Ah, you weren’t compatible.”

“Yes, but it was more than that. I just can’t talk to you about it without her permission.”

“Ok. You can ask her, no?”

“Ask for what?”

“Her permission?” Ilya looked at him as if his words were obvious.

Why was Ilya even suggesting that, “I can’t, you know, I can’t.” He pulled away from Ilya’s chest to look him in the eyes. 

Ilya’s brow furrowed, “Neyt, I don’t know. Tell me?”

Why wasn’t this obvious? Did Shane really have to explain? He tried. “I know she won’t talk about our relationship, about the sex part. I know she won’t tell anyone about it. So I can’t tell anyone about it either. That was private, between us. I can’t talk about it without her permission. And I can’t ask her if I can talk about our sex life with my boyfriend without telling her about my boyfriend. I can’t lie about you; I have to do it every day. I can’t do it to her face. I can’t lie to someone who already knows I’m gay.”

“Ok, then tell her?” Ilya said it as if it were a completely obvious solution. 

“What?”

“Da, I tell Sveta, you tell Rose. You trust her, right?”

“I do.” 

“Then tell her. No? Is simple.”

Was it really that easy? Why couldn’t he tell her who he was dating? She would keep his secret; she had already proved that. “I’ll think about it. I will. Just after this weekend. Ok?”

“Da, whenever you want.” Ilya pressed a kiss to Shane’s temple. 

***

They didn’t play that night, or the next day. Or the next. By the eve of the All-Star weekend, Shane was practically crawling out of his skin. Sure, he had blown Ilya twice and been fucked by him. But it was different; his mind was so loud, and he felt like he’d fucked up everything, even if Ilya had repeatedly told him he didn’t. He just couldn’t get the feeling off his skin. 

Finally, he went to Ilya and said, “Please, I need you to take me out of my head.”

***

Two hands now roamed the muscled chest before him. Feeling, touching. Ilya’s hands wandered back and forth between his inner thigh and around his groin. Then across his pelvis. Gentle fingers worked their way up his abdomen before dancing across his nipple, sometimes stopping to pinch. Once the journey was finished, the other hand would begin. Over and over again until it felt like a circle of touch and sensation. 

Kisses were being pressed into his neck, and his arms were draped behind him somewhere. Shane was pretty sure they were still attached. 

His cock was hard. Shane was sure of that. Every time Ilya’s hand got anywhere close to it. Shane thought this would be the time he would be touched. His cock might be bumped once every few cycles or so, but that's it. Shane’s body is quickly becoming on fire with need.  

“Ilya, please,” he whined.

“What do you want, moy lyubimyy?” he asks, lips hot in Shane’s ear. Teeth close around the helix of his ear and gently pull back, letting Shane have just the hint of a different sensation. 

“Please make me come.”

“Is this how you want it, my beautiful bellboy?”

“Yes, please,” Shane could feel the deep vibration in his chest when Ilya spoke.

A hand finally made its way to Shane's cock. “You sound so pretty when you beg for me. And you whine so pretty for me, too. Let me hear you, baby. I want to hear you solnyshko.”

Shane released the sounds trapped in his throat. It felt good to have the vibrations running through his chest. 

“That's it, let me hear you. Look at what I’m doing to you.” Ilyas's feet had hooked under his ankles, pulling his legs apart even further. He could feel the stretch. A hand was on his cock, thumb roving over his cockhead, teasing the sensitive flesh below.

A hand was in front of his mouth. He understood the command. Gathering as much spit as he could, he dropped it into Ilya’s waiting hand. Then suddenly a lot of friction was gone, and Ilyas's hand moved more smoothly against his hot skin. The other hand moved up to grip his chest, precome slicked thumb teasing over his nipples. Legs pulled him tight again, and he is gone. Spurting across his heated chest. 

He collapsed back, head resting on Ilya’s shoulders. Loose-limbed and happy. Ilya holds him. He holds him close. The seaman decorating his chest is whipped away. “You’re always so beautiful when you come for me. What is your colour?” 

Shane snaps twice. 

***

Ilya released Shane’s legs and gently pushed him, untangling limbs and bodies. He flipped Shane over, positioning a pillow under his head. Shane’s arms came up and clutched the pillow tightly. Another was wedged under his hips.  

Ilya pawed at the globs of Shane’s ass. God, how he loved this ass. How he fucked this ass, worshiped this ass, needed this ass in his life. Ilya bent down and licked the strip of flesh from Shane’s testicles to his lower back. God, he needed this ass. But later, he had a plan right now. 

“Colour,” he asked again. 

Two snaps.

Ilya started with a light swat in the meat of Shane's cheeks. Then another, and another. The skin was starting to turn pink and red under his hands. Ilya pulled back and delivered two sharp snaps that stung his hand. Shane was breathing hard below him. 

“Colour,” he asked again. 

Two snaps.

Ilya continued issuing four more to each side. On the last strikes, his hand drifted lower and made impact on his upper thigh. Shane flinched. Hard. 

“Colour,” he asked again. 

One snap. 

“Yellow for stop. Green for slow down.”

Two snaps. 

“Ok, my bellboy, I’ll just have my own fun then.” And Ilya’s mouth was back on him. His skin was hot, blood rushing to the surface after his strikes. His lips found his bellboy’s hole again. 

Ilya ran a flat tongue across Shane's anus; he felt the skin pucker beneath his touch. He pulled back and spat onto Shane. He used his thumb to push a little of his saliva into Shane before diving back in. His teeth nipped at his flesh, tongue probing, barely breaching the surface. Ilya gently used his evening stubble to run across Shane's sensitive red skin and hole. He was rewarded by a horse scream that faded into a low rumbling moan. God, it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

Then his tongue again, licking, tasting, needing. Ilya’s single focus boiled down to wringing those delicious sounds out of Shane, moans and screeams and high-pitched whines. Shane was never quiet when Ilya did this to him.

Ilya added a finger to the mix, licking around it as he pushed and pulled. Then another, and another. 

“My bellboy, do you want me to fuck you now?”

One snap. 

“No, you want me to turn your pretty little bum red then fuck you into next week?”

“Please, Ilya. Yes, please, green,” Shane breaths out. 

Well, how can Ilya deny such a request? He pulls his fingers out of Shane and brings his hand down hard. It's like the leaky dam had broken completely open. Shane was moaning loudly. Breathy sounds escaped his lips. A hand came down again, but this time Ilya grabbed hold, and two fingers pressed back into Shane's hole before pulling out and striking again. And again and again. Before adding his fingers back into the mix. Ilya didn’t keep a rhythm, not letting Shane know what was coming next. 

Eventually, when Ilya breaches him, Shane clenches, “Please,” he begs, “please fuck me.” Soon he’s screaming, an endless stream of “please, please, please.” How is Ilya supposed to resist that? Obviously, he doesn’t. His pants are off, and he’s pushing in, bare. 

God. 

“You feel incredible, moy posyl'nyy,” Ilya covers Shane’s body with his own and chases his climax. The angle is wrong, and he doesn’t have much leverage, but he barely has time to think about that. Instead, so focused on the feeling of hot skin, of Shane whining above him. 

Eventually, he hears Shane say, “harder, please. I need harder.” That is a good enough reason to pull out and reposition. He pulled Shane to his knees and bent him over. He pressed Shane’s face into the bed. “Is this what you want?” he asks, hands pushing a pliant body into place, “To be my fuck toy,” Ilya says it like it’s a statement of fact. Because it is. 

“Yes, god yes, I need it. I— please, yes!” Shane begs and begs until Ilya slams into him. Hard. He fucks into Shane like it's the last thing he’ll ever do, and Shane is whining above him, moaning staccato, like the sound is pushed out of him by Ilya's cock. 

“You’re so good for me, god. Such a good toy. Do you want to come? Do you think you’ve earned it?”

Ilya’s hand left Shane's hips and moved forward, reaching around to find his cock. A litany of words fell from Shane’s mouth when he started to stroke, “Please, god please! Yes, I need it! I need you! Oh god, please!”

“Whenever you want my bellboy, but I am not going to stop fucking you until I’m finished. colour?”

Shane nodded, “green,” he said, and Ilya stroked him, leveraged his powerful legs to fuck into him. He let himself have the singular focus, the singular pleasure of listening to the sweet sound of his lover and skin slapping wet skin. 

Shane was coming, and clenching around him, Ilya let him drop and continued his relentless pace until he crested, falling off and filling Shane with his release. He stuttered to a stop, pleasure still rebounding through his body. 

He pulled his softening cock out of Shane and paused at the sight. Red skin, sweat slicked, collapsed Shane Hollander, All-star. Spread out on the bed, with evidence of Ilya’s ownership leaking out of his used and abused asshole. “You might be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, my love,” he said, before bending over to taste flesh again.  

***

Ilya felt the feeling creep in as he packed up his suitcase. They had two separate cars to the airport: one would pick Ilya up from the train station, and the other would pick up Shane from his apartment. 

Shane was flying WestJet, and Ilya was flying Porter.

They wouldn’t meet up tonight. They would spend the evening with their usual crowds.

Ilya understood; hell, it was his fucking idea to not even fly the same carriers. He couldn’t let people, the league, or Russia find out now. It would ruin his life and his career. It would make everything a thousand times more difficult for him. And Shane. 

It made sense. 

But it meant he would be alone. Again. 

Fuck. He would just have to make do with the time they had scheduled to meet. At least they got to have the last four days together. That should be enough. He should be satisfied by now. 

He shouldn’t have that slow, heavy feeling bleeding into his bones... Not this soon after saying goodbye to his boyfriend. 

Fuck.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading. You may notice that this is part one. I wonder what that could mean for part two tonight...........

content warning: Shane safe words, then tries to ignore the fact that he safe words

Ilya does not let him.

Comments, kudos always welcome!!

Chapter 9: All-Stars Part 2

Chapter Summary

The actual All-Star weekend

Chapter Notes

I don't know how, but this turned into the largest chapter by far. All-Stars was originally supposed to be one chapter (which would have been more than 9k words), so it had to be split into two.

This is the second chapter I have posted today, so PLEASE read All-Stars part 1 if you haven't already.

They were playing on the same team again this year. East verse west, like god intended. Whatever, Ilya was happy. Except there was the usual media storm that followed Hunter around, which Ilya kept getting wrapped up in. They were sitting together in the hotel bar, which was thankfully a reporter-free zone. Scott was the captain this year. It was undeniable that he was playing the best hockey of his career. 

If asked, Ilya would deny it. 

Shane walked by on his way to a table where the only Ottawa player here for the weekend and the Edmonton Twins were sitting. Ilya couldn’t resist; he called out to him as he passed by, “Hey Hollander, let me know what event you are doing tomorrow, so I know what to beat you in.”

“Fuck off, Rozy,” he chirped back, but Ilya could see that quiet smile, the one that was only for him. They would see each other on Saturday afternoon, two days from now. Too long. 

Ilya still played his part and laughed at Holander’s chirp before he took a long drink of his beer. Hunter gave him a look, but Ilya ignored it. He wasn’t even sure why he was sitting with the old man anyway. Except, he looked around to see if anyone was close enough to listen, “So, how’s it been?” he asked.

“How’s what been?”

“I don’t know, recovery from your double-knee transplant. What do you think?” He took another long drink. 

“Oh. that. It’s fine.” Hunter paused before he continued. “Same bullshit, different font. I’m still hearing it on the ice, but quiter I guess, not near the refs usually. Except for the last few weeks. People are getting bolder after Christmas break.”

“Da, is the same as what I hear.”

“I don’t think the league would actually do anything, push comes to shove.” 

Not for the first time, Ilya debated whether to show Hunter the email he got from Crowell. Maybe later. Instead, he asked, “You put sticker on helmet?”

Hunter looked down at the bottle of import beer he was drinking, his thumb working itself under the label. “No, I don’t want to rock the boat, you know?” he said. 

This confused Ilya, “No, what does boat have to do with anything?”

“I don’t want to start anything. I don’t want it to be a distraction.” 

Why a boat? Stupid English expression. Anyway, “If you don’t want distraction, then you should not kiss boyfriend on TV,” he said. 

Hunter smirked, “Fiancé. We’re getting married,” he said. 

“Really? Cradle robber.” Ilya shot back. 

“For fucks— You know I’m only like 5 years older than you, right?”

Ilya was smirking at him now, “Da, but is fun to tease, no?” 

Hunter looked around, “How’s Hollander?” he asked. 

Ilya sobered, “Good. Fine. Don’t ask,” he said. He was glaring at Hunter now. “If he talks to you, you don't know anything, ok?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Da. Ok. Good. Thank you.” Ilya paused before he continued, “He might want to talk to you. This weekend. You will be nice?” he asked.

“Roz, yes. I’ll be nice.”

“Good.” Ilya polished off his drink, “More beer, old man?” he asked. 

***

Shane cracked and texted Ilya during his afternoon rest time. He was a little off his routine without the regular evening games. He didn’t need a nap; he wanted Ilya. 

Shane brought up his conversation from the night before after they traded quick blow jobs, “I was talking to Boodram, he plays for Ottawa, you know.” 

“Da, I know.” Of course, Ilya knew.

“He seems nice.” Shane offered. 

“I guess, I don’t know him.” It was a little strange. Ilya knew they would almost certainly be teammates next year (Ottawa was unlikely to trade their franchise player), but Boodram didn’t know that. 

“He says Ottawa is like cool. Like relaxed, open, you know. Accepting.”

Ilya finally realized what Shane was doing, “Moya lyubov, are you snooping for me?” he asked. 

Shane’s cheeks started to redden, “No, I just—”

Ilya laughed, “You are, you’re snooping for me! Did you wear a disguise so he didn’t know who you were?” he teased. 

Shane sobered, and looked him in the eyes, “Ilya, no, I just wanted to see what kind of team your signng up to play with, I just want to make sure it’s worth it.”

“It is worth it,” Ilya said without hesitation. He was so sure, he was so positive. He hadn’t reconsidered once since they made the plan eight months ago. 

“But they are so bad. Like I love them, they were my favourite team growing up. But they are bad, and they were so bad even back then.”

“Boston was bad before me,” he replied, 

“Boston had more development pieces in place; the team grew around you, sure, but it wasn’t just you.” Why was Shane fighting him so hard on this? 

“I don’t care.” It was the truth. He didn’t. 

“What do you mean you don’t care? You love hockey.”

“Da I do, but I love you more. I will do anything I need to get closer to you. If that means playing for worst team in the league. Then I will do that for you. That is easy. That is no problem. I play in AHL if it means I get to have you more than right now. Is my choice to make.” 

“Ilya... are you sure?”

“Da. Plus, I have been paying attention too. Ottawa has good bones; they are rusty and buried deep. But they are there.”

***

The hotel's breakfast buffet was definitely on the nicer side. Eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, as well as waffles made to order. Ilya’s plate was full as he looked over the sea of faces that represented the NHL's finest and their families. There were a lot of sticky-fingered children, and a lot of players he had taunted on the ice. Best avoid those tables. 

Tucked away in the corner was an empty table. Ilya headed for that one. When he sat down, he noticed that someone had already placed a coat on one of the chairs. Ilya shrugged. He hoped whoever's table he was crashing at wasn’t an asshole. Or boring. 

He flagged the waitress who had the carafe filled with coffee. On a whim, he had her fill a second cup, an act of goodwill to whoever’s ever table he had stolen. Worst case, he’d drink the coffee himself. 

Ilya was digging in when he heard “Rozanov,” a familiar voice called from behind him. David sat down on the coat-covered chair. 

“Blyat,” he swore under his breath. “Mr. Hollander, I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Ilya started gathering his plate, but David stopped him when he spoke softly. 

“Leave if you’re uncomfortable, but don’t leave because you think I want you to.” He smiled at Ilya, his blue eyes kind as always. 

“What if people see?” Ilya asked, voice quiet.  

“Then we tell them the truth, that I like to talk to as many players as I can durning All-star weekend. I’ve done it every year I can attend.” David picked up his fork and knife and began cutting his sausage methodically.

“What if Shane...?” He knew Shane wouldn’t appreciate this public deviation from their carefully mapped out plan for the weekend.

“Shane and Yuna are getting breakfast at a restaurant two blocks from here with JJ and the Pikes.” His voice was low, steady and calm. Nothing like his father had been. 

Ilya knew, logically, he should stand up and leave. He knew he should politely excuse himself and walk away, but he couldn’t. He and David had been trying so hard, yet they could both tell that the relationship was a little strained. It was no one's fault, except maybe Grigori’s. Ilya settled back into his chair and began trying to eat his breakfast. 

He got two bites down when David spoke again, “Did you get me coffee?” he asked. 

“Da, as a piece offering to whoever table I stole.”

“Thank you.” David smiled.

Ilya nodded. They ate in silence, letting the rocus dinning room fill the gap in conversation. When David finished his plate, he turned to Ilya. He glanced around briefly as if to check for prying ears. 

“Ilya,” he couldn’t help but flinch, “Sorry. Rozanov,” David corrected. “I just wanted to say, you make someone special to me, Jane, very happy. Happier than they’ve been in a long time, happier than I’ve seen them anywhere besides on the ice. But that’s not why we care about you. We care about you, we want the best for you because becuase in the short time we’ve been able to spend together, we’ve seen you for the kind, caring, passionate and hardworking young man that you are.” 

Ilya was staring intently at his empty coffee mug, not daring to look at David. Not risking a look up, because he knew if he did, he would have to admit there were tears pooling in his eyes. He would turn this quiet moment into a full-blown scene. He couldn’t do that; he couldn’t risk even looking up at David for fear he would blow everything. He hoped David understood. 

“I don’t know anything about your father; you can tell me if you like. But you don’t have to. Just know that I— we think you are very special, too. If there is anything we can do, I can do to make you feel more comfortable in our home, let me or Jane know. Ok?”

“Ok.” Ilya whispered, “Thank you. David.” 

David picked his plate up and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder before leaving Ilya. 

Ilya stayed seated; he willed the tears welling in his eyes back in and discreetly wiped away the few that managed to escape. Too soon, Cater Vaughn sat down next to him, his plate overflowing with breakfast foods. “Whoa, man, you look like you just saw a ghost.” Before Ilya could respond, Vaughn asked, “Wait, that was Holzy’s dad just here. He’s like really deep, and stuff. He and Benny got hella drunk at All-Stars two years ago and like talked about their shity dads. Well, Benny got wasted at least. Wait, didn’t your dad die like last year?” When Ilya didn’t immediately respond, the other man loudly whispered to himself, “Shut up, Vaughny, you’re sticking your foot in your mouth again.” 

Ilya laughed, “Is ok,” he cleared his throat and did his best to make his voice steady. “He is boring. Like Hollander, but he is good guy. Nice man.”

“Yeah, he is. Holzy’s pretty great too. If you could get past the competitive streak you two have going.”

Ilya smiled, mostly to himself and said, “But is so fun to beat him.” 

Vaughn rolled his eyes at him, “Roz, do you two ever turn it off?”

“Neyt,”

***

Shane Hollander was always a bit of an odd guy. Nice, but really, really focused on hockey. Nervous anywhere that wasn’t the ice. The kid was great, maybe one of the best to ever play the game. Scott, of course, knew exactly why he was knocking on his hotel room at 12 pm the day of the skills competition. 

“Hollander, fancy meeting you here,” he said when he opened the door. 

“Hi, Scott. Hunter, I mean. Mr. Hunter. Hi. Can I come in?” The kid looked like he was sweating bullets, so Scott took pity and let him in without any more fanfare.  

Hollander froze when he saw Kip on the bed. Kip was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a soft T-shirt. Scott had just gotten back to the room after breakfast, but Kip decided to skip it and instead continued reading his book about how to make cocktails or about ancient Rome (or how to make cocktails in ancient Rome). To look at Hollander’s face, though, you’d think Kip was stretched out naked waiting for Scott to ravage him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know!” Hollander was turning back towards the door, but Scott stopped him. 

“Hollander, it’s fine. You’re not interrupting anything. This is my fiancé, Kip.” Kip waved, “Kip, this is Shane Hollander.”

“Scott, I know who Hollander is,” Kip rolled his eyes at him, but he had that goofy smile that Scott loved. 

“I’m gay!” Hollander exclaimed, aprapo of nothing. At least they weren’t going to dance around it. It was hard to know how surprised to act. This was definitely not the first time someone had come out to Scott in the last year. It was like he kissed Kip at centre ice, and suddenly people couldn’t get within a ten-foot radius of him without being ripped from the closet. He was probably exaggerating, but it sure felt like it was true. 

Kip ended up being the first to respond, “Good for you, me too,” he said. 

“Hollander, do you want to sit down?” Scott gestured to the small seating area next to the kitchenette in his suite. 

“Yeah, thanks, and uh, you can call me Shane.” Hollander sat down and looked around the room. Kip kept reading on the bed. Scott took a breath and steadied himself.

“So, you're gay. And you had to tell me?” A voice that sounded uncomfortably like Roz reminded him to be nice. 

“Yes, I— yes.” Hollander was looking at him, but over his shoulder. Scott let it slide; the kid had crazy-intense eye contact on the ice, so he was ok not taking the brunt of it right now. 

“Is there like a problem? Someone giving you a hard time?” Scott asked. 

Hollander shrugged, “No. I mean like, just the normal bullshit, you know?”

Scott did know; he knew all too well. “Ok.”  

“I– thank you. I wanted to say thank you. I couldn’t have been first. So thank you,” he had gotten a lot of that too, mostly from kids in the juniors and retired players. 

“No problem, Kid.”

Hollander levelled his gaze at him for a moment and said, “I don’t know how to be gay.”

Wait what? That threw Scott off, big time. Was Hollander asking him to be his gay mentor? Was he wrong about the Kid and Roz? Was he asking for Scott and Kip to be... It wouldn’t be the first time someone asked him a threesome, it would be the first hockey player, though. Fuck it, “Do you like mean, you don’t know how to have gay sex?” he asked.

The colour drained from Hollander’s face. “NO!” he shouted. 

“Because there are like websites,” Scott continued. 

“No, no, no. I know how to have sex, Jesus fucking Christ, why do people keep thinking that’s what I mean? I’ve had sex, lots of gay sex!”

“Good for you, Hollander, just you gotta know how that sounds.” Kip was doing a great job of pretending not to listen. Though Scott could see a smirk on his face from the corner of his eye.

“No, I don’t, or I didn’t,” he was back to looking anywhere but in Scott’s eyes. 

“So you talk about being gay with other people?” Scott promised he wouldn’t let on about Roz, but he could give the kid an opening, right? 

“I... yes.”

“But these people can’t teach you how to be gay?” Scott had never regretted kissing Kip on the ice, but this was the closest he’d come. How was this his life? 

“No. It’s complicated.” Hollander took a breath, “My friend. He’s European, like... from Belarus."

Scott was proud of himself for not cracking at that, Belarus. “Your friend?” Hollander levelled his gaze back at him when Scott said that. 

“Fuck. My boyfriend. He’s not out and don’t ask me any questions about him, please.” Thankfully Hollanders gaze had shifted back to the wall behind him. 

“It won’t. I promise. I’ve been there." Scott looked briefly over at Kip. He had definitely been there. 

