Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

POV Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Alternate Universe, Artist Shane Hollander, Hockey Player Ilya Rozanov, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Depressed Shane Hollander, Found Family, Song: Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen), Is my writing music for this one, They’re both orphans, POV Shane Hollander, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, References to Depression, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, First Kiss, Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Some of Ilya’s timeline is similar to TLG, Consent King Ilya Rozanov, Sweet Ilya Rozanov, Sweet Shane Hollander, Anal Sex, Rimming, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Soft Ilya Rozanov, Soft Shane Hollander, Grief/Mourning, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov Fall in Love in Every Universe, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Dating Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, I am rearranging TLG timeline as I see fit in this AU, Domestic Boyfriends, Minor Troy Barrett/Harris Drover, thigh fucking, Barebacking, Felching, Spit As Lube, It’s not as filthy as it sounds, Coming In Pants, Ilya Rozanov Takes Care of Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Takes Care of Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander Wears Ilya Rozanov's Hockey Jersey, Happy Ending, In more ways than one, Good Dog Anya | Ilya Rozanov's Dog, Light Angst, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Soft, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Complete

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-16 Completed: 2026-05-12 Words: 120,745 Chapters: 16/16

The Minor Fall, The Major Lift

Summary

~And from your lips, he drew the Hallelujah

Ilya Rozanov leaves Boston and signs with Ottawa, trying to fight a slow slide into emptiness and find meaning in his life again. Shane Hollander is a lonely, struggling artist who lost his spark. When they meet by chance, they both have to decide what's worth living for.

Or…Shane never gets the chance to become a pro hockey player, so they meet later in life. Basically, they’re both sad boys, but the healing will be worth it. More baggage, fewer hangups. (mostly soft fluff, low angst)

~You see I used to live alone before I knew ya.

——————————————————

“So maybe we would have played together,” Ilya said.

“Yeah. Maybe we would have been rivals,” Shane said, and that got a grin out of him. He couldn’t quite imagine it, but he thought that would have been fun, facing off against Ilya Rozanov. In another life.

Ilya nodded slowly. “And yet here we are, meeting anyway. Maybe we were meant to.”

Chapter 1: I've heard there was a secret chord

Ilya Rozanov was bored. And if he was being honest with himself, which he wasn’t, he would maybe admit he’d been bored for a while. And if he was being really honest with himself, which he definitely wasn’t, he would maybe admit it was more than boredom. It was a slow creep toward emptiness. He couldn’t see it happening, but he knew it was…if he were being honest anyway. It was like watching a seedling and hoping to see it grow. You couldn’t. You could only see the progress if you looked away from it for a while. So Ilya did not look away, did not want to see it happening. He just kept watching his life pass him by. It was a good life. He was rich, famous...among a certain crowd at least...and could fuck basically whoever he wanted whenever he wanted, within reason. 

Hockey kept him busy. It kept his body honed and his mind sharp. It filled his days and haunted his nights. But in the quiet moments between, his mind was adrift, floating from mildly reckless pursuits, like how many motorcycles were reasonable for one person with a very large garage, to more dangerous things, like contemplating what the point of getting up in the morning was. And that’s how he found himself leaving Boston to move to Ottawa once he was a free agent. To play for a notoriously terrible team in a notoriously boring place as a notoriously excellent center. Sometimes, to fix an impossible problem, you needed a drastic solution. And if the solution failed…well, that was a thought for the darker phase of his mental gymnastics.

That’s how Ilya found himself walking through art galleries in Ottawa on a sunny day in November. He’d purchased a nice house in Ottawa. It was big, gated, and had a nice view of a park near the river. It was much bigger than his Boston penthouse, which meant a lot of walls. Stark white and staring at him, making him feel like he was trapped in some sterile medical room. A place he had no interest in being. So he was going to buy some art. Could he have had someone do this for him? Of course. But part of moving to Ottawa was the deal he made with himself to stop existing and start living. He had to at least make an effort. And only if that didn’t work would he allow himself to think about the whys and hows and whens of what that meant. For now…he was buying art.

This was the fourth gallery he’d been to. Ilya Rozanov knew fuck all about art. And he didn’t want to know. He was just waiting for something that would stop his gaze from sliding past like it was a notch in the wall he walked by every day and stopped registering. He wanted something that would literally stop him in his tracks every time he walked by it. Something that filled up the increasingly large and empty void in his chest. Fuck, he’d take something that made him want to look up from his phone for half a second at this rate. Maybe he just didn’t like art.

The gallery he’d just stepped into was small and sad and probably not going to have what he was looking for. It wasn’t even a proper gallery. It was more of a consignment shop that touted a selection of local art and goods, and Ilya could see the art was questionable at best and the goods were…quaint. But Ilya was no quitter. He walked up to the wall displaying paintings. It was the same old. Landscapes, strange little mashups of color and texture that probably meant something to someone but all he could see was a mess. 

After he’d been standing in front of a large canvas featuring some kind of ugly red-eyed bird for a while, a woman approached. 

“Can I help you with anything today?”

She was pretty. Dark hair, high cheekbones, a body that looked flexible and was distinctly lacking a wedding ring. Exactly the type of woman who would usually earn at least a flicker of desire from Ilya. Certainly someone worth looking up from your phone for. And Ilya felt nothing. The lack of heat and desire sent a cold chill through him. One step closer to the edge. 

“I’m looking for art,” he said, shaking himself loose from that place, and knowing he sounded dumb, considering he was standing in front of a wall of paintings.

“Anything in particular? We have more in the backroom,” she said, gesturing toward an open doorway at the back.

“Ah…I don’t really know,” he said, getting dumber by the second. “I will take a look though.”

She led him through to the back, just a small room, walls filled to the brim with paintings of all sizes and styles. The light was good, giving them all their proper due. He stood in the middle of the room, looking up and down, slowly turning to take them all in. 

And there it was. Large but tucked away in a bottom corner, making him work to find it. He was hit with a sudden feeling of something like déjà vu, but more melancholic. Like a childhood memory that’s just on the tip of your mind, the ragged edges tickling, but you can’t conjure it no matter how hard you try. 

This painting was a kaleidoscope of greens in every shade, grays and browns, and touched in just the right spots by gold and white, creating light. It reminded Ilya of lying in the park under a copse of trees, watching the light filter in through the leaves, catching every green. But here, it was like looking at that scene through a rain-flecked window, each droplet containing its own little piece of canopy, some stormy and gray, others lit with pale morning light, a few touched by moonlight. Ilya thought he could stare at it forever and never grow bored. Never let his eyes pass it over without taking it in. 

“This one,” he said, pointing to it. “How much?”

“Oh, let’s see,” she said, pulling the canvas off the wall and checking the back. “$100.”

One hundred dollars? Surely she must be joking. “That’s it?” 

“That’s correct,” she said with a smile. 

“I’ll take it.” Then, “Are there more by this artist?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “This one has been here for a while. The artist hasn’t brought us anything else to sell.”

“How can I find them?” He was rich. He would commission more. He would fill his whole bloody mansion with them.

“I have their card,” she said, picking up the painting. “I’ll give it to you at the register.”

Ilya paid the measly hundred dollars. “Do you want this wrapped in paper?”

Ilya considered that. He glanced outside. Still sunny. “No, it’s not going far, thank you.”

“Here’s the artist's card,” she said, handing him a small white business card. He stuck it in his pocket, grabbed the painting, and headed out. 

Luckily he’d driven one of his more sensible cars today, but even still, the large canvas barely fit. He set it carefully on the floor to lean against the backseat. It obscured his entire rear view. 

When he got home, he carefully brought the painting inside, already mentally mapping every wall in the house for the perfect spot. By the time he was standing in front of one of many said walls, he realized he had no fucking idea where to put it or how anyone decided where to hang anything. He wasn’t a fucking interior designer.

He pulled his phone out, snapped a picture of the painting and texted it to Harris, the Ottawa Centaurs' social media manager. He had become fast friends with Harris, even though he’d only known him for a few months. He was one of the friendliest and most genuinely warm and happy people Ilya knew. He hoped some of it would rub off on him. 

Ilya: help
Ilya: I bought this painting
Ilya: how do I figure out where to hang it

It didn’t take long before Harris responded.

Harris: Omg! I love it…very talented artist
Harris: You should definitely hang it in a room that gets sunlight. It’ll bring out all the little details

Yes. Harris was exactly right. Ilya had the perfect room, where one wall was floor-to-ceiling glass.

Ilya: thank you, Harris. genius as always

Harris: I’m glad someone appreciates me

Ilya smiled. He certainly did. Ilya liked his entire new team. They were god-awful. That was part of Ilya’s deal with himself too. He would take it as a challenge, something long-term to keep him going. He’d make the team better, help whip them into shape, contribute what he could. Individually, they were already good. Wyatt Hayes was an excellent goalie. Zane Boodram was a solid forward. Luca Haas was a rookie with enormous potential. Evan Dykstra was a great defenseman…with very poor taste in music. He liked the whole team. He missed some of his Boston teammates, especially Marlow, but the Centaurs were great guys. And Ilya needed that. Having people you didn’t want to disappoint was important. Each another brick for him to lay in the wall he was trying to build on the edge of the cliff in hopes it would keep him from slipping over the edge when he inevitably stumbled too close.

Ilya hauled the painting to the room with the glass wall. It was still empty. He’d been living in the house for a few months now, but it certainly didn’t feel like a home. He supposed that wasn’t helpful. To his situation. But he was remedying it now. He’d hang this painting, then he’d call this artist and commission more. And then he’d buy furniture and whatever the fuck else people filled houses with.

He quickly realized he didn’t have anything to hang a painting with. Surely he owned a hammer? He wasn’t sure, actually. He leaned the painting against the wall and went back to the living room. The business card he fished out of his pocket was simple, only two lines. A name—S. Hollander—and a phone number.

He dialed the number and listened to it ring.

“Hello?” A man’s voice.

“Hi, I am looking for S. Hollander,” Ilya said.

“Speaking,” said the voice.

“Hollander, I am looking to commission some paintings from you.”

“Oh,” the voice sounded distinctly disappointed. “I don’t really do that anymore.”

The fuck?

“You don’t take commissions?”

“I don’t paint.”

Ilya didn’t know what to say to that. How can the person who created the painting leaning against his wall not paint anymore?

“Why?”

“Um…I only paint when I um…when I have something I need to get out?” There was a lilt at the end, like a question. Ilya did not have an answer.

“Get out? What does this mean?”

“You know like…when I have something to say. Except, it’s more like something I can’t say.”

Ilya exhaled loudly. This is why he didn’t like artists. What the fuck was this guy talking about?

“How much would it take for you to find something to say?” Ilya asked. Everyone had a price.

“What?”

“Money, Hollander. How much money would it take for you to agree to paint something for me?”

“Um, it doesn’t work that way.”

Ilya rubbed his forehead hard. Seriously, artists were the worst.

“Five thousand?” he asked. “Ten?”

Ah ha! He could hear something suspiciously like spluttering on the other end of the phone. Perhaps money would work after all.

“Five thousand dollars?” The voice was full of disbelief.

“Or ten, yes,” Ilya said. “I will pay you well.”

A pause. “How did you even get this number?”

“I bought your painting from The Lotus Jar.”

“Oh,” Hollander said. “I forgot I had anything there.”

“It’s very good. I would like more.”

“I’m not sure I can do anything like that again.”

“Why not?” Ilya asked, already regretting it because he did not care about whatever artist nonsense was about to come out of this guy’s mouth.

“Well, I don’t have any art supplies. And like I said…it’s not that simple.”

“I will buy whatever supplies you need,” Ilya said. He was ready to get off the phone now. This was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth.

“Really?” 

Something about the way Hollander’s voice sounded in that one word made something flutter in Ilya’s stomach. It was so genuine, so disbelieving, so…soft. Like Ilya had offered him some kindness.

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Tell me how much you need. But this is not free. I still want paintings in return.”

“Right,” Hollander said. “I’m not sure I can promise that.”

Ilya sighed. “Hollander,” he said, trying to keep his voice patient. “I want more paintings. If you can provide them, I will buy all supplies and still pay you five thousand dollars. Per painting. Ten for big ones.”

“What the fuck?” Hollander said softly on the other end of the line. “Why would you pay me that much? You don’t even know me.”

“I am impressed with your talent. Will you do this or not?”

“Okay,” Hollander said after a long pause. “I’ll do it.” 

“Great,” Ilya said. “Tell me when you are available and I take you shopping for art supplies.” He wasn’t sending money to some random artist and trusting he’d use it honestly. He didn’t know this guy. He had a nice voice. A voice that was making Ilya’s insides warmer than they had been in a very long time. But that didn’t mean anything. 

“Oh…um. Saturday?”

Ugh. “I can’t on Saturday. I have a game. What about Friday? Or Sunday?”

“A game?”

“Yes, I play hockey.”

There was another long pause. 

“Friday works,” Hollander said.

“Text me when and where and I will meet you there. You have my number now.”

“Wait…what’s your name?”

“Ilya. Ilya Rozanov.”

There was a slight intake of breath. Maybe Hollander knew him. Maybe he was a fan. The Centaurs didn’t have many fans, but maybe. 

“See you Friday,” Ilya said and hung up. 

He flopped hard onto the couch. What the fuck was that? And why did he feel out of sorts after talking to this random, frustrating man on the phone? But if he was being honest, and he still wasn’t, whatever was surging through him was the most alive he’d felt in some time.

-

Hollander had texted him an address to meet at 6:00pm. So Ilya pulled up in his Porsche at 5:55pm. It was a little art supply shop. The kind of place Ilya would walk past and never notice. He parked in an angled parking spot out front and got out, wondering how he’d find this Hollander. Then he saw a man standing off to the side of the entrance. He looked nervous, thumbs in his pockets, eyes darting around, biting his bottom lip. And holy fuck, he was good looking. Dark hair, smooth perfect skin, a spray of freckles on each cheek. He hoped this was Hollander. Why did he hope that? No need to examine that right now.

Ilya closed the distance between them, and as soon as Hollander saw him, his eyes went wide, lips parting. 

“Hollander?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” Hollander stammered. Nervous. 

Ilya held out his hand and Hollander took it, his grip a little loose, like he wasn’t sure how handshakes worked. His hand was soft and warm and Ilya didn’t want to let it go. What the fuck. He pulled his hand back, trying to ignore the warm, tingly feeling that lingered.

“I’m Ilya Rozanov. Nice to meet you,” he said, trying to pretend like he was entirely unaffected by whatever was happening here.

“Shane…Hollander.”

“Shane,” he tested the name, liking the feel of it in his mouth, a taste of something decadent. 

“Um…so I was thinking,” Shane started. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

This again? For fucks sake, Ilya thought. 

“Hollander,” Ilya said. “I am good for it. The money.” He gestured at his Porsche. 

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Shane said. “And believe me, I could use the money. But I don’t want to disappoint you. I really don't paint anymore.”

Ilya sighed. Shane’s voice sounded…sad. As if he was genuinely sorry to disappoint Ilya. And Ilya did not like how that was making him feel.

“What can I do?” Ilya asked. “To make it worth your while?”

“It’s not that,” Shane said. “I just don’t…I can’t paint on demand. And I don’t have a studio anymore.”

Well, Ilya couldn’t fix the first problem. But he could fix the second one. “You need space to work? I have space.”

Shane just looked at him, blinking. “What?”

“Space, Hollander, to paint. I have a whole empty house. You can paint directly on the walls if you want. Or you can take over a room and fill it with canvases.”

“Why do you want my paintings so bad?” Shane asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, like he still couldn’t believe it.

And how could Ilya explain it? How could he explain to this beautiful man in front of him that his life was an ever-growing void of nothingness, and he was scared of how vast it was becoming and how quickly everything that made him feel something was no longer working, and how he didn’t know what else to do because his list of things to try was quickly getting shorter and shorter.

“Your painting,” he said, pushing away the hollow voice in his head. “It…um…moved me? It made me feel…something.” He couldn’t conjure up any words in English to convey what it made him feel. And maybe that was for the best.

Shane kept looking at him, mouth slightly open like he wanted to say something but nothing would come out. 

“What if I paint something and you hate it?”

Ilya shook his head. “As long as you try, I will be satisfied.”

Shane nodded slowly. “Okay…I’ll try.”

And into the art supply shop they went. Ilya followed Shane into the first aisle full of paint tubes. 

“Um…are you sure you want to pay for this?” Shane asked, hand hovering in front of a shelf containing many shades of blue paint in little tubes that looked like toothpaste. 

“Yes, it’s fine. Get whatever you need, no limit.”

Shane’s mouth dropped open. How much could paint really be? Did he know how much money hockey players made? Particularly players like Ilya. Maybe he didn’t. Shane turned away, eyes back on the tubes of paint. Ilya took the opportunity to give him a good once-over. He’d been distracted earlier by the face and the body, which was particularly athletic, muscles to rival Ilya’s own. Now he took in the clothes. Ripped jeans, and not in the intentional way, a t-shirt that looked like it had been washed a few too many times, almost see-through in parts. A thin unzipped jacket that looked like it used to be black. His shoes were old sneakers that had seen better days. No wonder he was swayed by Ilya’s monetary offer. Ilya would pay him well. If he delivered. Probably even if he didn’t. 

He watched Shane carefully examine tubes, picking them up, looking at the color, putting some back, keeping a few in his other hand. Ilya wandered back toward the entrance and picked up a little hand basket. By the time he got back to the aisle, Shane had moved on to the shades of green. Ilya held the basket out wordlessly, and Shane gave him a look. 

“Put them in,” Ilya said, and Shane dropped the tubes in the basket. Ilya lowered it to his side and stood there while Shane resumed his perusal of the greens. 

What had become of him? It was Friday night and he was standing in an art supply shop holding a basket for a man he’d just met and his insides were a little fluttery about it. In the past, Ilya would have been in a club, a bar, a party…or balls deep in a woman. Maybe a man. Now he was following some random artist around like a puppy begging for scraps because his brain was trying too hard to check out and Ilya wasn’t ready to let it. So he followed Shane around the store and let him drop tubes of paint and paintbrushes and whatever the fuck else he needed in this basket while he held it. And he felt himself moving a few steps away from the edge of the cliff.

After they’d moved through all the colors of paint, the aisles of brushes, and the stacks of canvases, Shane turned to face him, still looking nervous.

“I think that’s enough to start,” he said, eyes flitting around, not holding Ilya’s gaze. He thought they dropped to his mouth a couple of times, but maybe he was imagining it. 

Illya looked at the basket of tubes and paintbrushes. “Hollander, are you sure this is enough?”

Shane looked at the basket. “I mean…it’ll be enough for now.”

Ilya sighed. “Please just go get more.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to give this your best effort. Cost is not important. Get what you need.”

Shane wandered back to the paint tubes. He immediately picked up several more, like he’d wanted them to begin with. Which is exactly what Ilya figured. When he was satisfied that Shane had picked enough, he brought them up to the register.

The cashier rang everything up and said a total that Ilya didn’t even pay attention to. He just handed over his credit card. Shane was staring at him like he couldn’t believe Ilya was doing this. Ilya kind of couldn’t either, but not for the same reasons.

The cashier handed him the bags and the two large canvases, which he immediately handed to Shane. He’d told him to get more canvases, but Shane was adamant that he needed to see if he could even finish one first. Ilya had let it go. He would order however many he needed if this worked out.

They walked out of the store, and Shane stopped near the curb. “So…how is this going to work?”

“However you want,” Ilya said. “You need space to paint? You can come to my house, use whatever rooms you want. I have many.”

“Oh…yeah. Okay. When?”

“Whenever you want,” Ilya said. “I have a game tomorrow night. But Sunday I am home.”

“Sunday,” Shane said, the word sounding uncertain.

“I’ll text you the address. Come anytime after ten.”

-

Ilya sat in the locker room on Saturday, making small talk, laughing at jokes, all the things he was supposed to do. He even mostly meant it. He felt invigorated. The night before, he’d dreamed of soft light filtering through trees and raindrops and a pair of red lips parted in surprise. There was a faint buzz humming through him in anticipation of the next day, when a stranger was going to show up at his house. To paint. 

The game passed the way most Centaurs games did…with a few moments of pure optimism, when everyone thought maybe this was going to be the one. And then it wasn’t. They got trounced. But after, Ilya clapped his teammates on the back, gave them shit for stupid mistakes, and left with a smile on his face. Maybe his plan was working after all.

When he walked back into his house after the game, the cold emptiness of the house settled around him, creeping into whatever little bit of warmth he’d managed to huddle around for the last twenty-four hours. He thought about going out. Getting laid. Trying to fan the flame. Instead, he went to the room with the glass wall and sat on the floor in front of the painting. He studied it, eyes drifting from one little drop of swirling colors to the next, fixing them in his memory, tying some to existing memories, putting others in their own little pocket so he could pull them out later when he needed them. 

Ilya sat there for a long time. Until his back ached and his eyes were dry. He needed Hollander to figure out his shit. He needed more of these. He thought if he could fill his house with them, he might never get bored enough to take another step toward the edge of the cliff again.

-

The next morning, Ilya went grocery shopping. He started thinking about his mostly empty refrigerator and how he couldn’t even offer a guest a bottle of water. He was not going to be a poor host. Ilya would make sure his new ‘friend’ Hollander had whatever he needed for fuel so he could do what Ilya needed him to do. There was nothing more to it. He didn’t care about Hollander, this man he didn’t know, beyond the painting. He needed him to paint. Simple.

When he got home, he put everything away and then walked around his house, trying to decide what room he should offer up for Hollander to paint in. He supposed the glass-walled room was the best option. Maybe the extra sunlight would inspire him. Maybe he could also pay him to hang the first painting. 

At 10am exactly, his phone buzzed.

Hollander: Hi, this is Shane Hollander. I wanted to make sure you still want me to come over today?

Ilya sighed. Hadn’t they gone over this?

Ilya: yes, come over and paint, Hollander

Hollander: I’ll be there in 20 minutes

Ilya opened his front gate, and then he paced. He paced around the living room. He paced in the kitchen. He paced through the glass-walled room. He looked at his phone. Only eight minutes had passed. He forced himself to sit down on the couch. The minutes slowly ticked by. Exactly twenty minutes after Hollander texted, there was a knock at the front door.

Ilya opened it to reveal Hollander standing there on his porch, a large duffel bag on his shoulder, and one of the canvases Ilya had purchased clutched in his hands. He was wearing a black t-shirt that showed off his pecs and his biceps, the same pair of ripped jeans, and the same slightly surprised, slightly uncomfortable look on his face. 

“Um…hi,” Hollander said, glancing around nervously.

“Hollander,” Ilya said, stepping back so he could enter. “Come in.”

Hollander stepped inside and then stopped, like he needed Ilya’s permission to move any further. Ilya was feeling a little out of his element now that Hollander was actually here, in his house.

“I have a room with a lot of sunlight,” he said stupidly. Hollander just stared at him. “Would that be a good place to paint? I know nothing about this.”

“Oh,” Hollander said. “I mean, sure. Anything is fine.” 

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Follow me.”

He led him through the house to the room. When they stepped inside, he turned and watched Hollander take in the space, his eyes eventually drifting to the painting propped against one wall.

“Wow…I haven’t seen that one in a while,” he said, looking at it like he wasn’t the one who painted it. He walked over to it, leaned in, inspecting it.

“It’s very good,” Ilya said. “I have never seen anything like it.”

Hollander looked up, the perpetual surprise on his face more exaggerated now. Then Ilya watched it slide into something like disappointment.

“I don’t think I can paint like that anymore.”

“But you will try, yes?”

“I’ll try,” he said, turning to look at it again. “Is there something in particular you want?”

“No,” Ilya said simply. He didn’t know what he wanted. He just wanted to feel something. “Paint whatever you’d like.”

“And if you don’t like it?”

Ilya exhaled loudly. “We already went over this, Hollander. You do your best, I pay you. Simple.”

“Right…simple.” Hollander set his bag down. “Um…do you have dropclothes or something? I don’t want to get paint on your floor.”

Ilya did not have dropclothes. Why didn’t they buy that too? Fuck. 

“I have a sheet,” he said, thinking of his very expensive silk sheets. He thought he probably had some cotton ones somewhere. “Wait here.”

He went to the linen closet in the hallway near his bedroom. He had a cleaning service that also took care of washing and changing sheets, so he rarely fooled with this. There. He found a white top sheet. Very soft, very expensive. He did not care.

“Here,” he said, walking back into the glass-walled room. He handed the sheet to Hollander. 

“This seems…fancy,” Hollander said, looking at Ilya with concern.

Ilya shrugged. “Use it.”

Hollander took the sheet and spread it out on the floor and then started unpacking stuff from his duffel bag. He had a folded-up easel that he set up near the wall, and then an assortment of brushes and the tubes of paint Ilya had purchased. Eventually he turned around, eyes landing on Ilya.

“Are you um…going to stay and watch?” Hollander asked, and Ilya could tell he wanted the answer to be no.

“Ah no,” Ilya said, already taking a step back. “I will be around. If you need anything.”

Hollander nodded.

And before he could stop himself, Ilya added, “The fridge is stocked, help yourself anytime.”

Hollander kept staring at him, blinking. “Thank you.”

Ilya nodded and left the room. What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

Chapter 2: I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you

Shane was lying flat on his back on a stranger’s floor, staring at a blank white ceiling, wondering if anything in his life was ever going to make sense again. The only thing that did make sense to him now was what people meant when they said you could never go home again. When he stepped foot back in Ottawa a year ago after being gone for almost fourteen years, he expected it to feel like coming home from college and sleeping in your childhood bedroom again. Not that he knew what that felt like. More than anything, he hoped to find some connection to his parents. To feel them in some way, even if it was just a sense of familiarity when he drove past the playground they used to take him to, or nostalgia when he sat at the little white table with the red umbrella outside their favorite ice cream place. But the playground was gone and the ice cream place was a Starbucks and Shane was no longer a person who had parents. He hadn’t been that person since he was twelve years old, and trying to find anything lingering from that life had been a mistake that could lead only to disappointment. At least that was something he was familiar with.

He’d been lying on this floor for a while now. He could tell because the light streaming in through the wall of glass had shifted. The canvas was still white, and he was still empty. He shouldn’t have let money make him think he could do this. It would certainly have made his life easier, let him put off selling the one thing he had left that proved he had been a person with parents once. A person who was more than just a fleeting glimpse of something approaching happiness that only surfaced occasionally between one heartbreak and the next. 

A noise from the hall startled him out of his rumination. He sat up quickly to find Ilya Rozanov standing in the doorway, looking at him like he’d spooked a fawn.

“I’m sorry,” Shane said quickly, scrambling to his feet.

Ilya was looking at him with something like concern, a look he was familiar with, one he often got when people found out something about his life…one step from pity.

“Uh…I came to see if you want to eat?” Ilya said, his eyes darting to the blank canvas.

“Oh,” Shane said. “Right. No, I’m fine.”

“I made enough for two,” Ilya said, a hint of disappointment creeping into his voice. 

“Okay, thanks,” Shane said. Because he was already about to disappoint this man…maybe he could at least accept the food and not have to hear that tone twice in one day. Ilya nodded his head toward the hall, beckoning Shane to follow him. 

They ended up in a big open kitchen, bright in the afternoon sun streaming through the window, bouncing off white marble counters and stainless steel appliances. Shane briefly considered telling him that his kitchen could use a pop of color, and then he remembered who this was and that he definitely didn’t need advice from someone like him. 

“You like chicken?” Ilya asked him.

Shane nodded. He’d been surviving on ramen and whatever stale leftovers he could take home from the cafe where he worked part-time. 

“Sit,” Ilya said, pointing at one of the stools on the counter side of the kitchen island. Shane sat and watched him move around the kitchen, filling two plates. It smelled incredible, whatever it was.

Ilya placed a plate in front of him. There was what looked like a breaded chicken breast, cut in half to reveal buttery herbs inside, with a side of asparagus. It looked like something that would be served in a restaurant Shane could no longer afford to eat in.

“Wow,” he said. “This looks great.”

Ilya was watching him, looking slightly flustered. “I don’t cook much anymore,” he said before turning and fixing himself a plate. Then he set a glass of ice water in front of Shane and took the seat next to him. 

Shane tried not to think about how odd this day was. He was sitting in the kitchen of a famous hockey player, one who played for his team, or at least what had been his team, in another life. And now that hockey player had made him a meal while Shane was trying to figure out how to tell him that he couldn’t do what had been asked of him. Instead he focused on the food. The first bite was so good he almost moaned out loud. How long had it been since he’d had something this delicious?

“It’s okay?” Ilya asked, watching him, not touching his own food yet.

“Yeah,” Shane said between bites. “This is amazing. I haven’t tasted anything this good in a while.” He immediately regretted that bit of honesty, but it didn’t stop him from taking another bite.

He glanced over at Ilya, who had a small smile on his face that didn’t match what Shane had said. Something like wonder or anticipation. Shane ignored the little swoop in his stomach and turned back to his plate. He needed to tell Ilya the truth and get out of here. Before he let his gaze linger a little too long on the golden brown curls, the striking almost-hazel eyes…a color Shane didn’t think he could ever do justice by mixing paints. He didn’t need anymore reasons to feel bad about what he going to do.

They finished the meal quietly, and it was mostly a comfortable silence. Shane didn’t feel the need to fill it, and Ilya seemed content to glance over at him every so often, like he was waiting for Shane to change his mind and tell him it was terrible. For his part, Shane was still trying to figure out how to let him down without feeling like an asshole who had wasted half his day. He was also trying to figure out how he could pay Ilya back for all the supplies he’d purchased. Shane did not have that kind of money. Not yet anyway. But he would eventually, if Ilya could wait until he had time to meet with a realtor, to sell off the last piece of his life that meant anything.

When they were done, Ilya took their plates to the sink and turned to look at him, leaning back against the counter.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked tentatively.

Shane shook his head. “No, but that was great, thanks.”

Ilya nodded but didn’t move. No time like the present. 

“I’m really sorry,” Shane began, looking down at the marble counter. “I’m not going to be able to paint anything for you after all.”

He glanced up briefly, waiting to see irritation or resentment on Ilya’s face, but all he found were gentle eyes, the slightest downward curve of his lips. The look was enough to make Shane’s eyes burn, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. He blinked quickly, pushing back whatever was trying to bubble up to the surface.

“I’ll pay you back,” he added quickly. “For the supplies. But it might take a few months…if that’s okay.”

“What’s your venmo? You use that?” Ilya asked.

“Oh,” Shane said, his stomach dropping. Maybe Ilya wasn’t willing to wait. “Yeah, it’s just Shane.Hollander.”

Ilya nodded and took his phone out, fingers pressing against the screen for a few moments. 

“Thanks for trying, Hollander,” he said, looking up from his phone.

Shane nodded once. “Sorry again,” he said, because he genuinely was. He wished more than anything he could do what this man asked and not be a disappointment to at least someone. “I’ll get out of your way.”

He stood and headed toward the hall they’d come through so he could get his bag. Walking into the room with the glass wall again made him feel strangely calm, like the space was neutral. It wasn’t a reminder of anything, it didn’t hold any memories, good or bad. The light was soothing. If he were going to paint, this would be the perfect space. But he wasn’t, and he needed to leave. 

He gathered up his bag, leaving all the supplies Ilya purchased neatly lined up in the corner. Maybe he could find someone else to do this for him. He turned to leave and found Ilya filling the doorway again, his expression still careful, almost unreadable.

“Hollander,” he said, and it was almost a question. “You take that with you.” He was pointing to the tubes of paint and the blank canvas Shane had arranged. 

“What? No,” Shane said, moving away from it like it was suddenly a danger to him. “I don’t need it. Maybe you can find someone else to use them eventually.”

Ilya shook his head. “Please,” he said, voice tight. “Just take them with you.”

Shane let out a slow breath. He supposed if he was going to be paying for them, he might as well. Maybe he could donate them to the youth center that sometimes hosted art programs. He quickly packed everything into his bag, trying to ignore Ilya’s continued presence in the doorway, watching him.

“I really am sorry,” he said again, standing up, pulling the strap of his bag more securely over his shoulder. “I hope you find someone to create what you’re looking for.”

Ilya just looked at him, his eyebrows drawn, that same look of something suspiciously like concern back again. Then he stepped out into the hallway, and Shane brushed by him, heading for the front door. He heard footsteps behind him, and as he pushed the door open, he looked back briefly.

“Thank you, Hollander,” Ilya said again, and he seemed like he really meant it. Which only made Shane feel worse. He nodded once and then hurried down the walk and out the open front gate. He’d taken the bus here, and he’d take the bus home. The walk to the bus stop was long, and his jacket wasn’t doing much to keep him warm, but his thoughts were so tangled up he barely noticed. 

Ilya Rozanov had not been what he expected. He didn’t follow hockey closely. At least, he tried not to because it came with heavy reminders, regrets that dragged behind him like a ball and chain. But Rozanov was a known entity. He was cocky, talented, a known ladies' man. He drove expensive sports cars and showed up in GIFs winking at the camera. When he’d heard that name over the phone, he’d expected an asshole at the least, someone who treated him like a waste of space. And neither of those things had been even close to the truth. He’d been kind, if not a little impatient. He’d cooked for Shane. No one had cooked for him in years. It only made him feel worse for disappointing him.

As soon as he sat on the bench at the bus stop, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a venmo notification for $2000. His stomach lurched so hard he thought he might lose the excellent meal he’d just had. Had he really purchased that much at the store? No…it had been a lot, more than he expected, but not that much. He clicked on the notification, and his stomach fell again because it wasn’t a request. He’d been sent $2000 by Rozanov81. Surely that had been a mistake. He opened his messages.

Shane: Hi, I think you sent me money on venmo by mistake. I’ll send it back so you can send a request instead.

He watched the little typing bubble pop up immediately.

Ilya Rozanov: not a mistake
Ilya Rozanov: for your time

What? Shane hadn’t done anything except sit around an empty room for a few hours. And eat this man’s food. 

Shane: But I didn’t do anything. I owe you for the art supplies.

Ilya Rozanov: I told you already that you don’t 

Shane sighed. This was too much to deal with right now. 

Shane: Thank you. But I still can’t accept it.

He quickly sent the money back. A minute later, he got another venmo notification. This one for $2500.

Ilya Rozanov: if you send it back again, I will keep sending more
Ilya Rozanov: have a good night, Hollander

What the fuck? Shane’s eyes filled with tears. He felt very silly, sitting at a bus stop in the cold, tears in his eyes because he disappointed a rich stranger and was shown kindness instead of frustration. Was it pity? Maybe. But Ilya Rozanov didn’t know anything about him. He didn’t know that Shane’s life was shit, and pity was a step up. He only knew that he’d asked Shane to do something, and he didn’t do it. And he let him leave with a kind word and more money than he’d make in a month. His rent would be covered. He could buy a new coat. He could put off selling his parents’ cottage for a little longer. A hot tear slipped out of the corner of his eye.

Chapter 3: I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch

Ilya was more affected by his plan falling apart than he wanted to admit. When Hollander left, he had sat on the floor in the glass-walled room and stared at the teardrop painting for a long time. That’s what he’d started thinking of it as, because it looked like a collection of teardrops. A lifetime of them. Things too big to stay put, needing to find a way out. Some were the tears of happiness, unbridled joy, a smile from a lover, a hug from a friend. Some were tears of sadness, a moment of hurt, a physical pain, the low hum of grief that followed you around like a haunting. And some were the quiet tears that slipped out when no one was looking, or when someone was and still couldn’t see you. 

Sometimes he’d come home from practice, drop his stuff in the middle of the entryway, and immediately sit in front of it. He’d pick one teardrop to focus on for a while, memorizing the little universe of colors, the way the light decided which kind of tear it was, the other colors giving them a setting…a time and a place where something else existed, something he could almost reach out and touch. 

He thought about Shane Hollander a lot. The way he’d looked at Ilya like an abused dog looked at someone who raised a hand. Cowering, not physically, but emotionally. Ilya had been disappointed, but he didn’t blame Hollander. He clearly had his own demons, and Ilya would not hold him or anyone else responsible for his. He kept telling himself he would take a ride to a new art gallery soon, look for something else. His plan didn’t have to be over just because one random artist hadn’t been able to help him. The walls were still blank, the house still too empty, the void still creeping closer. 

Only about a week after Hollander had walked out, the Centaurs got a new team member. Troy Barrett. At first, Ilya was not thrilled. Barrett had a reputation as an asshole, and not in the fun way like Ilya did. In the homophobic way. He brought a vibe to the team that they didn’t want or need. But he’d also publicly denounced his former teammate who’d been accused of sexual assault by several women, and that earned him at least a partial chance in Ilya’s book. He didn’t have to like it, and he didn’t like Barrett, not yet, but maybe he would. It also gave him something else to focus on. Another thing to keep him from looking away from life for too long. He needed to keep an eye on Barrett and make sure he didn’t fuck up the entire team. Or himself. 

The other thing that pulled him back a few more steps was the new team puppy, Chiron. Harris had brought him to practice the same day Barrett showed up, and Ilya was honestly so occupied by both of those things that he didn’t even sit and stare at the painting that night.

Chiron had the most surprising effect on him. Ilya was genuinely happy…excited even. He couldn’t wait until the next time he visited. And that simple fact, that he was excited about anything enough to be giddy, soothed something in him that he had been starting to fear enough to pull up a list of therapists, just in case. The edge had been getting too close, too clear, like he was always looking at it through foggy glass and the fog was slowly disappearing. He needed the fog to come back. He needed someone to paint the glass so he could never see through it at all. And that’s how he ended up in front of the teardrops again a few days later, thinking of Shane Hollander.

-

A couple of weeks later, Ilya was sitting in the locker room watching Barrett. And Barrett was watching Harris. This was too good. Barrett looked like he was in pain, but also horny. Ilya bet he didn’t even know he was looking at Harris like he was a cute, confusing snack. These were exactly the kind of distractions Ilya needed in his life. When Harris left, Ilya walked over and plopped onto the bench next to Barrett.

“Barrett,” he said, startling the other man. “Anymore late-night drinking?”

Ilya had caught him bringing a bottle of something to his room the night before his first away game with the team, and then found him hungover the next morning. He had kicked himself for not intervening before the bottle turned into a liability on the ice. Being distracted by his own issues, by a painting propped against a wall in his empty house, by a man he would probably never see again, was not in service of the team. And the team was supposed to be his priority. His reason for moving, and maybe his reason for living. One of them at least.

“No,” Barrett said. “Not before a game.”

Well, that sounded honest anyway. “Good,” Ilya said. “Maybe next time you want a drink, you can ask Harris?”

The look Barrett gave him was worth it. Ilya gave him a grin and a clap on the back and left. Maybe Barrett would be a good addition to the team after all.

-

That weekend, Ilya was determined to get out of his house and not stare at the painting for at least one evening. He hadn’t been out in a while, hadn’t fucked anyone in weeks. That used to be unheard of for him, and the amount of time that had passed since his last hookup should have scared him. 

Ilya didn’t advertise his sexuality. He let people believe he was straight because it was easier that way. After Scott Hunter kissed his boyfriend on live TV after winning the cup, Ilya had thought maybe he could stop hiding. His father was dead, his brother was dead to him, he was never going back to Russia willingly, so there was no reason he couldn’t be openly bisexual. If he ever did end up back in Russia after his secret was out, well…that should have scared him, too. He just couldn’t quite find it in him anymore. But since he hadn’t felt like hooking up with a woman lately, and he was dreaming about short black hair and lean muscles on a hard body that matched the size of his own, he thought maybe he could check out a gay bar. If someone recognized him…oh well. It was easier to take chances when you didn’t care about consequences anymore. And he thought maybe his team would be okay with it, if they ever found out. 

Ottawa did not have a large selection of gay bars. Ilya picked the one that was likeliest to have a younger crowd, and it also happened to be hosting a drag show. At least he’d be entertained even if he didn’t find someone to hook up with. Ophelia Cox was performing on stage, and Ilya ordered himself a vodka, neat, then took one of the few empty stools at the bar. It didn’t take long before a man sidled up next to him, squeezing into the just vacated stool to his right. Under the neon purple light, Ilya could see that the guy was around his age, dark hair, nice body, if not quite as sculpted as the one he’d been thinking of far more often than necessary.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the man asked. There was no flicker of recognition on his face, and relief washed over Ilya. Maybe he did still care. A little.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to shift to what Ilya had really come for, and they left together, making their way to the man’s apartment three blocks away. Ilya hadn’t caught his name, and he didn’t need or want to. When he had him on his hands and knees, face pressed into the pillows, there was only one name he was thinking of, and only one voice he wanted to hear in the throes of pleasure. He knew that was a problem. Knew that it was not going to help his situation, was not part of his plan, was never going to be part of his life. Ilya shook himself, forced his mind to focus, his body to feel what was being offered up to him by someone he could have in his life, at least for tonight. 

Once they were both spent, Ilya was grateful that the man did not ask him to stay. He got dressed quickly, slipped out into the cold night air, and called a car. He tried to ignore the fact that he felt even emptier than he did before. That what he’d just done had only revealed a new problem, one that he not only couldn’t fix but couldn’t even come up with a plan to try. 

When Ilya got home, he went straight to the glass-walled room and sat on the floor, not even bothering to turn on a light. The silvery moonlight creeping in through the glass lit the painting up in a new way, revealing details that were not in focus in the sunlight, like a negative filter applied over each drop, giving Ilya’s eyes something new to focus on in each one. He sat there until his eyes went dry, fluttering shut, his chin dropping to his chest, startling him awake. And then he went to bed and dreamt of dark brown eyes shining under a full moon.

-

A few days later, Ilya was lying on a hotel bed in Seattle, looking up art galleries on his phone. He had been avoiding this still, not wanting anyone else’s art, and knowing that he still needed to fill the many blank walls of his house, so that at least something in his life didn’t feel like a void he was standing too close to. There was a gallery only a few blocks away, and he had several hours before the team needed to be at the arena.

Ilya got up and grabbed his jacket, heading straight to room 309. He knocked a few times, leaning close so he could hear if there was movement inside. Eventually he heard the shuffle of feet, and Barrett opened the door, looking just as miserable as always.

“Barrett,” Ilya said, glancing past him, not seeing any empty bottles at least. “What are you doing?”

Barrett looked at him like he was speaking Russian. “Nothing?” 

“Grab a jacket,” Ilya said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“What? Why?”

“Team bonding.”

Barrett inhaled slowly, resignation settling on his face. “Okay then,” he said, and Ilya almost laughed. He sounded like he was being asked to do something truly heinous. 

They headed down the elevator and out of the hotel. Seattle was living up to its reputation...overcast, a fine mist in the air, and just cold enough to be annoying. 

“I thought this was team bonding?” Barrett asked.

“It is,” Ilya said. “We are both on the team, are we not?”

Barrett didn’t say anything at first. They walked another block before he glanced over at Ilya, a question clearly fighting to free itself.

“Where are we going?”

“To look at art.”

“Art?” Barrett asked. “What the fuck?”

“I bought a big house in Ottawa. Lots of empty walls,” Ilya said. “I’ve been looking for weeks and only found one painting so far.”

Barrett looked like he was considering that, confusion still there. “Why only one? Can’t you just…pick a color scheme and buy a few that match?”

“No,” Ilya said. He did not elaborate.

When they got to the gallery, Barrett followed him around like a puppy, hovering just behind him, his eyes darting around but mostly looking bored. Ilya couldn’t tell if it was just his resting miserable face or if he was personally offended by the terrible selection of paintings. Ilya knew which one was true for him. Nothing in here was even close to Hollander’s work. It was all lifeless, just colors thrown together to create some abstract nonsense, or a boring landscape you could find in the bargain bin of a big box store. He did have a moment of guilt, knowing that people had worked hard on these. And they would make someone happy. Just not him.

“Fuck this,” he said quietly, irritated.

“What’s wrong with these?” Barrett asked, gesturing at a series of three paintings hanging beside one another. They were layered with teals, blues, and grays, accented with gold. They were technically fine, but they made Ilya think of waiting rooms…generic. Inspiring not a single emotion. 