Hollander seemed to relax a fraction for half a second before he started speaking quickly, “I know I’m gay, I feel it in my bones, and I want to play hockey. I don't know how to be gay.  I’ve never thought about being gay and playing hockey. Until you, I guess. But there was a thing that happened in Vancouver, and I... it made me realize I want to make hockey better. I want to make it easier for me, and for the next generation of kids or whatever. But I don’t know how, so he —my boyfriend— suggested that I talk to you. Because you made it better, for me, I mean. So here I am, talking to you. About how to be gay. And how to make hockey better.”

“I don’t think I’m doing a great job making hockey better right now, and I don’t know if I’m the best role model for being gay. I mean, I’ve not really—” 

“Ok.” Kip put his book down. “I’m sorry. I have to interrupt. If you’re gay, you’re gay. You don’t have to do anything. That's actually a reductive stereotype. As for making hockey better, just be on Scott's side, stand up with him. Two captains are better than one.”

“Yeah, what he said.” Scott gestured to Kip. 

“Ok. I— Ok.” Scott was sure this was not the magic talk that Hollander thought he was going to get here. 

Scott tried to redirect the conversation, like kip said, two captains are better than one. “The league has been fine, ok. Crowell is trying to keep me on a pretty tight leash, but I think there is something we can do.” 

***

He was just being supportive; no one would suspect anything, Shane kept telling himself. Scott had taken the ice for his shoot-out attempt, and he was skating around the center circle, hyping the crowd up. Shane had the flag tucked in his gear, under his jersey. 

Scott gave him the sign, and Shane pulled it out, as Scott skated over to the bench. Shane tossed him the rainbow flag, while the other man dropped his stick and gloves. Scott tied the flag around his neck, and the crowd loved it. They were screaming louder than for the hometown rookies that had just been on the ice.  

The colourful flag danced behind Scott like he was a gay superhero hockey player, or something. Shane supposed he kinda was, he can’t even think about what this would have meant to him growing up. 

Scott took his spot at the far blue line and then picked up the puck at center ice. He skated around, letting the flag blow behind him, before trying a shot top shelf that went bar down (the goalies didn’t really try in the shootout competition). 

Scott took a full lap around the ice to celebrate before heading back to the Eastern Conference bench. Vaughn was tussling his head, messing up Scott's perfectly combed hair. 

Shane knew he had played only a small part in that moment, that the focus was on Scott and Scott alone. But he couldn’t help feeling like at least some eyes were on him. It wasn’t as bad as he had anticipated; maybe he could do this. Maybe he could try to make it better by supporting Scott. 

He was lost in his own thoughts until Ilya slid up next to him on the bench. “Good job,” he said under his breath. 

“Thanks,” Shane replied equally as discreet, even if his heart was fluttering. Ilya pressed his shoulder into his for a brief moment. And Shane couldn’t help but smile. 

***

The next morning, Ilya had decidedly less pleasant breakfast company. Roger Crowell sat down across from him, dressed in a full suit even though it wasn’t even 8 am. He gestured for the waiter who had the coffee to come over, and asked for some hot water, with lemon and honey, before the man could even say hello. 

Ilya didn’t get a chance to get any coffee before Crowell shooed the waiter away. 

“Mr. Rozanov,” he began, “I wanted to see how you were enjoying the weekend’s festivities.” Crowell spoke like it was common for the commissioner to sit with players, or even interact with them at all (without a damn good reason). Ilya didn’t even think the commissioner was staying at the player’s hotel. 

“Da,” is all Ilya said. Crowell was fucking lucky he had kept that email to himself, except for Shane, of course. Not even Yuna had seen it. But right now, Crowell was pushing his luck. 

“I hope you weren’t made to feel uncomfortable by Hunter’s little stunt last night.” Crowell's face was neutral.

“Neyt,” Ilya responded. 

“Well, if you did, and you wanted to make a statement, our legal department and public relations teams will be more than happy to help.” Crowell smiled and then promptly stood and left. 

It took Ilya a moment to process the words and the bizarre interaction that had just occurred. Fuck. Crowell was looking for a player to publicly spearhead an Anti-Queer, Anti-Hunter movement. Crowell knew it would be media suicide for the league to be anything but supportive of Hunter. So he was looking for a face to lead the way, of course, he approached the most famous Russian player. That fucking asshole. 

Ilya was steaming by the time the waiter returned with Crowell's honey lemon water. 

***

Ilya was still steaming mad as he entered the locker room for the afternoon game. “Hunter,”  he said, looking around the room at the half-dressed (and some half-cut) hockey players getting ready to skate around and pretend to play defence for the next two hours. 

Ilya could tell he had brought an intensity to the room that wasn’t present before. All chatter quieted as Ilya stormed up to Scott Hunter, Captain. 

“Roz?” he asked. Hunter looked like he was half scared that Ilya was going to deck him right there in the locker room. 

“Fuck Crowell!” Ilya practically screamed. “Do you have any stickers?” he asked. Hunter looked confused. “You know, stickers with the flag, for helmet.”

“Oh yeah, a few.” 

“Give.” Ilya reached his hand out. Hunter put down his skate and reached into his equipment bag, pulled a few small decals handing Ilya one. 

Ilya took and walked over to an empty stall, muttering a string of Russian expletives, before dropping his bag loudly on the floor of the silent locker room.  Ilya pulled his helmet out of his bag and started carefully trying to place the flag on buttom right corner, behind where his ear would be while he was wearing it. 

The room was quiet until Scott stood and took the attention off Ilya, “Does anyone else want one?” he asked, “I have a few left.”

Ilya didn’t notice who took one, but he did notice his phone vibrating in his pocket. It’s a message from Jane <3

He looked up and saw Shane staring back at him from the other side of the locker room. He wanted to go over there and hug his boyfriend; he wanted to tell him all about the breakfast meeting he had had and how he had tried to calm himself down for the rest of the morning. And how nothing worked, and how all he wanted was to crawl into Shane's bed and hide away from the rest of the weekend, but he couldn’t because they weren’t scheduled to see each other before the game. Shane had media availability this morning anyway, so even if they could meet, even if Shane would have allowed it, he was too busy for Ilya.

Ilya had dressed himself on autopilot, not noticing that the rest of the room had cleared out, leaving him along with Scott fucking Hunter. 

“You good, Roz?” he asked. 

“Da. Perfect.” Ilya responded, his tone flat. 

“Crowell?”

“He let me know this morning that if I wanted to make a statement against you for the flag thing, I would have full support of the league.”

“Jesus Christ, really?”

“Da, is not the first time.”

Hunter was shocked at Ilya’s confession. Ilya was shocked that he had confessed it. “Hunter, Hunter is not a big deal–” he tried to downplay the situation, but he was cut off by Scott,

“Rozy, that’s a pretty fucking big deal.”

“Da, ok it is. But I can’t make it a big deal, not yet, ok?”

“Ok,” Scott seemed to understand. 

Ilya pulled his well-practiced routine of pushing all of his emotions down, so all he could focus on was hockey: “Come on, old man, let's go warm up.”

Hunter must have sensed the shift. “Fuck off, Roz,” he chirped back. 

Ilya was surprised to see that half of the Eastern team had a little sticker added to there helmet, including Shane. By the time the puck dropped, a third of the Western Conference team had them, too.  

***

Shane went to Ilya’s room after the festivities had calmed down. He had been invited to two separate room parties, but had politely declined. 

He and Ilya had a plan for tonight. Ilya was ordering room service, and then they’d fuck. It was a great plan. This might be the closest they could get to going out to dinner for now. In any case, it would serve as date night. They weren’t going to see each other again until late March. 

Shane let himself in while Ilya was still in the shower. That was odd. Ilya had definitely showered at the arena. Shane dropped his body onto the bed as he waited for Ilya. He waited and waited before, finally, after what seemed like an age and a half, Shane knocked on the bathroom door. “Ilya, are you ok?” he asked

There was no response. After a moment, Shane tried the handle, thankfully it was open. “Ilya,” he called again. 

This time, there was movement from behind the frosted glass shower stall, “Shane?” Ilya called back. Thank fuck. Shane let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

Shane scrambled to think of something to say to make his appearance in the bathroom easier to explain than I was worried about you. “Did you put in the roomservice order yet?” he asked.

The shower switched off. “Da,” Ilya said as he stepped out. God, he looked good wet. “Will be here at eight.”

Shane looked at his phone as Ilya towelled off; it was 8:04 pm. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. 

“Shit. Ilya, you have to get that.”

“Why?” 

“Ilya! This is your room! I can’t answer the door.” Realization dawned on Ilya’s face. How could he forget that simple rule? Shane quickly closed the bathroom door and hid while Ilya brought in their dinner. He had been acting so strangely all day. 

When the coast was clear, Ilya opened the bathroom for him. Dinner was set on the small table in the corner of Ilya’s room. It looked a lot like Hunter’s suite that he shared with Kip, actually. 

“Ilya, are you ok?” Shane asked after Ilya was dressed and they were seated together. 

“Da,” Ilya looked confused as to why Shane was even asking. 

“What about earlier? Before the game?”

“Was nothing, just Crowell being a dick. Is fine.”

“Ilya, are you sure. You seemed—”

“Is fine, drop it. I handled it.”

“Ok,” Shane drops it because Ilya told him to. He’ll always do what Ilya tells him to. 

***

Afterwards, they are sitting on Ilya's bed watching some dumb action movie. Ilya knows he’s being a muddy stick. Or whatever that phrase is... Anyway. But he can’t help it; the calm he was feeling as they ate was slipping away. He practically growled when Shane checked his phone for the third time in an hour. What is he even looking at? They had at max three more hours together before Shane had to leave. 

It’s fine. It’s fine. They get through February, then March. Then it’s the playoffs, and Ilya can focus on hockey then. After that, he’s free. After that, he will go to Shane’s Montreal apartment. They will look for houses in Ottawa, and on July first, Ilya will sign with the Centaurs and they’ll... still be apart, but it won’t be as far. It’ll be better. It has to be better than this. 

Ilya’s thoughts are swirling so much that he doesn’t notice that Shane get up and grabed a Ginger Ale from the mini-fridge. He doesn’t notice Shane stand infront of him. He doesn’t notice that Shane had tears in his eyes. Until he did. 

Ilya was shaken out of his stupor, “Shane, moya lyubov. What’s going on?” he asks. 

“What’s going on? What’s going on with you, Ilya!”

“Me? Nothing, I am fine,” he lies. 

“Well, I’m not! I have felt so stressed out this weekend.” Shane is pacing back and forth in front of the bed. 

“Really?” Ilya hadn’t noticed, he had been too wrapped up in his own emotions. 

“This weekend has been a lot! I heard Hayden ask my mom about Boston Lily when we were at breakfast the other day. I didn’t know what to do. She handled it. Of course, she did, but I hate the lying! I hate it, and I hate not seeing you, and I miss you every fucking day, Ilya!” Shane was breathing heavy; this might be the most Shane had ever yelled at him. Except maybe when they were playing against each other. 

Ilya’s thoughts were still sluggish, just as he was opening his mouth to say, I miss you every day, too, when Shane spoke again. “I think I want to come out, Ilya,” he said. 

That actually shocked him, “Really?” he asked. This was news to Ilya. They hadn’t talked about it. 

“Yeah, really. There was something Scott’s boyfriend—”

“Fiancé,” Ilya cut in.

This broke the fight for a moment, “Since when do you and Scott talk?” Shane asked. 

Ilya panicked, “We talk, he is good guy. If you tell I say this, just please don’t.” He was so exhausted that he couldn’t even come up with a good fake threat. It wasn’t the time for that anyway.  

“Whatever, the point is, he said two captains are better than one, and he was right. It is better. So maybe I could be a little more open, and maybe that’s how I could help make hockey better.”

“So why are you telling me? Just come out? Is your life.” He knew he was being obtuse, but he couldn’t help it. Ilya felt like he couldn’t stop the words that were falling out of his mouth. 

“Ilya! It’s our life. I want it to be Our Life! I want to talk to you about these things. I want to make hockey better for you, too. I want to make whatever the fuck happened with Crowell easier for you to deal with.” 

Oh. 

Ilya took a deep breath, “Shane, will you come out tomorrow?” he asked. He knew the answer, there was no way that Shane would come out without a long discussion from Shane, Yuna, and then Shane and Yuna.  

“No I–”

“Thank you, moya lyubov, thank you for trying. I love you. But please, can we not do this right now?” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to cause a scene.” Shane slumped against the bed and sank to the floor.

For whatever reason, that set Ilya off again, “Shane, I don’t know what you want! Yell at me. I need you to cause a scene. Because you never tell me how you're feeling, and I need you to fucking tell me!” Ilya was projecting; he knew he was. But that was fine; if Shane was thinking about himself, then he wasn’t thinking about Ilya. Then Ilya could pull himself back together later. 

“I don’t know? I want to not think for a little bit, OK? I just want to make the world quiet for one fucking moment. I spend so much fucking time and effort trying to work out what people mean when they are talking to me.” Shane heaved, “I need one part of my life to just feel good. I just want you to tell me I am doing a good job. I just want it to be simple. Can you just make the world feel simple to me?”

“Da I can do that.” He could do that, for whatever reason, making the world simple for Shane was the only thing that actually appealed to Ilya right now. He needed to be needed right now. Something deep in his gut told him that he needed to take care of Shane right now. 

Ilya slipped off the bed and pulled Shane into his arms. “Come here.” He held Shane. He stroked the back of his neck. And he whispered, “I love you.” 

“Is ok,” I’m ok. 

“We can do this.” I can do this.

“We can make this work.” We have to make it work; I can’t go back to the way things were before. 

“I need you.” I need you so badly it hurts. 

“I’d do anything for you.” I’d do anything for you.

“I’m here.” I’m here for now.

“Is ok.” I’m trying so hard to be ok for you. I can do it. I promise.

Ilya remembered a moment. Last year. A moment where Shane held him. It was in a hotel room in Tampa Bay. That was the first time he had cried since he was 13. His father had decided he had cried enough after the accident. 

But last year in a hotel room in Tampa Bay— It feels an awful lot like that in this hotel room in Toronto. Except now, from the outside looking in, Shane is the one clinging on for dear life, and Ilya is the one to step up. To hold him together. That’s Ilya’s job now, to hold Shane together. He loves that job, he needs it, otherwise, he won’t be able to hold himself together. 

He pulled Shane back up onto the bed, pressing kisses to his neck. “Ya tebya lyublyu,” he pressed into skin, his hands moved their way across skin. Pushing Shane's legs open and feeling his way across his lover’s body. 

He touched. And tasted and whispered. “I’m here. I will always be here for you. Because I’m allowed to now. I am allowed to be here.” It’s a promise to Shane as much as it’s a promise to himself. 

They fuck. It quiets Ilya's mind, just as it quiets Shane’s. For the first time all day, Ilya feels like himself. He’s pretty sure he knew what was happening to him today, or at least he hopes so. He hopes it’s just a drop or something similar. Brought on by the intensity of Shane's safe wording, then the intensity of the weekend, and fucking Roger-Fucking-Crowell.  

He hopes that all this is. 

***

Ilya tried not to let it bother him when Shane slipped out of his arms at 2 am. He tried. So hard, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help feeling that his heart had been ripped from his bed and was going to sneak out of his room and lie two floors below him. Because it was. 

His heart was currently buttoning his pants and pulling a T-shirt over his head. His heart was slipping his sneakers on, and about to head out the door, and Ilya was speaking before he even realized it. “Please,” he said, “Please don’t leave me again.”

“Ilya?” Shane looked up at him. 

“I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I need you. Please,” his voice was almost not even there. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. What was it with him and fucking All-star hotel rooms? “I can’t sleep tonight knowing that you are in the same building as me, but not in my bed. I– I need you. So please, I know we have rules, I know. But tonight, can we just bend them a little? Please?”

“Ilya, are you ok?”

Not all the time, not right now, “No.”  

“What’s wrong?”

“I just tell you, I need you. I will not see you for more than a month, and I can’t stand it right now. Is usually fine, but this is such a long weekend. And I can’t let you leave me again. Just not tonight... Please?”

“Ok,” is all Shane said before he crawled back into bed, back into Ilya's arms. Back where he belonged. Once they were warm again, Shane asked, “Will you tell me what’s actually going on with you, please? I want to know.”

“Da. but not tonight?”

“Ok,”

“Ok.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, moya lyubov. Ya boyus, chto ya takaya zhe grustnaya, kak moya mama. Ne dumayu, chto eto mozhno ispravit. Nadeyus, eto vsego lish' kaplya..”

“Will you say that in English tomorrow?”

“I will try.” Ilya knew he wouldn’t; not all of it, at least. Only a small part of him thought he was like his mother. It was almost definitely just a slow drop that he didn’t recognize in time to put a stop to. He hoped.   

***

Ilya explained that he had dropped. He had convinced Shane that what was causing his weird mood. Ilya seemed back to normal the next morning when Shane really had to leave his room. He was joking and making (inappropriate) comments about when they would see each other next. Same old Ilya. 

He did pull Shane into a tight hug and tell him that he needed to talk to Rose. Take his time, tell her whatever he is comfortable with about Ilya. But they cannot talk about the cage or anything like it until he talks to Rose.

Shane agreed. 

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation for what's at the end: I'm afraid I'm sad like my mother. I don't think you can fix that. I hope it's just a drop.

I, like many fic writers, right now am using Google Translate for the Russian sections. I know it's bad, but it's fanfiction, it's supposed to be a little camp.

 

Also, perhaps this chapter is SO long because someone commented on the last chapter that it seemed like Ilya was dropping, and I realized he was. In my original version, it was just depression creeping in (and that is still happening to an extent), but a dom drop after a safe word works better narratively speaking. It's not some unsolvable problem (unsolvable only because I am trying to keep this canon-compliant for the long game, where they don't really talk about Ilya's depression till there).

Anyway, I'm rambling. If anyone wants to discuss in the comments, I am DOWN TO CLOWN!

Kudos, comments, etc. are always welcome!!!

Chapter 10: Rose

Chapter Summary

Rose.

Chapter Notes

Shane was sitting on his couch in his Montreal condo, his phone pressed to his ear. The Boston-New York game was on. It was the start of the third period, and Ilya had just taken a high stick to the face. The camera showed him pressing a towel to his chin, trying to get the bleeding under control so he could go out with the first unit for the double minor penalty. 

“Hi Shane! Omg it’s been so long! How are you?” Rose was in California or Vancouver, somewhere on the west coast. It was hard to keep track of her jet-setting-movie-star life. 

Shane smiled at her voice. He could do this. Fuck he couldn’t do this. No. He had too. For Ilya. For them. “Ihaveaboyfriend” he said in a rush. 

“Sorry, Shane, what was that? The music in this bar is so loud.”

Fuck. She was out. In public. Shane couldn’t do this. “Uhh, don’t worry about it! You're busy.” Shane tried to cover his ass. 

“No, no, it's fine. I’m in the bathroom now. What did you say?”

“It’s nothing, it can wait.” Coward. 

“Are you sure, Shane?”

“Yeah, you go have fun.”

“Ok, I’ll call you later, ok?”

Shane's face was in his hand phone, still pressed to his ear. “Sure, don’t worry about it.” He couldn’t look at the TV. Ilya was at the point on the man-advantage, calling for a one-timer. He couldn’t even look at the pixelated version of him as he finished with “It’s...  not important.”

“Ok, well, talk soon. Bye, Shane.” 

“Bye, Rose.”

Shane unmuted the TV and started to pace around his apartment. He went to the kitchen to see if there were any dishes he had forgotten to wash. There wasn’t. He went to the first-floor bathroom and cleaned the toilet. Didn’t matter that he had a weekly cleaning service. And they were here yesterday. He paced some more. 

As the seconds wound down on the Boston-New York game, Shane’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. 

“Hi, Rose,” he answered. 

“Hi Shane.”

“Why are you calling? Where are you?”

“You sounded upset. I’m in my condo.”

“I wasn’t, you didn’t have to go home for me.” Shane felt awful. Even more than before. 

“Don’t worry about it! I was on a terrible setup anyway; the guy just wanted to talk about his new underground indie film, and to get his picture taken with me. Like, who goes to an EDM bar on a first date? At 6 pm. God, men are terrible. Present company excluded, of course.” Rose laughed. 

Shane wasn’t sure he should be excluded from that statement. He had been a terrible friend lately. Rose continued when Shane failed to respond, “Anyway, you kinda saved me. I told him my gay best friend was having boy problems.”

“Rose.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he thought it was Miles. Anyway, Miles knows I use him and his boy problems to get out of things all the time. So it's fine.”

“I am, though,” Shane confessed

“My best friend, of course, you are.”

“No, I am having boy problems.”

“Shane HOLLANDER! WHO ARE YOU HAVING BOY PROBLEMS WITH!” she shrieked. 

“I– Uh... My boyfriend?”

“Excuse me, what? You have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. That’s actually why I called you.” Shane was back on his couch now. The post-game interviews were on, and Ilya was the first star of the game (again). He was stripped down to his Under Armour base layer, probably answering the same three questions over and over again. Shane could see that his lip was also swelling from the stick to the face earlier. 

“Shane, why are you sorry?”

“I should have told you. I should have told you much sooner. I was... I was in love with him while we were dating, and I– I just feel terrible, ok! And I can’t stop thinking about it. I just want to stop thinking about it! But it just keeps going over and over in my head. Because I knew Rose! I knew I was gay! And I knew I was in love with him! And I think I used you to hurt him!”

“Shane, shhh, sweetie, it's ok, it’s ok. I forgive you. Of course, I forgive you.”

“And he wants me to talk about sex more, and every time I try, I just think about being with you. And it makes me feel gross, and I don’t know why.”

“Wow, make a girl feel good about herself.” Shane thinks she was joking, but it's so hard to tell sometimes. 

“No No no, that's not– fuck!” Shane was pacing again. He felt like he was going to throw up. God! This is not what he wanted; nothing makes sense at all right now. 

“Shane, sweetie. Calm down. It’ll be ok. Just take a deep breath. And start from the beginning.” 

Shane listened. He got his breathing under control. 

One two three. 

One two three four.  

One two three four five.  

One two three four five six.  

“Rose. I have been secretly hooking up with Ilya Rozanov for 8 years, on and off again. But mostly on. Last summer, we officially got together. And have been dating ever since.” Shane paused. Waiting to see if Rose would say anything. She didn’t, so Shane continued. Maybe this would be easier if he could get it all out without interruption. “I don’t know how long I’ve been in love with him, but it was definitely before we started dating. Like you and me, I mean. I am so sorry I tried to make things work with you. I just wanted to be normal. I wanted to be normal so fucking bad. I thought if I could do it with anyone, it would be with you. But I couldn’t. Obviously, I couldn’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

“What?”

“That you're sorry,”

“But I am,”

“Well, stop feeling it then.”

“I can’t!” He was flustered and close to tears. Rose must have heard the quiver in his voice. 

“Sorry, sorry, I just need a minute to pick my jaw off the FLOOR!” she squeaked again. “ILYA fucking ROZANOV! He is so HOT!”

“I know.” Shane's face fell into his hands, phone still pressed to his ear. 

“Eight years?”

“Give or take.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“Don’t you guys like...” 

“Hate each other? No.”

“Wow.”

Shane let Rose process in silence for a moment. “I’m sorry I used you. I’d understand if you never—”

Rose cut him off, “Shane. Why did you try to date me?”

“Because I liked you?”

“Shane.”

“I we– he wanted to get more serious. Not like dating or anything, but more serious than it had been. And I got scared. So I ran away. And then, like a month later, I met you. And for the first time, like ever, I wanted to date a girl.”