“Boring,” Ilya said. “You look at that and feel something, Barrett?”

“I mean…no?” Barrett was looking at him with confusion again. “Am I supposed to?”

“Yes!” Ilya said with feeling. “Art should make you feel something.”

Ilya could see the irony in this. A few weeks ago, he probably would have agreed with Barrett. He had started to give up on finding anything that stirred any feelings in him, much less anything as strong as the teardrops. Now that he knew, though…lifeless would not do.

“If you say so,” muttered Barrett. 

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.”

They stopped for coffee on the way back to the hotel, making conversation about hockey. Ilya still wasn’t sure about Barrett, but he wouldn’t give up. Not yet. Not when his list was still too short, and getting shorter all the time, and Barrett was still something he could invest in. And it was nice to have company, even if he would have rathered talk to Hazy or Bood, or probably anyone else on the team if he were honest. It was still nice.

-

They lost to Seattle. No one expected otherwise. It still didn’t feel great. Ilya was tired, bone deep, mentally, physically, emotionally…that was also not unexpected. He was looking forward to a day off. Maybe he’d find something to do besides sleep and sit on the floor and stare at a painting that had ruined his life. If only because it was occupying far more space in his mind than it was on his walls…which was none at all since it was still sitting on the floor. 

He pulled up to his house, his gate wide open because it was broken, and he hadn’t felt like calling anyone to fix it yet. Which made having a gated property kind of pointless. A problem for later. He got out of the car, grabbed his bags from the back seat, and walked up to the front door, stopping to fish his keys out of his pockets.

And then he gave a high, joyful bark of a laugh. Because sitting just out of sight in the alcove to the left of his front door, wrapped in brown paper, was what could only be a canvas.

Chapter 4: It goes like this

Shane had looked up the Centaurs’ schedule and waited until he was sure they were out of town before he delivered the painting. He couldn’t be there to see disappointment if Ilya hated it. He probably would. Shane just didn’t have that je ne sais quoi anymore, no matter how hard he tried.

The desire to put something on canvas again, so soon after he’d decided he couldn’t, had been a surprise, though. It was the cottage that did it, he was sure. Knowing he could wait just a little longer. Still on a deadline, but not the stricter one he’d set himself. It had loosened something in him, both in relief and in grief-touched memories.

He’d spent hours that week thinking about the cottage, about the summers he’d spent there. And suddenly he was painting. He’d made do with setting up in one corner of his very small studio apartment, barely enough room to reach behind him, but somehow enough to lose himself to color and memory and the coalescence of a feeling into something real, something he could put somewhere else and not have to look at anymore. Or that he could look at and revisit, when he needed to, to make sure it was real, that it had happened…but he wouldn’t.

When it was done, he hated it. That was usually true. He never liked to see his paintings when they were done. To him, they represented something he’d excised, something that no longer belonged to him. This was no different…except that it was. 

He figured the least he could do was give it to Ilya. For the supplies and the money and the little bit of time he’d bought him. He’d leave it at his door and never have to see whether he liked it, whether that flicker of disappointment settled onto his face again, making a mockery of his perfect cupid’s bow lips that Shane was still thinking about weeks later. 

He’d carefully wrapped it in two layers of brown paper, making sure the tape was fixed securely, just in case it sat outside longer than he anticipated. Bringing it on the bus had not been ideal, but he managed, ignoring the few stares from bored strangers. When he finally walked up to Ilya’s house, he’d forgotten about the gate. As luck would have it, the gate was wide open, and Shane gave a cursory glance around, wondering if any nosy neighbors would think he was an intruder. Or if Ilya had cameras that would alert him to someone on his property. Oh well…he’d come this far. He set the painting as far out of the elements as he could, leaning it against the wall next to the front door, where it was tucked away, out of sight. He stood there for a few minutes, staring at nothing, his eyes burning for no reason. He shook himself and turned, walking away from the canvas, from Ilya Rozanov’s house, and from the creeping disappointment that he’d have no reason to ever come back here.

-

The next day, he was in the middle of his shift at the cafe when his phone buzzed. The cafe was mostly dead, only one customer sipping a latte at a corner table, his coworker Jen leaning against the counter scrolling on her phone.

Ilya: Hollander!

Shane’s stomach fluttered when he read the sender’s name. He’d saved Ilya’s number in his phone, even though he had no reason to ever use it again.

Ilya: holy shit

Shane hurriedly typed back.

Shane: If you hate it, feel free to donate it.

Ilya: hate it? I fucking love it

Shane could feel a stupid grin stretching his face, almost unfamiliar.

Shane: Oh. I’m glad then.

The typing bubble was back immediately.

Ilya: can I buy you dinner?
Ilya: to thank you

Shane wanted to say yes. He wasn’t sure he had wanted to say yes to anything more in years. Which was probably a good reason to say no.

Shane: That’s really not necessary.

Ilya: please
Ilya: or I can just venmo you for it

Fuck. He didn’t want that. Despite how much it would help him, he’d taken enough from this man already.

Shane: No, please don’t. Dinner is fine.

Ilya: great
Ilya: tomorrow?

Shane: Sure. That works.

Ilya: text me your address
Ilya: I’ll pick you up at 6:30

Shane sighed. He didn’t want to give his address. He was grateful he had a place to live at all, considering. But he wasn’t proud of it. Well, it’s not like Ilya was going to come inside. He sent the address.

Ilya: see you tomorrow

Shane put his phone back in his pocket and looked up to see Jen staring at him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that,” she said, eyes wide like he’d done something shocking. “Is it a girl?”

“What?” Shane asked, caught off guard. “No.”

“A guy?” she asked, tilting her head.

Shane’s face heated, even though it wasn’t like that. Obviously.

“Oh,” she said, before he could get a word out. “It is!”

“It was nothing,” he said. 

“Shane,” she said, giving him a look. “We’ve been working together for months and you’ve never cracked a smile like that. He must be something special.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that. I sold him a painting,” Shane said, though the sold part was maybe not quite true. 

Her eyes went wide again. “I thought you didn’t paint anymore?”

“I don’t. It was a one-time thing.”

“Can I see it?”

Shane realized he hadn’t taken a picture of it. He supposed that was best; he really didn’t need to see it again. “Sorry, I don’t have a picture of it.”

“Fine…tell me about the guy.”

“I told you, I sold him a painting, that’s all.”

“No way were you smiling like that about selling a painting,” she said, hand on her hip. 

Thankfully, at that moment, a customer walked in, and then another behind them, and Jen was distracted enough not to ask about the man on the phone again.

-

At 6:00 the next evening, Shane was standing in front of the mirror in his tiny bathroom, fussing with his hair. It was getting a little long, and his bangs kept drifting down toward his eyes no matter how many times he pushed them back. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt, the best one he had, and a pair of dark jeans. New ones that he’d purchased with the money from Ilya. He’d also bought a new jacket, fleece-lined and comfortable. He desperately hoped Ilya wasn’t planning to take him anywhere fancy because this was the best he could do for now.

He made his way downstairs and out of his building at 6:20, making sure there was no need for Ilya to come inside. Ten minutes later, a sleek, black car, less ostentatious than the orange Porsche, pulled up to the curb, the window lowering to reveal Ilya leaning across the seat.

“Hollander,” he said. “Ready?”

Shane nodded and opened the passenger side door, sliding in easily on the smooth leather seat. “Hi,” he said awkwardly, fumbling with the seatbelt.

“Hi,” Ilya said, a small smile on his face. “You like Italian?”

“Yeah, sure,” Shane said. Ilya nodded once and then pulled away from the curb and into traffic. Shane noted that Ilya was dressed casually, dark jeans and a pullover. He exhaled slowly in relief.

“So,” Ilya said, not looking away from traffic. “You painted.”

“Um yeah. It was just a one-off, though,” he said, not wanting Ilya to get the wrong idea. 

Ilya nodded slowly. “Thank you, then. It’s perfect.”

Shane’s stomach swooped, and he felt his cheeks heat. Ilya’s tone…it felt like he was talking about more than just a painting.

The rest of the drive to the restaurant was mostly quiet. Shane watched the familiar streets slide by out the window, acutely aware of the fact that he was in Ilya Rozanov’s car, about to go to dinner with him, and that he was feeling a little too relaxed about it. More relaxed than he’d felt in a long time. Like this dark, comfortably warm car was providing a respite from the rest of his life. Which was a problem because he couldn’t stay in this car with this man.

Ilya pulled into the parking lot of a little red-brick restaurant that Shane vaguely remembered from his childhood. It had been there a long time, one of those mom and pop places that was a staple in the neighborhood. There were Christmas lights in the window and big glittery ornaments hanging from the ceiling inside. Low music was playing overhead and the lighting was dim. It felt like the kind of place you took a date. Shane ignored that and sat down across from Ilya, wondering if this was going to be as awkward as he currently felt.

After a server had taken their drink orders, Ilya’s gaze fixed on his face, expression unreadable.

“So,” he said finally, “do you want to talk about the painting? Or do you prefer not to?”

Shane considered that for a second. “I kind of prefer not to,” he said honestly. 

Ilya nodded. “I thought so,” he said. “That’s okay.”

He sounded so genuine, Shane couldn’t help the small smile that curved his lips. 

“Are you from here?” Ilya asked. 

Well, maybe he would have rather talked about the painting after all. “Yeah,” he said anyway. “I was born here, but I moved away when I was twelve. I moved back about a year ago.”

“From where?”

“Vancouver.”

Ilya’s expression shifted into something confused, almost comically so. “Why? You like it here that much?”

“Not really,” Shane said honestly. Maybe he had once, but now it was just a place with memories. “I have some things to take care of here…it was just easier to come back.”

Ilya nodded slowly, gaze moving over Shane’s face like he was reading more there than what he’d said aloud. “Will you go back when you’re done?”

“I’m not sure yet. I don’t really have a plan.”

The server came back to take their orders, both of them getting the chicken parmesan. 

“Why are you here?” Shane asked after the server walked away. He realized how that sounded and quickly added, “I mean, leaving Boston was a surprise to everyone.”

Ilya’s brows went up. “You follow hockey?”

Shane tilted his head. “Not closely.”

“I came here because I needed a change.”

“And Ottawa was the change you wanted?” Shane asked. “I mean, it’s my home so I feel obligated to love it, but…it’s not the kind of place you leave Boston for.” 

Ilya huffed a laugh. “No kidding. But my new team is…they’re really good guys.”

“But not very good at winning games.” 

Ilya laughed again, more openly this time. “Well, yes. That is true. But give us time. I think we might surprise people one day.”

Shane smiled at that. “I hope so.” Then, before he could stop himself, “That goal against Seattle was impressive.”

“You watched?”

“I caught a few minutes of it,” Shane lied. He had watched the entire game, his attention on Ilya the whole time.

“So you do like hockey.”

“I used to play.” Shane regretted admitting that immediately. He didn’t want to talk about it.

“Really? When?”

“As a kid,” Shane said. “My parents put all their time and money into it, hoping I’d go pro one day.”

Ilya must have read something in his face because his expression softened. “What happened?” he asked gently.

Shane looked down at the table. “They died. And I stopped playing.”

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said. His voice was almost neutral. There was none of the usual exaggerated pity, but something more like the quiet understanding of someone who knew. 

Shane nodded.

“Were you any good?” Ilya asked with a small smile, and Shane appreciated him shifting the conversation.

“Yeah, pretty good,” Shane said. “Top Canadian player in my age group.”

“So maybe we would have played together,” Ilya said.

“Yeah. Maybe we would have been rivals,” Shane said, and that got a grin out of him. He couldn’t quite imagine it, but he thought that would have been fun, facing off against Ilya Rozanov. In another life. 

Ilya nodded slowly. “And yet here we are, meeting anyway. Maybe we were meant to.”

Shane bit his bottom lip. He knew he was looking at Ilya in a dangerous way; he could feel it, the heat and the attraction settling onto his face before he could stop it. But more distractingly, he registered that Ilya might be looking at him the same way, his eyes intense and fixed on Shane’s, his lips pulled up into a small smile with too much intent, like he wanted to crawl across the table and—

Before he could try to work that out, plates of food were set in front of them and their attention shifted. They fell into easy conversation between bites, about the food, Ottawa, the weather…safe things that didn’t make Shane’s insides twist. 

When they were done and the plates had been removed, there was no urgency to leave. Ilya was looking at him like he wanted to say something, and Shane looked down at his water glass, the intensity of that stare making his stomach flutter again.

“Do you want to come to the game tomorrow?” Ilya finally asked, his tone slightly hesitant.

“What?” Shane asked, looking up again.

“I have tickets,” Ilya said. “They never get used. You could come, if you wanted. By yourself or bring a friend.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter either way, but something in his tone suggested that maybe it mattered quite a lot. Shane hadn’t been to a professional hockey game in years. He’d gotten tickets to watch Vancouver a few times, taking his Aunt Sylvie and occasionally his ex girlfriend. It felt different when it was the Centaurs, though. The last game he’d been to in Ottawa had been with his parents.

“Oh,” Shane said, buying himself another few seconds to think. “Um…maybe.”

Ilya nodded and gave him a small, sad smile that said he knew Shane wasn’t going to come. “We will lose anyway. But if you decide to, you can just give them your name at will call.”

“Thanks,” Shane said. “I do appreciate the offer.”

When the server brought the bill, Ilya picked it up off the table right away. Shane started to say something, and Ilya just shook his head.

“For the painting, remember?”

“Right, thanks,” Shane said. He knew Ilya could afford it, but he still didn’t like it.

They left the restaurant, and the ride back to Shane’s apartment was quiet. Shane was still thinking about the game, and the meal, and how easy it had been to talk to Ilya, even when difficult things had come up. 

“Thank you again,” Ilya said as he pulled up in front of Shane’s building. “For the painting.”

“Yeah, of course. You’re welcome,” Shane said, unbuckling his seat belt.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” Ilya said, watching him. 

Something warm bloomed in Shane’s chest. “Me too,” he said. “Thank you…for dinner.”

Ilya nodded. “Maybe we can do it again sometime?” he asked, cocking his head slightly. 

Was Ilya Rozanov asking him out? Shane wished he had more experience with this kind of thing…with men. Because Ilya had a reputation, and it did not include him being interested in men. 

“Sure,” Shane said, figuring it would never happen anyway. He pushed the door open and stepped out, briefly glancing back.

“Goodnight,” Ilya said, a smirk on his face, like he knew what Shane’s brain was currently doing.

“Night,” Shane said, and let the door close behind him. 

On the steps up to his building, he turned back, watching the black car pull out into traffic. He had a dumb smile on his face that he couldn’t suppress and maybe didn’t want to because this was the lightest he’d felt in a long time.

-

Ilya drove home with a grin on his face. Dinner had been…everything he needed. He was still reeling that Shane had played hockey, had probably been good enough to be drafted at the same time, if he’d been able to keep playing. He couldn’t help but wonder what life might have been like if they’d met as opponents instead of…whatever this was. Maybe they would have hated each other. The grin disappeared at that.

When he got home, he went straight to the glass-walled room and slid down the wall opposite the paintings. Paintings…two of them now, leaning side by side. They were so different, but they went together anyway, like two halves of a whole. From far away, the new one looked like the view from a window, peering out onto a lake, surrounded by green grass and rocks sticking up along the shore, tree branches obscuring the blue sky. But the closer you got, the more you could see that the glass was shattered, and in each shard was the hint of something more. The outline of a woman, mid-laugh; a pile of acorns on the ground; a black bird with red eyes that looked familiar. The colors blended in so perfectly, placed exactly right among the shards, so they were only part of the whole until you were at just the right distance to see them diverge in their own images. Like the teardrops, it was a feast for the eyes, touched by a quiet symphony of longing and grief and joy. Ilya thought the emotions were a little harder to pinpoint here, like he needed more information before he could correctly decide what they were trying to convey. But it didn’t matter; he was entranced. 

Sitting in the room this time felt more like he was holding onto something rather than escaping it. He kept thinking about Hollander sitting across from him, his shy little smile, the grief that was evident when he mentioned his parents, the heat of something else just under the surface when the conversation shifted. Ilya wanted more. He’d never been so drawn to another person in his life. Maybe in the before times that in itself would have been worrisome, something to avoid, but now…he was just happy to feel it.

-

The next evening, when Ilya skated out onto the ice at the beginning of the game, he glanced up into the section where his seats were. And even though he knew Hollander wasn’t going to show, his stomach still fell with disappointment when his eyes swept over the empty chairs. 

The first period went about as expected. They were down by one, and Ilya missed an easy goal, distracted or tired or just lacking drive, he didn’t know and it didn’t matter. Between periods, he sat heavily on the bench in the locker room and picked up his phone, another little dip of disappointment that there were no texts. Not that he expected any. Not really. He told himself to get it together, and when the next period started, he picked up the puck and cut easily past one of the Admirals’ defensemen, and drove it to the goal, hitting it right past the goalie’s right glove as he dropped. 

“Yes!” Ilya shouted, bumping helmets with Barrett. He didn’t know why, but his eyes swept over to his seats again and he almost tripped because there was Hollander, sitting forward in his seat, cheering, if not enthusiastically, at least with interest. Before he could stop himself, Ilya skated that way and caught his eye, giving him a wink and a grin. He watched Hollander’s face, the way he smiled and sat back in his seat, then nodded in acknowledgement. Ilya felt like he was flying. He could count on two hands how many people had come to watch him play in the eight years he’d been in the MLH, and none of them had made him feel like this. 

He scored again before the second period ended, and just like the first time, he couldn’t help but look up in the stands and find Hollander, who was cheering more enthusiastically this time, and Ilya felt himself fall a little farther into whatever this was. But wherever he was falling, it was away from the cliff, and he didn’t want to stop himself.

-

Shane had spent the entire day waffling about whether he would, or even could, go to the game. He figured enough time had passed that he could walk into that arena without losing himself in memories, but he wasn’t sure if going to see Ilya Rozanov play up close was in his best interest. Or maybe it was and that was the problem. 

An hour before the game started, he’d decided he wasn’t going. So when he started pulling on jeans and fussing with his hair fifteen minutes later, he figured maybe he would take a walk to the bookstore down the street, just to get out of his suffocating apartment. And when he stopped at the bus stop and sat on the bench, he thought maybe he’d take a ride across town to his favorite park and look at Christmas lights. But when the bus stopped near the arena, he got off and walked inside to the will call window and gave them his name. Ilya’s seats were nice, with a good view. He was a little late, the first period already underway, but his eyes found Ilya on the ice easily. He moved with the kind of grace you expected from figure skaters but the intensity needed to battle it out with fully grown men. It was impressive. It made Shane wonder if he would have been able to keep up with him. 

Not long after the second period started, Ilya scored. There was a low roar of cheering through the arena, though not as loud or enthusiastic as he deserved. The Ottawa fans were beaten down by too many seasons of losses. But Ilya was well-known and liked; he had reinvigorated them, at least to some extent. Shane cheered along with them, watching the man in question knock helmets with his teammates. Then Ilya’s head snapped up, and even from a distance, Shane could see his eyes sweeping the stands, stopping right on him. He could see the moment Ilya registered him, his face lifting in surprise, a big grin stretching wide as he skated toward him. And then he winked. A little shiver went through Shane, something warm spreading through his chest. He leaned back in his seat, trying to settle his suddenly racing pulse, and nodded to Ilya, hoping his face wasn’t doing anything as stupid as it felt. 

Right before the second period ended, Ilya scored again, and Shane cheered him on, a swell of pride going through him. He barely knew this man, but the Centaurs were his team. Or at least they had been at one point. Being proud of them scoring was perfectly normal…he was at the game after all. 

The team disappeared into the locker room after the second period, and Shane leaned back in his seat, pulling his phone out to check the time. Before he could put it back in his pocket, a venmo notification popped up. Rozanov81 had sent him $5000. Shane almost jumped out of his seat. He quickly opened his messages.

Shane: What the fuck is that for?

Immediately, the typing bubble appeared.

Ilya: for the painting obviously

Shane: I thought dinner was for the painting?

Ilya: I lied…I just wanted to take you to dinner

Not now, Shane thought when his stomach fluttered. He was trying to be mad.

Shane: The painting was just a gift. I’m sending the money back.

Ilya: I think you know what will happen if you do
Ilya: I have to go
Ilya: I’m glad you’re here

Shane slammed his phone down on his thigh, trying to knock the big dumb smile off his face before the Centaurs came back out onto the ice. He wanted to be mad. He was mad. He knew Ilya had waited until now to send it, because if he’d done it before the game, Shane definitely wouldn’t have come. Maybe. He did not want the money. But…he felt the tight vice around his chest loosen a little. The one that had settled there after his aunt had gotten sick and his whole life shifted to taking care of her, making sure she had what she needed, the way she had after his parents died. 

He let out a long breath. That kind of money was probably nothing to Ilya Rozanov, with his big salary and his brand deals. It still made Shane feel like a charity case, even if a painting had exchanged hands. The painting had been a lot of work, a lot of hours. But he hadn’t done it with the expectation of payment. To him, that had ended the day he walked out of Ilya’s house. 

The Centaurs were back on the ice, and Shane shook himself. A problem for another time. The rest of the game went about as expected, which is to say, they lost. They’d played well though, Ilya especially. Even the new guy, Barrett, had looked good out there. Maybe they could turn things around this season. 

As Shane was making his way through the crowd to exit the arena, his phone buzzed again.

Ilya: did you drive here?

Shane rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. Why was he asking? Maybe Shane should lie and say yes.

Shane: No. Why?

Ilya: if you can hang around for 30 minutes I’ll give you a ride home

Shane: …why?

Ilya: figured you might want to yell at me

Shane laughed. This was a terrible idea.

Shane: Okay.

Shane made his way outside anyway and found a wall to lean against, the cold air making him hunch over. About thirty minutes later on the dot, his phone buzzed again.

Ilya: where are you?

Shane: Front, left exit. 

A few minutes later, the orange Porsche pulled up. Shane sighed just looking at it. He did not belong in this world. He walked over and pulled open the passenger door anyway. It was much warmer inside, the heater already working.