“Hey!” 

“I wanted to date you. Like I wanted to try and see if I could. Be normal, be with a girl or whatever. Obviously, I can’t. I– the time that we had sex, like successfully, I had to think about him. It was the only way I could like do it. I... I’m sorry I did that to you.”

“Shane. I’m not some delicate flower that you need to protect. I had fun with you. Not like fun having sex, you are very bad at that from my perspective. We’re better as friends. I’m glad we are friends. Also, I went to theatre school. I’ve had sex with like half of my friends.”

“God, I just feel so bad about the whole thing, and I don’t know why.”

“I can’t help you with that, Shane.”

“I know. I’m trying to work through it. With Ilya, I mean.”

“I want to hear more about Ilya!”

Shane smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, not every day Shane Hollander tells me he has a boyfriend. This guy must be pretty special.”

“He is. I uh– I love him.”

“OMG, tell me everything! How did you even get together?” 

“Um, I don’t know, it just sort of happened. Ilya— we got signed to CCM at the same time. And he suggested —to CCM— that we shoot a commercial together. You know how the media is; they love pitting us against each other, so of course, they were all on board. And Ilya, he could tell that I liked him. And he kinda just, he wouldn’t let me hide from him. Like he wouldn’t let me pretend I thought he was really hot.”

“Agreed” 

“Rose!”

“What, we have like the exact same type.”

“Anyway! He was my first kiss, with a boy, I mean. He was kinda my first everything. That night...” He told her the whole story. Probably too much detail, but it felt good to be honest, to be completely honest, for once in his life. 

He couldn’t talk like this to Ilya about Ilya; he couldn’t tell Scott Hunter that he was in love with his competition. He wanted to tell Hayden, he really did, but he was dreading that day. How could he tell his best friend that he was in love with the enemy? He couldn’t. Not yet, at least. He definitely couldn’t tell Hayden any details about his sex life. 

But with Rose, he could just be a boy who loves another boy. Eventually, it got to the point where he had to ask the hard question, the whole reason he had called. “Can I talk about it with Ilya? Like our sex, I mean. It's totally cool if I can’t, I just– I think it would help me.” 

“Only if you make sure I sound hot.”

“Oh my god, Rose! He’s my boyfriend!”

“You owe me that, Hollander.”

“Ok, Landry.”

***

They are sitting back-to-back, because Shane can’t do this face-to-face. It's too overwhelming. Shane has his legs crossed on the bed, while Ilya has his out straight. The familiar warmth of Ilya soothes Shane. He knows he's not alone, but he also knows he doesn’t have to try to read Ilys face right now. He doesn’t have to worry about making his own face look normal. They are just going to use their words. 

Shane begins, “The first time I was with her was that night after the club.” Shane could talk about this, but he couldn’t use her name. He had to separate his ex-girlfriend from the friend in his mind for this. “That was my first time with a girl. Like sex sex.”

“Shane,” Ilya warns.

“I know, I know, sex is a broad category of acts, and even if nobody enters anybody else, it’s still sex. But that was the first time I was able to, like, perform with a woman. Like penetrate one. I—” he paused, gathering his strength. Ilya was patient with him. “The only reason I could was because I saw you that night. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Like the whole time. It was the only way I could like stay hard or finish...” He had to think about Ilya telling him to be a good boy and to fuck the nice lady. He had to think about Ilya making him do it. He was so disgusted with himself afterwards that he couldn’t look Rose in the eyes. He had to pretend to be asleep, and then when he was sure Rose was asleep, he snuck to the shower and washed his body. Those details might have to stay close to his chest for now. 

Ilya’s head leans back and rests against Shane. “Did you, I mean did she?”

“Eventually, I mean. Like after I finished, I had too–”

“Ok Ok I don’t need those details.”

“The second time, I promised myself I wouldn’t think about... you.”

“Did you?”

“No. At first, I thought about like other men, but when it was time. I didn’t... and then I— Have you ever?”

“Ever what?”

“Gone soft?”

“Maybe a few times, when I am too drunk.”

“Have you ever gone like, all the way soft?”

“Ahh, no.”

“Well, I did. It was like trying to stick a condom full of water in her. Just absolutely nothing happening. I felt like such a failure.” Shane stopped talking; his thoughts were swamping around his head. 

“Is because you don’t want to top, or because women?” Ilya asked when he had been silent for too long. 

“I don’t know both? I mean, probably mostly women, but definitely at least partly that I don’t want to fuck anyone.” 

“Is ok, I love fucking you. We are very compatible.”

“Ilya!”

“Sorry, sorry, I won’t tease. How did you feel after?”

“Like a failure, like I couldn’t do this really simple thing, that all men like doing. I tried to blame it on the season stressing me out, but I knew she didn’t buy it. I was kinda freaking out because I didn’t want to think about what it meant. For me. Like that's something the men are supposed to want. They are supposed to like that, they are supposed to want to fuck people, right? And I just don’t. I don’t. And I... thought it would be ok if I was bi or whatever. Like you, then I could pretend we were just fooling around, and I could like be normal and get married to a woman someday. But I can’t, Rose proved I can’t. She basically had to tell me I’m gay. If she hadn’t broken up with me, I would have kept trying, with her at least.” Shane was silently crying now; he knew how this must sound. “Please don’t think this means I love you any less. Fuck! I was in love with you then. I know I was. ”

“Shhh, shhh, moya lyubov. I know, I know. I think is maybe the same for me too. I understand why you did not want me to marry Sveta, because I would have. If I could have loved her the same as I love you, I would have married her. It would be easier, this is true. But we are not built for easy, I think. We are built for hard work and each other.”

Shane’s heart was full. It’s maybe a little odd that he feels the deepest confession of love is that they both acknowledge that they would have married other people, women, if they could have. But their whole relationship could be classified as something much worse than odd, depending on who you asked. So Shane figured it wasn’t bad to be odd. “I love you, I love you so much, and I am so glad that everything worked out the way it did. Because having you this last year has made me so happy. Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu, I love you too. So much. Ok lets focus. What about when I put the cage on you? How does that make you feel?”

“Good. At first. I like it when you're in control, I like it when I don’t have to think. I like giving it all to you. But then I...”

“You what, moya lyubov?”

“Just remember all the bad feelings I had with her, and I felt like a failure, and I felt like there was something wrong with me.”

Ilya grasped Shane’s hand, and he interlaced their fingers, “Moya lyubov, you are not a failure, and there is nothing wrong with you. Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say I, Shane Hollander, am not a failure.”

“I— Ilya,” Shane whined.

“No, I know you can do this.”

“I am not a failure.”

“You are not moya lyubov,” he says, “now the second part. There is nothing wrong with me.”

Shane paused, but he was able to do it on the first try this time. “There is nothing wrong with me.”

“I am strong and beautiful.”

“I am strong.”

*

“I am in love with the best hockey player in the world.”

“I am in love with the second-best hockey player in the world.”

*

“I am not a failure.”

“I am not a failure.”

*

“There is nothing wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with me.”

*

“I am gay.”

“I am gay.”

“There is nothing wrong with that.”

“There is nothing wrong with that.”

*

Ilya forgives him for (most) edits he made. It’s progress. It’s a start. “Good, good. Now, do you want to try again with the cage? Is ok if no.”

“I think I do, but not tonight.”

“No, no. Tonight I fuck you like the straight people do. Missionary style.” 

***

The next time they are together, Shane is kneeling beside the recliner where Ilya is lazing, reading a book. Ilya’s hand runs through Shane's hair while Shane is going insane. His cock is caged and dressed up in pretty black lace underwear. His mouth is stuffed with Ilya’s briefs. Every time he moves, even a fraction of a centimetre, he can feel his cockflesh straining at its confines. The lace scratched against the sensitive skin. 

Shane hears the page turn, and he knows he’s got a long way to go before he gets any release. 

He couldn’t possibly be happier.

***

Ilya thinks this talk might have stitched something back together inside of him. That fucking Shane until he was screaming, begging for Ilya, maybe it helped him remember that he is good at something. He is good at loving Shane Hollander. He is good at giving Shane Hollander what he wants, what he needs. He is good.

Maybe it’s not a sustainable stratagy longterm, maybe it is. Ilya doesn’t know. Right now, he just knows that he is allowed to want to be happy. Maybe that’s the first step to being happy? Knowing that you deserve it, that it’s ok. 

He pressed a kiss into his lovers forhead, Shane was asleep in his arms, and whispered, “I’m allowed to be happy.”

*

"I’m allowed to have this."

*

"I’m allowed to want you." 

*

"I’m allowed to be here."

*

"I’m allowed because I’m allowing it. No one else gets to decide." 

*

Shane doesn’t stir, and even if he did, his Russian is still shit, so Ilya doesn’t worry. 

This is the happiest he’s been in longer than he cares to think about.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you liked it!

Final two chapters should be out this weekend!

Comments, kudos, thoughts, always welcolm

Chapter 11: Montreal's 15th best player

Chapter Notes

See endnote for warnings, fr this one is intense

It was that in-between time again. 

Before the awards and the red carpet down in Vegas, but after the grind and hustle of the playoffs. 

They both came up short this year. Montreal out in the second round, Boston out in the third. Maybe they’d watch some of the finals together. Maybe not. But that wasn’t a thought for right now. 

No. 

Right now was a celebration. They had done it. Made it through the long year of Boston. Ilya had survived. As soon as free agency hit, he would sign with Ottawa. He had made his desire clear to his agent. They cursed him out, told him he was throwing away his career, and refused to consider the idea of him going to Ottawa. Ilya had promptly fired that asshole and hired Shane's agent. He made it clear that he would sign in Ottawa or he wouldn’t sign at all. If she was confused by the request, she didn’t show it. 

He would play for scraps in Ottawa, as long as he had hockey and Shane. And Yuna and David, too. It wasn’t likely to go that way; he was still Ilya fucking Rozanov. But right now, contract negotiations weren’t at the top of his priority list. 

Right now, all he had was Shane. Kissing him, holding him. Loving him. The summer stretched before them. Only one more public commitment in 4 weeks' time, then the cottage again. It was quickly becoming his favourite place on earth, even if he had technically only been there once.

They would spend the summer completely alone. Together. Well, with Shane's parents visiting, of course. 

Right now, Ilya is focused on the present. The here. With his lover, his lyubimyy, his posyl'nyy, his bellboy. They were in the guest room, as they so often were when they were like this. With Shane needing to let go. Needing Ilya to make him let go. Fall apart. Float away. 

And then the best part afterwards. Letting Ilya put him back together. Hold him. Love him. Take care of him. That’s what Ilya needed too. That was perhaps the greatest gift Shane had ever given him. A way to make sure he was giving care. That he could fulfill his duty, honour what they had together. Cherish it. Cherish him. He could look into Shane's eyes and know he had done his job well. And tonight, well, tonight was special. 

No more locker room changes, no more communal showers. This body before him was his. His to mark up, to bruise, to use. He was allowed to. 

Every time he looked at Shane, he would be able to see the memory of his touch. His hands, his teeth. And then, when he was finished with that, he’d get to fuck him. He’d get to fuck his boyfried to pieces, and then put him back together again, and carry him to bed. Then do it all over again tomorrow.  

“Colour,” he asked. 

“Green,” Shane responded. He was sitting at the foot of the bed, pink-skinned from a hot shower. Hair slightly damp, and completely naked. The pillows that normally decorated the bed were pushed off, along with the comforter and top sheet. Several things were laid out on either side of where Shane was sitting, and more tools were placed on the side table. 

“Good, moy lyubimyy.” Ilya was shirtless, his black track pants were slung low over his hips (the way he knew drove Shane insane). He reached for a black ring made of silicon with one hand, and Shane's cock and testicles with the other, quickly squeezing them tight to make sure it would still fit. 

Ilya pulled Shane's testicles away from his body, slipping the ring around them and then pushing his softly growing length through as well. Ilya then reached for a hard plastic cage, slipped it on quickly, clicking it into place, sealing Shane's confinement. 

“There we go. All done, easy peasy, da?”

“Yes,” Shane hissed with his eyes closed. He was already straining at his confines. Flesh pressing for escape. 

“So good for me, my bellboy.” Shane let out a breathy sigh at the name. Ilya couldn’t resist him. He stepped forward, positioning himself between Shane's legs. His hands cradled is lovers face, thumb stroking his freckled cheeks before tracing its way to Shane’s parted lips, pressing in. Shane closed his mouth around the digit greedily and gladly sucked. 

“Fuck,” Ilya breathed before he leaned down and danced his lips softly against Shane's. Barely there, barely touching for a moment, before Shane leaned forward. Took what he wanted, deepening the press. Ilya got his thumb out of the way as their lips escalated the situation, hungry. Like they had never kissed before, like the need each other's mouths like they needed oxygen. 

Ilya pulled back, stepped away, breaking the connection. He adjusted himself and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to regain his composure. He had a plan. 

Reaching for the emerald green silk tie that rested at the foot of the bed, next to Shane. He checked the size of the loop that had been sewn into the fabric. Ilya reached for Shane's right hand. He pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist and slipped his hand through the hole. He repeated the process: retrieve the tie, check the size, reach for the left hand, kiss his wrist, slip it on. 

Ilya knelt and reached for Shane’s Right foot, kissed the inside of his ankle, the top of his foot, the outside of his ankle. Slip the tie on. He reached for his left foot, kiss, kiss, kiss, slip the tie on. 

Shane's limbs were dressed in emerald green; loose silk followed his movements, reminiscent of a maypole. “You are so beautiful, moya lyubov. I am planning on wrecking you tonight. How does that sound?” He asked. 

“Green, that uhh, sounds good,” Shane's voice caught in his throat. Ilya could always tell before he went nonverbal, and he was well on his way now. 

“Good,” Ilya pressed a quick kiss to his lips and gestured for Shane to move up the bed. He guided Shane onto his stomach, directing his limbs to spread wide. Ilya slipped off the bed, coming around to Shane’s right hand. He pulled the silk tight and wrapped it around the bedpost, tying one, then two quick-release knots. He knew these would be strong enough to handle Shane's movement but would be easily untied with one sharp pull on the loose end. He moved around to the other side and repeated the process. When he was finished, Ilya propped a pillow under his hips, making his ass rise off the bed. 

***

Shane's arms were secured above his head. He could hear Ilya moving to the foot of the bed. Warm hands took hold of his ankles and pulled him down towards Ilya. He only moved six or so inches, but it accentuated the stretch of his arms and shouldered. It centred his body, centred his mind.  His legs were given the same treatment, untill his was open, vulnerable. Free. 

“If the world could see you now, moy lyubimyy.” Ilya's hand was warm, moving up his leg, stopping to grab a handful of his rear, and then moving up his back. “If anyone saw you right now, they would say Why does Shane Hollender even try to play hockey when he was obviously made to do this?” Ilya's hand lightly dragged down his spine, sending a shiver through Shane's body at the sensation. He continued lightly tracing over his exposed hole before moving further down, almost under him, catching the tight ring that held his cock at bay. 

Shane moaned; he was hardly being touched, but his body felt full of fire and electricity. Sparks crackling out of him wherever Ilya's fingers made contact.  

Ilya reached and adjusted Shane’s caged member, so it wasn’t pulling away; it was a relief, tension he didn’t know he was holding. Ilya palmed his glutes,  “I think I am going to turn this pretty ass of yours red.” 

Shane snapped twice. Quickly, he heard a light slap, louder than it was painful, and another falls on the other cheek. Soon, they are raining down on Shane’s ass, warming his skin, making his blood pump. He wished he could see what he looked like, how flushed his skin was as Ilya’s hand warmed it up. God, if people could see him now, they’d know, they’d have to know how good this made him feel. How he was meant to be here. Tied to a bed, just taking it, needing it, wanting it. It would be obvious.  

The frequency slows down, but the intensity increases. Sharp stings ring in his ears and over his backside, a few fall down to the backs of his thighs. Sharp. Present. Grounding. 

Distantly, he hears Ilya ask, “Colour?” he can only snap twice. Ilya isn’t speaking very much, just letting Shane experience the sensations of his body. The communication is quick and to the point. 

“I’m going to switch to the paddle, colour?”

Two snaps. 

The pain is sharper, more focused. A path of tingly pain walks around his ass and thighs. Then it’s gone— no. The paddle is pressing on to his hole, not asking for entrance, just letting him know it’s there. Suddenly, there are lips and tongue on him. The stubborn stubble that remained of Ilya’s playoff beard is ripping across his flesh, as Ilya’s tongue breaches him gently. Shane is screaming, tears in his eyes, spit and snot leaking out of him onto the bed. 

And then the paddle is back, briefly. 

“I’m going to four snaps of the cane, colour?”

Two snaps. 

The pain from the cane is sharp. Sharper than anything else he’s felt with Ilya. The first snap is on the meaty part of his thigh. Shane screams out. 

“Colour?” Ilya asked instantly. 

Tears leak from his eyes, and Shane snaps twice. 

Ilya strikes again, and Shane is screaming. His mind is running at the speed of light, but his thoughts are so slow. It's this paradox of things. Too much— but not enough. Stinging bruises, intense pleasure. Nothing else matters except the next impact. He needs it. 

Shane snaps twice. He doesn’t know if Ilya asked, but he answers anyway. He hears the whistle of the kane moving through the air. 

All hell breaks loose. 

***

Hayden Pike's wife is probably the greatest human being on the planet. She is definitely the single most selfless person on the planet. When their youngest, Amber, gets chickenpox a month before her one-year vaccines, Jackie shooed Hayden from the house. 

He also doesn’t have the vaccine. Even though he really should. He somehow escaped his childhood without the vaccine or the virus. So Jackie kicked him out and called in her mother to help look after their four children. 

He was planning to crash at Shane’s. The guy had a huge condo, and he was probably still moping about how the season ended. He hadn’t answered any of the seven texts Hayden had sent in the last two hours. 

But that was fine, Shane was probably meditating or something. The guy fucking loved yoga or whatever. 

This would be good for Shane. Hayden would make him let loose, get out of his head a little bit– make the hockey robot have some fun. They would probably eat pizza, drink ginger ale, watch the finals and play video games. A miny boy’s retreat. 

He would probably also end up bugging Shane into telling him about his secret hookup-turned-girlfriend, Lily. At least he thought Lily was a girl, probably. Shane was a bit of a weird guy, he definitely could be gay. Whatever, Hayden didn’t care, but until he was proven otherwise, he was going to assume Shane was straight.  

Anyway, Lily. They had definitely taken things to the next level in the last year. Shane didn’t stay at the team hotel once this season when they played in Boston. Except that first time, when Hayden had to explain to him how to keep a girl happy. And he would get a dopey love-struck smile on his face while texting. Shane promised that he would tell Hayden about Lily during the summer, and it was summer now!

Yeah, Hayden was definitely gonna learn more about Lily this week. 

He shucked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder as he punched in the door code. 1919. 

He had his spare key out to fob into the elevator, allowing it to go to Shane’s floor. He pressed his key into the door and turned the lock. Hayden stepped in, and it was Shane’s condo, alright. Everything was prim and proper and in its place. Hayden called out, “Shane? Buddy, where are you?”

He walked deeper into the condo, an open can of cola was sitting on the kitchen bar. Next to it was a stack of oranges, a banana, and an apple. That was strange. Shane didn’t usually keep fruit out. Or drink Coke. 

Even more strange, as he approached, was an abandon bowl of the healthiest looking trail mix Hayden had ever seen. Shane hates leaving food out like that, he thought. Then he heard a noise from upstairs. It sounded like a sex noise. 

Shit. 

Was Boston Lily here? Was Hayden intruding? 

Fuck. he had to get out of here. 

Hayden moved towards the front door, eager not to cock block his best friend— He heard a scream. A shrill sound that was definitely coming from his best friend. That didn’t sound like a sex noise at all. 

Hayden forgot about everything and rushed up the stairs. He could hear gasping, but it wasn’t coming from the master bedroom or the bathroom upstairs. He hears another wail; it feels louder this time, not just because he’s closer. 

The guest bedroom. Hayden moved down the hall in two steps flat. He paused outside the guest room. He is an elite athlete; he can fight anyone behind that door. He has to protect innocent Shane from whatever the fuck is going on. 

Hayden opened the door in time to see Rozanov. ILYA ROZANOV??? With something, a stick? Raised above his head, before bringing it swiftly down to strike Shane? SHANE! His ass is red, where it wasn’t turning purple. He screamed again. Shreaked. Kept making noise. Even after the blow is finished. 

OH MY GOD! ILYA ROZANOV IS TRYING TO INJURE MY CAPTAIN! 

Haden snapped into action, he charged forward and connected with Rozanov’s body, tackling him to the ground. Miraculously, they land in a pile of blankets and pillows. 

What the fuck?

Hayden recovered quickly. He ended up on top of Rozanov and started throwing his fits wildly, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?” he yelled. At least one fist connected as he felt pain radiating from his knuckles. 

Rozanov, the fucking fighter, got his hands up and started blocking punches quickly. Hayden was momentarily distracted by Shane, who was whining and rapidly snapping his fingers. Hayden reached a hand forward towards his best friend, who was being held hostage in his own guest room. 

“Don’t touch him!” Rozanov bellowed, his fist connected with Hayden’s jaw and set him falling backwards. 

***

He had to get to Shane. 

Nothing else mattered. 

He had to get to Shane. 

With the intruder, Hayden Pike? Momentarily distracted, Ilya was able to get out from under him. 

“I’m here, Moya Lyubov, my bellboy. I’m here.” He pulled the length of loose silk, binding his legs open. It came free quickly. Then the other leg. 

Shane started trying to crawl forward, but Ilya put a steadying hand on his shoulders. He pulled the last ties loose, freeing his hand and quickly scooped Shane up into his arms. Ilya pulled Shane close to his chest, trying to cover as much of his body from Hayden Pike’s prying eyes. He remembered the blankets on the floor next to the bed and stretched over to grab one. He pulled it over them, hiding Shane away. 

“Get OUT!” he yelled. This made Shane flinch. His attention turned towards his chest, “It's ok, Moya Lyubov, shhhh, it's ok. It's ok.” He spoke as steady as he could manage, but Shane’s breaths were coming hard and fast.

Pike remained rooted in place. “What did you do to him?” he asked. The disgust was evident in his tone. Ilya wanted to standup and throw Pike out of the room, out of the house, out a window, maybe. But he couldn’t, because Shane would (eventually, probably) be upset at him if he murdered Pike. More importantly, Ilya simply couldn’t let Shane leave his arms right now. 

Ilya locked eyes with Pike, begging and pleading for the other man to believe him when he said, “Only things he asked me to do.”

That shocked Pike for a moment. He was further shocked when Shane violently pushed himself back from Ilya and scrambled to the edge of the bed. He didn’t quite make it before he released the contents of his stomach over the edge of the bed and the floor. Thankfully, it wasn't the side that had the blankets. Ilya followed his body and ran a soothing hand over Shane’s back as he wretched. “Shhh, shhh, moya lyubov. Is ok. Let it out,” he whispered. 

Shane pulled away from the edge and crawled back into Ilya’s arms. Ilya whipped his mouth and held him tight. Shane was shaking. Ilya looked at Pike, suddenly exhausted. “Please leave,” he begged, “I know what he needs right now, please believe me. I have loved him longer than you. Please,” he begged. 

Maybe it was seeing his friend go towards Ilya, maybe it’s because puke grossed him out, Ilya didn’t care. Pike nodded, “I’ll be–” he gestured towards the door, "downstairs." 

Ilya nodded and spoke again. “If you tell anybody about this, I will kill you.” From the look in Pike’s eyes, he knew Ilya was not kidding. 

***

Hayden paced. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. 

What the fuck was Ilya fucking Rozanov doing at his best friend's house? 

Why the fuck was Shane asking Ilya fucking Rozanov to hit him?

How fucking long had this been going on?

What the actual FUCK.

Hayden considered just leaving, going home. But Jackie was clear; she didn’t want to deal with him if he got sick. And he couldn’t call her either. Even if he really, really wanted to. 

Instead, he texted her. Not about Fucking Rozanov, but the other thing.

Hayden paced some more as he waited for her reply.

Hayden was in for a long night.

Chapter End Notes

Warning: Hayden Pike is a fucking idiot. He walks in on them having their post-season celebration sex. It goes badly, very badly.

This is actually the scene that came to my mind and inspired this whole fucking story. I just re-read it, and it is kinda diabolical.

Please yell at me in the comments.
 

P.S. The cage described here is different from the one Ilya gives to Shane for Christmas. This is because I wrote this chapter pretty early on, and the Christmas chapter later. I decided not to change it because I think it's nicer that Ilya never tried to put the 'bad' cage on Shane again. He gets him a new one, which is completely different and has no bad energy (even though Shane is now completely fine with the other one). I just think that's the energy Ilya is bringing, and he's fucking rich, so he can do shit like that.

Chapter 12: Crashing

Chapter Summary

Crashing

Chapter Notes

Wow, I lasted 4 hours before I cracked and posted this chapter.

You may have noticed that the chapter count has increased. That is because I can't make these fuckers stop talking to me.

The final chapter should be posted tomorrow

ALSO THIS IS THE SECOND CHAPTER POSTED TODAY, PLEASE READ CHAPTER 11 FIRST

Shane had been floating. Soaring, so high. He felt like he could have climbed a mountain or swum to the bottom of the ocean. Nothing, not even hoisting the Cup, could compare to the ecstasy. The pureness of having his being focused entirely on one sensation. 

But then it was suddenly all crashing down around him. Hot then cold. Then nauseous. Then silence. 

Then, eventually, he heard Ilya whispering, “Is ok. I’m here. Is ok. I have you, posyl'nyy. ya tebya lyublyu. I have you” over and over again. 

“Ilya,” Shane croaked out; his throat felt like sandpaper. 

“Yes, moy lyubimyy, I’m here,” arms tightened around him. 

Shane didn't even think about opening his eyes yet. “Ilya, who’s here?” he asked. 

“Ah, Pike.” 

“Fuck.”

“Da, fuck.”

Hayden saw. He knew. He had to. There was no way that Hayden didn’t know that he was gay. No way he didn’t know that he was seeing Ilya. There was no way Hayden didn’t know that Shane liked to be tied up and beaten. And then fucked. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

That was all too much to think about. Instead, Shane asked, “Can I have a shower?” he felt itchy all over and a little empty.

“Da, of course. Anything you want.” Ilya started to move, but Shane stopped him. 

He closed his eyes as the welled. He hated that the silk and the cage felt restricting instead of freeing. He had worked so fucking hard. They had worked out so much shit together about sex, but now... “Ilya, can you take everything off me first?” he asked.

“Da. da, of course.” Ilya made quick, almost surgical work of the cage and the emerald green silk ties. Shane just let his body limp, moving only when Ilya directed him. 

Ilya managed to get them to the master bathroom. He placed Shane on the tile floor of the shower stall. The air was cold, but it warmed quickly as water began to fall. Shane was alone. He could hear Ilya moving around him, he didn’t know for how long.

This is where they were always going to end up tonight. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, though. Usually, they’d have a bath first, but Shane didn’t think he could settle there tonight. He needed to get downstairs and work out how bad this was. A fresh wave of nausea rolled over him, fuck. He pushed thoughts of Hayden out of his mind for now. 

The hot water soothed him, warmed him. And soon enough, a strong presence next to him pulled him to his feet and helped hold his mind together. His backside burned with the heat. Iyla applied an aloe shower serum thing? Shane wasn’t really sure. His careful fingers were soothing the flesh of his body. He would be bruised tomorrow, that was the whole point of the cane. To feel it later. To be reminded tomorrow when Ilya fucked him. Fuck. He hoped they would be able to enjoy it. 

Soon Shane’s cock forgot what had happened, hardening under Ilya’s touch. Endorphines still trying to settle in his brain and in his body.   

Ilya looked at him, “Colour?”

Shane’s knees were shaky, “yellow.” 

“I think it will make you feel better, in the long run.” Ilya kissed the side of his neck. Not trying to start anything, not nipping in the way he did when he wanted to drive Shane insane. Just pressing lips for comfort. 

“Hayden...” Shane whispered. 

“Moy lyubimyy, we are behind two locked doors. I make sure, and even I don’t think Pike is that stupid. Is ok though, if you don’t want.” 

Shane considered everything for a moment, “Green.”

Ilya’s hand moved from his hip to his cock, pumping quickly. Effectively. Efficiently. He dropped to his knees, pulling Shane into his mouth and swallowing him down. One hand pressed into the meaty, bruised flesh of his ass, pulling him into Ilya’s open mouth. The other hand gently cupped his testicle, sending thrills down his spine. It was over quick. That was the goal. Ilya was clean and efficient when he wanted to be. 

Shane pulled him up for a kiss that quickly turned into a bone-crushing hug. He then sank to his knees and looked up at his lover. 

“Shane,” Ilya breathed. “You don’t have to.”

“I think I do actually, I think I need to.” There was some horrible pit in his stomach that said they couldn’t finish the night without both of them feeling good. Ilya nodded, and Shane got to work.

Ilya’s cock was soft when he began. Shane was so use to taking Ilya’s soft cock in his mouth these days. It was the easiest way to quickly quiet his brain, to satiate his need. It was almost a bit of a treat to be able to work him right away. Usually, he had to wait.

Length hardening before him, he sucked down and pulled back over and over before guiding Ilya to start moving his hips. “Ah, there is my beautiful cockslut.” Shane couldn’t see him, but he knew Ilya was smiling. 

Ilya was trusting gently now, “My bellboy, he always takes such good care of me.” A hand came down and rested in his hair, steadying his head so Ilya could fuck into him properly. 

“Shane, I’m–” Shane stayed put, catching Ilya’s release. When he was finished, Shane pulled back and sat on his heels. He enjoyed the moment of peace.

Ilya looked down at him, his hand carding through Shane’s wet hair. “Ahhh, I see you like the tip I gave you.” 

Shane shorted “Fuck off, you're so gross.”

“But you love me,” they were both smiling now. 

“Yeah, I do. Ya tebya lyublyu.” Shane could tell the words were foreign on his lips, but they were getting more familiar every day. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya responded. 

“Come on. We have to get downstairs, or he’ll think we’re having sex again.” 

Ilya gave him a look that said what the fuck do you think that was before turning off the tap. 

*** 

Shane was lying on their bed, ointment soaking into his hot flesh, soothing him further. There would definitely be bruising tomorrow. Ilya hoped they would be able to both enjoy it. 

Right now, he was making quick work of first gathering up all the toys from the guest room and moving them to their storage box in the master. He checked on Shane before going back to clean the vomit from the floor. The bed sheets might have to wait until tomorrow. He was too exhausted to even think about stripping the bed right now. 

Eventually, Shane was dressed in soft joggers and a sleep top, and Ilya the same. 

“You don’t have to do this tonight,” Ilya said. “You don’t have to do this at all.” He had taken the towels he used to clean the floor to the washing machine. Pike was still here. Sitting on the couch. Ilya glared at him before coming back upstairs. 

Shane was quiet, so Ilya continued, “You don’t owe anyone comfort tonight. Not even me. Only yourself.” Shane smiled at him. It made Ilya's heart flutter.

“I want him to see us. I want him to know the truth. If he’s still here, I can’t let it fester, that would be worse for me, I think.”

“Ok, moy lyubimyy. How can I help?”

“Maybe you can explain some of the sex stuff, if it comes up? I... I can do it, but if I don’t have to, maybe... that might be easier for me?”

“Da, ok. But you have to use your words if you need to.”

“Ok,”

“Ok.”

Ilya kissed his Shane. Not a hello kiss, not a goodbye kiss, not a kiss for passion or sex or longing. No. He kissed Shane for strength. Strength for himself, but more importantly, strength for his lover. For however hard this would be on him, it would be ten times harder on Shane. 

***

Ilya guided Shane down the stairs. He put a protective arm around him as he led him to the couch. Ilya sat first, pulling Shane down next to him. He guided Shane's head to his lap and helped position Shane's body to lay on his side, minimizing pressure on his behind. A possessive hand made its way to his hair and another around his shoulders. Shane was fine right now. Ilya was going to keep him fine. That was his job right now.  

Ilya glared at Pike. There was silence between the three men. Shane spoke first, “Hayden, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Amber has chickenpox,” Pike rushed to say, as if that made any sense at all.

Shane was more collected than Ilya, he responded “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she’s ok. But why are you in my house?” 

“I’ve never had chickenpox. And I don’t have the vaccine. So Jackie sent me away. I didn’t know you had company.” He was as white as a ghost. Except for the red spot on his chin, where a bruise was forming. Good. Ilya wasn’t going to make this easy for him. 

“Pike.” Ilya said, “Get the oranges from the counter.” he glared at him, so Pike knew this wasn’t a request. 

“Apple, please,” Shane's voice was small. 

Ilya scratched lightly behind his ear. He looked back up, “Pike. Apple. Get knife too.” Pike’s eyes went wide for a second at the mention of a knife. Ilya enjoyed that. He scurried over to get the items and brought them over. Pike tried to give them to Shane, but Ilya wouldn’t let that happen. “No, you still don’t touch him,” he said. Ilya could tell Hayden was looking at Shane, silently asking if Ilya was for real right now. Ilya felt Shane nod. He took the apple and sliced off a large chunk. He looked Pike directly in the eye as he cut it into three smaller pieces before feeding one to Shane, letting his fingertips linger on his lips. 

Ilya had to be careful. Shane wasn’t fully back to being his polished public self yet. He definitely wouldn’t be able to get there tonight. That was the whole fucking point of the evening. For Shane to let go.  

Ilya had to know where Shane was; he had to take the risk of giving Pike more questions to ask. And he had to make sure Shane was checking in with himself, too. His bellboy might like to talk about people seeing him, seeing his need and his desires, but he knew he didn’t actually want it. They weren’t playing. They were definitely not playing. But Ilya would still take care of Shane. Always. No matter what. He needed to. 

“Colour?” he asked. Pike was, as expected, confused, but Shane understood. He tensed imperceptibly before answering, “green.” 

Ilya popped a slice of apple in his mouth and fed Shane another. He never broke eye contact with Pike. If Pike was looking at Ilya, then he wasn’t looking at Shane. “See Pike. Other people can say thing without context that make no sense.” Ilya paused to let him stew in it just a moment longer. “Why are you here?”

“I told you!” Pike seemed exasperated. 

“Why do you abandon your wife when your child is sick, hmm? Is it because you are not a good husband?” 

“Ilya,” Shane said in a warning tone.  

Pike finally looked away from Ilya and down to his lap. “Shane, what the actual fuck is going on here!”

“Hayden.” Shane paused. Ilya wanted him to say This is my boyfriend, this is the love of my life. One day, I am going to marry him. And we will have seven kids, three dogs, a cat, and two goldfish. And I will never leave his side again. 

Instead, Shane finished with “I’m gay.” 

This didn’t seem to faze Pike at all that much. “Ok buddy, that's great, but what the fuck is Rozanov doing here?”

“We’re together,” Ilya replied. 

“No your not.” Pike was so confident, Ilya felt something inside him snap. Break in two. Pike was Shane’s best friend, one of his oldest friends, and he could so easily dismiss the idea that they were together. Iyla couldn’t pretend that it didn’t hurt; he just hoped Pike couldn’t see that hurt on his face.

Shane spoke up from his lap, “Hayden, this is Boston Lily.”  

Pike's jaw was on the floor. He quickly stood and yelled at a volume that would be concerning if Shane weren’t his neighbour's landlord. “You are out of your mind! There is no way I believe that! Like what the fuck. You’re my best friend, I would know if you were fucking Rozanov! This has to be a joke!” Pike turned his attention back to Ilya, looking directly in his eyes. He started throwing his finger at Ilya, just like his father used to do, “Or, or, you're like brainwashing him or something. With your weird sex beatings!” he accused. 

Ilya’s heart fell out of his chest. For a moment, he felt small, like the child that he had been for so long. Then he remembered that he was strong. He was allowed to be here. The only person who’s premission he needed was Shane’s, and he knew he had that. Ilya was about to stand up and kick Pike’s ass for even daring to imply he was forcing Shane to do anything he didn’t want to. 

But Shane beat him to it, though less violently than Ilya would have liked. “Enough!” he shouted. “If my word is not good enough for you, then I’ll call my fucking mother. Ilya, do you have your phone?”

Fuck. That was the nuclear option, “Shane,” Ilya pleaded, “are you sure that's a good idea. It’s late.” 

“Ilya,” Shane looked up at him, 

“Shane, yellow,” on the one hand, he knew that Shane was right. Yuna would quickly convince Pike so they could move on to the ostensibly more important discussion they needed to have tonight. But on the other it was late. He didn’t want Yuna (or David) to think he couldn’t fight his own battles. He didn’t want them to think that he couldn’t protect Shane.

No. 

Yuna and David loved Shane. They loved him. They would do anything to help. Still, he had to make sure Shane knew what he was asking for right now. 

“Please, Ilya.” Shane was looking up at him with tears welling in his eyes, and suddenly, Ilya realized that Shane’s worst fear was the same as Ilya’s. Not that Hayden or Yuna or whoever else knew they liked intense sex, but that they didn’t believe that they were in love.  

This last year. It had been hard. So hard. Not the hardest year Ilya had had in his life, no. But hard nonetheless. They had to hide, they had to sneak around, they had to say goodbye so many times, Ilya didn’t want to count. And now, here someone they were planning to tell, someone they were trying to make safe for themselves, knew. He knew, he knew they were together, he knew they were a part of each other’s lives. 

But he didn't believe them. Hayden didn’t believe Shane. Ilya couldn’t imagine what this felt like for Shane. 

“Ok,” he relented, he fished his phone from his pocket and dialled Yuna Hollander. Ilya put the phone on speaker. 

It rang twice before, “Ilya, sweetie! What's wrong? It's late. Why are you calling?”

“Pike walked in on us making love.” Straight to the pointbut Pike interrupted. 

“I’m not sure I would call that making love,” he called out.

“I would.” Ilya cut back, his eyes shot daggers into Pike. He really hoped one of them would cut. “He does not believe us that we are together, and I need Shane to relax. So you need to convince this asshole.”

There was silence on the other end for a beat, then, “Ilya, honny, please.” Yuna sounded exhausted. She took a steadying breath just like Shane does. “Yes, Hayden, they are together, yes, we know about it. No, this is not a joke. And I expect nothing to change in your professional relationship with Shane. As for your personal one, that's up to you. What I do know is that if you speak to the press or management about this without Shane’s consent, then you are not the man I thought you were. It's late, I am going to bed. Love you, Ilya. Love you, Shane. Goodbye, Hayden,” she clicked off the call. 

Shane’s hand found Ilya, and he squeezed, “Do you believe me now?” Shane asked Hayden. 

The other man looked shellshocked again, “Yeah,” he said.

***

Shane was asleep. Shane was asleep in Ilya Fucking Rozanov’s lap. While Ilya FUCKING Rozanov stroked his hair. How the fuck was Shane just asleep? No one had said anything for the like last 15 minutes. Not since Yuna had hung up. Shane stayed in Rozanov’s fucking lap, and Rozanov stared him down like he wanted to murder him. Hayden was trying to find two thoughts to string together and make sense of this whole fucking thing. In a way, Hayden wished Rozanov would throw a punch, that would be fucking normal at least. 

This was the weirdest fucking day of Hayden’s life. He was staring. He knew he was. But come on! It was like his best friend had been replaced with a pod person. Fucking Rozanov broke the silence. “Stop staring. Ask.” He said. 

“What?”

“I don’t want him to have to deal with you tomorrow. So ask your little questions, then have some tact tomorrow."

“Why the fuck were you hitting him?” Hayden blurted out. 

“Not interesting. Is because Shane ask me to. Ask better question.” 

A better fucking question? “Well, why the fuck did he ask you to?” Hayden hissed. 

This seemed to appease Rozanov weirdly. “Ah, now this is interesting question. Because sometimes Shane needs the world to stop. And I can do that for him. In many different ways. So I do.”

This doesn’t make any fucking sense. “But like you were beating the shit out of him, I heard you.”

“Da, you should try sometime. Is very nice.”

Hayden sputtered, “I— what! No man!” Fucking ROZANOV!

“Is ok if you don’t like, is not ok to judge what someone else likes. You North Americans, I’m the fucking Russian one here. Why am I the only one who is comfortable about gay sex?”

Hayden took a breath. This was going in circles. Rozanov, fucking Rozanov was right. This was his best fucking friend. He needed to understand what was going on, for Shane at least. “What does he get from it?” he asked. He had tried googling sex hitting earlier, but all that came up was like porn and stuff. He freaked out and just shut his phone off and paced some more. 

“He gets to feel safe. And nothing else. He gets to relax and know I’ll be there to take care of everything. He gets to turn his big brain off until he has to turn it back on. Plan was for brain to be off until at least noon tomorrow. But you ruin that plan.” 

This is so fucking weird. Rozanov seemed to like actually fucking care about Shane. Hayden didn’t know Rozanov could care about anything. 

“Will he be ok?” That's what Hayden actually wanted to know. Would Shane ever be the same weird guy he knew? Could he still play hockey? Shane loved hockey for fucks sake. 

“Yes. is bad now, for both of us. But I will fall apart later. I can not now; I need to help Shane now.” Hayden somehow felt like Rozanov hadn’t meant to confess that. Which means he believed it even more. 

Hayden flinched, “Why you?” he asked. “Why does he do this with you?” This seemed to make Rozanov pause. 

“That is maybe a question for tomorrow,” Rozanov finally answered. 

Ok, weird, Hayden moved on, “Why did he...” he mimed upchucking. 

“Because his body and his mind were fighting, too much going on. Can happen. Is not good, but he will be ok, hmmm, moy lyubimyy.” Rozanov was stroking Shane’s hair again. And whoa holy shit, Shane is awake? Rozanov looks back up at him, “For what it’s worth, he wanted you to know. We were going to tell you. Not about this.” he gestured to Shane spread out on the couch, “But about us. You are best friend. I am lover. Is time we meet properly.”

“Ilya,” he hears Shane’s sleepy voice cut with a warning tone. 

Rozanov smirked, “He does not like it when I call him my lover, so innocent. Little does he know that lyubimyy means lover.” Rozanov gave him a sly smile, but Hayden was distracted by Shane.

“I know what it means, asshole. Can I go to bed now?” His face was pressed into Rozanov's lap, so his words were muffled. 

Hayden was expecting Rozanov to answer but instead, they both looked at Hayden, “Are you asking me?”

Rozanov’s eyes narrowed, “Da. Will you be, how do you say it? Cool? About this?”

Hayden nodded. He meant what he said to Shane. He was his best friend, he loved him and wanted him to be happy. He would be a pretty fucking shitty best friend if he didn’t at least try to be cool about this. If he didn’t at least try to figure out what the FUCK was going on with his best friend.

Rozanov continued, “I guess you can stay tonight. But sheets on the guest bed need to be changed still.” Hayden made a face, but Rozanov cut back, “Listen, is your fault they are dirty like that. Don’t worry, we have mattress cover on bed, no stains, no wet spots.” Then he fucking winked.

Rozanov slipped out from under Shane. He looked Hayden up and down, as if to make sure he wouldn’t be causing trouble tonight. When Rozanov was satisfied, he turned away from Hayden, “Come moya lyubov,” he said. His arms slipped under Shane's legs and shoulders. Shane slipped his arms around Rozanov’s neck. He hoisted the two-time Stanley Cup champion up and against his body like he had done it before. Holy fucking shit, he probably had.  

Rozanov then carried him to the stairs and up, calling a “goodnight” over his shoulder. 

***

That hadn’t been terrible, Shane thought, as Ilya placed him in bed. He fussed around for a moment before coming back to Shane.  

The lights were out. They were breathing together. 

“Ilya?” Shane asked.

“Da?”

“Are you ok?”

“Don't worry about me, I can collapse into a puddle of goo later. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I think I kinda am. Definitely going to be a drop risk tomorrow, for both of us probably. But like, I am surprisingly ok.”

“See, is good to talk about sex, moya lyubimyy. Makes it better in your brain, da?”

“Yeah, but Ilya, are you ok? You know, I can tell when you’re being a shit little to protect yourself.”

Ilya sighed, and Shane let him speak when he was ready. “When you need me to be strong, I am strong. I can’t help it. I–” tears started falling down Ilya’s cheeks. “I just can’t.” Shane pulled him close to his chest. Pulling Ilya so that his head was resting on Shane’s shoulder, his body curled into his lover's. 

“Shhh shhh, I don’t need you to be strong right now.” Shane said, “It's ok. I’m here.”

* 

“I’m here,”

*

“I have you.”

* 

“It's ok.”

* 

“I love you.”

* 

“You took such good care of me.”

* 

“I needed you, and you were there.”

* 

Shane could feel Ilya melt into him; he could feel tear stains soaking into his shirt. He continued to press sweet words and sweet kisses into Ilya’s hair until difted off with his heart in his arms. Tomorrow would be a better day. It had to be. 

They both held on tight to each other until morning.

Chapter 13: Morning

Chapter Summary

Morning

Chapter Notes

Shane let Ilya rest. He didn’t know what time the other man fell into sleep. He didn’t know if he was hoping Hayden had stayed last night or if he had run away. Shane didn’t know a lot of things right now. He had to be careful. 

Shane stopped by the guest room. The bed was made, and the pillows were arranged neatly. But no Hayden. A pang of disappointment shot through him, that answers that question, then, he thought. 

Shane made his way downstairs and into his kitchen. He started his morning routine. Two bowls, half a cup of 90-second oats in each. One cup of water in each. He turned his kettle on for himself and started grinding the coffee for Ilya’s French press. He measured out thirty-eight grams of ground coffee.

Shane turned to fill caraf with the ground beans, and nearly spilled them when Hayden Pike’s head popped up from behind the couch. “Holly shit dude, what the fuck.” he practically yelled.

“Rozanov said I could stay...” Pillow creases were stretched across Hayden’s face, his eyes were bleary, and it looked like he hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep. 

“Ilya.” Shane said pointedly, “Why didn’t you sleep upstairs? I thought you had left.” 

“I didn’t want to sleep in your weird sex bed.” Shane was pretty sure Hayden wasn’t trying to be grossed out, but he was doing a shit job of it (in Shane’s opinion, at least). 

“God its not— and we have a mattress cover.” Shane ignored that pit in his stomach; he stared at the ceiling. 

“Rozanov said.” 

“Ilya.” Shane said again. 