“Hi,” Ilya said with a grin.

Shane didn’t say anything at first. He just took in that much too satisfied smile, the slightly wet curls sticking to his forehead, the way his sweatshirt stretched across broad shoulders.

“You’re mad,” Ilya said, eyes back on the road as he pulled away from the curb.

“The painting was a gift,” Shane said. “I wasn’t expecting payment.”

Ilya shrugged. “I told you I would pay for them.”

“That was before. This one wasn’t part of the deal.”

Ilya shook his head. “Mm, no. I don’t think we ever agreed to that.”

Shane rolled his eyes. 

“Just accept it, Hollander. You obviously worked hard on it. You deserve to be paid for your work.”

Shane sighed. “Fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Ilya said, grinning again. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Shane said. “It was…fun.” He realized that was true. He did have fun watching Ilya skate, watching the Centaurs play. Even if they did lose.

“Are you hungry?” Ilya asked.

Shane was hungry, but this seemed like a slippery slope. “Maybe a little,” he said anyway.

“Want to grab something? I’m starving.”

“Um, sure. I guess.”

“Sandwiches okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Ilya drove them to a sandwich shop Shane was familiar with. Ilya paid, and Shane didn’t even bother trying to argue. At the table, Shane watched Ilya take several large bites of his sandwich before his attention shifted back across the table. 

“Sorry,” Ilya said sheepishly. “I was really hungry.”

“I figured,” Shane said with a smile. “You played a good game.”

“Not good enough,” Ilya said before taking another big bite.

“The team is looking better. You’ll get there.”

They talked about the game a little longer, and Shane found himself enjoying it, the old draw to hockey still there, even if it was slightly tainted. Maybe watching Ilya play would ease some of that, a much needed reminder that good can exist alongside everything else. 

“You can come to a game anytime you want,” Ilya said eventually. 

“Oh,” Shane said. “I don’t want to take advantage. Or stop anyone else from being able to go.”

Ilya huffed a quiet laugh, but his eyes looked sad. “There is no one else.”

Shane swallowed, not knowing what to say, other than that he knew what that felt like. He just nodded and said, “Thanks. Maybe I will.”

Ilya’s smile reached his eyes that time, and Shane smiled back, wondering what the fuck they were even doing. 

“Ready?” Ilya asked, rolling up the paper from his sandwich and throwing it away. 

“Yeah.” Shane did the same. “Thanks…for the sandwich.” 

“You’re welcome, Hollander,” Ilya said, holding the door open for him.

When they got back into the car, Shane glanced over, watching him put on his seat belt. “You can call me Shane.”

Ilya’s gaze snapped up, eyes a little wide. “Right, sorry,” he said. “Habit, you know. Hockey.”

Shane nodded. Ilya drove toward his apartment. The silence didn’t feel as comfortable today, and Shane wasn’t sure why. The air was charged, but he didn’t know if it was because of what he said or something else entirely. 

“I’m really glad you came,” Ilya said as he pulled up in front of Shane’s building. 

“Me too.” His hand hovered next to the door handle, waiting to see if Ilya said anything else.

“You like Christmas lights?” Ilya asked, and he sounded slightly flustered, like maybe he hadn’t meant to. 

“Um, yeah. I guess,” Shane said, wondering where this was going. 

“My friend told me there is neighborhood that is famous for crazy lights,” Ilya said. “You know it?”

“Yeah, of course,” Shane said, a little thrill going through him at the memory. “Taffy Lane.”

“Yes, that’s it. I was thinking about going to see it on Monday. If you want to come,” Ilya said, glancing back out the windshield. 

Shane’s first thought was to say no. But his second thought, which raced ahead and landed at just about the same time, was to say yes. Because he did want to go. With Ilya. And the whys of that were eluding him right now. Or at least he was pretending they were. He must have taken too long to answer because Ilya licked his lips and looked back at him. 

“Never mind,” he said. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

“No,” Shane said quickly. “I’m not. I mean, I have to work until 6, but I’m free after that.” 

Ilya smiled. “You want to go?”

“Sure,” Shane said. “Sounds fun.” It also sounded suspiciously like a date. 

“I’ll text you then.”

Shane nodded and opened the door.

“Goodnight, Shane,” Ilya said, and his first name in that low voice, the way Ilya’s accent wrapped around the consonants, tightened something low in his stomach. 

“Goodnight,” he said, and quickly closed the door before he did or said something embarrassing.

Chapter 5: His beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

The next day, the first thing Shane did was go grocery shopping. He let himself buy all the things he wanted…fresh produce, natural peanut butter, the good kind of protein powder. On the way home, he stopped and got sushi from a place down the street that he’d walked by daily and never allowed himself to step into. He hadn’t always been so frugal. For most of his life, he’d been comfortable. But dropping out of college a year before graduating and having no skills besides the occasional ability to paint was not the path to financial freedom. Which is why he was in Ottawa. He’d sell the cottage, use what was left after back taxes were accounted for to finish school, and then maybe, maybe his life would look like something recognizable again. Ilya’s money would certainly help him scrape by in the meantime, even if he didn’t like the feel of it. 

He’d spent several hours lying awake the night before, thinking about the man in question. Thinking about those near-hazel eyes that sometimes looked blue, sometimes green, sometimes brown, but usually some in-between color, flecked with gold and bronze, that Shane couldn’t have mixed with paints if he tried. And some part of him wanted to try. But he wasn’t painting again. The last one was a fluke.

He looked up the Centaurs’ schedule. Ilya was playing in Boston today. Shane wondered if that was weird for him, the way being back in Ottawa was weird for Shane. Like being a stranger in your own house. For a brief second, he considered texting him. To wish him luck, maybe. Then he put his phone down on the table and ate his sushi, enjoying every bite. 

It turned out he could wish him luck after all, because later that afternoon, on his way to work, his phone buzzed.

Ilya: I’m looking forward to tomorrow 

Shane’s stomach fluttered. Something that was apparently going to keep happening where Ilya Rozanov was concerned. 

Shane: Me too. 

He really was. He’d worried that memories would creep in again, always there waiting to remind him of what he’d lost. But maybe it was worth it, for the new ones. 

Ilya: how’s your day?

Shane: Not bad. I had sushi for lunch and now I’m headed to work. You?

Ilya: not as good as sushi 

Shane: Is it weird being back in Boston?

Ilya: yes, in some ways

Shane: Yeah. I get that.
Shane: Good luck tonight. 

Ilya: thank you…I’ll try to score a goal for you

Shane swallowed hard and put his phone in his pocket. That was definitely the kind of thing you said to…well, not the guy who sold you a painting. He stepped into the cafe, pushing thoughts of Ilya Rozanov out of his head. 

-

Shane had watched the game highlights on his phone throughout his shift. Ilya had scored twice, and Shane had to stop himself from texting him. The next time his phone buzzed was around lunchtime the following day.

Ilya: what time should I pick you up tonight? 7?

The smile and the flutter were back.

Shane: 7 is good.

Ilya: see you then

He ended up getting off work a little early and the hours between then and 7 passed in a blur of fidgeting and pacing and pulling clothes out of his closet and then putting them back in. He was nervous. He still didn’t know if this was just a friend thing…were they friends? Or a date thing…they definitely weren’t that. Shane didn’t know how to date men. He’d hooked up with one man, and only one man, and it had been…not great. He’d dated women, mostly one woman, for a couple of years, until he realized that wasn’t working for him. Or her. And then life had gotten difficult, and he hadn’t had time to think about it. Well, maybe he had thought about it, but he hadn’t acted on it. And he certainly hadn’t expected that to change in Ottawa.

He was dressed in his new dark jeans again, with a zip-up fleece, still fussing with his hair at quarter to seven. He gave up and headed downstairs and outside to wait. Ilya pulled up a few minutes later, in the black car again. Shane slid into the passenger side. Ilya was dressed casually too, jeans and a t-shirt with a black leather jacket. 

“Hi,” Shane said, aware that his lips were being tugged into a smile against his will again. 

He felt better when he noticed a matching one on Ilya’s face. “Hi. Ready to look at Christmas lights?”

“Let’s do it,” Shane said, wondering if this was a weird thing for two grown men to be doing. 

They chatted about the game and other safe things on the way to Taffy Lane. 

“So, people go drive down this street every year just to see lights?” Ilya asked. 

“Pretty much,” Shane said. “I remember coming here every year, being really excited to see what new things people had up. I bet it’s changed a lot since then.”

Ilya glanced over at him, and Shane could see a look of concern on his face.

“This is okay with you? Doing things from your childhood?” He didn’t sound judgmental or pitying. 

Shane shrugged. “Mostly it’s fine. Sometimes something will just hit me out of nowhere, you know?” 

“I do know,” Ilya said softly.

“You do?”

“My mom died when I was twelve too,” Ilya said. “Not both parents, but…I know what it's like.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane said. He knew it was the thing everyone said and everyone meant, but it was always empty.

Ilya nodded. “She would take us to see the lights in Moscow. I think they mostly make me feel good now. A happy memory.”

“Yeah, me too,” Shane said. “My parents would always get a giant tree and wrap it in lights. The colorful kind, not the white ones. And I’d lie under it and just stare up at them for hours. I miss that.” He turned away, looking out the window, the memory making his eyes burn. He also figured it probably sounded a little bit silly, but he thought about it every year.

“That sounds nice,” Ilya said, looking at him with something too tender for him to put a name to while his eyes were watery. 

After a couple minutes of silence, Ilya turned to him again. “Will you go back to Vancouver for Christmas?”

“No,” Shane said. “I don’t have any family there anymore.”

“Here?” Ilya asked.

“No, no family at all.” Last Christmas was the first one he’d spent alone. He could have spent it with friends in Vancouver, but he’d wanted to be alone, needed to be. This year, he would have to travel to see anyone, and that was out of his budget. 

“What about you?” Shane asked. “Do you go back to Russia for the holidays?”

“No,” Ilya said, voice tight. “I do not go back to Russia at all. There is no one left there for me.”

Shane nodded, but he didn’t know what to say to that. Luckily they were getting close to Taffy Lane, evident by the line of slow-moving cars.

“Wow,” Ilya said, pulling up slowly behind the last one. “It’s that popular?”

“Oh yeah, pretty popular,” Shane said. “It’ll be much more crowded the closer it gets to Christmas Eve, though.”

That was less than two weeks away. Shane wasn’t looking forward to it, but he thought maybe this year would be easier than last year at least. 

When they finally got to the street itself, Shane was not surprised to see that it had indeed changed. Everything was bigger, flashier, more over the top than he remembered.

“What the fuck is that?” Ilya asked. Shane followed his gaze to an inflatable. 

Shane laughed. “I think it’s one of those minions, from that movie.”

Ilya was looking at him like he was personally offended. “What does that have to do with Christmas?”

Shane shrugged. “Probably about as much as Darth Vader,” he said, pointing at a house further up. 

“I like that one, maybe,” Ilya said, nodding toward an inflatable of a dog wearing a Santa hat. “But these blow up things are too much. They are ruining the view.”

Shane laughed quietly, but he agreed. “Yeah, I like the houses like that,” he said, pointing to one that was decorated only with lights. A lot of lights. Curtains of them draped along the front of the house and on the roof, icicle lights hanging from the windows, each bush wrapped in chunky old-fashioned bulbs, the large tree in the front decorated with balls of lights shaped like ornaments. 

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Much nicer.” He was looking at Shane, though, not the house. There was a small smile on his lips, and his eyes were moving across Shane’s face. Shane felt his cheeks heat and looked back at the house. 

They kept driving, slowly making their way to the end of the street, commentary fully focused on the lights and the poor use of pop culture references and strange inflatables. When there was a slight lull in the conversation, Shane could feel Ilya’s eyes on him again.

“You have girlfriend?” he asked out of nowhere. Shane looked at him, his mouth opening to answer, but his brain getting stuck on the why. And the who…because why did Ilya Rozanov care. 

“Um, no,” he said finally, looking back out the window. 

“Boyfriend?”

Shane swallowed. “Uh…not right now.” Or ever. But he figured that was enough to answer the question that was maybe hiding under the other ones. 

When Shane glanced back, Ilya was still looking at him, nodding slowly now. 

“You?” Shane asked before he could stop himself.

“Nope,” Ilya said, his lips popping lightly, eyes shifting forward again as the person in front of them moved a few meters.

Shane took a deep breath and forced himself to look out the window again. They were quiet for a few minutes, until they came to a house with lights blinking in time with music, and the conversation picked up naturally. Shane relaxed into his seat, feeling warm and light and surprisingly happy.

When they came to the end of the lights, cars exiting Taffy Lane, Ilya turned slightly to look at him.

“You need to go home?” he asked.

“Oh…no, not really,” Shane said, thinking of his tiny box of an apartment that was always too dark, too quiet.

“I know a place with good hot chocolate,” Ilya said. “They make it with real chocolate, not that powdery stuff. Café Délice…you know it?”

Shane shook his head. “I don’t think so. Must be newer.”

“You want to go?”

“Sure,” Shane said. “That sounds great.”

The drive from Taffy Lane was about twenty minutes of comfortable silence alternating with talk of hockey and tacky Christmas lights and when the last time they’d each had hot chocolate was. Ilya parked on a street a few blocks away, and they walked to the cafe. Inside, it was warm and smelled like chocolate and desserts, an intoxicating blend of delicious things that Shane did not indulge in very often, unless you counted the stale pastry here and there from his work.

He ordered a dark hot chocolate and Ilya a cardamom one. The first sip was so rich he made an obscene noise of delight. Ilya was watching him with a smile, his eyes bright.

“You want to walk for a little while?” Ilya asked as they headed back outside. 

“Yeah,” Shane said. He wasn’t ready for the evening to end. They headed toward Parliament Hill, enjoying the Christmas lights, the streets not overly crowded on a Monday. 

Ilya asked him about Ottawa, things he’d done as a kid, things that were different now.

“So what did you have to come back for?” he asked eventually, and Shane’s chest tightened, wondering how much he could say without falling apart.

“Um…well, my parents owned a cottage a couple hours away from here,” Shane said, keeping his voice even, neutral. “I’m planning to sell it.”

Ilya looked at him for a beat, his brows drawn together. “You did not want to stay there?”

Shane swallowed. “No, not really. It’s kind of far away from everything.” The truth was, he couldn’t. He hadn’t set foot in it since the week before the accident. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to do it in just a few weeks. “I haven’t been back since…” he trailed off, not wanting to sink their conversation.

Ilya nodded. “Someone keeps it up for you?”

“Yeah, someone checks in monthly, keeps it maintained,” Shane said. “But I’m going to see it for myself soon. Driving up on New Year’s Eve after work, while I have a few days off. So I can start getting it ready.”

Ilya was quiet for a few moments, but Shane could feel his gaze. 

“The cottage…is it…um,” Ilya took a sip of his hot chocolate before continuing. “The painting. It’s related, yes?”

“Oh, um…yeah, I guess so.” 

Ilya nodded, but he didn’t say anything else or ask anymore questions about it and for that, Shane was grateful. 

They kept walking, and as Shane’s hot chocolate cooled, the cold air made him shiver and wish he’d worn another layer.

“You’re cold,” Ilya said, glancing over at him.

“I’m fine.” 

Ilya passed his cup from his right hand to his left and then slid his right arm around Shane’s shoulders and pulled him in close enough to push out the cold air between them, creating a line of heat that radiated through his limbs and his stomach, settling in his chest. He thought it might burn him up. 

“Better?” Ilya asked as he kept walking, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening at all. As if Ilya Rozanov, hockey’s playboy, didn’t have an arm around Shane in public and a look on his face that was so genuine it almost knocked the air out of his lungs. 

“Yeah, thank you,” Shane said, taking a shaky breath. They kept walking, the conversation easy despite the fact that Shane’s brain was short-circuiting. When they got back to the car, and Ilya removed his arm, the cold crept back in immediately, making him shiver once again. 

When they eventually pulled up in front of Shane’s building, Ilya put the car in park and turned in his seat, fully facing Shane.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he said seriously. “It was nice.”

“Yeah, it was. Thanks for inviting me,” Shane said, wishing the night wasn’t over.

“I have a game tomorrow, and then we’re on the road for a week,” Ilya said. “But after that…maybe I can see you again?”

Shane nodded, biting his lower lip without meaning to. Then Ilya leaned across the center console until his face was hovering only inches away, and Shane couldn’t help but stare at his lips, still so perfect, calling to him in more ways than one. 

“Can I?” Ilya whispered, and Shane nodded, too quickly, too desperately. And then Ilya closed the space between them.

Shane’s whole body lit up like one of the Christmas light displays. Ilya’s lips were soft on his, and he had a moment to wonder, as the curve of that perfect cupid’s bow finally pressed against him, if there were any lips more perfect in the entire world. And then Ilya kissed him harder, and every thought he’d ever had was suddenly gone, replaced by warm, wet velvet dragging along his bottom lip, then pushing into his mouth, the softest brush, like he was painting something delicate, afraid to push harder. Shane was not afraid…he pushed back, leaning in and letting a low noise of approval slip from his mouth into Ilya’s, who swallowed it down and made one of his own, sending a pulse of heat through Shane’s stomach, settling in his groin. When Ilya finally pulled back, Shane sighed, his lips tingling; the absence of Ilya’s already unbearable. 

Ilya had a small, satisfied smile on his face. “See you next week?” he asked, his voice low and rough, sending another shiver through Shane. 

“Yeah…next week.”

“Goodnight, Shane.” Ilya bit his bottom lip, just the edge, and Shane could hardly look away.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice more breathless than it had any right to be after such a small amount of contact. He quickly got out of the car, closing the door behind him and heading into his building without looking back, if only so he didn’t embarrass himself by turning around and begging Ilya not to leave. 

Upstairs he leaned against his front door and sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face and wondering how he’d gone from barely existing in Ottawa, just dragging his feet along until he could figure out what to do next, to this…to spending time with famous hockey player Ilya Rozanov, to kissing famous hockey player Ilya Rozanov, to painting for him and suddenly wanting to paint again because he did, right here and now, his mind awash in greens and blues and browns and golds, pushing insistently while the rest of his body hummed. He pressed the pads of his fingers to his lips, still warm and tingling, trying to hold that feeling, to keep it in place as long as possible. 

-

Ilya had spent a lot of time smiling lately. On his drive home the night before, after kissing Shane, while he sat on the floor and stared at the paintings afterward, on his way to the optional morning skate, and apparently in the locker room after that.

“What’s got you so happy, Roz?” Wyatt asked from his stall. 

“What?” Ilya’s head snapped up, away from his phone, where he was debating whether he could text Shane or if that was too much.

“You’ve been grinning like an idiot all morning,” Wyatt said, pulling his gear off. “Is it a girl?”

“No,” Ilya said. “Mind your business, Hazy.”

“Come on,” Wyatt said, dragging the last word out. “Tell us about her.”

For a moment, Ilya thought about correcting him. Telling him it wasn’t a her. He didn’t think they’d care, but…it felt a little soon, coming out to his team just because Shane had let him kiss him once. Then again, maybe he should just get it over with. 

At that moment, Harris came into the locker room with Chiron in tow, and everyone’s attention shifted to the dog.

“He’s getting so big!” Ilya jumped up and dropped to the floor in front of Chiron immediately, letting the puppy climb into his lap. 

“Oh Chiron,” Harris laughed. “Stay away from these gross, sweaty hockey players or you’ll need a bath.”

Chiron was currently sticking his tongue in Ilya’s ear, and Ilya was practically lying on the ground, laughing. 

“Are they treating you well?” he asked the puppy very seriously. He didn’t like that Chiron lived at a facility when he wasn’t with Harris.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s spoiled rotten by everyone there,” Harris told him, watching affectionately as everyone fawned over Chiron. Even Barrett had come over, not participating but watching, his face a little less pained than usual.

Ilya left practice in an excellent mood, and when he got home, he made himself lunch and took his phone out again.

Ilya: Hi

Okay, so maybe not the most engaging option. But soon after, the typing bubble appeared.

Shane: Hi

Ilya: I had fun last night

Shane: Yeah, me too. Thanks again.

Ilya: do you want to come to the game tonight?

A longer pause this time, the typing bubble appearing and disappearing a couple of times.

Shane: I would but I have to work.
Shane: I’m sorry.

Ilya shook his head. Apologizing like he hadn’t already turned Ilya’s whole world right-side up. 

Ilya: that’s ok, maybe another time

Shane: Yeah, for sure.

Ilya: I get back in town on the 21st
Ilya: dinner?

The typing bubble appeared and disappeared. Then it didn’t come back and each minute that passed made Ilya want to slide further off his chair and lay on the floor.

Finally, seven minutes later, his phone buzzed again.

Shane: Sorry, had a customer. Dinner sounds great.

Ilya let out a loud breath and dragged a hand through his hair. Fuck he had it bad.

Ilya: can’t wait

-

They lost that game. Then they lost the first away game. But they played well, and Ilya’s mood stayed good thanks to Shane Hollander, whom he texted on and off, nothing important, just hi and how are you and how is your day and anything that let him have a few minutes of conversation with him. 

When they got to New York for the next game, Ilya left his hotel room and knocked on the one a few doors down.

Troy Barrett opened the door, already looking annoyed. 

“Barrett, come on. We’re going out,” Ilya said.

“What? Where?”

“A bar. I’m going to meet some friends and you’re coming.”

Barrett looked like he was flipping through excuses in his head and trying to pick the right one. Ilya just stared at him. Finally Barrett sighed and said, “Okay.”

They grabbed an uber to the Kingfisher, and he watched Barrett watch the neighborhood slide into view, pride flags everywhere. 

“Where exactly are we going?” he asked, glancing over at Ilya, a look of slight panic on his face.

“The bar Scott Hunter and Eric Bennett own.”

“Isn’t that…a gay bar?” Barrett’s voice went kind of high and squeaky.

“Is that a problem?” Ilya frowned, hoping he hadn’t been misreading Barrett.

“What? No, of course not…I’m just…surprised.”

“Why? I cannot go to a gay bar?”

“No, I just mean…you don’t even like Hunter?”

“I like him. He is old and boring and I like beating him. But you love him,” Ilya said, remembering that Barrett said he was his favorite player.

“It’s not like that,” Barrett said, flustered.

Ilya just grinned at him.

The evening was pleasant, Kyle bartending and Hunter and Bennett joining them for drinks. Barrett was a little awkward, staying quiet most of the time and looking perpetually confused and surprised, like he’d never seen any queer men up close. They’d commended him for standing up to his asshole teammate and Barrett had relaxed a little after that. Ilya enjoyed the company, even if he spent a lot of the time thinking of Shane. 

Eric had retired recently, but they would be playing Hunter and his team the next day so Ilya cut them off at a reasonable time. 

“Let’s walk,” Ilya said. It was cold but not unbearable, and he wanted to talk to Barrett without sharing a car with someone else. 

“So, that was your first gay bar?” he asked Barrett. 

“Oh, um yeah.”

Ilya nodded. “You seem like you want to ask me something.”

“No, I’m just…surprised I guess. That you’d want to be seen there,” Barrett said, looking down.

“Why would I care about that?”

“Well…in case anyone thinks you’re…”

“So what if they do? I’ve never said I was straight,” Ilya said, and Barrett stopped walking to look at him, eyes wide.

“What?”

“People assume things. They see what they want to see.” 

Barrett nodded, and they started walking again. 

“I’m gay,” Barrett blurted out, then under his breath, “fuck.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Not really,” Barrett said. “No.”

“That must have been hard, with your former team,” Ilya said, thinking of the asshole Dallas Kent who threw out homophobic slurs like they were confetti. 

Barrett nodded. 

“So, what did you think of your first time at a gay bar?”

“Well, a lot more MLH players than I expected.”

Ilya laughed. “Yes, that tends to happen at the Kingfisher,” he said. “But was it okay?”

“Yeah, it was,” Barrett said. “Thanks for dragging me there.” Then, “So you’re…not straight?”

“I am bisexual,” Ilya said, and it felt good to say it out loud. He hadn’t really had a reason to tell anyone before. But now…he found himself thinking about Shane. About Shane coming with him to Bood’s barbecues, Shane showing up to more of his games, his life looking less like an empty shell and more like something that someone might want to fit into. 

“Do you have a…boyfriend?” Barrett asked, like the word boyfriend hurt on the way out, and Ilya figured he understood that. The way wanting it and having it were two very different things when you were a pro hockey player surrounded by people who thought being queer was the worst insult they could throw at you.

“No,” Ilya said. “But maybe I would like to.”

Barrett nodded. “Yeah…that would be…”

“Maybe not the team’s social media guy, though,” Ilya teased. 

“Oh god…is it that obvious?”

“No. I don’t think so. There is probably about one quarter of a gaydar collectively between our teammates. And even that is probably broken,” Ilya said. “I think you are safe.”

“I like him.” Barrett was looking down again.

“We all like Harris,” Ilya said. “But we do not all want to kiss him.”

Barrett groaned, and Ilya laughed.

“I think it would be safe to tell them,” Ilya said. “Our team, I mean. If you wanted to come out. And also maybe that you like Harris. But you should probably tell him first.”

“Yeah,” Troy said with a sigh. “Yeah…I should.”

Ilya made it back to his room and flopped on the bed, feeling even lighter than he had before. Sharing with Barrett had been…good for him. And he was relieved that he was right about Barrett, in more ways than one.

-

On the 20th, Jen asked Shane if he could take her closing shift the next day because her mom was having surgery. 

Shane: My coworker needs me to take her shift tomorrow night. I’m sorry. 

A couple minutes later his phone buzzed. 

Ilya: that’s ok, I understand 

Shane: I’m off the next day though. I could come to the game. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed he was still invited. 

Shane: I mean, only if that’s okay. 

Ilya: of course
Ilya: I want you to

Shane: Cool. I’ll be there. 

Ilya: I can drive you home again after the game

Shane smiled and closed his eyes, warmth spreading through him. 

Shane: Sounds good. Thanks.

-

Shane got to the game early this time, not wanting to miss a minute of Ilya on the ice. And he was glad he did because the first thing Ilya did was skate toward his section and give Shane the biggest grin, followed by a wink and a nod, and Shane wondered if anyone else noticed and if Ilya cared if they did. 

Ilya ended the game with a hat trick even though the Centaurs lost. Shane had enjoyed watching him, a little thrill going through him each time Ilya scored and then immediately skated his way. Shane had looked around the first time, just to make sure it was really him that Ilya was looking at, but there was no one else nearby that could have been drawing his attention. 

After the game ended, Shane stayed in his seat, whiling away the time. Eventually he slowly made his way through the arena and outside, finding an empty bench to sit on. Not long after he sat down, his phone buzzed.

Ilya: sorry slow tonight
Ilya: 30 more min probably
Ilya: if you need to go that’s ok

Shane: Take your time, I’m fine waiting. 

Shane used the time to respond to an email from a realtor he’d been in touch with, letting them know he was going to the cottage around New Year’s and they could schedule a walk-through sometime after that. He sighed and hit send. He knew it would be better once he got this over with. Even though Ilya’s money bought him a little more time to drag his feet, that time was still quickly elapsing, and he needed to at least be prepared. His phone buzzed a few minutes later. 

Ilya: finally done 

Soon after, the orange Porsche pulled up, and Shane slid easily into the passenger side. 

“Hey, sorry about that,” Ilya said. “Media shit.”

“That’s okay,” Shane said, putting on his seatbelt. “Great game. That last goal was amazing. It looked impossible.”

“Thanks.” Ilya was grinning at him like Shane’s compliment actually mattered. 

Shane glanced over at him as he drove out of the parking lot. He looked just as good as always, hair damp from the shower, face slightly flushed still. The space between them felt charged, like one move might ignite everything. Or maybe just him, because his skin felt hot and tight, and his body was being pulled by some unexplainable gravitational force, held back only by sheer willpower. As if Ilya could follow his thoughts, he glanced over with a smirk and winked. 

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “I wish we had won, but it was a good game before a few days off.”

Shane nodded. “You guys looked great out there. Barrett seems like he’s finding his groove with the team finally.”

“Yes, I think he is. I think he will surprise everyone,” Ilya said. “He is not what he seems.”

“It was cool of him to call out that asshole,” Shane said. He really did only follow hockey casually, but that story had been all over the news.

They talked about hockey and Barrett and the Centaurs for the rest of the ride. When Ilya pulled up in front of Shane’s building, he looked over and took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself for something. 

“Do you want to…” he trailed off. Then, “Can I come in?”

Shane’s eyes went wide. Shit. He opened his mouth to say something. “Um…”

“Never mind,” Ilya said quickly. “Sorry. I should not have assumed.” He looked uncharacteristically shy.

“Oh no, it’s not that,” Shane said. “My place is just…very small.”

“Oh,” Ilya said, confused now. “Is that a problem?”

“Uh, no…just kind of…embarrassing.” Shane thought about the ragged little couch, the tiny TV, the secondhand furniture, the way you could barely turn in a circle without bumping into something. 

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Ilya said. “But we don’t have to. I should probably get home and sleep anyway.”

A wave of disappointment washed over him, even though he was the one putting a stop to this. 

“Wait,” Shane said, making a split-second decision, not wanting to watch Ilya drive away. Not yet. “You can come up. I want you to.”

“Yeah?” 

Shane nodded. Ilya pulled up closer to the car parked in front of him and then turned the engine off. Shane got out and stood awkwardly on the curb, his mouth suddenly dry. He wondered if he had just agreed to something he wasn’t sure he was ready to do again, even if it was Ilya. 

Ilya followed him into the building and upstairs. Shane hesitated for just a second in front of his door, key hovering at the lock. Then he opened it and stepped inside, Ilya right behind him. He took in the space, trying to see it from Ilya’s eyes. It was tidy, the bed was made, the dishes were drying in the rack. He had a basket of laundry next to the bathroom door, but otherwise, it was just a small studio apartment, nothing out of the ordinary except that there was currently a millionaire standing in it. 

“Nice place,” Ilya said, and not like he was teasing. “Seems comfortable. Better than my empty house.”

Shane looked at him incredulously. Comparing this closet of an apartment to his four thousand square foot home was laughable. 

“Um, thanks,” he said anyway. “It’s not terrible.”

Ilya stepped further away from the door and then turned back, his gaze on Shane’s face. He leaned in, and just like last time, stopped a few inches away.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice dropped low. 

“Please,” Shane said, and he might have been embarrassed except Ilya kissed him and Shane kissed him back and his whole body felt it. Ilya’s arms came up around his back and pulled him in close until there was no space left between them and he could feel that Ilya was hard against him and he knew Ilya could feel that he was too. 

Ilya pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips. “I missed you.”

Heat coursed through Shane. “Me too.” 

Ilya leaned in again, pressing their lips together, deepening the kiss, his hands moving along Shane’s back, up his sides, over his chest, everywhere all at once, and Shane moaned into his mouth, which seemed to push his hands further, one sliding down to press against his cock through his pants. Shane gasped at the contact, his hips moving reflexively. Ilya pulled back again, his eyes searching Shane’s face.

“Bed?” he asked. 

Shane nodded, a little too quickly, his nerves returning full force. Ilya must have noticed because he stepped back, putting a few inches between them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, okay?”

Shane nodded again. “Okay.” He kicked his shoes off, Ilya did the same, and then Shane grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bed, which wasn’t far in this small space. Ilya tossed his jacket on the couch, and Shane pulled his sweatshirt over his head. 

Ilya stepped up in front of him and kissed him again, just a soft press of lips before he pulled back, eyes scanning Shane’s face. Then he sat on the bed and pulled Shane down with him, until Ilya was on his back, Shane half on top of him, their lips pressed together again. They kissed for a while, lips and teeth and tongues coming together in a perfect rhythm, like they’d done it a hundred times before, like their mouths were made for each other. Eventually Ilya rolled them, his body pressed between Shane’s legs, covering him from mouth to hips, his lips trailing down his jaw, stopping to press against the soft, sensitive skin just below, sending a shiver through Shane that made his hips buck up of their own accord, dragging a low moan from his throat. 

Ilya leaned up and grabbed the hem of Shane’s shirt, tugging it up and over his head before he leaned down again, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his chest, moving slowly down his body, stopping to drag his teeth lightly over the surprisingly sensitive skin of Shane’s stomach, occasionally glancing up at his face. Eventually he crawled back up until they were face to face again.

“Have you ever been with a man before?” Ilya asked. And while his voice held no judgement, Shane’s cheeks heated anyway.

“Um…yeah,” he said. “Just once.”

Ilya nodded. “And? It was good?”

Shane sucked in a breath, trying to buy himself some time to come up with an answer that was true but not pathetic. “Um...I guess some of it was.” 

Ilya’s brows went up. “Some?”

“I mean,” Shane started, wishing he could take back everything he just said and lie instead. “I guess…everything before the actual…”

“He hurt you?” Ilya asked, his face pulled into something closer to anger now.

“Not on purpose,” Shane said. “I think I might just be…defective.” 

“Defect—” Ilya frowned. “What like broken?”

“Um yeah, I guess.”

He shook his head. “Mm, no. I don’t think so. Is not supposed to hurt.” 

“I know,” Shane said, wishing this conversation could be rewound or erased entirely.

“Then what do you mean, why defective? This does not feel defective,” Ilya said, rolling his hips into Shane’s, their erections pressing together, drawing a little groan from him.

“No,” Shane said, with a small smile. “That works fine. But the other stuff…”

“He fucked you?” 

Shane winced, even though it was technically accurate. “Yeah.”

“No prep?”

“Um…I guess not,” Shane said. It had been fast and fumbling and he hadn’t even gotten the guy’s name. He had at least made sure he wore a condom. Shane had just wanted to know…to make sure he was into guys. 

Ilya’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry that’s how your first time was.”

“I tried it too…on my own,” Shane said, his eyes focused on Ilya’s lips, not wanting to look at him while he said this. “It was a little better but…” He took a deep breath, feeling particularly embarrassed now.

“Hey, hey,” Ilya said, his hand coming up to cradle Shane’s jaw. “We don’t have to do that right now. I just want to make you feel good, okay?”

Shane nodded. He already felt pretty good, and he did want more. Ilya leaned down and kissed him again before shifting down the bed until he was kneeling between Shane’s legs, hands hovering over the button of his jeans. “Okay?” he asked. 

Shane nodded again, and Ilya quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans before hooking his fingers in the waistband of those and his boxer briefs and pulling them down and off in one smooth motion.

Before Shane could even register what he was about to do, Ilya took him into his mouth, sinking down until Shane’s cock hit the back of his throat, a surprised, unrestrained moan slipping out of him at the feel of that soft, wet heat around him. 

“Oh fuck, Ilya,” he breathed, his eyes rolling back as Ilya started to move, bobbing up and down, stopping when just the head of his cock was enveloped and using his tongue to swirl around it, then pressing flat on the underside and flicking back and forth, drawing another moan from him. Ilya’s tongue swept across the slit, then he slid back down and set a rhythm that had Shane’s hips moving involuntarily, one of Ilya’s arms holding him still. Just as he was getting ready to warn Ilya that he was about to come, he pulled off and pushed Shane’s legs up against his chest and then ducked his head. Shane looked down the length of his body just in time to see those golden brown curls sink lower and feel something warm and wet against his hole.

“Oh god,” he moaned. Ilyas tongue was dragging over his entrance in long, slow licks that had him wanting to push down, to feel more. It didn’t take long before Ilya gave him more. He started lapping at him with short, firm presses of his tongue, then alternately swirling his tongue around it, massaging and pressing, and Shane could feel how wet it was, saliva sliding down his skin. Waves of heat and pleasure were coursing through him, his back arching off the bed, hands grasping at the sheets. And then Ilya stopped licking and speared his tongue firmly against him until Shane felt it slip inside. A high, broken sound escaped his throat, and he wondered if he might come without being touched, the heat building in his groin almost overwhelming.

“Ilya,” he warned, and Ilya pulled back, the cool air pricking against his sensitive skin. 

“It’s good?” Ilya asked, his voice rough and thick. 

“Yes,” Shane whispered. “So good.” 

Then Ilya leaned up and took Shane’s cock into his mouth again at the same time as he pressed a finger against Shane’s hole, gently but firmly, until it slipped inside. Shane felt a little bit of pressure, but before he could even register it, Ilya pushed in further and crooked his finger. Shane’s whole upper body came off the bed, his hips jerked, cock pushing further down Ilya’s throat. Ilya swallowed around him, his finger still stroking, and Shane couldn’t have stopped his orgasm for anything in the world. He’d never felt anything so incredible, tingly heat spreading everywhere. 

He barely had time to say, “Ilya, I’m going to—” and instead of pulling off, Ilya hollowed his cheeks and then swallowed around him again. Shane’s release ripped out of him, and he spilled himself down Ilya’s throat while his body trembled and tightened. When he was spent, his body went boneless, melting into the bed, eyes fluttering shut. 

Ilya pulled off him with a long lick, then slipped his finger gently out of him, before crawling back up Shane’s body, his weight a comforting, grounding presence.

When Shane’s eyes finally blinked open again, he found Ilya’s face hovering over him, a satisfied smile on his face. Then he bent and kissed Shane, his tongue pushing into his mouth enough that Shane could taste himself there, faintly salty. He kissed Ilya back, even while his limbs were heavy and his mind was floating. 

“Not so defective, hm?” Ilya said. 

Shane huffed a laugh. “I guess not…that was new.” 

“Good?” Ilya asked. 

“Yeah,” Shane said, smiling. “Jesus.”

Ilya smiled and kissed him again, slower this time, almost lazy. And then Shane felt Ilya’s cock against his thigh. He sat up so he could push Ilya down on his back. When his hands were at the waistband of Ilya’s pants, he grabbed Shane’s wrist gently. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Shane said. Ilya’s eyes were scanning his face, like he was reading Shane’s reaction, making sure it was genuine. Then he nodded once and lay back against the pillows. Shane undid Ilya’s pants and pulled them off, his lips parting in awe. Every part of this man was beautiful.

Shane leaned over and took him into his mouth. He’d done this once, briefly, not enough to learn any technique. This time he would. He sank down, a little too far, pulling back as soon as Ilya bumped the back of his throat, but he recovered quickly and hollowed his cheeks, pulling up and letting his tongue drag on the underside. 

“Yes, Shane…fuck,” Ilya breathed, one hand coming up to thread through his hair, not pushing or pulling. Shane kept going, swirling his tongue, tasting the drop of salty precome gathered at the tip, which made him moan onto Ilya’s cock, drawing an answering moan from Ilya. He settled into a rhythm that seemed to be working for Ilya if the noises and the way his hips were barely staying on the bed were anything to go by. Eventually he brought one hand up to wrap around him, dragging it up to meet his mouth, allowing him to move faster and use his tongue more. 

Ilya’s breathing started to get heavier, more low moans slipping out. Eventually the hand that was tangled in Shane’s hair tugged gently, pulling him off. Then Ilya’s hand replaced his mouth and stroked himself a few times until he groaned, ropes of cum shooting over his hand and onto his stomach while his abs flexed. Shane watched, feeling himself getting hard again already at the sight of that and the sounds he was making and the way he watched Shane’s face the whole time, eyes locked on him, like he couldn’t look away. 

Ilya reached up and rested his clean hand against the back of Shane’s neck and drew him down into another kiss, and this time it really was lazy and unhurried, just the soft slide of lips and tongues, needing to feel one another, like anchors while their bodies were still unmoored. 

“You’re amazing,” Ilya whispered against his lips, and Shane’s chest fluttered, heat still surging through him, but something softer alongside it.

Eventually Ilya got off the bed and went into Shane’s tiny bathroom. He heard the water running and thought maybe he should get up too. He could still feel the slickness of saliva in places he had never had saliva before. But Ilya came back with tissues, handing them over.

“Thanks,” Shane said, and he had a moment of not wanting to reach down and do that in front of Ilya before remembering that the reason he needed to was because Ilya’s tongue had been inside his asshole. He snorted quietly, and Ilya looked up at him, his lips tugged up at the corners. 

After, Ilya sat back on the bed and pulled Shane down next to him, arm around his shoulders. 

“Was that okay?” he asked, a note of worry in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Shane said. “It was, I promise.” 

“Good,” Ilya said, and he pressed a kiss to Shane’s temple. “I should probably go.”

“Oh,” Shane said. “You can stay. But I do have to get up really early for work.”

“I don’t want to mess up your day. Next time,” he said, scooting off the bed and collecting his clothes. Shane pulled on a pair of shorts and then watched, enjoying the way Ilya’s muscles moved under smooth skin, perfectly dotted with moles that Shane would love to paint, like a constellation he could layer amongst the greens and blues and gold he already associated with Ilya. 

When Ilya was dressed, he leaned down to kiss Shane again softly, then he pulled back, eyes scanning his face before he did it again. The kiss was so tender and careful that it made Shane’s eyes burn. 

“Goodnight,” he said, brushing the hair off Shane’s forehead before turning and walking to the door. 

“Goodnight,” Shane said, and as soon as the door closed behind Ilya, he flopped back onto the bed, letting the stupid smile he’d been suppressing stretch properly across his face. 

-

The next morning came quickly, and Shane made the easy walk to the cafe, the cold air invigorating him instead of beating him down. 

Jen was working with him this morning. She was his favorite of the other baristas…fun to talk to and actually worked when needed. 

“What’s got you looking so awake this morning?” she asked when he walked in. 

“Mind your business,” he said teasingly. 

“Wait,” she said, holding up a hand dramatically. “Don’t tell me it’s the painting guy again?”

He couldn’t have stopped the smile if he tried. He bit his lip, considering for a brief second telling her it was Ilya Rozanov, star center of the Centaurs, but he didn’t. He didn’t think Ilya was out, considering his reputation, and he wasn’t sure what they were to each other, so bragging about it seemed in poor taste. 

“Maybe,” he said, busying himself with setting up the cold brew. 

“Well hot damn,” she said, stacking pastries in the case. “Lucky guy. So are you gay or bi?”

Shane laughed. Jen was nothing if not to the point. “Um…gay,” he said, glancing up. But Jen just nodded sagely.

“I thought so,” she said. “A true loss for women everywhere.”

“Shut up,” he said, flinging a towel at her. 

The cafe was busy, being that it was the day before Christmas Eve, and everyone in Ottawa was apparently out shopping. 

On his break, Shane pulled his phone out to see a text from Ilya. 

Ilya: are you working tomorrow?

Shane: Yeah, in the morning. I get off at 1. 

Ilya: want to come over for dinner? 

Shane smiled, a little thrill going through him. He definitely wanted to see Ilya again, sooner than later. 

Shane: Sure. Can I bring anything?

Ilya: no no I have everything 
Ilya: 5:00 okay?

Shane: Perfect.

-

Whatever crowd they’d had on the 23rd was child’s play compared to Christmas Eve. It was nonstop busy, which worked out well for Shane because time flew by, not a single moment to sit and think about anything else. When he finally got home that afternoon, he took an extra long shower and then stood in front of his tiny closet, like maybe the longer he looked, the more options he’d have. He finally settled on jeans and a blue sweater, with his new jacket. Instead of fighting the bus on Christmas Eve, he ordered an uber, thanks to Ilya’s painting money. 

The car pulled up just a few minutes before 5, and Shane’s nerves were a little on edge. Not that he didn’t want to be here. He most definitely did. But now that things had progressed into…whatever that was…he wasn’t sure what to expect. 

Ilya opened the door before Shane could get a second knock in. He was smiling, his curls a mess around his head, like he’d been running his hand through them. 

“I feel overdressed,” Shane said. Ilya was wearing gray sweatpants and a tight black tank top, a gold chain around his neck. Shane’s mouth was watering already. 

“That’s okay,” Ilya said, stepping back to let him in. “You look very nice.”

He followed Ilya through the entryway and the living room, toward the bright kitchen. 

“Ah,” Ilya said, looking a little sheepish. “I made a roasted chicken and vegetables. Nothing fancy. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Shane said. “Sounds great.” 