Hayden ignored him again, “Shane, what the hell is going on! Why the fuck are you hooking up with Rozanov?”

“Hayden. Call him Ilya. Please. He is the love of my fucking life, and I am going to marry him someday. So please. Call him Ilya.” Breakfast prep had been completely abandoned by this point. Ilya’s coffee would suffer because Shane wasn’t performing his practiced routine, but he wasn’t thinking about that right now.    

Hayden stood, dressed in the same clothes as last night. “I don’t know how you expect me to behave, buddy! I mean, I’m not that surprised you're gay, but Ilya fucking Rozanov? You fucking hate him!”

“NO! You hate him!” Shane felt something inside of him snap. Or maybe it clicked into place. “This whole rivalry thing! It's been built up for years, well, do you wanna know what! We’ve been fucking the whole time!” 

That got Hayden’s attention, “What? Really?” he asked.

“Yes! But it’s so much more than that,” Shane tried to calm himself, “Hayden, if I didn’t have Ilya, I’m not sure I’d be able to tell you I’m gay. I have only been able to say those words for a little over a year. This thing has been going on since before our rookie season. Fuck Hayden! We had our first kiss before I even met you!” Once Shane started talking, it was like he couldn’t stop. Like a dam broke, and all the thoughts he had bottled up flowed freely from his mouth. 

“You know, when I was growing up, coming into the league, people made a huge deal about me being Asian. Like you look at me and you can tell I’m asian. My mom, she—” Shane’s voice caught, but he persisted. “She made sure I knew I would be a role model for Japanese and other East Asian kids one day. But I never had that role model. The last Japanese player in the NHL was in the nineties, and he lasted for like two seasons before he hung up his skates. It’s been clear to me since day one that I have to be twice as good as everyone else just to feel like I belong. And what people forget, what my mom forgot, was that I needed a role model too. But at least I had that guy in the eighties to look up to, right? Well, I’m not just Asian Hayden. I’m gay.  

“Do you know how many out hockey players there were in the NHL when I was a kid? Of course you do, because it was none! There is no one for me to look up to. No one for me to see myself in. There were no out players in juniors or in triple A. Nothing. Because it was career suicide! It was made clear in no uncertain terms that gay people weren’t allowed. Fuck!” he could feel tears welling in his eyes, but he didn’t care. He just wanted Hayden to understand, especially this next part, “Do you know how fucking hard I tried to be straight! Or like women or whatever.  Do you know how hard I tried to fit in! I was still trying when I was with Rose, Last. Fucking. Year!” Shane was interrupted by a kettle screaming. He turned his back to the living and took a few deep breaths while he poured hot water into the teapot. When he turned back round, he was somewhat more composed.

“Everyone always talks about how I’m such a good role model or whatever for Asian kids. But no one ever thought I needed a role model. I needed someone to teach me how to be gay, or be queer or whatever. I needed someone to be able to tell me it was ok to kiss boys, and it was ok to like boys. I needed someone to tell me I was ok. I didn’t have anything close to that until I was 19.” He paused, trying to let Hayden catch up, but god could his friend be oblivious sometimes. 

Shane continued, “It was Ilya. Ilya made me feel like it was ok. Because it fucking is. The first time we hooked up, we were in the fucking showers after some commercial shoot. And my worst nightmare happened. He caught me looking, he caught me getting a little hard. I had always been so careful, because I never wanted to be called a Shower Sheriff But I— I was fucking 19, Hayden! And I thought, for a split second, my life was over. Because he knew. He knew this thing that I had been hiding for so many fucking years, this thing that I had been hiding from myself. He knew I liked boys. He knew I thought he was cute. I thought my fucking career was over before it started, but then he let me know it was ok. He let me know that I wasn’t a terrible person. Not with words, but his reaction.

“Do you know what, he was the first person I told I was gay. He was literally there the first time I said it out loud. That was last year— 8 fucking years later. I’ll let you in on a secret, Hayds. I was gay the whole time!”

“So I know, I know, he is literally the worst person to fall in love with. I know that if it ever came out that— I don’t even know what would happen. It’s insane. I know it's insane! So have whatever reaction you need to have– but please remember I love him. Please remember that that is the man I am going to marry. Please remember that it might be new for you. But we’ve been together for years.” Shane was out of breath; he wasn’t even sure what he had confessed to, more than he probably meant to. 

“You're for real?” Hayden finally asked.

“Yes,”

“Has he been hitting you the whole time?”

“Jesus! No, yes kinda. It’s complicated! Do you really want to talk more about my sex life?”

“I can leave it be, just. Just promise me that you’ll tell me if something— Anything —is wrong. I just want to know my best friend again.”

“I can do that. But I’m not going to deny him. I am not going to cheapen my love for him just to make you comfortable.”

“Ok,” Hayden said. Shane really thinks he means it. 

***

Later, when Hayden was sitting at Shane’s kitchen table, having the first cup of coffee that he had ever had in Shane’s apartment. Apparently, it’s Rozanov’s— Roz’s (they had compromised for now). He is the reason that his tea-loving best friend has high-quality beans and a specialty coffee grinder. “I still can’t believe you're gay with Roz, and you like it when he hits you.” his tone is light, as if to say I don’t know how to act, so I am going to try and chirp you because that's the only way I know how to talk. Or at least that’s what he was fucking going for. 

Shane smiled, “Listen. I would really prefered if you didn’t know that last part,” he joked. Hayden could always tell when Shane was trying to make a joke. 

“Oh, trust me, buddy, I would prefer that too.” For the first time, Hayden thinks they might be ok. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t stiffen when Roz comes down the stairs. Shane reaches his arm out, and Roz seems drawn to him, instinctively.  

Shane grabs his hand and pulls him down for a quick kiss. In that moment, it’s like they forgot that Hayden was even there. He cleared his throat. 

Roz looked up and glared at him again. “Pike, are you drinking my coffee?”

“Ilya, while you are in my house, he won’t call you Rozanov, and you won’t call him Pike. Ok?”

“Da, fine. What about pridurok?” Roz asked.

“Ilya,” Shane said in a tired tone. Hayden had used the same tone with his kids many times. “That means jerk, doesn’t it?”

Roz was staring at him. “Da, moya lyubov. Can also mean fuckface.”

Hayden has been goaded enough on the ice. He’s been taunted by Rozanov specifically for years, enough to know he is being tested right now. Rozanov is trying to find his limit. He has to keep his composure for Shane’s sake. He doesn’t take the bait. Roz stares at him, and Hayden stares back. He doesn’t say anything. 

Shane breaks the draw. “Ilya, be nice, or I won’t make you coffee tomorrow.”

The moment broke, the heat was off Hayden, “But Shaaaane,” Roz whined, “you make it so much better than I do!” 

“Then be nice,” Shane is smiling at Roz again. 

“Fine,” he says, and turns to face him. “Hello Hayden, I saw you cleaned up sheets, thank you. Next time, don’t walk in on us. Is that better, moya lyubov?” Shane chuckled and got up to fetch another cup for Roz. 

“That's him being nice?” Hayden complained.

“That’s as nice as he gets,” Shane called out. He was putting (what he assumed was) Roz’s oatmeal in the microwave while Roz was wearing a shit-eating grin. Hayden had seen it before, on the ice. 

But no, this was different. This smile reached his eyes; it softened further when he looked at Shane. Fuck, they really were in love. 

***

Ilya turned to him as soon as the bathroom door closed behind Hayden, and he pulled Shane into a tight hug. “Moya lyubov, are you ok? How are you?”

“I’m fine, I’m ok,” Shane answered honestly. “How much of that did you hear before you came downstairs?” he asked. 

“Most, enough”, Ilya responded. “I thought you needed time to say what you needed. Is ok?”

“Yes, is ok.” Shane parodied Ilya’s accent back at him, which earned him a playful push. “How are you, Ily?” Shane asked. 

Ilya rolled his eyes at Shane, “I hate that Sveta taught you this.” 

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” Ilya smiled, his little secret smile. The one that Shane craved. The one that’s only his. “I am fine, good too.” Ilya finally answered. 

Shane couldn’t actually believe how light he felt, considering his worst nightmare occurred last night. His best friend now knew three things about him, when he only wanted to share two. 

Hayden knew he was gay, he knew he was inlove with Ilya, and he knew that Shane liked to be hit sometimes. But even with that last bit of extra information out there, Shane was ok. Because his best friend knew him now, knew all of him (and he had also promised to try to forget the last part). 

Shane was actually maybe a little bit better than ok. He was happy, and he didn’t have to hide as much anymore. 

Hayden came back to the kitchen on the phone, “and you sure sure mom?” he paused while the person –Hayden’s mom, Mrs. Pike– spoke, “Ok, ok. I’ll head home soon.” Hayden clicked off the call and turned to Shane and Ilya, who were still practically on top of each other. 

Ilya started to pull away, but Shane made sure they were still close. Still pressed together, just not so intensely. 

“That was my mom, turns out I did have the chicken pox when I was a kid. So I can go home afterall.” Hayden was all smiles, but Shane could tell Ilya was annoyed. He pinched his side. 

“That’s great, Hayds,” Shane said. 

Hayden went to the couch to gather his things. Shane was happy that Hayden was leaving. But there was something Shane had to do before he went. He wasn’t looking forward to it. But he had to do it. He didn’t owe anyone his comfort. He’s allowed to make other people uncomfortable if it protected him and his peace. He’s allowed. “Hayden,” he steeled himself and asked a question he already knew the answer to. “How did you get in here last night?”

“I have your spare key, buddy.” Hayden looked up from where he was throwing a phone charger into his duffel. 

Shane looks away from his best friend, “I think I need it back from you. For my own peace of mind. Please.” 

“Shane... I thought we were good?” Shane could hear the hurt in his friend's voice. 

“We are, we are Hayden. I just— I need to be in control of my home.” He gestured at his living room, but he meant his life, everything that was contained within these walls. “This is the only place where I get to be me. Fully me. And I need to be in control of it. So please. Can I have your key back?”

Hayden nodded, and he reached into his pocket to retrieve the little keychain with the enamel Metros logo on it. He handed it to Shane. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I promise to try with him.” He gestured behind Shane, “with... Ilya.”

“Thank you. I know you will.” Shane pulled his best friend into a hug. It was quick, but it meant a lot to Shane. 

“You should come over. Next week, we can watch a game, maybe?” Hayden offered, “I mean, both of you. It’ll just be Jackie and the kids. I won't invite anyone else, I promise!”

Shane heard two quick snaps from behind him. “Sure, yeah. I’ll text you,” and then Hayden was gone. 

“Moya lyubov, you were so brave,” Ilya was there pulling him into a hug. “I am so proud of you. I love you.” Shane practically collapsed into him. His knees felt weak, and he didn’t know how to answer when Ilya asked, “What do you need?”

Instead, Ilya guided him to the couch and lay him down on his side again. He put something on the TV and stroked his hand through Shane's hair. 

Shane was suddenly exhausted, like the last 16 hours had finally caught up with him. He fell asleep from one scratch behind his ear to the next. 

***

Ilya let his lover rest. He was mindlessly flipping through channels before he fell asleep himself. His sleep last night had been anything but restful. 

When they woke, the afternoon sun had started to sink lower in the sky. Ilya’s stomach rumbled, Shane snorted with laughter at him. He rolled onto his back, and Ilya could tell his lover was still sore. He filed that information away for now. “What should we eat?” he asked. 

“We have leftover chicken from last night, do you want that?” Shane was still bleary-eyed, but he was smiling.

“Da,” Ilya replied. 

So they ate leftovers standing at the kitchen counter, sides pressed together in quiet conversation. Who they thought would win the cup, when they were going to Shane’s parents next, normal things. For them at least. 

When dinner was done, and dishes were stored safely in the dishwasher, Shane pressed Ilya into the counter. And kissed him, slowly, languidly. Like they had all the time in the world. Because they did. It was summer. 

Eventually, Ilya took Shane by the hand and pulled him upstairs. He kissed Shane as he pulled his shirt over his head. He kissed him before he removed his pants, his briefs, and pushed him onto the bed

Ilya kissed Shane's neck and chest, his thighs and knees. Ankles and collarbone, hips, ears and pelvis. When he had dragged his lips all over Shane’s body until he was desperate and needy, he sank his mouth onto Shane's cock. 

Shane was (predicably) writhing under his ministrations, while Ilya was eating up every sound his lover made. Eventually, he pulled off of Shane’s cock. “Do you want what we had planned for last night?” he asked.

Shane was pleasure-drunk when he looked up at Ilya. “Green, but can you not talk about other people?”

“Da, green, Moya lyubov.” Ilya breathed deep before diving back down on Shane's cock. All too soon, he was tasting his bellboy’s release. 

***

Shane was still vibrating when Ilya crawled up his body and plunged his tongue into Shane’s mouth. He could taste him himself, salty sweet, as Ilya took what he wanted. Shane loved it when he was like this. Needy and focused and in control. Ilya kissed him hard and desperate until there was nothing between them but spit and love. 

Shane was gasping for air by the time his mouth was released. “Can I cage you?” he asked. Shane nodded. “Words or snaps, my bellboy. You know the rules.”

“Yes, green,” Shane managed to say. Ilya slipped off his body and went to the box of fun. The black cage was back. Shane briefly, for a fraction of a second, worried that last night had set him back. 

He remembered the feeling of confinement trapping him, not letting him go, squeezing at his center and making him itchy all over. He remembered the fear and confusion that he felt the first time he saw the cage, not this one. The silver one. The one Ilya didn’t want to use anymore. He remembered all these bad feelings, and for that fraction of a second, he worried that they would all come back. But they didn’t. They didn’t because they were in the past, and he could let go of the past right now. 

Ilya slipped the cage on him, first the O ring, snug against his pubis mons. The cage was next. Locking him away. Ilya sucked him back into his mouth. Shane could feel the heat, but that was it. This wasn’t about him anymore. This wasn’t about his pleasure. Shane closed his eyes and let himself be flipped to his stomach. 

“Moya lyubov,” Ilya breathed out, “I have done a number on you.” he pressed a finger to what Shane assumed was a particularly large welt on his ass. 

“Tell me,” Shane said, face pressed into the bed, “tell me what it looks like, please?”

Ilya inhaled sharply, “Da, I will.” Shane could feel Ilya palming his rear, “Is red, mostly. Less than last night, but still there. Can I hit you again? Make you red for me again? Just a little?”

“Green.”

He felt the warming sting again, small, quick hits bring blood to the surface. They settled against the deep ache of last night's damage. “Is quicker now, you are... so beautiful, it— English words are hard, but I will try.” Shane felt the sting of a few hard swats; he wriggeled with out his arms secured.

“Moy posyl'nyy, come here.” Ilya guided him up, and rearranged his body until Shane was lying across Ilya's thighs. His caged cock rested between Ilya’s legs. This felt so much more solid than before. His ass was open and up in the air. Knees pressed into the bed, and Ilya’s warm, strong hands were on him. Holding him, touching him. “Hands,” he demanded, and Shane had to drop his head to the bed, pressing in at an odd angle. His arms went behind his back, where Ilya moved him so that each of Shane’s hands grabbed the opposite forearm. “Stay like this for me, please, my beautiful boy.” Shane whined. He tried to snap, but he couldn’t, not like this. He whined more. 

“Shhh, shhh, release,” Ilya said, and Shane did. He snapped twice. “I know, I know, is hard for you to talk sometimes. Would it be ok if instead of snaps we used taps tonight? Like, if you tap on your arm twice is green, if you tap once is yellow, and if three times is red. Is that ok?”

Shane taped twice, just to try it out. He thought that would work, but he was still going to try and get his words back. Ilya guided his hands back into place. “Where was I?” he asked, “Oh, right,” The sound of skin on skin cracked through the room. If Shane’s cock was free, he was sure he’d have been hard again. Instead, it was trapped, painfully out of use.   

“You are red again in butt. There are little bits of light purple and yellow all over.” Ilya’s hand palmed his ass, sending deep waves of pleasure through his body. Ilya released him and started tracing straight lines against his hot flesh. “Darker purple line here, from cane, I think.” Ilya pressed in, and Shane wined; he bucked forward slightly. Ilya placed his hand at the base of Shane’s neck and applied firm pressure, “Still, moya lyubov.” 

Shane breathed deeply. He focused his thoughts on being still. It was his job to be still right now, and he was determined to do a good job.

Ilya pressed a thumb into one of the welts again, but this time Shane absorbed it. He whined, of course, he whined, but he was still. Ilya rewarded him with a hand in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. 

“And then there is your asshole,” he danced a finger across his sensitive skin, and Shane couldn’t help but flex his hole. “So reactive, I love it. So pretty and just for me.” Ilya was silent for a moment, and soon Shane realized why. Cool spit dripped onto him, and Ilya worked it inside his body with a single finger. 

“You know, first time I see you I think you must shave balls, but now I know you are just like this. Because no one I know will go through effort of shaving balls but leave asshole little hairy like this.” The only thing Shane could do was laugh at that, and soon he felt Ilya slightly shaking with laughter too. “Sorry, sorry, I just love you very much.”

“You too,” Shane managed to vocalize. Then he added, “Asshole.”

“No! Is you!” and Ilya chose that moment to plunge his finger deep into Shane, right to a spot he knew well. Shane moaned again, relaxing into his empty thoughts. He was going, going, gone, lying there and taking it. Being teased and touched and loved. 

“Release arms and lift body.” Shane obeyed. Ilya moved under him and then settled back into place. “Ok, back down please, arms together again.” Shane settled again. 

“So good for me,” Ilya cooed above him. He was surrounded on all sides by Ilya, “I think I will make you feel good now, da?”

Shane tapped twice. Cool liquid dropped onto his body, Ilya pressed it into his flesh, creating a new sensation on his hot skin. And then he pressed in again; this time the glide was easier. Two fingers now, Shane relaxed against the intrusion. Ilya isn’t trying to stretch him open. No, he is trying to drive Shane insane. 

“Look at you, moya lyubov. You are so pretty.” Pressure was building up inside of him, with nowhere to go, he couldn’t get hard, he couldn’t move. He lay there and took it. 

“You are so hungry for my cock, no? You want it.” Shane nodded. It was the only release value he could find. “Cock slut, I told you. You need it always, even when your ass is red. Is still so needy.”

Ilya is relentlessly pressing and teasing his prostate, and Shane might be screaming, he might be crying, he’s not sure. The feeling is so intense, his legs are numb, and he knows he’s not being still anymore. But that's ok, Ilya understands, Ilya always understands what he needs, and when he needs it. 

How did he get so lucky? How was he so fortunate that the love of his life was some cocky Russian asshole that can fuck him six ways to Sunday? Sure, it’s complicated, sure, it’s not going to be easy. But nothing in life ever is. At least he found someone who can give him peace when he needs it, pleasure when he needs it, and challenge him when he needs it.
Shane doesn’t believe in soul mates. That whole idea that this was predetermined fate is bullshit, given the amount of work he's put in, that they have both put in to loving each other— His thoughts white out when Ilya adds a third finger and then a fourth. “Release,” he commanded, “I’m going to fuck you now, da?”

Shane snaps twice. He was floating. 

***

Ilya dumps Shane’s limp body off his lap. He’s so hard it hurts. He’s so desperate it hurts. He’s so needy it hurts. Shane is breathing heavy next to him, having a brief respite before Ilya destroys him. 

Ilya shucks off his pants and dives in, barely having time to line up his cock. Shane is slick and tight and perfect. His ass is a beautiful shade of red, and Ilya knows that his bellboy will be feeling the bone-deep ache every time he slams into him. 

This is not what he thought they were going to be doing tonight. He planned to slowly fuck his lover until they were exhausted and spent. Instead, he was whispering filthy things, 

“My cockslut.” 

“So desperate for it.” 

“This is only thing you are good for I think.” 

“I should keep you plugged at all times, so you’ll never be empty again.”

“I own you.”

“You're my cockslut, only mine.”

“Mine.”

“My fuck toy.”

He's pretty sure he’s said most of them in English, but some Russian could have slipped through. It doesn’t matter, Shane knows, his love knows, his heart knows. He pulls out, and Shane whines at being empty. God, he really is a cockslut. Ilya pulls him back so he on his knees and fucks into him again. 

How did he get so lucky to find someone who sees him, listens to him, and loves him? How did this hockey obsessed canadian freak worm his way so totally and completely past his defences? How did he get so lucky that the stupid, dangerous hookup he had when he was 19 was the best decision of his life? Ilya has a family again. Shane is his family. And he will protect it until his dying breath. 

He’s close, of course, he’s close. The love of his life is bent over with an ass that he made red. The love of his life is whining and helpless, trying to please him. It’s not the power he gets off on; it would be so easy for it to be the power that gets him hot. He knows a lot of terrible men who get off on the power, and he wants nothing to do with them. 

It’s the trust. It’s knowing that he isn’t doing this (just) for himself. He is doing this for the man he loves. He’s making the world easier for Shane to handle. Quiter, more peaceful— even if that's not what it looks like he’s doing. It doesn’t matter what it looks like he’s doing. They know. 

Ilya is coming, he’s emptying himself into Shane, he is going to be able to see the evidence of his pleasure, of Shane’s pleasure dripping out of him onto his red ass. God. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, Ilya is in heaven.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for reading!! I hope this is a satisfying conclusion. If you want more from these two, check out the other works in the series!!!

Comments and kudos have kept me going through this whole thing. I (like Shane) am a slut for praise, so please let me know what you thought of this story. It's not perfect, but I am proud of it.

 

p.s I promised in the comments somewhere that I'd write a smutty epilogue. THIS IS NOT THE SMUTTY EPILOGUE! I have ideas for that, but it will come later; I need a bit of a break from the posting schedule. For now, I am marking this story as complete.

p.p.s. I use Grammarly as an accessibility tool for work. Let me tell you, my Grammarly stats are INSANE after this month, and it really, really hates how I write Ilya's speech lol.

Chapter 14: Canada Day

Chapter Notes

Guess who's back!

jk I never left.

This is NOT the smutty epilogue (is it an epilogue if it's gonna happen the next day in the story? idc, it's not written), this is what happened when I tried to write the smutty epilogue and realized it was actually the last chapter of the story!

The smutty epilogue will come!

Ilya closed his laptop. It was done. His agent had just confirmed that the league had approved the 6-year, $69 million contract. Ilya snorted when he received the preliminary contract a week ago and saw the total value. Shane had rolled his eyes at him. 

Less than a year ago, they had made their plan, and now the first major hurdle had been crossed. It was a long year, a hard year. But the happiest of his life, there was no doubt about that. 

Ilya looked around at the cabin. It was officially Shane's, it was in his name, and he had it built. Shane had spent so much time here before Ilya could ever even imagine getting the invitation into Shane’s life. Yet, he could see signs of himself everywhere. A book written in Cyrillic on the coffee table, his water shorts drying on the back deck from his morning swim, and good vodka in the liquor cabinet. There was a coffee grinder tucked next to the fridge, the same model as the one Shane had gotten for his Montreal apartment. The same one Shane had asked about the first time he had stayed overnight at Ilya’s Boston home. 

His Boston home. 

It wasn’t his Boston home anymore. He had been slowly getting it ready to list. To move his entire life to a new city, a new country. Yuna had made a short list of houses that he was going to look at next week. He didn’t have a long list of requirements. Somewhere’s nice, somewhere private, somewhere’s near the highway to Montreal. Shane and Yuna were fussing about square footage, walkability scores, and other things that Ilya was happy to let them fuss over.

Ilya was pulled from his thoughts when he saw Shane trying (and failing) to inflate a water slide in the grass. He made his way outside to watch Shane desperately pumping on a bicycle pump, with little effect. 

“Are you going to help or not?” Shane asked when he noticed Ilya staring. He would. They had a party to host. 

***

Shane was in the kitchen when Hayden and his family arrived. Well, he assumed that the whole Pike gang was there; he only saw Ruby and Jade streak through the house, rushing out to see Ilya on the grass. They tackled him to the ground, though he did go down easier than he should have. Ilya didn’t often go down without a fight. Shane smiled. How could he not? Ruby and Jade stuck to Ilya like glue. They were the ones who insisted that he come to Uncle Shane’s Canada Day party. 

Shane wasn’t even planning to host the party this year; he knew this was going to be an emotional day for Ilya, his free agency signing. It was a big step, a huge step. But also a relief. 

Ilya had a lawyer in Ottawa ready to file the paperwork for his work permit. He would need to wait at least two years before he could apply for permanent residency, and then another year before he could even think about citizenship. Shane knew it was easier for athletes to get citizenship; three years wasn’t that long compared to what some people had to go through. And they had a plan for if the worst happened—they wouldn’t even have to get married for Shane to sponsor Ilya. He would, though, he would marry Ilya if he had to. He would marry Ilya if he could.  

He would do literally anything to keep Ilya from having to go back to Russia. Anything. 

Shane was pulled from these thoughts by the other four Pikes. Arthur was running as fast as his little legs could carry him, and Amber was toddling much more slowly behind him. Jackie came in with a cooler, and Hayden was behind her with so many beach bags and backpacks strung on his arms that Shane could barely see him underneath. 

Jackie greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, once she had set down her cooler. “Shane, thank you for having us. The girls were so excited.” The girls were currently spraying Ilya with the hose while he fought back with the water gun he'd begged Shane to get. 

“Ilya was, too. He’s just a big kid.” Jackie opened the back door and led her other two children out to join the chaos. Leaving Hayden and Shane standing in the kitchen. 

“Hey, man, girls in the side room again?” Hayden asked. 

“Uh, no. If you think they won’t mind, can they sleep in the living room? Ilya said he’d build a pillow fort or something for them.” 

“Yeah, sure. Who’s in the side room, wait did Rose Landry say yes!”

“No, Hayds. It’s a friend of Ilya’s, she’s stopping by on her way to Russia.”

Hayden couldn’t hide his disappointment, “Damn it. I really wanna meet Rose man,” Hayden had dropped his load and was sorting day bags from their overnight needs. Or at least that’s what Shane was assuming he was doing. He had spent enough time with Hayden to know that kids needed a lot of stuff.

Shane smiled, “I did invite her, but she’s so busy. I haven’t even seen her since September.”

“Shane!” Yuna Hollander’s voice rang out from the front door that Hayden had left open, “Did you make space in the fridge?” she asked as she rushed in, her loose linen dress flowing behind her. She had a large grocery-store cake in her arms, a double-layer half slab. It was decorated with a cartoon Centaur on skates, Ottawa’s (insane) logo. On top, above the Centaur, in a perfect store-bought script, was Congratulations. Below the skates, in less steady and slightly crooked after-market writing, was Ilya’s name and number 81.  

Hayden’s brow furrowed when he read the cake as Shane loaded it into its designated spot in the back of the bottom shelf. “What does that mean?” he asked. 

Shane was rearranging things in front of the cake. Ilya said he didn’t want to make a big deal about the signing. The Hollanders could respect that. Mostly. “What’s what mean?” 

“The cake dude.”

“Oh, we told you. Ilya signed with Ottawa this morning.” Shane looked up at the clock; it was 11 am.  The news would break to the hockey world soon enough. Ilya and Shane had left their phones in their bedroom for the day, hoping to avoid the worst of the public response. It was all the sports blogs and sports podcasts had been talking about for the last three weeks— ever since the awards in Vegas. Ilya was seen talking to the GM of San Francisco (who had lost in the finals for the third time in five years) for all of three minutes, but that’s all it took to start a rumour these days.

It sent shock waves through the league that Rozanov was testing free agency. Ilya had told his agent (at Yuna’s suggestion) to entertain any offers that came up. It would be a little suspicious if he didn’t, she argued. So Ilya had been courted, wined and dined, everything shy of breaking the NHL’s free agency tampering rules. But he made it known to her that he would sign with Ottawa, or he wouldn’t sign at all.

Thankfully, Ottawa’s offer was the second highest, beaten only by Las Vegas, a team that Ilya would never willingly play for. It would be easy to justify his signing there if it ever came up, which it wouldn’t. Probably. Hopefully. 

Hayden was staring at him. “I thought you were joking or something. Ottawa, holy shit.”

This confused Shane, “Why would we joke about it?” he asked. 

“I mean, come on, Ottawa is terrible!” He wasn’t wrong; Shane had, in fact, had the same conversation with Ilya months ago. That was ok, that was a conversation they were allowed to have because it was their lives. Their life. He didn’t really want Hayden’s opinion on the matter, or really anyone else's. 

He hoped Hayden would let it go when Shane answered the same way Ilya did every time he felt bad, or nervous, or guilty. “It’s two hours from Montreal,” he skipped the second part of Ilya's answer, however, and didn’t tongue fuck Hayden. 

Hayden hated dropping things, apparently. “But like, he’s fucking Ilya Rozanov. He could sign wherever the fuck he wanted.” 

Shane knew this; he looked up at Hayden. “He did, Hayds, he signed with Ottawa.” His voice left no room for discussion. “Can you not talk about the reaction today, though? We really don’t want to deal with it today.” 

“I— ok.” Hayden was trying. Shane knew he was trying. He wished he’d try harder. No. Actually, he wished his best friend didn’t have to try so hard to understand his boyfriend. He wished he could understand why Ilya would leave Boston for him. He wished he could understand why Shane loved him, loved him. 

But at least Hayden was trying. 

***

Ilya had convinced the Pike twins to try the waterslide instead of just spraying him with the hose. Jackie was gently tossing the toddlers and letting the bigger kids run at the slippery surface with all their might. The air was filled with sunshine and laughter. 

“Ilya Rozanov, are you going to come say hello or not!” He heard a voice he would recognize anywhere call out to him in Russian. Sveta looked ethereal; she wore a black one-piece bathing suit and a long gold cardigan tied loosely around her waist. Her hair was flowing around her head, freshly lightened and curling in every direction. 

“Sveta!” he called. Ilya turned to the two girls he was minding, “I must go say hello to my friend.” He jogged the few steps to meet Sveta and pulled her into a tight hug. She protested, swatting at him and complaining loudly that he was getting her wet. “This is not a swimsuit that should get wet, Ilyusha.” Ilya ignored her, instead picking her up and spinning her around, pressing his face into her neck. 

***

Hayden had just dropped his and Jackie's bags off in the far guest room. The travel cribs had been pulled out of the spare closet. He only had one more load to bring in from the car. 

He looked out to the backyard, and he saw Ilya-fucking-Rozanov spinning some brown-skinned goddess with curly hair. Holy shit, was he kissing her neck? And now they had their foreheads pressed together, Roz was holding her head like he was gonna kiss her, and then he did! On the forehead, but fucking whatever. What the fuck was going on? “Uh, Shane, buddy, what the fuck?” 

Shane looked up from where he was finishing assembling lunch. Hayden was wildly gesturing towards the pair, who were now holding hands, as Ilya led her down to where the kids were playing. 

“Oh, that’s Svetlana Vetrova, Ilya's friend. Her dad is Sergei Vetrova. The Soviet goalie. I have a book about him if you want.” Shane went back to chopping carrot sticks. He must not have fucking seen his fucking boyfriend kiss a fucking woman! 

“Shane, buddy, I don’t know how to tell you this, but he just kissed her in front of fucking everyone.”

“Yeah, they do that.” Shane had finished with the veggies and was now opening a 24-pack of hot dogs, half to be boiled and the rest pan-fried. The way his kids liked them. 

Hayden felt like he was losing his god damn mind. “What the fuck! And you're just ok with that? Aren’t you worried about them fucking or something?” he could not understand why Shane wasn’t freaking out. 

Shane stopped and finally looked up at him. “They have, or they used to. But no Hayds, I’m not worried. It’s different for them; they’re like childhood best friends.”

“So you're just, like, ok with that?” 

“Yeah, as long as they stop asking me if they should get married, I don’t care.” Hayden was dumbfounded. What the actual fuck. He left the kitchen to finish emptying the car. This was officially the craziest conversation he had ever had with Shane, and that was a HIGH bar. 

***

Ilya was deliriously happy; he had three hot dogs on his plate and a baby in his lap— well, Amber was officially a toddler now that she was walking. Jackie had explained why he needed to cut the boiled hot dogs into half-moon shapes, and he had taken his job very seriously. Amber was now happily going to town on the fruits of his labour, while he let the conversation wash over him. Even the weird looks Hayden was throwing him couldn’t dampen his mood. 

Everyone he loved was here, squished around the outdoor table, eating hot dogs (for the kids and Ilya) and some bean salad thing (for the adults and Ilya). They were going to set up a pillow fort inside where the Pike girls (and probably Ilya) would sleep tonight. And when Shane walked behind him, heading back to the house to grab something, he could reach out and snag his arm and pull him into a kiss, not caring if anyone saw.

Yuna was telling Sveta a story about Shane from when he was in juniors. It was one he had heard before, so instead he focused on Shane’s face. He was smiling, correcting little details, and every once in a while, his eyes would catch Ilya’s, and he’d smile. The little smile, the one just for Ilya, even if everyone else could see it right now. Ilya smiled back and then took a bite of his hot dog, consuming half of it in one go. It was a perfect day. 

***

The kids enjoyed the water slide. They enjoyed playing tag, they enjoyed Ilya throwing them off the dock and into the lake— well, Ruby and Jade did. Arthur and Amber enjoyed being gently placed into water in the flotation thingies that Pike had inflated. 

Ilya ran down the dock and jumped into the cold water, splashing all the kids. Jade and Ruby laughed and swam towards him. They had water boards to keep them afloat, but they preferred using Ilya. It was fine, he didn’t mind the kids hanging off of him, though he was thankful that Jackie was in the water now, watching her two smallest children. 

Yuna was gently reclining in a lawn chair off to the side on the dock. Observing the afternoon summer fun, holding court over all. David had gotten her a glass of white wine and a can of sparkling water. She was dressed in a red bathing suit but seemed content to sunbathe.  

“Ily! Ily! Can you throw me again?” Ruby— or Jade; it was hard to tell them apart— asked. It didn’t matter who it was because the other quickly asked for the same. Sveta had taught them that nickname, and Ilya didn’t mind. His heart panged for just a moment at the last little girl who called him Ily. Sveta would be checking in on her soon, and he had a gift for her that she would deliver. 

***

Svetlana was back to lazing in the sun, as the extended party rested after their late lunch. Two of the children were napping. They looked napping-age at least, and she couldn’t see them or their mother anywhere. Ilya was still in the water with the other two girls. She missed this, missed seeing him like this last summer. It was good for him to play, especially today. 

She had been keeping an eye on things online. It was obviously the biggest news of the day, but thankfully, Vegas had frankly overpaid for a center and a goalie, so that was taking up the media’s airtime. No one was saying that Rozanov didn’t deserve the contract he got; they were just asking questions like Why the fuck did the most valuable free-agent sign with the last place team, in a boring city? She was paraphrasing, of course. But overall, the reactions could have been worse, so there was that. 

Jane came over and sat down beside her. He, like Ilya, was more relaxed than she had ever seen. The summer had been kind to them, and she was happy for it. 

“He’s going to miss you, you know,” Jane said, after a while. 

“Da, I know,” she replied.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. 

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Any time,” and Svetlana could tell he meant it. She thought back to all those moments where Ilya’s nose was in his phone. When he would smile and not tell her why. She knew before he did how gone her best friend was on Jane. Now, she could look at him, watch him watch Ilya, and she knew. Jane knew how lucky he was. 

***

The sun was lower in the sky by the time dinner was over. Yuna and Shane insisted on clearing the table. They were unable to stop Sveta from helping. The trio argued that David and Ilya had grilled their dinner, while Jackie did all the sides. Pike got a pass because he had his two youngest on his lap. As he should, Ilya thought. 

Ilya could see Shane, Sveta and Yuna conspiring through the glass. He figured they were talking about hockey; those three loved hockey more than literally anyone he knew. He was surprised he hadn’t caught them together earlier in the day. Though he had been distracted by the twins for most of the day... 

Ilya was pulled from these thoughts by Shane walking out of the house with a cake lit by candles. It was not anyone’s birthday, he thought. Ilya was even more confused when the cake was placed in front of him; it read Congratulations with the god-awful centaur logo of his new team. 

“We wanted to make sure to wish you well on the next step of your life, and wish you a speedy citizenship process!” Yuna toasted him. 

No one had said anything all day. They knew, of course, they knew. This was a house full of players and their families. His family. Ilya hadn’t checked his phone; he hadn’t seen the reaction yet. It hadn’t felt like he had made a life-changing decision today, mostly because he hadn’t. He made it almost a year ago. He was so focused on the next steps for so long that he forgot to take a step back and be happy. 

Thankfully, Shane, and Yuna, and David, and Sveta had remembered. And they made sure to celebrate for him, with him. He blew out the candles and wiped tears from his eyes, “I— thank you,” he managed. Shane pulled his body close and pressed a kiss to his hair, while David started cutting the cake to give to the desperate, cakeless children. 

“Here, is present” Sveta handed him a plain gift bag, inside were several black shirts. He pulled one out, it had the same Centaur logo on the front, with the words Property of Ottawa Hockey. Ilya held the shirt up, it was much much too small for him. 

“Sveta, what am I to do with this?”  he asked. 

“For children, one is for me too.” She replied in English. The kids perked up and looked at him. Ilya fished all the shirts out and enjoyed the annoyed look Pike gave him when his kids pulled them over their heads. Sveta found hers and copied them. Ilya laughed and ate cake. 

***

Shane watched the girls as they ran around the lawn with sparklers. Ilya and his dad were getting ready to light the fireworks on the dock. Sveta and his mom were sitting by the fire with him, enjoying the cool breeze flowing off the lake. It had been a perfect day. His family was here, his boyfriend was here, everything was good here. 

Shane hadn’t realized how much weight he was carrying until Ilya signed the contract. Or maybe he was just happy to pretend this is what their life could be like. Filled with friends and kids and fun. He is so glad that Ilya convinced him to go ahead with his party this year. He is so glad that Sveta could come. 

Shane thought back to a year ago, at his last Canada Day party. The Pikes had come up for just a day trip because Amber was only three months old. Still, his mom and Jackie had teamed up to interrogate him about Rose. He was freaking out internally because Ilya was flying in two weeks later.  

This year was so different. And he was so happy for it. The first firework shot off, lighting up the sky, red and white. The bang was loud a few seconds later. 

The girls were screaming for joy as the next few popped off as well. More red, more white. They all whooped and cheered. And then when their supply was finished, they watched more fireworks from a cottage across the lake. 

***

The girls were asleep in the living room pillow fort they built with Uncle Ily. It was mostly just a mass of pillows and blankets on the floor while they slept on the couch, but those details should not be brought up to sleepy children. Especially, Hayden’s sleepy children who were willingly going to bed in their pillow fort. 

Arthur and Amber were tucked safely into their cribs in their guest room. Yuna and David had left after the fireworks. So it was Hayden and Jackie sitting by the fire with Shane, Roz, and Svetlana. Roz had his head in Shane’s lap, he was staring into the flames. Shane’s hand was in his hair, scratching lightly like it was a practiced motion. 

This was the first real quiet time they had all day. Hayden checked his phone, 11:07 pm. They should be in the clear, the kids should be able to sleep through the night. Still, he had a baby monitor clipped to his sweater, listening in on his youngest. The Metros chat had been exploding all day, celebrating the news that Rozanov had left Boston. He was trying to read a few messages while distantly listening in on Svetlana telling some story about her and Roz stealing her father's vodka when they were 15. 

It was so strange. The whole day was. Ilya Rozanov seemed to be good with kids, his kids. Ilya Rozanov had signed with the fucking Ottawa Centaurs for fucks sake, just to be closer to his best friend. Ilya Rozanov was now offering everyone a glass of his good vodka, not like that swill they stole from Sveta’s father. Hadyden took the glass and tried to look thankful before he threw it back, feeling the burn in his throat. Both Svetlanan and Roz loudly complained at him, saying he was only allowed to have the swill from now on. 

This guy, he wasn’t Ilya Rozanov, he was just Roz. Uncle Ily. Whatever. It was weird. It was so fucking weird. But maybe good weird? He had a sinking feeling that he was going to be stuck with Uncle Ily for the rest of his life. 

***

It was just Shane and Hayden left by the fire. They were watching the last embers burn down before turning in for the night. Ilya and Svetlana had retreated to the master bedroom to have a private moment together before she left for the summer, and Ilya moved away from Boston. Shane didn’t begrudge them even a little bit. He was happy to have a private moment with his own best friend. “Do you get it now?” he asked.

“It’s still hard,” his friend responded. “He’s a different guy with the girls.”

Shane paused for a moment. “No, he’s not, he’s always like that. He just doesn’t let people see him. Not really.”

“And he lets you see him?” Hayden asked. 

“Yeah, I mean, I hope he lets me see him. I know there are things he keeps to himself and that's... It's ok. I get to see him enough.”

“And you're happy, right? He makes you happy?”

“So happy, Hayds. So happy, I’m gonna marry him.” That was something Shane was increasingly certain about. He would marry Ilya Rozanov, one way or another. Nothing, not Russia, not Crowell, not the fucking NHL would stand in the way of them getting married. Someday. Eventually. 

Until then, he had this. He had his family and his best friend’s family. He had the summer, and he had his Canada Day party. He wanted more. He wanted Ilya with him every day, not just the summers, not just when their schedules lined up. He wanted Ilya in his bed every night. But until that was possible, this would have to be enough. 

It was more than he hoped for this time last year. So it was enough. For now. 

They were silent for a while, just the crackle of the embers and the chirp of a few crickets. Hayden broke the silence, “I think I get it enough, is that ok?” he asked. 

“Yeah, that's enough for now.”

***

Breakfast was a loud and messy affair. Kids screaming, eggs frying and bacon that Ilya had insisted on. Svetlana was the first to leave. She had a transatlantic flight to catch. She promised to call Ilya as often as she could and to give him updates about his niece. She also promised to stop by Ottawa before heading down to Boston in August. 

Then it was the Pikes turn to leave. Jackie had cornered Shane while everyone else was distracted, trying to get the toddlers dressed while they screamed and laughed around the house. “He’s good for you,” she had said, nodding towards Ilya, “and he’s great with the kids. I’m happy for you, Shane. This is all we ever wanted for you. I’ll make sure Hayden is on board, don’t worry.” Shane could only smile at her before she had to run off and stop Amber from stripping off the clothes Hayds had just gotten on.  

***

When the cottage was quiet, and they had spent the day cleaning up after their guest. After all the beds had been changed, and the waterslide cleaned and stored. The blanket fort disassembled and all evidence of a party erased, Ilya finally looked at his phone. 

There were a lot of news notifications. He dismissed all of those. Sveta had given him a rundown last night, and he was sure Yuna was keeping an eye out for him. She would let him know if there was anything he needed to address. 

Instead, he focused on the messages. He marked all the ones he didn't want to respond to as read immediately. That ended up being most of them. Almost all of them, actually. Except for three. 

The first was from Marley. 

He responded and was surprised to get an answer back almost immediately.

The next was from Hunter... he wasn’t exactly sure how he had the old man’s number. The message was simple, he didn't respond, just gave it a thumbs up.

The final message was from an unknown number, but the sender identified themselves.

***

It was late. After dark, when Ilya walked down the rocky driveway. The peepers, as Shane called them, quieted when he was halfway up the lane. He dropped the garbage bag in the wooden box Shane kept by the main road. As he walked back, Ilya closed the swinging gate and clicked it in place. He pulled a small padlock out of his pocket and clicked it onto the latch. He gave the whole gate a shake to ensure it was sealed. He didn’t want anyone disturbing them tomorrow. 

Shane was in bed when he got back to the cottage. He was reading a book that Sveta had suggested to him. This was good. It gave Ilya time to prepare. He closed the sliding door to the master bedroom, letting him work in peace.

Chapter End Notes

I blame the Canada-Czechia quarterfinal game for making me so emotional that I couldn't wait to post it. God, I LOVE THE OLYMPICS! I fear that the US women's team is gonna break my little Canadian heart tomorrow, but I will still watch and love them ALL. Except for you know who.

A big thank you to my brand-new beta reader, MusicallyChaos!!! I feel so grown up now that I have a beta reader.

 

p.s. They are HELLA violating current free-agency tampering rules, but only kinda violating the standards for the 2018 season.

Chapter 15: The Captain and His Bellboy

Chapter Summary

“Any changes from yesterday?” Ilya asked. 

“No,” now Shane’s voice was definitely husky with lust. His body was on fire, heart beating. Cock hard. Wanting. 

“Ok, then you are mine now.” Ilya kissed him again. Hard. His lips moved from Shane’s to his neck. Teeth nipped at his flesh and dragged across his skin, sucking and pulling and biting their way to Shane’s nipple. Fingers found his other, and Ilya nipped and pinched until Shane was arching off the bed— vibrations rumbling through his chest. A heady whine punched its way out of his throat. 

Chapter Notes

THIS IS THE SMUTTY EPILOGUE

I know it's not really an epilouge bc it starts the morning after the last chapter ends, but it sure is smutty!
See tags for updated kinks, warning for pee in a 'control way', not a watersport way.

Just to be clear about two things: this is extensively negotiated (consent king Ilya Rozanov), and Ilya just signed with the centaurs like two days ago, so he isn't actually the Captain of any team. OK ENJOY

Shane woke to Ilya on top of him. Kissing him, pressing his body into the bed. Hands wormed their way to his wrist and pulled them up above his head, holding him in place. Trapping him below his Captain. Shane moaned at the restriction, and he could feel Ilya’s lips pull into a smile. 

“Moy posyl'nyy, are you ready?”

“Green,” Shane’s voice was husky with sleep... or lust. 

“Any changes from yesterday?” Ilya asked. 

“No,” now Shane’s voice was definitely husky with lust. His body was on fire, heart beating. Cock hard. Wanting. 

“Ok, then you are mine now.” Ilya kissed him again. Hard. His lips moved from Shane’s to his neck. Teeth nipped at his flesh and dragged across his skin, sucking and pulling and biting their way to Shane’s nipple. Fingers found his other, and Ilya nipped and pinched until Shane was arching off the bed— vibrations rumbling through his chest. A heady whine punched its way out of his throat. 

Ilya sank lower until Shane’s cock was at his eye level. He sucked Shane down in one smooth motion and began bobbing his head. A pointed tongue pushed its way through his foreskin, then Ilya’s hand was there to pull the flesh back and expose the sensitive head. He dragged his tongue underneath and around, coming up and pressing into his slit. 

It was intense, but not enough to get off on. Ilya was mapping the curves and dips of his erect cock with his tongue. Touching and tasting, not for Shane’s pleasure but just because he wanted to. 