Ilya smiled and then walked up to him, still looking a little unsure. He leaned in, keeping his gaze on Shane’s face, eyes moving quickly. Shane leaned in and closed the space this time, letting Ilya know that he was still interested. Very interested. 

Eventually Ilya stepped back and pointed to one of the stools at the counter. “Sit.”

Shane sat, watching him move around the kitchen, watching the gray sweatpants hug all the right places. 

“Are you hungry?” Ilya asked from the sink, looking over his shoulder. “We can wait a while if not.”

“I’m starving,” Shane said. “All I’ve had today was coffee.”

Ilya frowned. “Why?” 

“Work was busy,” Shane said, shrugging. 

“Okay, we eat now then.” 

Ilya took two plates out and then pulled the chicken from the oven, along with a pan of roasted vegetables. Shane watched him serve the food, moving so carefully, he wondered if he was nervous. 

“What do you want to drink? I have beer, wine, Coke, ginger ale, water…” he asked as he set a plate in front of Shane. 

“Oh, um, ginger ale would be good.” 

Ilya grabbed a can of that and a can of Coke and sat on the stool next to him. Shane was grateful this wasn’t a fancy meal. It put him at ease to be sitting at the island counter with cans of soda, eating off regular plates. He hadn't been sure what to expect, considering Ilya’s tax bracket. Though he guessed hockey player and casual went together.

After a few bites, Ilya looked over at him. “It’s okay?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Shane said between bites. “Thank you.”

“Can you stay tonight?” Ilya asked. 

Shane nodded, his pulse picking up. “Yeah, the cafe is closed tomorrow.” 

“Good.” Ilya was looking at him, a small smile on his face. “I made dessert too. For later.”

“Wow,” Shane said. “You went all out.”

Ilya shrugged. “It’s Christmas.”

Even though Shane had known that, couldn’t forget after saying Merry Christmas eighty-something times earlier in the day and watching people barge in and out with bags of gifts, it hadn’t quite connected that he was here, with Ilya, on Christmas Eve, and he’d just agreed to stay for Christmas Day. His eyes burned, throat going a little tight, realizing he wouldn’t be alone this year. And if he was being honest, there was no one else left in the world he’d rather spend it with. 

“Yeah,” Shane said eventually. “It is. This is perfect.”

When they were done and the plates were cleared and the leftovers put away, Ilya stood next to him and said, “I did one other thing.”

Shane cocked his head. “What?”

Ilya held out a hand, and Shane took it. Ilya pulled him down the hall, toward the glass-walled room he’d been in last time he was here. They stopped in the doorway, and Shane felt the earlier burn in his eyes return, this time with tears that made the outline of the giant tree in the middle of the room wavy and blurred the thousands of colorful lights wrapped around it. But they didn’t fall until he looked down to see a giant, plush blanket laid out beneath the tree, two pillows, side by side, positioned so two people could lie together beneath it and look up at the lights. 

Chapter 6: There's a blaze of light in every word

Chapter Notes

Ilya watched Shane’s face as he took in the tree, the lights, the blanket, the pillows. He was worried Shane would think this was corny or that maybe he was intruding on something he wasn’t welcome to. But a single tear escaped the corner of his eye, and he turned to Ilya, a look of disbelief parting his lips.

“Is this okay?” Ilya asked, looking down at his feet before meeting Shane’s gaze again.

“It’s perfect,” Shane whispered, and then his arms were around Ilya, pulling him in close. “When did you do this?”

“Yesterday,” Ilya said. As it turned out, you can get almost anything done when you’re willing to pay. He’d paid for the tree, delivery, setup, lights, not even registering the cost. Then he’d spent hours wrapping lights around the tree, moving a chair around little by little so he could drape them all the way to the top, not realizing that it was really not a one person job. He had quickly wished he’d paid for someone to do that too. His arms were still sore. “Sorry I didn’t have time to get ornaments too.” The only other thing on the tree was silver tinsel garland. The room was dark but for the colorful lights, and the effect was…magical. He hoped so anyway.

“No,” Shane said, still wrapped around him. “I love it.” 

Shane stepped back, not letting Ilya’s hand go. 

“Come on,” Ilya said, pulling him further into the room and then down onto the blanket until they were lying side by side. 

A wave of nostalgia and something warm swept through Ilya as he gazed up into the branches of the tree, the swirl of lights coming together in a colorful tapestry, reflected by the silvery garland. It reminded him of Christmas mornings, when the house smelled like sweet apples, and the joy you only experience in that fleeting period of childhood when you know Santa has come, presents waiting for you beneath the tree. He could see why Shane had liked this. It was relaxing in a way, like he’d stepped out of the dark, loud world outside and into something quiet and soft and joyful. 

He glanced over at Shane to see that his eyes were wet, but his mouth was pulled up into a soft smile, his bottom lip quivering almost imperceptibly. Ilya reached for his hand again, threading their fingers together, and Shane turned his head to look at him. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, squeezing Ilya’s hand.

“I didn’t want to make you sad,” Ilya said, pulling their clasped hands up to brush his lips against the back of Shane’s.

“I’m not,” Shane said. “I mean, maybe a little, but in a good way, I guess. This is…” he trailed off and swallowed once. “I thought coming back to Ottawa would…I don’t know, make me feel closer to them, you know? But it didn’t. If anything, my memories feel even further away here.” He turned over onto his side, fully facing Ilya. “But this…it’s perfect.”

Ilya shifted so he was on his side too. “Tell me about them.” Shane blinked a few times. “Only if you want to,” Ilya added quickly.

Shane nodded. “They were great. My mom was so into hockey. She grew up in Montreal, so that was her team. But they still loved the Centaurs, and we went to tons of games. My dad played in college too. My life revolved around hockey.” He smiled, a little sad. “Sometimes I feel like they’d be so disappointed to know that I stopped playing.” Shane’s eyes filled with tears again, and Ilya reached up to catch one on his thumb just as it fell.

“They would be proud of you,” Ilya said. “For going through something impossible and doing what you had to do.” 

Shane nodded softly and took a deep breath, turning his head to look up into the branches again. “After long practices, I’d lie under the tree sometimes. It was…I don’t know how to explain it, but it made me feel…calm. Sometimes they’d join me, ask about my day. On Christmas Eve the three of us would lie there together while my mom read The Night Before Christmas.” He turned to Ilya again. “I know it’s kind of silly, but…” He shrugged. “When I moved in with my aunt after, we never had room for a big tree, just one of those mini ones. I always missed it.”

“It’s not silly at all.” Ilya propped himself up on one elbow so he could lean over and kiss him. “My mom always made sharlotka for breakfast on Christmas morning. It’s um…cake with apples? It was the only time she ever made it, and I looked forward to it all year. I make it every Christmas, just for myself. To remember.”

Shane smiled. “That sounds nice.”

Ilya nodded. “It’s what I made for dessert. Or we can save it for tomorrow.” He shrugged lightly, not wanting to make it sound like a big deal. “If you want to try it.”

“I do,” Shane said, and this time he leaned over, kissing Ilya and shifting closer, until their bodies were pressed together. “Thank you.”

“I’m happy you came over,” Ilya said, cradling Shane’s jaw and brushing his thumb against the spray of freckles there. They looked like a spray of paint, like he flicked the brush too close to his skin. He wanted to press his lips against them, and instead of fighting it, he did. He leaned in and let his lips trail from that spot down to the corner of Shane’s mouth, lingering for just a moment. He started to lean back, but Shane’s hand came up to rest on the back of his neck and pulled him in again. The kiss was more urgent now, heat building between them. 

The tree in the stand was just high enough that when Shane pulled Ilya on top of him, he didn’t brush against the branches. He settled there, chest to chest, Shane’s legs opening to make room, until they were pressed together in all the right places. Ilya kissed his way from Shane’s mouth to the soft skin below his ear, drawing a soft moan from him. He traced his tongue over that spot, feeling a shiver go through Shane, his hips pitching up, their cocks rubbing together. 

Ilya had a brief moment of clarity and pulled back to look at Shane’s face. “Do you want to do this?” he asked. “Here, I mean.” He nodded his head up toward the tree and the lights above them.

Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I do. It’s okay.” Ilya scanned his face, just to be sure, but Shane was watching him with a small smile, his eyes bright. Ilya figured that maybe sometimes it was okay to slot a happy memory next to a bittersweet one, so when you looked back at something, it was more than grief, more than heartache…something worth remembering even on bad days. And he certainly hoped this would be a happy memory.

He leaned down and kissed Shane again, not holding back this time. Shane’s lips were soft and eager, kissing him back, their tongues dancing together. Ilya pulled back just enough to trail his lips down Shane’s jaw, to his neck, scraping his teeth lightly against the column of his throat, making him moan and push his hips up into Ilya’s more insistently. Ilya shifted just enough so that their cocks could rub together more easily, and the friction, the slide of Shane’s hardness against his, and the needy little noises he was making pulled a moan from Ilya’s throat too.

“Fuck, Shane,” he breathed against Shane’s ear. One of Shane’s hands threaded through his hair, tightening enough to draw a low groan from him while he rocked his hips into Shane’s, needing more but not wanting to stop to remove their clothes because Shane was warm and hard and moaning beneath him and the urgency was there to press their bodies together and never let go. Ilya moved his hips faster, and Shane answered, pushing up against him harder, using the hand in his hair to guide Ilya’s lips back to his. The kiss was messy, lips sliding against each other, breathing into each other's mouths, and Ilya had a brief moment to realize he was going to come in his pants and had no desire to stop. Instead, he rolled his hips against Shane more deliberately, until Shane’s lips broke away from his, head tipped back against the pillow, exposing his throat. Ilya kissed his way down below his jaw again, stopping to suck the soft skin there that made Shane moan.

“Ilya,” Shane breathed in warning, his voice barely above a whisper and sounding wrecked anyway. Shane’s hand in his hair tightened again, his other one drifting down under the waistband of Ilya’s sweatpants, pressing his ass down, like he needed more, so Ilya gave it to him and moved his hips faster.

Then Shane made a low sound, and he pulled Ilya tighter against him, his hips pitching up, and Ilya knew he was coming, and the sound and feel of it, the way Shane was clinging to him, curling up against his body while his hips jerked hard against Ilya’s cock was enough to pull his own orgasm from him. He pushed harder against Shane, giving him enough friction and pressure to ride out the rest of his orgasm while Ilya fell into his own, feeling his cock pulse in his pants, while he pushed his face into the curve of Shane’s shoulder and whispered his name, his voice rough and overcome with pleasure. 

Then they were both still, Ilya lying on top of Shane, the only sounds in the room their heavy breathing. Once Ilya caught his breath, he picked his head up to look at Shane, whose eyes fluttered and then opened, a small smile stretching his lips. Ilya couldn’t help the answering smile on his own face for anything in the world. Those perfect red lips, swollen from kissing him, dark brown eyes, looking at him like he was exactly where he wanted to be. 

Ilya bent to kiss him, just a soft brush of lips, then he pressed his forehead to Shane’s.

“You made me come in my pants,” Ilya said. “Like a teenager.”

Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “Is that a complaint?”

Ilya shook his head against Shane’s. “No,” he said. “Definitely not. Except now we need to change.” He rolled off Shane and looked down. There was a dark, wet spot on the front of his gray sweatpants.

“Fuck,” Shane said, with a laugh. “That’s hot.”

Ilya looked at him and couldn’t suppress his smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm…gray sweatpants. I get it now,” Shane said, biting his lip. 

Under the colorful reflection of the tree lights, Ilya could see that Shane was still slightly flushed, his eyes still a little unfocused, his smile crooked and sweet. He leaned over and kissed him again, never wanting that smile to go away.

He leaned back and brushed the bangs off Shane’s forehead. “Come on, I have a pair you can borrow.” He sat up and held a hand out to him. 

They made their way upstairs to Ilya’s bedroom, where he dug out clean boxer briefs, sweatpants, and t-shirts for both of them. They cleaned up and put the fresh clothes on, and Ilya tossed Shane’s dirty ones into the wash for him. 

“You want to watch a movie?” Ilya asked, already heading back down to the living room. It was still pretty early in the evening, and Ilya really just wanted any excuse to put his arms around Shane and that seemed like a good one.

“Sure,” Shane said. “A Christmas movie?”

Ilya nodded. “If you want. Any favorites?”

Shane looked like he was considering that. “There is one that we used to watch…” he said. “I’m not sure if it was actually good though.”

“Here,” Ilya said, handing him the remote for the TV. “I have all the apps. See if you can find it.”

They sat on the couch together, Ilya on one end, leaning into the corner, Shane next to him on the middle cushion. He was leaning forward, remote held out in front of him, scrolling through streaming services. Ilya watched him, a little thrill going through him seeing Shane in his clothes, even if it was just a plain t-shirt and another pair of gray sweatpants. But Ilya did agree; he could see the appeal of those. 

“Found it,” Shane said excitedly. “I haven’t watched this since I was a kid, so it might be really bad, fair warning.” Ilya didn’t care because Shane was smiling and his eyes were bright and he was wearing Ilya’s clothes. 

Shane put the remote down on the coffee table and then leaned back, settling in. The movie started playing, a scene featuring cheesy superheroes. Ilya frowned, wondering if Shane had actually chosen a Christmas movie. Eventually it transitioned into something more Christmas-y, a title card reading “Jingle All the Way,” featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger as a kind of terrible husband and dad chasing down a toy.

About thirty minutes in, Ilya looked over at Shane, who was watching the screen with a barely there smirk.

“Shane,” Ilya said seriously. Shane looked over at him. “This movie is really bad.”

Shane laughed. “I know, I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “We can watch something else if you want.”

Ilya shook his head and smiled. “No, I love it.” Then he held his arms open, and Shane looked at him for a second before moving over until he was lying against Ilya’s chest. They stayed like that for the rest of the movie, only shifting now and then to get more comfortable, until Ilya was lying down with his head on the armrest and Shane was lying between his legs, sprawled on top of him, head against Ilya’s chest. 

They made jokes about how ridiculous the movie was and appreciated how Arnold could make even the worst movie better. Near the end, Ilya couldn’t help but point out a stupid flaw.

“So she does not recognize her husband’s voice with that accent? Or his face just because he’s in a helmet? What the fuck?” Maybe he was more biased because of his own accent, and how he sometimes wished he could turn it off. “Do that many people sound like Arnold in America?”

Shane chuckled against his chest. “No,” he said. “I doubt anyone else sounds quite like Arnold. But considering the rest of the movie, I don’t think that’s its biggest flaw.”

Ilya laughed. “Mm, I think you will not be allowed to pick the movie next time.” His chest tightened a little, thinking about that, hoping that there would be more movies and more lazy nights on the couch with Shane pressed against him, warm and soft and anchoring him in whatever this tingly, cozy feeling was. 

“Fair,” Shane said. “Maybe some things don’t need to be revisited.” Ilya glanced down, but he could see that Shane was smiling. “That was definitely better through my twelve-year-old eyes.”

Ilya nodded. “I can see why.” He probably would have loved it then too. “You want dessert?” he asked.

“Sure,” Shane said, sitting up, and Ilya already missed the weight of him.

They went into the kitchen together, and Shane leaned against the counter while Ilya took the cake out. He grabbed a fork out of the drawer and dug out a bite, not even bothering to slice it. He held it out to Shane, who looked at him for half a second before leaning forward and eating the cake off the fork, his lips sliding over it in a way that went straight to Ilya’s cock. And then Shane hummed, a low noise of approval, and Ilya was sure his sweatpants were not hiding anything anymore. 

“It’s good?” he asked. Then he cut a bite for himself while Shane nodded.

“Really good,” Shane said. Ilya grabbed another fork and handed it to him. 

They stood there for a few minutes, carving out little bites until there was a small chunk missing from one side of the cake. Ilya covered the rest and put it away, turning back to Shane. He had a spot of powdered sugar on his lip, and Ilya couldn’t stop himself. He leaned in and ran his tongue over it, then caught Shane’s bottom lip, sucking on it lightly before he kissed him properly. Shane leaned in, one arm going around Ilya’s waist. He tasted sweet and perfect and he made a breathy little noise that had Ilya’s hips rocking into him. 

He pulled back, and Shane chased his lips, his eyes already hooded and dark. “Bed?” Ilya asked.

Shane nodded, and then Ilya was dragging him up to his bedroom and pushing him down on the bed, hesitating for a second so he could take in the sight. Shane lying in his bed, still wearing his clothes, his lips red and half parted, looking up at him with dark eyes that held so much. 

“Let’s do it properly this time,” Ilya said, reaching down to hook his fingers in the waistband of Shane’s sweatpants and pulling them down. Shane lifted his hips so Ilya could pull them all the way off and toss them aside. Then Shane pulled the t-shirt off, and Ilya looked his fill again. Shane’s body was perfect, and Ilya wanted to devour every inch of him. He pulled his own clothes off and crawled onto the bed, stretching out next to Shane, propped on one elbow.

Ilya leaned down to kiss him again, taking his time, letting his hand trail down Shane’s chest, stopping to run his thumb over each nipple, enjoying the way Shane’s breath stuttered against his lips, then moving his hand lower, over his stomach, stopping to trace patterns on the soft skin there, before moving lower still. He bypassed Shane’s cock and kept going, fingers dragging lightly over his balls, pulling a low moan from him that Ilya swallowed down. When his fingers reached the soft skin below them, he stopped to massage that spot, and it earned him another low noise that he felt more than heard. He kept going until his fingers brushed against Shane’s hole. He pulled back and watched Shane’s face, his unfocused eyes, lips swollen from kissing, parted and perfect and waiting. 

“Do you want to do this?” Ilya asked. He felt a little surge of anger run through him, remembering what Shane said about the first time, about it hurting, and he hated the asshole who tainted that for him. 

Shane nodded. “Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” Ilya pressed a little harder against him, just massaging, making sure Shane knew what he was asking.

“I’m sure,” he said, looking at Ilya with the kind of trust that made his knees weak.

Ilya bent and kissed him again briefly before he turned and pulled a bottle of lube and a condom from the nightstand drawer. Then slicked his fingers and returned them to Shane’s entrance. Before he pushed in, he watched Shane’s face again.

“You will tell me if it doesn’t feel good, yes?” Ilya said. “We can stop anytime.”

Shane nodded again. 

“Promise me,” Ilya said.

“I promise,” Shane said with a shy smile. “Please.” He pushed down against Ilya’s hand, and that was enough. He pushed one finger into him, watching Shane’s face. The slight pinch of his brow until Ilya curled his finger up, stroking over his prostate, and he watched Shane’s lips open in a little O, his brows smoothing out, eyes fluttering closed. Ilya bent to kiss his neck, scraping his teeth down his throat as he pushed a second finger in, feeling Shane’s body go taut for a second, before it loosened. He scissored his fingers, gently, slowly, giving Shane a chance to relax around him while he continued to hit that spot, drawing breathy, needy little noises from him. He worked him for a while longer, finally adding a third finger and kissing him through it. He spent more time than he probably needed to, stretching him open, kissing him and stroking him and making sure that he was as ready as he could be because Ilya was determined to make this good. To rewrite the memory of this being something painful, erase the word “defective” from his vocabulary where sex was concerned, make him feel as good as Ilya felt just by watching the little waves of pleasure crest on his perfect, parted lips. 

He removed his fingers slowly, then rolled on a condom and slicked himself. Shane sat up and started to turn over, and Ilya stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Like this,” he said. “I want to see you.” Shane blinked up at him and then settled back against the pillows.

Ilya settled between his legs, pushing them up against his chest as far as he could before lining himself up. He watched Shane’s face as he pushed the head of his cock against him, as carefully as he could, while putting enough pressure to push past the resistance. When he finally slipped inside, he didn’t move, watching Shane’s face, a little bit of tension settling there at the intrusion. Ilya leaned down and kissed him, letting his body relax around him. 

“Is okay?” he asked, pulling back.

Shane nodded. Ilya pushed in a little more, watching Shane’s eyes flutter closed. Then he leaned his forehead against Shane’s and took a couple of steadying breaths because Shane was so tight and hot around him and Ilya could feel him everywhere, heat surging through him, his control much less restrained than usual, undone in the face of this perfect man with perfect lips and a shy smile who saw the world in a way Ilya could only hope to witness through strokes of paint and glimpses of light and color and texture that had already left marks on his very soul.

He had to rein himself in before something too tender, too heavy, slipped from his lips. He slowly slid the rest of the way inside Shane, until he could go no further. He searched his face, looking for any signs that it was too much. Shane’s eyes were closed, lips still half parted, his head tipped back against the pillows.

“Shane?” Ilya breathed. Shane’s eyes blinked open. “Is it still okay?”

Shane nodded tightly.

Ilya reached up and brushed his bangs back. “Tell me.”

Shane swallowed and then said, “It’s good. Doesn’t hurt.” Ilya nodded and slid out slowly, just a little at a time, then pushed back in. He shifted the angle of his hips slightly and did it again, and Shane’s head pushed back again, a low moan escaping his throat. “Fuck,” he breathed. “So good.”

That was enough for Ilya to start thrusting more, working his way up to harder and faster a little at a time. He still watched Shane’s face, but all he saw there was pleasure, Shane’s features going slack with it, his mouth just barely open, eyes fluttering shut, head pushing back, neck stretched in a tempting expanse of smooth skin. He already knew exactly which spot to run his tongue under Shane’s jaw that would draw the most uncontrolled noise from him, already knew the spot behind his ear that would make him shiver, already knew that if he kissed him right now, Shane would suck on his top lip first. Then Ilya did all of those things, leaning down to trail his lips from Shane’s jaw to his throat, back up to his ear, before kissing him on the lips. It was messy and breathless and Ilya moaned into it because Shane was so tight and hot, and he was clenching just right, and Ilya had never had his control tested so thoroughly before.

“Shane,” he whispered near his ear, his voice low and rough. “You feel so fucking good.” Then he leaned up and folded Shane’s legs tighter against him, lifting his hips slightly off the bed and fucked him the way he knew they both needed. He watched Shane’s chest rise and fall faster, a light sheen of sweat there, his skin flushed up to his neck. Ilya could feel his orgasm building now, the tingly warmth spreading from low in his stomach, through his groin, and he snapped his hips faster. He felt Shane tighten around him, watched as his hands grasped at the sheets.