“You like that, da?” he asked, before Ilya sucked him down again, taking Shane deep for just a moment before pulling back off. 

“Yes,” Shane breathed.

“Is this what you want today? Me to blow you until you come?”

“Yes,” Shane closed his eyes. 

“Is that all you want?” He could feel Ilya’s fingers walking their way up his thigh. 

“No,” he confessed. He wanted more, god, he wanted. 

“Tell me. Tell me what you want.” Ilya's voice was stern, but not angry. 

“I want you. I want to be yours,” he confessed. Was it even a confession when they both knew it?

“You are always mine, moya lyubov. Tell me what you want.” Ilya kept pressing, needing to hear the words. And Shane needed to say them. 

“I want you to own me today. Please.” Shane could hear how breathy, how desperate he sounded and didn’t care. 

“Da. I own you. You are mine.” Possessive hands landed hard on his groin and squeezed, “This cock is mine, this ass is mine.” A thumb slipped lower, pressing into his flesh, “This fuck hole is mine. All mine. I own you today. Do you want to come now?”

“Yes.”

“Does it matter what you want?”

“No,” he whined, like a petulant child, but he didn’t fucking care. 

“Da, good. You are learning,” the praise soothed him. It gave him a brief moment of peace before Ilya sank back down on his cock and brought him right to the edge. When he couldn’t take it anymore, Shane frantically yelled, “I’m close! I’m close!” and Ilya pulled off of him. 

“Good boy,” the words sent a shiver through his body. Ilya swatted at his cock, and pulled his testicles away from his body just hard enough to bring Shane back from the very brink. “Come with me,” Ilya said, pulling Shane off the bed.

He led him to the bathroom and directed Shane to the shower stall. Ilya pulled the head down and turned the water on. He tested it for a moment before spraying Shane’s groin. It was ice cold. The remains of Shane’s erection were gone instantly. His cock and balls shrivelled up between his legs. 

The water was off, and Ilya was kneeling in front of him. He slipped Shane’s soft dick and testicles through a black silicone ring, pressing it snug against the black wiry hair on his body. Ilya moved away briefly and returned with a cage in hand. This one was a deep emerald green and lightweight. He made quick work of locking Shane away before sucking him back into his mouth. It seemed like Ilya’s favourite thing to do was to cage him and then immediately try to suck his dick. When he was satisfied, he pulled off and whispered, “mine.” 

Ilya stood, and Shane kissed him. Shane was always allowed to kiss him when he needed it, and he needed it right now. “I love you,” he whispered into Ilya’s lips. 

He could feel the smile, he could see the way Ilya’s eyes crinkled, “I love you too, colour?” he whispered back. 

“Green,”

“Ok, moya igrushka,” my toy, “time to get ready for the day.”

Ilya pulled his own clothes off and turned the shower back on, thankfully hot this time. Shane was directed under the spray and was rewarded with warmth. Immediately, Ilya was beside him, holding his caged member, pointing it down. “You need to piss, no?” Ilya wasn’t really doing anything; he wasn’t directing his cock, he wasn’t pulling it away from Shane’s body. But somehow it was different. Ilya was in control, so in control. He couldn’t do anything that Ilya didn’t want him to do. It was a heady feeling. 

Shane nodded, “Yeah, I need to pee.” The words got caught in his throat, but he managed to say them. 

“Then pee,” Ilya commanded, “release.”

And Shane let go. It wasn’t sexual. He didn’t get off on seeing urine. But there was something about Ilya telling him to do it— it sent him straight to that happy floaty state that he craved. That he needed. He needed Ilya to make the choices for him today; he didn’t want any responsibilities. Not even deciding when to go to the bathroom. 

Shane’s body was relaxed when he was finished, and Ilya released him. He was whispering praise into his ear, “such a good boy,” and “So pretty for me,” and “Ya tebya lyublyu.” 

Shane felt a warm cloth washing his backside, gently pressing between his cheeks. He felt soft, scent-free soap washing him. He felt a single finger work its way into his body. Not for pleasure, but for rather more practical purposes. Still, his knees went weak, and he was holding on to his Captain’s body to keep him upright. Ilya's mouth was at his neck, biting and sucking, and teasing him.

And then it was done. Because his Captain was done, Shane was wrapped in a soft towel and guided to his bedroom. Ilya directed him to sit on the bed and turned away, gathering something out of the dresser that he took over. 

He came back with a deep burgundy leather collar, and Shane had a hard time swallowing around the lump of desire that formed in his throat. He wanted.

“Moy lyubimyy, colour?”

“Green,” he forced out of his mouth. The world was getting fuzzy again, focusing down to a single point, a single man in front of him. Words were getting hard again. Thoughts slowed down, and he let them. 

“You are so good for me, you know that. So attentive, so needy. I think is time I show everyone who you belong to, no?”

Shane nodded. His Captain stepped forward and buckled the thick leather around his neck. It was so soft, buttery smooth. When Shane shifted his neck, he could feel a hint of restriction. But mostly the collar felt like a mix of love and belonging. His Captain stepped back, “There, now everyone will know you are mine. All mine.”

***

His Bellboy was so beautiful like this. Sitting there, dressed only in his cage and his collar. There were two gold rings sewn into the leather, one on the front and one on the back. He had plans for both today. But for now, he slipped a finger between his lover's skin and the leather and pulled lightly, checking the fit. Shane’s whole body lurched forward, and before Ilya could stop him, he was at Ilya’s feet on his knees. 

Shane was leaning against him. That’s not what Ilya had intended, but he learned long ago to let his Bellboy do what he needed in the moment— as long as it didn’t disrupt Ilya’s plans too much. Ilya reached for the towel that Shane had left on the bed and ran it over his wet hair. When the dark spikes were as dry as he could make them, he abandoned the effort and scratched at the base of Shane’s skull, eliciting groans from his Bellboy. 

Ilya tried to turn and gather his next implements without breaking contact, but he couldn’t. Shane whined when he had to step away. “Shhh, shhh, I’ll be right back.” He returned with dark navy leather cuffs, made by the same woman who made the collar. Ilya liked the mismatching set, he liked dressing his toy up like the jewel he was. “I need you on the bed, moya lyubimyy,” he helped his lover back up to a sitting position. “I have other pretty things for you, because you are so pretty, hmm.” Ilya reached forward and took Shane’s left arm. He ran his hand along his forearm and then brought Shane’s wrist to his mouth, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to the warm skin. He covered his kiss with the soft leather strap, buckling it in place, and repeated the steps for his other wrist.  

The final piece Ilya had was a length of leather with golden hooks at either end. One went on the back of his bellboy’s collar, and the other end was attached to his wrists. Ilya adjusted everything so that it fell comfortably for Shane. “Colour,” he asked when he was satisfied. 

“Green,” Shane answered. 

“Good, good. Time for breakfast, I think.” He led Shane out to the kitchen, where he had left a pillow last night. It was set next to the head of the table, and he directed Shane down onto his knees. “Moye solnyshko, can I blindfold you now?” he asked.

“Green, please.” Shane’s eyes were bright and desperate, needy and his.

He could tell his sweetheart was well on his way to floating through the day. That was the plan, and he looked so beautiful doing it. Ilya placed the plain black blindfold on his Bellboy. He squeezed his shoulder before bending over and pressing a kiss into his forehead. “You will let me know if anything gets too much or is not good, da?”

“Yes, green. I will,” he promised. 

***

Shane had to hold his shoulders up slightly, and they were starting to strain. If he let his arms go lax, the strap connecting them to his collar pulled tight. Too long like that, he started to feel blood pounding in his ears. It was ok though, he liked it, he didn’t mind. The tension in his body kept him grounded and present. 

Without his eyes, he had to focus on the sounds around him. He could hear Ilya moving. Whenever he was close, Ilya would brush a hand through his hair. The kettle boiled, the coffee was ground, and the machine was filled. Toast popped, fridge opened. Things were placed on the table near him, and then, finally, a chair was dragged out from the table. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it happening all around him. 

“My darling, you are so pretty for me.” The praise flowed through his body, landing in his cock that was already straining against its confines. “Open,” Ilya commanded. 

Shane parted his lips and felt two fingers press in his mouth. Instinctively, he sucked on them. “Neyt, open my bellboy.” Shane obeyed. 

The fingers left and were replaced by something sweet— a piece of cantaloupe. Shane chewed and swallowed, opening his mouth again. This time, a strawberry was placed on his tongue. It was cool from the fridge, sliced in half and sweet. Sweeter than it should be for the early-season strawberries that were sold at a stall up the road. More melon, more berries, then a warm mug of tea was pressed to his lips. It was cooler than he normally liked it, having sat longer than usual. But still the warmth flowed through him. “More?” his Captain asked.

“Yes, please,” Shane responded. The mug was there again, gently tipping into his mouth. The next thing the fingers brought him was toast, ripped into small pieces. Sometimes the fingers pressed in just to feel his tongue, but usually they are there to feed him. He greedily took everything they offered. 

He finished the tea, a few drops spilled over his lips, but it's ok, the liquid wasn’t too hot. Water was at his lips next, then a towel to wipe away the mess. “Good, so good for me,” he heard from above, and he’s happy. So happy. 

The weight of his arms was released, and he all but fell forward onto all fours. He still couldn’t see anything, but he could feel warm hands guiding him, rubbing his shoulders and moving him into place. “Open,” he heard again, so he did. His head was guided forward, and a soft cock was fed between his lips. 

The fingers gave him something else to enjoy, so he does. 

***

Ilya thanked God every day for Shane’s oral fixation, that he can have a warm mouth on his cock whenever they are together. A hand slipped under the table to where Shane was resting right now, mouth holding him soft. He ran it through his Bellboy’s hair just to feel the moan he knows it will pull out of Shane. 

He ate his own breakfast: the leftover fruits, a slice of cold toast, and coffee that was nearing room temperature. They’ll need a good lunch to keep up their energy. But until then, he had protein bars stashed with the lube in every room.

He kept a hand on the back of Shane’s head while he finished eating, and left it there while he just sat with contentment. The sun had bathed the cottage in golden light. Ilya could feel the heat on him as his back was to the windows. He had plans if it rained or cooled off, but he was happy he wouldn’t have to use them. 

***

Strong arms pulled him off the still soft cock he had been holding in his mouth. They tried to pull him to his feet, but he was finding it hard to stand. That was ok, he was happy on the floor. He was happy wherever he was because his Captain had him, was guiding him, was walking by his side. He did have to stand eventually, because he wasn’t allowed to crawl down steps while blindfolded. It was ok though, because his Captain helped him stand up. He held the strap at the back of his neck tight. And then they were somewhere soft, and he was allowed to rest for a while. Warm hands roamed his body, and he was happy. 

Praise drifted over him like waves crashing on a beach. He lay in the sand, letting them warm him all the way through. 

“So good for me,”

“So strong and needy.”

“So pretty.”

“You need this, da?”

“You need someone else in control?”

“Neyt, you need me in control. Only me.”

“I think I will fuck you many times today, you want that?”

He floated, rested, and soaked up the praise until he felt a cool liquid poured over his back. Fingers, those beautiful, wonderful, generous fingers, pressed into him. One and then two, gently, too gently stretching him open. He whined and bucked his hips. “Shhh, you take what you get, moya lyubimyy,” and he stilled. 

The fingers weren’t enough, it wasn’t enough. Even if he could get hard, even if he was allowed to rut, it still wouldn’t be enough. Suddenly, a blunt object pressed against his opening. It teased its way into his body and settled deep. The weight was present and comfortable. Grounding. 

He was dumped back on the floor, but that was ok. That’s where he should be, on his knees. God. He was so fucking lucky to be on his knees; he loved it. His lids sank low, closing behind the blindfold, further cutting him off from the outside world. 

“Cockslut,” he heard distantly, sweetly. His mind was drifting away from him, but he fought his way to attention. “Hey, cockslut,” it was his Captain again. He had to listen to him. They were a team, and his Captain was in charge right now. He couldn’t open his eyes, and speaking was out of the question. What was he supposed to do? Right! He snapped twice. That meant he was good, because he was good. So fucking good right now. 

“Ah, you are so far under, aren’t you. Moya Cockslut. Give me your colour once more, please.” His Captain’s voice was gentle, kind, soft. 

He snapped twice and then drifted away, with hands in his hair and gentle praise raining down on him. 

***

The first thing he noticed was that his knees ached; the second thing he noticed was the low-grade pleasure emanating from inside his ass. The plug. It was vibrating. The third thing he noticed was the hard cock in front of his face when he finally opened his eyes. 

He looked up and saw hunger on his Captain’s face, then the cock was pressed between his lips. He took it. He was a cockslut after all. He knew his place, on his knees, right here, providing a good mouth for his Captain to fuck. 

He felt free. He felt light, as if he would float away, except where his body was held to the ground by his Captain. 

The vibrations increased.

They ebbed, and they flowed. Pressing into his body. Shane squirmed, trying to get just the right pressure in just the right spot. He looked up at his Captain. But he couldn’t see any change in his expression.

His Captain was so unaffected by this. 

Because he was just a tool, a toy. Something to be used. Loved, cherished, and used. He was gone, he was nothing. He had no responsibilities, duties or anything. He just had to be here. To be used.

He had been sucking long enough that there was no taste except skin. He groaned around the cock in his mouth, and this finally got a reaction from his Captain. The vibrations increased sharply, and he was losing control; his throat was working the cock, as best he could, air coming only every two or three thrusts. His body was turning to jelly with the pleasure rocking through him. 

It was so close, it was almost enough, just a little bit more. 

“Deep breath,” his Captain pulled back and commanded. He obeyed, and then the cock was deep in his throat again, cutting off his air supply once more, “swallow,” and he obeyed. His throat worked the cock inside of him, while his lungs became desperate for air. 

His Captain was grunting above him, and he was still on his knees, still on the edge. The edge of pleasure, the edge of pain, the edge of consciousness, the edge of coming, even with his cock soft and caged. 

And then his Captain pulled out, cock spent. He collapsed forward. Still on the edge. Not going over. His lungs took great, gasping breaths, and strong arms pulled him up onto a warm body that held him and covered him with softness.  

He stayed. Floating. Tethered to earth only by the hands running up his spine and the soft words in his ear, “moya lyubimyy, you did so well. You are so pretty for me, moye solnyshko. I love you, Ya tebya lyublyu, I love you, I love you, I love you. Ya tebya lyublyu. My beautiful, cockslut. I love you. So good, and so pretty for me.”

He drifted, feeling a deep-seated sense of peace. He was exactly where he was supposed to be. Nothing in the world could touch him here, nothing bad could happen in Captain’s arms. 

He came back to himself slowly, happy to stay in his lover's arms. Shane didn’t sleep so much as rest, reset, reboot. He could feel the kisses being pressed into his forehead, and he smiled into Ilya's bare chest. 

Eventually, Ilya spoke, “I think is lunch time. What do you want?” he asked. 

His thoughts were slow, but he still remembered all the food from the party. “I think there is some leftover pasta salad—” Ilya cuts him off with a kiss. 

“Nope! Is not your choice today, moya lyubimyy,” he teased Shane, playful. Happy. Shane rolled his eyes, but he was secretly overjoyed at how happy Ilya seemed, how loose and rested he looked. 

Ilya stood and pulled him up the few steps into the kitchen. “You just go over there and look pretty,” he commanded. Shane pretended to scowl at him but still obeyed. Or at least he tried, “No, no, no, neyt. Not like that.” Ilya's tone was light and playful, but Shane still didn’t feel good about the disapproval. The ebbs of distress must have shown on his face, because Ilya kissed his hands, cradling his head, knees weakening. “Sit,” Ilya commanded, flipping a chair from the table around. The angle of the seat was just right to make sure Shane wouldn’t forget about the plug in his ass. Ilya used his foot to push Shane’s legs open before falling to his knees himself. 

He captured Shane’s caged cock in his mouth, running his tongue over the gaps in the hard green plastic. Shane was straining again, his hand was in Ilya’s hair. His body was trying so fucking hard to get hard. But it couldn’t. When Ilya pulled off, Shane had silent tears running down his face, he was begging, begging, “Please let me get hard. I, I— I don’t even have to come, just please!” The words were falling out of his mouth.

Ilya looked up at him, “Is that what you really want? Colour?” he asked. 

Shane squeezed his eyes shut. Willing himself to stop the tears from falling. His voice was quite, barely above a whisper, “green. no.” 

“There, now you look pretty.”

Shane looked down at himself. The ring that sat snug to his body (making it that much harder for him to come) anchored the cage, pushing his testicles up and out, making them look huge and angry red. His cock was obviously soft, not by its own choice. And everything was coated with a thin sheen from Ilya's spit. Tears had dropped onto his chest, landing on his pecks. His nipples were hard and pointed. He could feel, if not see, the collar around his neck with every breath, and the plug in his ass with every tiny movement. He couldn’t hide how desperate he was. Not from anyone who walked by, but most definitely not from Ilya. 

Ilya. 

Ilya, who pulled a large glass bowl out of the fridge. Ilya, who set the large cast-iron pan to heat on the gas range. Ilya, who began frying chicken marinated in some sort of green sauce, way more pieces than they would need for lunch (even if they had been working up an appetite). Ilya, who had a plan, Ilya, who was in charge, and Shane was just here for the ride. Fuck. That more than anything thrilled him. 

***

Shane was always beautiful. This was a fact Ilya had been convinced of for more than a decade. The constellation of freckles that danced across his nose. The faint stretch marks on his lower back and his ass, the scars that marred his skin, and the sparse, wiry hair around his groin. Everything. It was all so beautiful.

He leaned in the last year, when he had been allowed to look, that his freckle’s change. Each freckle came and went, darkest in the fall, lightest in early spring. There were always some scattered across his nose. The ones on his shoulders appeared out of nowhere last summer; he didn’t know to expect them until they had already arrived. Ilya was more than excited to watch Shane’s freckles change as the summer went on. 

But it wasn’t just Shane's freckles or his sweet little smile— The real one, not the one Ilya had seen on TV. It wasn’t how he dressed or how he insisted on maintaining his training schedule even during the summer months, when he should be relaxing and enjoying himself. It wasn’t even how boring he was. None of those things were the reason why Ilya Rozanov, Russian superstar, new starting center for the fucking Ottawa Centaurs, was completely and totally obsessed with Shane fucking Hollander. 

It was because Shane Hollander threw himself wholeheartedly into everything he did, whether that was hockey, or cleaning, or planning the perfect Canada Day party. Or asking Ilya for what he needed. 

Asking Ilya to be totally in control for a day.

Asking Ilya to take him apart, to push his limits, to push him to his limit. And be there to pull him back together. 

Ilya looked over at him. Sitting naked, thighs spread apart, cock caged. Messy in a way he would never normally let himself be. Skin marked from Ilya’s pleasure. Ilya’s greed. Because Shane wanted him to be greedy, and he was very bad at not giving Shane exactly what he wanted. 

Shane was staring at him. Not hungry, not needy, eyes not laced with desire, instead with a focus that he only ever saw from Shane on the ice. Ilya wanted that focus on him for the rest of his life. 

He had to turn away and focus on the chicken thighs sizzling in one of the pans in front of him. Otherwise, Ilya would crack, he’d lose focus, he’d go over to his lyubimyy and fuck him silly. Which would probably ruin their lunch and keep Ilya from giving his Bellboy one of his deepest fantasies. 

Instead, he pulled out the bowl of pre-sliced veg and threw them in the empty pan. They won't need much time to sear before adding water to steam. 

Ilya took out a serving platter and a glass container. 12 of the thighs went directly into the container and into the fridge. The other eight ended up on a cutting board, where he sliced them into bite-sized pieces. He doled out half on one side of the platter and half on the other, with the veggies piled in the middle. Ilya took the food over and set it at his spot at the head of the table. 

He could feel Shane’s eyes on him, tracking him like he was prey, or the puck. But still he didn’t move, legs splayed open, hands on his thighs. He watched as Ilya went back to the kitchen and fetched a small bowl of leftover pasta salad. He watched as Ilya pulled out the scale and weighed out 150 grams into one bowl, and three large spoonfuls into another. 

Finally, the table was set, and Ilya sat down. He had pulled the chair sideways and moved the pillow from that morning between his legs. He spread his legs open to mirror his Bellboy’s.

“Come here,” he said when he was finally ready. Shane, that beautiful asshole, slipped off the chair where he had been sitting for the last half hour and crawled over to him, his eyes never leaving Ilya’s. Shane settled on his knees between Ilya’s legs, looking up at him through hooded lids. The peaceful look Shane had this morning while he floated through breakfast had been replaced now with pure desire. Heat. Need. Ilya swallowed. 

Lunch. 

They had to have lunch. 

Fuck. 

Ilya wanted to forget everything and just throw Shane on the table and fuck him hard and rough and thorough. But that would come in a little bit. 

Instead, he picked a piece of chicken up and popped it in his mouth, chewing while he looked down at his Bellboy. He picked another piece of chicken up, but this time he held it in front of Shane’s lips. He opened and accepted the meat, letting his tongue swipe over Ilya’s fingers. Fuck. Ilya could not let Shane see how affected he was by this. 

He focused on trading bites, one for him, one for Shane, alternating between the chicken and vegetables. He held a glass to Shane’s lips, tipping the water into his mouth as he had with the tea this morning. It was easier, though, because he wasn’t worried about burning his lover. 

When half the food was gone, Ilya turned the vibrations on again. He kept it on low, just enough so Shane would feel it, so that it would slowly start to drive him insane. 

He continued to feed him chicken, vegetable, piece of bowtie pasta, repeat. Shane only looked more hungry as the food disappeared. 

When lunch was finished, Ilya turned the vibrations up once again. “Stay, while I clean up. Colour?”

“Green,” Shane’s voice was desperate. He was teetering at the edge of control. Ilya could see a bead of sweat forming at his hairline. He cleared the dishes and counted back from 20 while he filled the sink. When he reached zero, Ilya gave Shane some relief. He dialled back the vibrations until they were barely on. 

He saw Shane’s body sag forward, “good boy,” he said from behind the sink, “you are being so good for me, my Bellboy. So good.” Shane’s posture went back to picture perfect, and Ilya washed the few dishes he had used slowly and carefully. He didn’t want to rush to the next activity he had planned. 

***

Shane was drifting lazily through his thoughts. He was still kneeling on the soft cushion by the table. He could hear, if not see, Ilya in the kitchen. His belly was full, and his mind was virtually empty. The early afternoon sun was high overhead, but its rays were still warming him through the window. 

Shane loved the windows in his cottage, he loved how much natural light the place got. And he loved the privacy he had on the lake, because nowhere else in the world could he sit naked and caged next to a fucking window in broad daylight. He still felt so exposed, so naked in a way that didn’t involve not having clothes on. 

Shane had been naked in front of people so often in his professional life that it hardly even registered anymore. But right now, he felt more than naked— he felt exposed, vulnerable. He felt like he was on display. 

He kinda was, he was on display for Ilya, for his Captain, and it felt freeing. It felt right, like he didn’t have to think about anything else except for staying right here and looking pretty. His skin prickled with a thousand sets of eyes that existed only in his imagination. 

Shane was on display for so much of his life, he was a thing, a commodity. He accepted that, tolerated it, and played the part. Posed for the pictures, filmed the commercials, fulfilled his obligations. He didn’t mind that (usually), but he didn’t enjoy it either. 