“Shane, are you—” But before he could finish, Shane clenched around him, and Ilya watched as his cock twitched against his stomach, cum spurting out of him without being touched. The sight of it, the feel of him around his cock, the high moan that escaped his throat…it was all enough to send Ilya over the edge after him. He pushed into Shane a few more times, hard and fast, spilling himself as his body curled forward, until he was spent and collapsed, letting Shane’s legs fall back onto the bed while he rested his forehead on Shane’s shoulder, breathing hard. 

When he had his breathing under control, he braced one hand beside Shane’s shoulder and leaned up, taking in his face. His eyes were half-open and hazy, his lips just barely parted, face flushed, making his freckles stand out even more. He looked beautiful. 

“Was that okay?” he asked, bringing one hand up to brush against Shane’s jaw, thumb settling over one spray of freckles.

Shane nodded lightly, his lips curving into a smile. “More than okay.” He swallowed. “Holy shit.” Ilya huffed a quiet laugh at that and then bent to kiss him. Eventually his cock slipped out, and Ilya sat up to tie off the condom. 

“Be right back,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to Shane’s forehead because he couldn’t stop himself.

He walked into the en suite bathroom and quickly cleaned himself up. Then he wet a washcloth with warm water and went back to the bed, where Shane lay with an arm tossed across his eyes, the smallest smile still on his face, his body stretched out, one knee drawn up. Ilya’s breath caught in his throat. He thought Shane was beautiful before, but this…he swallowed hard and stepped forward, pressing a hand gently to his shoulder.

Shane moved his arm and looked up at him, the smile pulling wider. Ilya bent and kissed him because if he didn’t, he might die. When he pulled back, he used the washcloth to wipe Shane’s stomach clean. He reached lower, hovering while he looked back at Shane to make sure it was okay, then used the cloth to wipe the lube from around his tender entrance. Shane sighed, but it sounded content, satisfied.

“Okay?” Ilya asked anyway.

Shane nodded. “Thank you.”

Ilya finished what he was doing and tossed the washcloth before settling back on the bed beside Shane. He propped himself on one elbow.

“Feel okay?” he asked.

Shane smiled and shook his head. “I’m fine, I promise.”

Ilya nodded. “I just want to make sure it wasn’t like the other time…with the other guy.” He ignored the twist in his chest when thinking of anyone else touching Shane.

Shane snorted quietly. “Not even in the same ballpark. I’ve already forgotten that. This was perfect.” He reached up to run his fingers through the curls at the back of Ilya’s neck. “I promise.” 

“Okay,” Ilya said, leaning down to kiss him briefly. “Get dressed.” Ilya got off the bed and pulled his own clothes back on. Shane was looking at him wide-eyed. Ilya nodded at the clothes on the floor, then turned around and went into the hallway to grab a blanket from the linen closet. Shane came out a moment later, dressed. “Come on,” Ilya said, headed down the hallway to the stairs.

Back in the glass-walled room, he tossed the blanket down onto the blanket already on the floor and then lay down again, patting the spot next to him. Shane joined him, and Ilya pulled the new blanket up over both of them.

“Is this okay?” he asked, as Shane lay back against the pillow. “Or are you sore?” He only just realized the floor might be a little hard, after what they’d just done.

“No,” Shane said. “It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Ilya said, finding his hand under the blanket. “We can sleep here…if you want.”

Shane smiled at him, the colorful lights dancing along his skin. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Ilya scooted closer, until Shane was pressed against him, head on his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the two paintings leaning against the wall.

“Tell me about painting,” Ilya said. “How did you get into it?”

Shane pushed a hand under his t-shirt to trace along his stomach, taking his time before he answered. “My aunt put me in therapy after. To make sure I was coping,” he said, fingers making gentle circles on Ilya’s skin. “Painting was one of those things they made me do to…I don’t know, get my feelings out or something. I hated it at first. But then, even when I was just painting nonsense to get them off my back, I felt better after. Lighter maybe. Like I could breathe again.”

Ilya didn’t say anything, he just listened.

“I kind of took to it. My aunt ended up putting me in art classes so I could learn the more technical stuff. I guess it filled the void left by hockey."

Ilya nodded. “It sounds like your aunt really loved you.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, and Ilya could tell he was smiling. “My Aunt Sylvie…she was my dad’s younger sister. Too young to inherit a twelve year old. I don’t think she even wanted kids.”

“What was she like?”

“She was an artist too. Sculpture mostly. And she taught pottery classes…sometimes glassblowing. She was all over the place.” He laughed quietly, then paused and took a deep breath. “She was great. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. And she didn’t even hesitate to take me in and adopt me.”

“What happened to her?” Ilya asked softly, knowing this was probably not where their night should go, but he wanted to know everything about Shane.

“She got cancer. Really aggressive breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said. “It’s not fair that you had to lose another parent.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah…sometimes I think about that.” He sighed. “There’s no one to be angry at, though.”

Ilya knew what he meant. He’d had someone to be angry at for a long time, and that someone was dead now too, and there was nowhere left for it to go.

“What about you?” Shane asked. “Do you want to talk about your mom? I’d love to hear about her.”

Ilya automatically wrapped his fingers around the gold cross at his neck. “She was funny and beautiful, and her laugh sounded like music.” He took a deep breath. “I could always hear her in the crowd when I was playing. She’d shout Ilyusha and it would ring out over all the other voices.” He smiled, thinking about it. “Sometimes I worry I’ve forgotten what she sounds like, and then out of nowhere I’ll hear it, as clear as if it just happened.”

Shane’s hand was still moving across his skin, comforting and tender, and Ilya buried his nose in his hair, letting the feel of him pressed so close keep him grounded.

“How did she die?” Shane asked, voice quiet.

Ilya let his eyes flutter closed, trying to push away the sting in them. “Pills.” Shane’s hand stopped moving briefly. “She was very sad, and my dad was very hard on her. I didn’t know how bad it was.” Shane’s hand started moving again, slower now. 

“And your dad?”

“Dead,” Ilya said. “More recently. We were not close.”

Shane nodded against him. They were quiet for a couple of minutes, just looking up at the lights, each soothing the other with gentle touches. 

“Thanks for inviting me over. I spent Christmas alone last year,” Shane said eventually. “It’s nice…to be with someone.”

Ilya’s throat was tight. Too tight. The lights above him were one massive, watery blur. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

-

Ilya woke up the next morning spooned around Shane, one arm draped over his waist. Soft light was streaming in through the glass, the tree lights still on above them. He lay there a while, enjoying the solid warmth against him, but he could feel the hard floor through the blanket more acutely now. He shifted a little, trying not to jostle Shane, but he stirred anyway. 

Shane shifted, looking back over his shoulder, a sleepy smile on his face. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Ilya said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh yeah,” Shane said. “I almost forgot. Merry Christmas.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Mm,” Shane hummed. “Yeah. Really good.”

“Good…but I think we need to get up,” Ilya said, wincing as he stretched. “The floor was maybe not the best idea.” 

Shane rolled onto his back and grimaced. “Yeah.” 

Ilya stood up and held a hand out to Shane, pulling him to his feet. He winced and stretched his back. “Sore?” Ilya asked.

Shane nodded. “A little.”

“From me or the floor?”

Shane bit his lip. “Both I think.”

“I have one of those fancy tubs with jets,” Ilya said. “I never use it. We can try it later.”

Shane’s brows went up. “Okay.”

“First…coffee. You like coffee?”

“Of course,” Shane said. “Working in a cafe hasn’t quite ruined that yet.”

Ilya made coffee while Shane took care of other morning things. He set out milk and sugar, not knowing how Shane took his. 

When he came back into the kitchen, Ilya showed him where everything was, and they sat together at the island counter, sipping coffee and eating a few more bites of the sharlotka. It was very…domestic. And Ilya couldn’t help but feel the anticipatory loss of this when Shane went back home, and his mornings were quiet and lonely once again. 

He pushed that thought away and enjoyed the rest of the morning. Ilya made good on his promise and dragged Shane back into his en suite where the large tub was and filled it with hot water, turning the jets on so they could relax. Ilya sat at one end of the tub and Shane at the other.

“This is nice,” Shane said. “Fancy.”

Ilya nodded slowly. “This is the first time I’ve used it since I moved in.”

“You should use it more often,” Shane said. “It’d probably be nice after getting bruised up on the ice.”

“Probably. But I think I prefer it with you.”

Shane’s ears went pink, a little smile tugging at his lips. 

“You work tomorrow?” Ilya asked. 

“Yeah, every day until New Year's. Then I’m taking a few days off to go to the cottage,” Shane said, and Ilya could see his shoulders fall. 

“You are driving there?”

“No,” Shane said. “I’m going to try to book an uber in advance and hope they’ll accept it.”

Ilya frowned at him. “And if they don’t?”

Shane shrugged. “Um…I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

“You don’t know how to drive?”

“I do,” Shane said quickly, sounding slightly offended. 

“Relax,” Ilya said, smiling at how easily he got flustered. “I was going to ask if you want to take one of my cars.”

“What? No,” Shane said, shaking his head too fast. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I have a few. I’m not using them.”

“I can’t just take your car,” Shane said, brows pulled together, like Ilya was being unreasonable. Ilya was pretty sure it was the opposite.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you could drive yourself? And have a car there in case you need to go somewhere?”

“I mean…I guess,” Shane said. “But I don’t have a car anymore. I’ll make do.”

“Shane,” Ilya said, voice pleading now. “Please. Just borrow a car for a few days. I want you to.”

Ilya could see him losing the fight. He took a deep breath, eyes darting across the room and back. “Maybe.”

Ilya smiled. “Good. Now come here,” he said, waving Shane over. Shane smiled and shook his head, but he turned around in the water and leaned back against Ilya’s chest. 

“I guess I won’t see you much until after New Year’s,” he said, resting his chin on Shane’s shoulder. “What day are you coming back?”

“Either the 2nd or the 3rd. Depends on how much there is to do.”

Ilya nodded against him. “I have a game on the 2nd, but maybe we can do something on the 3rd.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, leaning back into him. “That would be nice.”

He wondered how hard it would be for Shane, going back to his family’s cottage after all this time. He’d make sure to plan a relaxing evening for him, whatever he needed.

-

They spent the rest of the day just talking and hanging out. Early in the afternoon, Ilya turned to him on the couch.

“You know how to play Mario Kart?”

Shane looked at him. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Want to play? I have to practice before next team hospital visit. Can’t let the kids win.”

Shane laughed. “You don’t let sick kids win at Mario Kart?”

“Mm, no. Losing builds character.”

Shane shook his head, smiling. “Wow, is that so?”

“Don’t worry, most of them beat me anyway. But I still cannot let my teammates win,” he said, getting up to turn on the Nintendo. He handed Shane a controller. “I am very good. Don’t feel bad when you lose.”

Shane took the controller. “Alright.” 

Ilya picked Donkey Kong, and Shane laughed. “Laugh now, but his weight with the right car cannot be beat,” Ilya said very seriously.

Shane picked Yoshi with his matching motorbike. 

The first race started and Shane hit A at the 2s mark, giving him a speed boost on take off. He saw Ilya’s eyes go wide and glance over at him. Then Shane put some distance between them, solidly in first place, and dodged all the shells Ilya shot at him using his own items and good timing.

“Shane Hollander!” Ilya shouted. “You are Mario Kart version of pool shark. You tricked me.” 

Shane laughed. “I did not. You didn’t ask me if I was good.”

“Fuck,” Ilya said as the race ended and Shane came in first by a safe margin. “You play this a lot?”

“Not anymore,” Shane said. “But I used to, with friends in Vancouver.”

“Well, you have to teach me your tricks,” Ilya said. “Cheater.”

Shane shoved him lightly. “I didn’t cheat and you know it. Pure skill.” 

They played a while longer, laughing and arguing about whose character and kart combo was better, Shane winning most of the races, and Ilya dramatically flopping back onto the couch each time. 

When the sun started to go down, Shane figured it was time to go, even though he would have given almost anything to stay there with Ilya, to keep laughing and cuddling and enjoying every minute. Work and the cottage and real life were waiting for him on the other side of the door, and he wasn’t ready for them.

“I should go,” Shane said. Ilya’s head was in his lap while they watched TV, Shane’s fingers loosely tangled in his hair. Ilya sat up, his face falling immediately.

“Do you have to?”

“Yeah…I have to work really early tomorrow.”

Ilya nodded. “I have your clean clothes,” he said, already walking toward the laundry room. Once Shane had his jeans, sans cum stain, and sweater back on, Ilya had disappeared elsewhere in the house. He came back a moment later holding a key. 

“For the car,” he said. “How did you even get here?”

“Uber.”

Ilya nodded. “Good. Come on.”

He dragged Shane out to a large four-car garage. “You can take this one,” he said, pointing to the sleek, black car that Shane had been in a few times. He hadn’t really paid attention before, but now he took in the BMW emblem on the front.

“Oh my god,” Shane said. “Ilya…I can’t.”

“This is the most…sensible one,” he said, gesturing at it. “It’s good, drives smooth.”

“I know but…I can’t drive this.”

“You can,” Ilya said. “And you will. It’ll make your trip much easier.”

Shane nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. It really would. And it was really sweet that he cared. 

“Fine,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Ilya said, stepping up close and kissing him. “I’ll miss you.”

Shane smiled. “I’ll miss you too,” he said. “I’ll try to watch your New Year’s Eve game on my phone. Depends on how reception is up there.”

Ilya nodded and hugged him tight. “Text me anytime.”

“I will. Thanks again for inviting me,” Shane said, tightening his arms around Ilya’s waist. “It was perfect.”

They said their goodbyes, lingering and kissing and not wanting to go, and eventually Shane slid into the driver’s seat of the BMW and started it up. The engine purred to life, and Shane didn’t think he’d ever truly known what that meant until now. He drove carefully out of the garage, waving to Ilya in the rearview, then pulled out onto the street and drove home. It had been a while since he’d driven a car. He’d sold his after his aunt had passed, needing the money to scrape by and make the move to Ottawa. It felt good to be able to drive himself, not having to wait for a bus or a car. And it would make the trip to the cottage easier. And cheaper. 

When he got home, he texted Ilya to thank him again.

Ilya: no need to thank me
Ilya: I just want your trip to be easy

Shane: This will help a lot. 

Ilya: I miss you already

Shane’s chest fluttered. Collectively, they’d only spent a few days together, and Shane already felt like he could breathe easier when he was with Ilya. And being without him made the quiet, empty space around him feel too big, too heavy.

Shane: I miss you too.

-

The next several days passed in a blur. Shane worked long shifts at the cafe, came home and ate dinner, watched TV, slept, rinse and repeat. He texted Ilya every day, mostly just basic conversation, a little about hockey, an occasional question about something random like what’s your favorite food or do you like horror movies. Slowly getting to know each other, Ilya becoming a presence in Shane’s life that he was going to have a hard time living without when that inevitably happened. But he couldn’t let that stop him from smiling at his phone like an idiot every time it buzzed. 

He was almost so preoccupied with Ilya that he hadn’t started panicking about his trip to the cottage until the night before. He would work the morning shift on New Year’s Eve, and then he’d drive up. He was bringing boxes so he could pack things up…mostly to donate because he didn’t have room to keep everything. He also had tools and some other supplies in case there were any little issues he could take care of. The man who maintained the cottage, Adam Grenier, had told Shane there were no major issues, just some things that needed to be repaired or updated. The roof was about one winter away from needing to be replaced. Shane couldn’t afford that. He could barely afford to pay Mr. Grenier, another reason he needed to sell sooner than later, before he was forced to because of back property taxes piling up. He sighed. This would be good. He needed to get it over with.

When he got home from his shift on New Year’s Eve, he packed what he needed for the few days away and texted Ilya.

Shane: I’m about to head out. Thank you again for the car.

The typing bubble popped up immediately.

Ilya: you’re welcome
Ilya: drive safe
Ilya: text me when you get there if you can

Shane smiled. 

Shane: I’ll try. I’ve heard the cell service is bad there.
Shane: Good luck tonight.

They texted for a few more minutes, and then Shane loaded his stuff in the car and hit the road. The drive to the cottage wasn’t bad. Once he got away from the city, it was mostly a long, empty stretch, the trees becoming denser the further he got. He turned on the radio for a while, trying not to think about what he was driving toward. It helped for a few minutes, but his mind inevitably drifted back to the cottage. To the fact that he hadn’t stepped inside since he was twelve years old. When he was still a hockey player. When he still had parents. When he didn't know what grief was. He didn’t know what to expect. He knew it was mostly the same as it had been then. But would it look how he remembered? Would it still smell the same? Would he be able to touch their things without breaking down?

He turned the radio off. He thought about Ilya instead. About Christmas and the tree and the lights and the movie and the video games and every touch and smile and kiss and how he hadn’t felt so cared for by anyone in a long time. He sighed. At least he had that to look forward to when he was done here. That would get him through.

He pulled up to the cottage late in the afternoon, the sun sinking low enough to paint everything in gold. He sat in the car for a few minutes, again grateful to have it, and just stared. The familiar steps, the front door, the trees surrounding it that were taller now. He sighed and got out of the car, grabbing his bags and forcing his feet to move, one in front of the other, until he was standing in front of the door, key in hand.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside and steeling himself for…he wasn’t sure what. And whatever it was didn’t come. He was expecting to be hit with a wave of memories or grief or some echo of the lives that had existed in this home. But it didn’t smell familiar…just stale air. He recognized the entryway, but it no longer held the warmth of a childhood summer. It was dark and cold inside, and it felt like stepping into a place that knew it was no longer a home. Just the old bones of one, waiting to be buried with its owners. 

Shane kicked his shoes off, and a little jolt went through him. “Shane…shoes off!” If his mom had yelled it once, she’d yelled it a hundred times. He was always rushing in and out, forgetting to leave them by the door. Shane smiled. He thought of what Ilya said about his mother’s voice…sometimes as clear as if he’d just heard it. And Yuna Hollander’s voice was there, in his head, as if she’d spoken from the next room. 

Shane ignored the hot tears spilling from his eyes and walked through to the living room, taking in the familiar furniture, the paintings on the wall, generic now, to his better-trained eyes. His hockey trophies sat on a shelf, one of his jerseys from when he was little, so small in its frame. There were still framed photos on the mantle, a few on the walls. He stood in the middle of the room, slowly turning, taking it all in, feeling overwhelmed about where to even start. 

He pulled his phone out, hoping to text Ilya before his game started. He looked at the bars at the top…none. He sighed and put the phone back in his pocket. Well…he had to do something. He decided to start with the kitchen. He opened all the cabinets, taking stock of the dishware, the silverware, the other odds and ends. This would be the easiest room to pack up. The one with the fewest things that could break his heart. He flipped on the lights, went back out to grab the stack of boxes and rolls of tape from the car, and then got to work.

-

Several hours later, well after the sun had gone down, Shane finished packing up everything he could in the kitchen. He was tired, bone-deep, wrung out and empty. He hadn’t set foot inside any of the bedrooms yet, but he brought a clean set of sheets so he could sleep in his old bed. He walked slowly down the hall, stopping in front of the door to his parents’ bedroom. He turned away, not ready to open that one yet. He opened his instead, revealing a simple room with a full-size bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a lamp, and a beanbag chair. There were hockey posters on the wall, an old hockey stick leaning in one corner, a few Lego pieces by the closet. He swallowed hard, a dizzying wave of memories sweeping over him…summer days spent out on the lake, quiet evenings watching movies, building Lego sets, helping his mom chop fruit or make cookies while his dad cooked or grilled. He sank to the floor and let himself feel it. Feel them. It’s what he wanted. He wanted some confirmation that that life had existed once, that it was more than just fleeting glimpses and grief-soaked memories...it had been full of joy once. 

He let himself cry. He sat there in the dark room, only the orange light from an old lamp illuminating the pieces of a half-forgotten life around him. He cried for a long time, until his tears ran dry and his nose was stuffy and his face felt two sizes too big. He pulled his phone out. Still no bars. And it was a few minutes past midnight…a new year. He leaned back against the bed, wishing he could be anywhere else. He let his eyes close, the quiet settling around him.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, with his eyes closed, head against the bed, when he was startled out of his stupor by a loud noise. He jumped to his feet, trying to place where it had come from. Then it came again. A knock. At the front door. Who would be knocking after midnight way out here?

He made his way slowly to the door, pressing one eye to the peephole. And then he stepped back, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. He swung the door open, and there was Ilya, looking nervous and uncharacteristically shy. 

“What are you doing here?” Shane said, his voice still hoarse from crying.

“Ah…well, I wanted to kiss you at midnight,” Ilya said. “I couldn’t get away quick enough.” He held his phone up. 12:52am. “But mostly I just didn’t want you to be alone.” 

Shane grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him inside, closing the door behind them. Then he wrapped his arms around Ilya, and Ilya did the same, pulling him in close, and Shane let himself fall apart, a sob escaping before he could stop it.

“It’s okay,” Ilya murmured, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. “I’m here.”

Chapter End Notes

I’m writing this fic a bit differently than my other ones in that instead of plotting it out scene by scene, I know the major beats but not necessarily how we’re getting to them. It’s almost stream of consciousness. So if it seems a little meandering, that’s probably why. But I’m just loving these versions of Shane and Ilya, who have tons of baggage but a lot fewer hangups. I’m enjoying letting it breathe, letting them find their way. And I just like the fluff.

Chapter 7: With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah

Ilya held Shane while his body shook, running one hand up and down his back, the other curved around the back of his neck. When Shane lifted his head again, Ilya used his thumb to wipe away some of the tears, taking in his red, swollen eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Shane said. “God, this is embarrassing. I’m a mess.”

Ilya shook his head. “Not embarrassing.”

Shane sniffed and leaned his forehead against Ilya’s. “How did you know the address?”

Ilya stiffened a little. “Um…well…” he trailed off, realizing how bad this was going to sound. “The BMW has an app…like ah…location tracker.” Shane lifted his head. “I promise that’s not why I let you take it. I didn’t even think about it until I realized I didn’t know where the cottage was and I couldn’t get through on the phone. I even looked online and tried to find—”

“Hey,” Shane cut him off. “It’s fine. I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Not creepy?” Ilya asked, with a small smile. “I did try to call.”