This, being on display, collared, caged, needy, desperate, wanting. This was everything. He imagined what JJ would say if he saw him right now. What would JJ think if he walked around the back of the house and saw Shane through the window? He’d probably think he was a desperate, needy cockslut.  

And he’d be right. 

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and Shane looked outside, almost wishing someone would walk up on them. He definitely wished that he could be even more exposed right now. He needed it, craved it in a way he couldn’t really explain. So much of his life was public, why couldn’t this be too? Why couldn’t everyone see how beautifully he took cock, how well he took Ilya’s dick? His Captain’s cock. 

Suddenly, Ilya dragged Shane to his feet and pressed him close to his body. The hand that pulled him up snaked its way down to take hold of his caged cock. The other wormed its way up, grabbing Shane by the throat, roughly pressing into his flesh. His Captain pressed his naked body to the cool glass. “I think I want to go outside, what do you think, moye solnyshko?” his honey tone sent shivers down Shane’s body when he whispered in his ear. Shane’s cock was straining again (if it ever really stopped), and his knees were weak. 

“Green,” he breathed out. 

The hand at his throat pushed his neck to the side, granting access to the greedy mouth that attacked his neck. Ilya was biting him now, feral. Sucking and pulling at his flesh, the hand on his cock was pulling the cage away from his body, adding a layer of tension mixed with pain. It was all so much that Shane was sure the only thing keeping him on his feet was his Captain’s arms and the press of his body against the glass. 

This was confirmed when Ilya pushed off of him, releasing his restraints, and Shane crumpled to the floor, breathing heavy. The vibrations in his ass increased, momentarily spiking to a level that made him scream out before dropping back down, still higher than before. 

His Captain was back. He clipped the length of leather on the back of his collar and slid the door open. Shane was half dragged outside onto the wooden patio and over to the grass. 

His Captain pulled the short lead up and unhooked it from the collar, dropping Shane, letting him fall to the ground. A foot was there pushing him over, forcing him onto his back in the grass. Hands grabbed his wrists and clipped them together; the short leather lead was attached there. Shane was pulled forward, and then he heard the sounds of metal crashing onto metal. He tilted his head up and saw his Captain hammering a spike into the ground, trapping him, tethering him to the earth. When he was finished, his Captain pulled at the leather lead, testing how secure the spike was. It wouldn’t budge. he was trapped here. Stuck. Vulnerable in a way he had never been before. Fuck. Need caught in his throat. He snapped twice, unprompted. 

His Captain dropped his pants and climbed on top of Shane's trapped body. He shoved his cock into his mouth and started fucking down. His head was pressed into the ground. He tried to relax his throat and jaw, taking the cock as best he could. “Da, like that. You take it so good.” 

Trapped between the cold grass, damp earth and the body pressing him down, Shane lost himself. He was a tool, a vessel, not for himself but for someone else. For his Captain’s pleasure, his whims, his desires. God, it felt good to be needed like this.  

He was suddenly left gasping for air, empty, exposed. His Captain had left his body, but was still speaking to him, still there keeping him safe. “Look at you, so needy. So open, I think I need to mark my property so no one will touch you. Because you look so fucking touchable like this moya lyubimyy.” The foot was back; this time, it was digging under him and lifting up. Guiding him to flip over. It wasn’t graceful, but he managed to find his knees, arms still pulled forward, forearms and hands resting in the grass. 

He heard the sound of metal striking metal again. He looked up. This time, it was a metal spike with a handwritten sign attached. 

Property of Ilya Rozanov 

DO NOT TOUCH

He started to groan; his hips bucked forward, looking for any friction. Any release. But there was none to be found. 

“God, you are a desperate little bitch. A desperate little cockslut. Say it.” He flushed red, his face was burning. He tried to open his mouth and speak, but the words caught in his throat. “Say it,” his Captain commanded again. 

“I’m a desperate little cockslut.” He was literally chained to the ground outside! Somehow, saying those words made him feel more exposed. Made him feel truly naked.

He was a desperate little cockslut. He was. He needed it. He was desperate for it. “I need it. I need your cock” he begged.

“Not yet, I think.” A sharp crack split the air as a hand made contact with the meaty part of his ass. It was louder than it hurt, but it was just the beginning. Soon, hands rained down on him, first warming his flesh up. Bring blood to the surface, making him red and desperate. 

His face was pressed into the grass, tears were leaking from his eyes, dropping from his face only to be soaked up by the dirt. He was nothing, tied to the earth, completely free. The strikes got harder, but the pain disappeared; he was floating outside his own body. He looked down at himself, chained to the literal ground, desperately whining as his backside was being beaten. His cock was straining, the flesh trying to escape its plastic confines, was as red as his ass.  

Here, he was a fucking thing, a toy, and an object to be used. His body was built for precision, for performance, but none of that mattered right now. He was at the edge, he was barely a person right now, and he fucking loved it. He could feel the reciprocal heat of his Captain's hands moving up his back, a finger looped through the ring on the back of his collar and pulled his head back. “Now I fuck you? Da.”

He snapped twice, his Captain dropped his head, and pushed him fully to the ground. He was gasping for air, his knees and arms were grass-stained, and his shoulders ached with strain. He just wanted to get hard, fuck! 

Instead, he got fucked hard. The plug was ruthlessly pulled from his hole. Spit and lube were poured into him, and then he was full, he felt fuller than he had ever been before. His Captain’s hot cock, pressed in, nothing between them, the slide stung his raw backside, but that just added to the feeling. “Fuck!” he screamed out, 

“Da, I will,” and then his Captain was moving above him. Pressing him into the dirt and grime of the outdoors. He felt dirty, good dirty. He let his face drop to the ground and took it. 

“So good, for me, so hot and tight for me. Fuck!” The angle was all wrong; he was only getting a modicum of relief, of pleasure from this. “This is how you want it?” His Captain asked.

He tried to shake his head, but that wasn’t good enough. A hand was back on his collar, pulling his head back, “Neyt. Use your words, ask.” 

“Please,” he whined. 

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me harder, please, let me get hard, let me come, please, please, please.” his voice fell off into a series of moans that were half pleading for pleasure, half screams in time with the cock thrusting into him.

“You will not be getting hard, but I can make it better for you.” 

“Please, please, please!” he begged some more. His voice was getting raw.

His Captain pulled out of him and grabbed his ankles. He pulled him taut against the restraints that pinned his arms to the grass. His Captain then firmly flipped his body over and pushed his legs up so his knees were by his head. He dropped to his own knees and pressed back into his toy. Now, with every thrust, he could feel pleasure ripping through his body, nailing him exactly where he dreaded, exactly where he wanted. His body was a contraction, pain, pleasure, need, want, overwhelmed. He wanted to get hard so badly, but his Captain didn’t want that yet. So he didn’t want it either.    

His Captain leaned forward, bending him in half and breathing heavily in his space. Pleasure was still building in his body, not in his cock, that was painfully restrained— which somehow added to everything. The pleasure was building in his burning thighs, in his back, in his chest, everywhere. An indescribable feeling. A hand was on his chest, thumb stroking over his nipple, and pleasure started building there too. Lips were at his, and then he was gone, body writhing on the grass, back arching, cock softly dribbling through the cage.  

His voice was raw from screaming, and his Captain was stuttering above him, and he was gone. Floating away completely. He knew he was safe, he knew his Captain would take care of him. 

He was distantly aware that the chains that bound his arms had been released, and then he was somewhere warm. 

The cuffs on his wrist were removed. When fingers went to his throat to remove his collar, he protested. “Solnyshko, I don’t want it to get wet. I’m right by you, we’ll always be touching.”

“Don’t wanna not be yours,” he managed to say weakly. 

“Moya lyubov, you’re mine. Even without this, ok?” It didn’t make sense, he needed everyone to see who he belonged to. But he trusted his Captain. 

“Ok,” he snapped twice, and let the fingers make him naked. Then he was on the floor of the shower stall, with warm water falling over him, washing the dirt away. Soft soap was worked into his skin; he watched the dirty water flow from him onto the floor and down the drain, making him clean again. 

Ilya was behind him, leaning against the wall, legs spread, and holding Shane against his chest. Lips pressed kisses to the back of his neck, and his head fell back, resting against Ilyas's shoulder. He was boneless, relaxed. 

Hands went to his cock, and began releasing the cage, finally freeing him. They first gently rinsed the flesh of sweat and lube and spit. A gentle grip engulfed him, stroking until he was hard, the first time since this morning. His body was wrung out, but his cock didn’t get the message, he came quickly. The release was nothing like what happened outside, but it left him spent all the same. He drifted again until he was tucked warmly into bed, pulled tight against Ilya's equally naked body. He rested. 

***

Ilya didn’t sleep right away, even though he was exhausted and pleasure drunk. It was 2 pm, and his alarm was set for 3 pm. That would leave four hours after they woke up, during which he was still in control. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but it had been worth it. So completely worth it to hear his Bellboy let go in a way he never had before. Worth it to bring his lovers' deepest fantasies to life. Worth it to give him the complete and total release he craved. Fuck, he loved him. He loved Shane goddamn Hollander more than he thought possible. 

It used to eat him from the inside, but a year ago he got to say it out loud. He got to hear it back. A year ago he got to start being a boyfriend. He didn’t know what was next, but he couldn’t fucking wait. 

Until then, he needed to rest and then have four hours of care, which his Bellboy needed. But he just might need it more…

Ilya woke to the sound of his alarm. The sun was high overhead, making the room bright. He could hear the birds chirping once again through the open window. They had scared them away earlier with all their noise.

Shane was still tucked against his side, eyes still closed, face pressed into his chest. Peaceful. That's how Ilya would describe it, Shane was peaceful like this. Everything else was washed away, no contracts or moving details to worry about. No photo ops or commercials to shoot. They had a month. A full month before any of that mattered again.  

Ilya pushed away all thoughts of reality and focused instead on the feeling of skin against skin. The prickle of stubble that melted into his chest. Of post-nap stickiness that stretched through his abdomen. The feeling of a cool, soft cock and testicles resting against his hip. His legs tangled together with Shane's, tying them together again. 

Sex was great, sex with Shane was even better. But the after of it all, after sex, after a scene, after he had teased and tortured and pushed his Bellboy around, he needed this. Hell, on a normal day, he needed this. This closeness, this connection, this warmth that spread from deep in his chest outward, fuelled by the body currently curled around him. He needed Shane, he could admit that freely now. 

They would say goodbye more now, he was in Ottawa, they would see each other so much more, he hoped (he knew). They would have to say goodbye so much more now. But they’d get to say hello so much more, too. So that's what he was going to focus on. Saying hello.  

The body wrapped around him started to move. Ilya kept his arms tight, not letting Shane pull away as he woke up. 

Shane’s head tilted up, looking at him, he smiled and Ilya smiled back, “Hey,” his voice was hoarse with sex and sleep. 

“Hello, moya lyubov. Did you rest well?”  

“Yes, did you?”

“Da. How are you feeling? Anything sore, anything hurt? More than it should, I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Shane smiled into his chest. Ilya loved the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He could see Shane’s freckles already darkening after only a few days in the sun. 

“No, I’m fine. I’m good. Happy.” Happy. Shane was happy. Ilya was happy too. 

“I think we should watch movie? Do you want?”

Shane looked back up at him, “I thought you were supposed to be in charge today?” Shane was a brat sometimes, a very pretty brat who had Ilya’s number.  

“Da, but doesn’t mean I won’t ask for your opinion. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen to it either.” He finally loosened his arms and let Shane pull away from him, peeling their bodies apart. 

Ilya slipped on a pair of track pants and started to head down to the entertainment room. He paused at the door when Shane didn’t follow him. He was still sitting on the bed, sheets pooled around his waist, “Moya lyubimyy, what is wrong?” 

“I— can I have the collar again?” The way he asked, it was almost as if he thought Ilya would say no. Almost as if he forgot Ilya would do anything for him— would do everything for him. 

“Da, moy posyl'nyy, of course.” Ilya moved quickly to retrieve the burgundy leather from where he had left it hours ago and slipped it back into place. He checked the tightness with two fingers, even though he knew it was the perfect fit. It was worth it just to see his lover's eyes flutter closed when he tugged gently on the collar. “Come now, my Shane?”

His eyes flicked open, and Ilya could see Shane settle back in that happy place. This time, he followed Ilya out to the couch and settled on top of Ilya’s chest when he pulled him down. 

Ilya put on some action movie he had seen a thousand times, and ran his fingers through his Bellboy’s hair. Shane drifted, not falling asleep exactly, but resting nonetheless. Ilya's hands eventually worked their way down to Shane’s ass. He gently grabbed hold. The skin was still hot, still red, and Shane inhaled deeply when Ilya applied any pressure. He was going to have fun with that, but later. Now he settled in and rested. 

They stayed wrapped around each other until the credits rolled, and Ilya's stomach growled. Shane laughed at him, but not a moment later, his stomach growled too. 

Ilya prepared dinner (leftover chicken and pasta salad) while Shane sat on his knees beside him. Ilya brought the food to the table, again all on one large plate, and Shane settled at his feet again. When Shane opened his mouth, Ilya fed him bites of chicken and vegetables, and carb-filled pasta. 

Shane took everything he gave, sucking Ilyas fingers into his mouth when he was allowed. His eyes never left Ilya’s. He wasn’t looking up at Ilya with heat or desire. It was maybe something different, something more peaceful. Ilya didn’t want to waste time thinking about how Shane was looking at him. Instead, he wanted to enjoy it, savour it, live in this moment forever. This time, Ilya let Shane drink from the glass of water himself. He smiled when Shane refused to break eye contact even then. It was like a tether connected them, neither able to look away. 

Shane was hard by the time dinner finished. Ilya was hard, too. He stood, forgetting about the few dishes they had used, instead telling Shane to follow him. 

The bastard did, but he didn’t stand up. Instead, his Bellboy crawled across the floor and up the few steps to their bedroom. Ilya shook his head and shucked his pants. He lay back on the bed and slicked his hard cock up with lube. 

“Here, now,” he said, pointing directly at his cock. The benefit of all the fucking and the toy he had used on Shane earlier was that he was open. 

It was a tight fit still, going from nothing to an achingly hard cock. Shane slipped down onto him slowly, enveloping Ilya’s cock, with his tight heat. Fuck. It was perfect. It was better than perfect. 

Shane’s legs bracketed Ilya’s hips, and he began to gently rock. Slowly, so slowly, building fraction by fraction, millimetre by millimetre. Ilya wanted more, harder, faster, more, but not yet. 

Right now, he really wanted to savour this moment, after a long day, after a long season. A year, they had been together a year. Every day for the last year, Ilya got to tell Shane Hollander that he loved him, not always with his voice, and definitely not always in person. But every day for a year, he had been allowed to love Shane Hollander, out loud— well, out loud enough. “I love you,” he said between one small thrust and the next. 

“I love you too, fuck Ilya, I need it!” He could tell Shane also wanted more— harder, faster, more. But it was just so god damn fun to deny him. 

“No, not yet. Slow still. Did you like it today? Did you like being mine?”

“Yes, fuck. Yes, I did,” he panted. 

“Hmm, what was your favourite part?” Ilya dramatically rolled his r’s and teased Shane with several rapid thrusts, breaking the rhythm Shane was trying to build. 

“I uhh— I liked this morning. When you— fuck. When you feed me breakfast. And then I got to hold your dick for a while.”

Ilya wasn’t surprised exactly, but he wasn’t expecting that answer either. Shane loved to float. Ilya was still working out ways to make it easier for him to reach that special, peaceful place. Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tease Shane now. He used his hands to guide Shane’s hips higher on his upswing, lengthening the thrusts. “You did not like when I fucked you?” he asked, before slamming Shane back down onto his cock. 

“Fuck! I liked that too. Fuck”

“Da, is what I am doing right now. Fucking you.” he slowed his pace again, drawing it out even further. 

“Asshole, what was your favourite part?”

“Any time I was touching you. I liked that.” 

“You were touching me all day!”

“Da, I had a great day.” He knew he was smirking, and he didn’t care. 

“Ilya!” Shane stretched his name out until it became a moan, a prayer. He picked up speed, and this time Ilya let him, building a rhythm together, moving as one. 

Ilya was thrusting up now, punching sounds out of his Bellboy over and over again, “Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me, what have you been calling me in your head all day?” A hand was at Shane’s cock, pumping up and down, working the flesh in time with his thrusts, wringing pleasure out of his lover. 

“Ilya,”

“No, not that. The other thing?”

“I– I… I can’t!”

“Colour? Do you want me to make you say it?”

Shane was quiet for a beat, “Yes, green. Make me.”

Ilya adjusted his feet to gain more leverage and began taking a more active role in the endeavour. Harder, faster, more. “Say it,” he demanded. 

Shane was a sight, bouncing on his cock, sweat building on his body. Trying to let go, still needing help. Ilya’s right hand worked Shane’s dick, while his left reached up and hooked a finger in the gold ring attached to the leather wrapped around his lover's neck. He pulled forward, dragging his Bellboy down, and hungry lips took what they wanted. “Say it, tell me what you’ve been calling me in your head all day.”

“You know what it is,” Shane whined.

“Da, but I want to hear you say it before I make you come.” The hand on Shane’s cock stopped, it held tight. 

“Captain, my Captain! Fuck, please!” Shane was coming, hard, spilling over his Captain's chest. Fuck. It shouldn’t be as hot as it was. Ilya placed his hands on the small of his Bellboy's back and flipped him over, before pistoning in hard and fast, chasing his own pleasure. 

“Fuck, moy posyl'nyy, my Bellboy,” Shane was entering the overstimulated territory, pain was mixing in with the pleasure, and Ilya knew from experience his Bellboy couldn’t stand right. He pressed a kiss to his face, tasting tears and sweat. Then he pressed another and another, “Fuck. I love you. I love you so much.” He was coming, collapsing, making a mess of the two of them. “Ya tebya lyublyu, I love you.”

He stayed on top of his lover, his Bellboy, until he risked falling asleep. Ilya pulled himself away and grabbed a wet cloth from the bathroom, cleaning the worst of the mess off of them. 

“Are you ok?” he asked, when Shane hardly moved. Two snaps. Good. 

He pulled Shane into his arms, making sure his lover looped his own around Ilya’s neck. He lifted with his legs because the one time he didn’t, Shane lectured him for 10 minutes during their bath (soon as he had come back to himself, of course). 

Carrying his Bellboy wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy either. It made him feel strong though, it made him feel useful. He had to be exceptionally careful, there were more steps than he usually had to deal with at their cottage. First down to the main level and then some more to the lowest level, to where the guest rooms were. 

Ilya gently kicked the bathroom door open and placed his spaced-out lover into the large porcelain bathtub, gently resting him against the back. He made quick work of turning the taps and starting to fill the tub with water that was just the right side of too warm. Ilya grabbed two soft, grey towels and put them on the small table next to where Shane was sitting. He went to unbuckle the leather collar that sat snug against his lover's throat. Shane flinched away as soon as Ilya’s hands went near the buckle. “Moya lyubov?” he knelt next to the tub, settling at eye level.

“I— it’s silly.” Shane was blushing slightly and looking away. That was Shane’s tell for when Ilya should push harder. 

“Dorogoy, it’s not silly, this is the second time today you do not want to take the collar off, yes?”

“Yes,”

“Why not?”

“I just like belonging to you, it’s stupid.” Ilya very much did not like it when Shane spoke like that.  

He firmly grabbed Shane’s chin and gently guided him to meet Ilya’s eyes. “Is not stupid. Is very hot and very sweet.” His Bellboy’s eyes were glassy and his lips kissable, so he leaned over and kissed him before continuing. “You are always mine, and I am always yours. Nothing will change that. Does not matter if we are on the ice, or if you wear my collar, or if we are apart. We belong to each other, always. Ya lyublyu tebya.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” The sound of the words was distorted, first by Shane’s inexperienced tongue, and second by Ilya’s grip on his lover’s face. Ilya pressed another kiss, and another and another, pressing forward and feeling a very experienced tongue pushing back. 

By the time they parted the the tub was already half full, and Ilya knew what he had to do. “Moya lyubov, can I leave you for a moment?”

Shane paused for a moment before answering, “Yeah, I’m ok, I think.”

Ilya checked the temperature of the water and turned it up a fraction before moving through the cottage at lightning pace. He found the square, turquoise-blue box buried in the drawer where he had unpacked his clothes. With it in hand, he rushed back down to where his lover was. He turned the water off and dropped to his knees next to Shane again, holding out the gift he was going to give Shane next week on their I love you anniversary (not to be confused with their first blowjob, first fuck, or first date anniversary), all of which had received smaller presents (even if Ilya was the only one who knew the occasion). 

Shane, of course, refused to take the gift until Ilya first handed him a towel to dry his hands off with. The water sluiced around his body as he pulled the delicate white ribbon away, releasing the bow. 

Inside was a custom-made sterling silver chain; the links were large enough to have soft, rounded edges yet still small and delicate. Ilya had requested something sleek, stylish, and lightweight. He hoped Shane would wear it always, but he knew his lover was very particular, especially about his game-day attire. If it didn't fit comfortably under his gear, Ilya would understand. 

Shane pulled the chain from the box. “Ilya, it’s beautiful,”  he said.

Ilya, of course, was too excited, “Look, here.” He pointed at the small metal plaque next to the clasp. One side had Tiffany embossed on it; the other had a set of three letters engraved. 

“PIR?”

“Property of Ilya Rozanov,” he said proudly. 

“Oh,” Shane looked up at him, his eyes starting to well. “I… thank you.” Shane held the chain to Ilya, silently asking him to put it on. Ilya took it, but instead of unhooking the clasp, he placed it back in the box and gestured for Shane to move forward. Ilya finally slipped into the water, letting it warm his body and relax his muscles. He slid down, bracketed Shane with his legs, and pulled him back so he was resting with his back pressed against Ilya's front.  

Ilya’s fingers went straight to unbuckling the burgundy leather that had decorated Shane’s neck for most of the day. It had been beautiful and heady to watch what the simple strip of material had done to the love of his life (and what it had done to himself in return). But he couldn’t own Shane like that every day; he didn’t want to. He wanted his boring, hockey-obsessed, neurotic partner, who frequently nagged him to stop smoking and wear sunscreen. 

Though, he did want his boyfriend to have some visible physical reminder of their love and devotion— even if only a handful of people would know that's what it was— and only two would know its deeper meaning. So he placed the burgundy leather on the side table and picked up the silver chain, opened the clasp, and pulled it around his Bellboy’s neck. He felt Shane almost sag with relief when the chain was secured against his skin. 

Ilya adjusted the metal against Shane’s chest, just to feel the weight of it more than anything else. He spoke softly in Shane’s ear. “Such a needy, greedy boy you are. Is ok, I will always give you what you want, everything you ever want for as long as you want it.”

“Forever?” Shane asked, resting his head back on Ilya’s shoulder. 

“Da, forever.”

They stayed in the water until it was cold, and their fingers were pruny. Tomorrow, Ilya would walk down the driveway and open the gate, letting the world back in. But tonight, he could still rest with his Shane in his arms. 

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much for reading! Thank you to my lovely beta musicallyChaos!

Please leave a kudo or a comment (or both!) if you enjoyed! You can find me on threads at

@arga.barg

I think this is the last for this serise so I am going to mark it complete. Thank you so much to everyone who read this work. It's insane to write in an active fandom; the engagement is off the charts.