“No, not creepy.” Shane hugged him again. “How was the game?”

“We won,” Ilya said. “It was close, though.”

“That’s amazing,” Shane said, stepping back and pulling Ilya further into the house. “I can’t believe you played a whole game and then drove all the way here. You must be exhausted.”

“A little.” He was exhausted, but he’d do it all again as many times as he had to, just to be here with Shane.

Shane stopped in front of him, eyes darting from Ilya’s eyes to his mouth and back. Then he leaned in and kissed him, and Ilya could feel the emotion in it. Like he was clinging onto something solid while the waves tried to sweep him away. Ilya knew that feeling, and he pulled him in close, wrapped him up again, did his best to anchor him and give him whatever he needed. Eventually Shane pulled back and let out a long breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m gross from crying.”

Ilya brushed the hair off his forehead. “No. Not gross.” He brushed a thumb along the corner of Shane’s eye, still damp with tears. “What do you need?” 

Shane blinked at him. “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t we go lay down?” Ilya asked. Shane looked exhausted too. 

Shane nodded. “Yeah…I need to go put clean sheets on the bed.” He turned and picked up a stack of linens from the couch. “I brought those and a blanket. Not sure how comfortable the bed will be though.”

“That’s okay,” Ilya said. “I’m going to go grab my bag.” 

While Shane went down the hallway on the other side of the entryway, Ilya stepped back outside and retrieved his bag from the backseat. He hadn’t brought it up to the door because he wasn’t sure if Shane was going to want him to stay. The relief that went through him when he realized he did was almost dizzying.

Back inside, he wandered down the hallway, finding Shane standing inside a small bedroom that looked like it belonged to a kid. His eyes swept over the beanbag chair, the hockey posters, the Lego pieces. He felt a rush of affection, tainted with regret for the Shane who never got to be. The one who might have met him on the ice without sadness in his eyes. But the one who was here, standing across from him, fighting with a fitted sheet…his affection for this Shane was too big to fit in this room with its pieces of the past scattered around like the corpses of innocence.

“Do you need help?” he asked, stepping up next to him.

“No, I think I’ve got it finally,” Shane said, gesturing at the sheet, which seemed to be on tight now. The bed wasn’t very big, and it was pushed into the corner. “Hopefully we’ll be warm enough. I only brought one blanket.”

Ilya had noticed how cold it was inside the house. He figured nothing had been running before Shane arrived.

“We’ll have to cuddle for body heat,” Ilya said, running a hand up Shane’s back. Shane leaned into him, a small smile on his face, his eyes not as red now.

They took turns brushing their teeth and getting ready for bed. Shane climbed in first, on the side up against the wall, and Ilya got in next to him. 

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” Shane said. He was on his side, facing Ilya. “Thank you.” He brought one hand up to cradle Ilya’s jaw.

“I’m still sorry for showing up without asking,” Ilya said, his eyes fluttering closed at the tender touch. “I missed you.”

The days between Christmas and now had been nearly unbearable. For as happy and light and full Ilya had been when Shane was with him, he felt the emptiness dragging at him even harder when he wasn’t. He knew that ignoring it until the next time he saw Shane was not helpful. He knew Shane couldn’t fix him. But he gave him a reason to hold on. To keep trying. And that was enough for now.

Shane shifted closer, until their faces were only a couple of inches apart. “I missed you too.” 

And then he leaned in and kissed Ilya, and even more than before, more than the desperate, clinging kisses of a few minutes ago, this one felt like coming home. It was soft and familiar, but also filled with things that would cut like broken glass if they slipped out at the wrong time. Here though, in this moment, in this bed, it was a balm. For Ilya, because maybe he needed to be needed right now, and for Shane, because he was already raw and flayed open, and Ilya would do anything to hold him together. 

Shane rocked against him. “I need you,” he breathed. “Please.”

Ilya didn’t ask him if he was sure, didn’t ask if this bed or this room or this house was the right place for this. Because once again, sometimes you needed a different memory, superimposed on the hard ones, to make them more bearable. And if that’s what Shane needed, Ilya would give it to him.

He nodded and quickly got what they needed from his bag. Then he climbed back into the bed, letting Shane stay on his side facing him. They both kicked their sweatpants off, and Ilya nudged Shane’s leg up, making him hold it to make space for his hand, so he could open him up with his fingers. He pressed kisses everywhere he could reach while his fingers worked, but mostly to Shane’s lips, giving him the connection he needed. When he was ready, he made Shane turn over so they were both on their sides facing the wall while he spooned his body around him, pushing into him from behind. It was tender and unhurried, and Ilya kept his lips on Shane’s neck, his shoulder, his chest, until they were both panting and Shane was pushing back against him.

Shane turned his head, and Ilya propped himself up on one elbow, still thrusting into him. “I’m really glad you came,” Shane whispered.

Ilya leaned down to kiss him. “Me too.” 

“You didn’t have to.”

Ilya shook his head and kissed him again. “I know. But I did.” 

He did have to, and he didn’t even know why, or maybe he did, and he couldn’t face it yet. It didn’t matter. He was where he needed to be. And when Shane came apart next to him, he followed him over and then held him close until they both fell asleep. 

-

Ilya woke first the next morning. The room was cold, but he was warm under the blanket, Shane’s back pressed against his chest in mostly the same position from the night before, their legs tangled together. When Shane shifted against him, Ilya wrapped an arm around his chest, pulling him in closer.

“Mm,” Shane hummed. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” Ilya pressed a kiss behind his ear.

“I don’t want to get up,” Shane said, turning over so they were face to face. “You’re warm.”

“We could stay in bed all day.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Shane said, nuzzling his face into Ilya’s chest.

Eventually they got up. Ilya joined Shane in the living room after getting dressed, only to find him staring at framed photos. He walked up next to him, slipping an arm around his waist. The photos were mostly of Shane as a kid: his hair wet and standing straight up, him sticking his tongue out at the camera, several of him in various hockey jerseys. Then there were photos of the three of them. Ilya could see the exact features Shane had inherited from each parent, a perfect blend, all with smiles of joy…lives untouched by what was to come.

Shane stirred next to him. He gave him a small smile and then moved to the kitchen, and Ilya followed him, noting the stack of boxes in one corner.

“You have coffee?” Ilya asked, wanting to do something useful. And also just needing coffee.

“Um…” Shane was looking at him sheepishly. “I kind of only brought a few protein bars.”

Ilya blinked at him. “You were going to survive on protein bars for three days?” he asked, not hiding his exasperation.

“I guess. I hadn’t really thought that much about it.”

“Shane,” Ilya said, his eyebrows shooting up. “What the fuck?” He laughed. 

“Okay yeah, that was maybe not smart,” Shane said, smiling now too. “Sorry.”

“Where is the closest store? I’ll go get us something while you start doing what you need to do here.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Um, actually, I do. I’m starving,” Ilya said, with a smile. “And I don’t mind.” He really was starving. He didn’t eat anything after the game last night, wanting to get to the cottage as quickly as possible.

“Right,” Shane said. “Yeah. Sorry. Here, I’ll show you on the map.” He pulled out his phone and pulled up the map, showing Ilya where they were and which road led into town. 

“Any requests?” he asked. “Can we cook here?” He wasn’t sure if everything was functional.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “Everything works. Get whatever you want.” 

Ilya nodded. “Okay, I’ll be back.” He gave Shane a quick kiss and grabbed his keys.

The ride to town was a boring stretch of nothing, and Ilya let his mind wander…to Shane, his team, the game tomorrow, back to Shane and the cottage and how Ilya could help him get through the day. 

In town, he found a small grocery store and picked up enough ingredients to make lunch and dinner, plus some extra stuff so Shane would have food for the next two days after Ilya left. Then he stopped at a little cafe and picked up two coffees, a few bagels, and muffins. He pulled up to the cottage a little later, next to his BMW. A little thrill went through him, seeing his car there, knowing Shane was using it. He wanted to tell Shane to take it. That he could have it. But he knew that wouldn’t go over well. 

Inside, he found Shane taking all the framed photos off the mantle and the wall and setting them carefully in a cardboard box. His eyes were glassy, his jaw tight, but when he looked back at Ilya, he smiled.

“You found it easy enough?” Shane asked.

“Yep.” Ilya held up the arm where the grocery bags dangled, a coffee cup in each hand. “I brought you coffee.”

“Oh my god,” Shane said, accepting the cup and immediately taking a sip. “Thank you.”

“I got bagels too. And muffins. Wasn’t sure which you’d prefer,” he said, setting everything on the table. 

“Either. Both,” Shane said. “You’re the best. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”

Ilya just smiled at him and shook his head. “And you were going to survive on what, four protein bars?” he said, looking at the offending bars in question sitting in a pile on the counter. “And you weren’t going to have a car here with you?” 

“Okay,” Shane said, dragging the word out and rolling his eyes. “Fine…you were right.” 

“Of course I was,” Ilya said, sitting at the table and grabbing a bagel. “Now sit. Eat.” 

Shane took a bagel and sat across from him. Ilya kept eating and watched him for a few minutes. 

“So,” he said eventually. “What are you planning to do today? Anything I can help with?”

“Well…I guess I really need to do a proper walkthrough and check everything out. The guy who checks in gave me a rundown, but I should still see for myself.” He sipped his coffee. “And then probably just pack some more things.”

Ilya nodded. “Are you planning to pack the whole house?”

“Not yet. Just whatever I can before I leave. I’ll come back again…eventually.”

“When do you plan to put it up for sale?”

Shane looked down at the table. “I’m not sure. In the next few months.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll be forced to soon enough. Back taxes. Things got away from us after my aunt got sick.”

Fuck. Ilya hated the look on Shane’s face, the grief in his voice. He wished he could pay for whatever Shane needed, to give him more time to say a proper goodbye. He knew it wasn’t his place. So instead, he’d be here to help him when he could. And ready to embrace him when he was done. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I could stay longer to help.” 

“Are you leaving?”

“No, no,” Ilya said. “Not right now. I can stay tonight. If you want me to.” 

“I do,” Shane said without hesitation. 

“Okay then. Let’s get to work.”

-

Ilya followed Shane through the house, room by room, all except his parents’ bedroom, which stayed closed. The house was in decent shape. Just aging, without the usual updates that would have happened over the past fifteen years, if things had been different. 

Shane was packing up the stuff from his bedroom while Ilya made them dinner…a simple pasta dish with Italian sausage, sun-dried tomatoes, cheese, and spinach. He figured there would be leftovers for Shane to eat the next day. 

When it was almost done, Shane walked into the kitchen, eyes wide. 

“What did you make? It smells great.” 

“Pasta,” Ilya said. “Nothing fancy.”

“Looks fancy to me,” Shane said. He was looking at Ilya with something like surprise or disbelief. 

“What?” Ilya asked.

Shane shook his head. “Nothing…I don’t think you realize how surreal it is for Ilya Rozanov to be standing in my parents’ cottage, cooking dinner for me.”

Ilya laughed. “Is it weird?”

“Probably the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Is that okay?” Ilya wasn’t sure if weird was a compliment. 

“Yes,” Shane said, stepping up behind him, arms going around Ilya’s waist. “I feel very lucky. And that is definitely not something I feel very often these days.”

Ilya sighed in relief and leaned back into him a little. Shane rested his chin on his shoulder. Ilya didn’t want to ruin the moment, but he really wanted to tell Shane that he was the lucky one. There was, however, a more pressing matter. 

“Shane,” he said gently. “Did you pack all the plates?” 

Shane huffed a laugh. “Fuck.” He stepped back. “I was really not thinking yesterday.” 

“That’s okay,” Ilya said. “We could just eat out of the pan.” Which had also been packed and unpacked. 

“Do you mind?” Shane asked, eyeing the stack of boxes. 

“Not if you don’t.”

They sat at the table, side by side, pan of pasta between them. They did have to unpack the silverware.

“This is really good,” Shane said. “You cook often?”

“No,” Ilya said. “I guess more than I used to. In Boston, I had a meal service. You know, everything portioned out, made for athletes. Boring.”

“Must have been nice not to worry about it, though,” Shane said. 

“Mm, yes,” Ilya said, thinking about how busy he’d been then. Always out. “I still do that sometimes here. But some days I cook.”

“Well, everything you’ve made me has been great.”

Ilya’s chest swelled at that. What a sap he’d become. Usually he would have spent the night after winning a game, on New Year’s Eve no less, grinding on someone in a club, then taking them home. And they’d be gone by now and he’d be alone, eating prepackaged food on the couch by himself. That life felt very far away right now. And Ilya did not feel the loss. Not when Shane was sitting next to him, smiling, eating the food he’d made, looking at him like…Ilya swallowed hard and turned back to his fork. 

“You will drive back on the 3rd?” he asked, pulling himself together. 

“I was thinking maybe tomorrow,” he said, glancing over. “So I could make it to your game?” There was a lilt at the end, and Ilya wondered if he was asking permission.

“You’re always welcome,” Ilya said, trying not to sound too excited. “But don’t cut your trip short for me.”

“I think I’ve seen what I need to for now. And I got a good bit of packing done. I’ll do some more in the morning and then drive back in the afternoon.”

Ilya nodded. “Okay.” He was smiling, and he couldn’t stop it. “I will be happy to see you in the stands.” 

Shane smiled back at him. Then his face got a little more serious. “Does your team know?” He looked down at the table and then back up. “That you um…you know. Like men?”

“Ah, no,” Ilya said. “But I think they would be okay with it maybe.”

Shane nodded slowly. “What Scott Hunter did…did that help?”

“Some I think. I hope he made it easier for others to come out. But…is still hockey, you know?”

Shane looked like he wanted to ask something else, but instead he pushed his chair back and said, “That was really good. Thanks again. For going to get food and cooking.”

“You’re welcome,” Ilya said, still wondering if that conversation had been what it seemed.

-

Later, they’d taken turns showering and were sitting together on the couch. Shane was leaning against him, and Ilya was idly running his fingers through his hair.

“Can I ask you something?” Ilya said.

“Mhm,” Shane hummed softly.

“Why did you stop painting?”

He could feel Shane inhale deeply against him. 

“You don’t have to answer,” he added. “If you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay,” Shane said. “I just don’t have a very good answer. I don’t know why I stopped. After my aunt passed, I painted a lot. It helped me deal with that. It was some of my best work. All sold.” He shifted until he was lying down, head in Ilya’s lap. Ilya kept his hand in Shane’s hair, fingers moving lightly. “But then, when I moved here, I couldn’t do it anymore. It was like…stepping foot back in Ottawa zapped all my motivation. Or inspiration.”

“When did you paint the one I bought from that store?”

“Right before I left Vancouver. I didn’t have time to do anything with it there. And then when I got here…I just wanted it out of my hands.”

“Does it bother you, seeing it in my house?” Ilya asked. He loved it, but he would put it away if necessary.

“No,” Shane said, shaking his head lightly against Ilya’s thigh. “I’m glad it’s…helpful. To someone.”

“Mm…you already know how I feel about it,” Ilya said. 

“I’m glad you bought it,” Shane said softly. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have met you.”

Ilya’s eyes burned just thinking about that. Fuck. His attention shifted quickly though, because Shane had one hand on his thigh now, massaging. Ilya spread his legs a little more and let his head tip back against the couch. Shane turned his head briefly, looking up at Ilya, a small crooked smile on his face. Then he went back to what he was doing, hand creeping higher and higher.

“You are teasing me,” Ilya said, reaching over to dig his fingers into Shane’s side and getting the reaction he wanted. 

“That tickles,” Shane said, laughing and moving away from his hands. “And it’s not teasing if I plan to follow through.”

Well, now he was hard. And Shane’s hand was rubbing over his cock through the soft material of his sweatpants. Ilya let his own hand trail up Shane’s back, under his t-shirt, his skin smooth and warm. He let his eyes flutter closed as Shane’s fingers gripped him through the fabric, moving to the head of his cock. Ilya groaned and pushed his own hand down, past the waistband of Shane’s sweatpants. Then Shane shifted again until he was mouthing him, the hot heat of his mouth penetrating the material, making Ilya push against him.

“You want me to come like this?” he asked, brushing one finger against Shane’s hole.

Shane stopped, sitting up. “No.” 

“Come here,” Ilya murmured, leaning forward until their lips touched. He pulled Shane onto his lap while he kept kissing him. He trailed his lips down to his neck. “Tell me what you want.”

Shane groaned and tilted his head up, exposing more of his neck. “You.” 

“This?” Ilya said, his hand dipping into Shane’s sweatpants again, finger brushing against him.

“Yes,” Shane whispered. 

“Come on,” Ilya said, standing up, Shane still half clinging to him. Ilya wrapped his arms around him and lifted. Shane made a startled noise but wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist.

“Oh my god,” Shane laughed. “Put me down. I weigh as much as you.”

“Mm, I don’t care,” Ilya said, walking them down the hallway to the bedroom. He leaned over the bed, letting a still half-laughing, half-spluttering Shane down and then collapsing on top of him. They stayed like that for a few minutes, kissing and grinding their hips together, until they were both breathing hard. 

Ilya stood up to take his clothes off and then tugged at Shane’s sweatpants until he lifted his hips. Ilya tossed those while Shane pulled off his shirt, then leaned back against the pillows. Ilya crawled up between his legs, lying stomach down on the bed and pushing Shane’s thighs apart until he could fit his face where he wanted it to be. The first brush of his tongue against Shane’s hole drew a low moan from him.

“Fuck,” Shane whispered. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.”

Ilya smiled against him. “Is that a good thing?” he asked before lapping at him.

Another low sound of pleasure. “Oh god…yes.” 

Ilya alternated between circling and massaging and then licking in short strokes and long flat ones while Shane writhed against him, slowly relaxing against his tongue. When he finally pushed past the resistance, he speared his tongue in and out for a while, enjoying the way Shane was pushing at him, the low, breathy noises he was making. He considered doing that until he came, untouched with only Ilya’s tongue on him, but instead he grabbed the lube and sat up, replacing his tongue with his fingers. He watched Shane’s face as he went from one finger to two, and then two to three, the little pinch in his brow smoothing out, his lips parted. 

Ilya rolled a condom on and settled between Shane’s legs again, this time lining himself up with his entrance while he hovered over him, pushing his legs against his chest. He leaned down and kissed him briefly, then he pushed into him, slowly, carefully, watching his face the whole time, marveling at how he already knew exactly when his brows would pull together, when his lips would part, when his head would tip back, when he’d let out a soft little moan that let Ilya know the initial discomfort had turned into something better. Ilya closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Shane’s for just a moment, letting the feeling of them connected in this way wash over him. 

Shane pushed up against, impatient. Ilya smiled and bent to kiss him. “I’ve got you,” he said against his lips. Then he started moving, rocking his hips, shifting his angle until he could tell, again by the way Shane’s face went slack with the feeling, that he was hitting the right spot on each thrust. 

“It’s good?” he asked. He couldn’t help it. He needed to hear Shane say it, needed to know this wasn’t just a revelation to him.

Shane nodded and made a noise of approval. 

“Tell me,” Ilya murmured, leaning down to press his lips against Shane’s briefly, messily. 

“So fucking good, Ilya,” Shane said, his voice breathless. “I’ve never felt anything this good before.”

A surge of pride, but also affection and desire and something so much worse, went through him. “I haven’t either.” And it was true. He’d been with hundreds of people. Mostly women, but enough men to compare. And there was no comparison. 

When Shane’s moans got louder and more broken and Ilya felt the warmth spreading in his own core, he reached between them, fingers wrapping around Shane’s cock, stroking until he clenched around him, his body going taut, warmth splashing between them, Ilya’s name a whisper in his ear. And Ilya followed him over the edge, spilling himself in that tight heat, nothing on his tongue but Shane’s name.

He stayed pressed against Shane for a few moments, not wanting to let go yet. He kissed him, slow and sweet, bringing a hand up to brush the sweat-damp bangs from his forehead. Then he pressed a kiss there too before he got out of the bed and went to clean himself up in the bathroom. He brought a warm washcloth back and cleaned Shane up before stretching out beside him, propped on one elbow. 

“How are you feeling?” Ilya asked. 

Shane looked up at him with a little smile. “Good.”

Ilya smiled back. “Good. But I mean…you know, everything. Being here…”

Shane’s smile fell a little. “Okay I think.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Better with you here.” Ilya’s chest warmed. He was glad his decision to come here, to intrude on something he wasn’t sure he was invited to, considering they’d only known each other for a couple of months, and only intimately for an even shorter time, had been the right one. Shane pulled him down into a kiss, and Ilya melted into it.

“I’m glad you didn’t think I was being a creepy stalker, showing up here in the middle of the night unannounced,” he said. “I wish I could have gotten here in time to kiss you at midnight.”

“No. I’m so glad you came,” Shane said. “And that’s okay. Maybe next New Year’s.” Then his eyes went wide. “I mean…I didn’t mean that you’ll…I just meant—” 

“I know what you meant,” Ilya said, cutting him off, sparing him. He knew the likelihood of Shane still being in Ottawa by then wasn’t good. He clearly wasn’t happy there. Mostly alone, no longer able to paint, working a job he didn’t seem to particularly enjoy and clearly didn’t pay enough. Ilya wasn’t delusional enough to think Shane would stay just for him. And he would never want him to. He deserved to be happy, wherever that might be. 

Shane yawned. 

“Ready to get some sleep?” Ilya asked. 

“Yeah, I’m tired.”

Ilya reached over and turned out the lamp, then pulled the blanket up over them. 

“Goodnight,” Ilya said. 

“Night.” Shane settled next to him, and Ilya listened to the quiet in and out of his breath until he drifted off.

-

Ilya woke the next morning to fingers running through his hair, and he nuzzled into them before his eyes blinked open. Shane was looking down at him, face still soft with sleep.

“Hey,” he said with a small smile. “Sorry to wake you, but I wasn’t sure what time you needed to get on the road. It’s almost 8 already.”

Ilya groaned. He didn’t want to get on the road at all. “Thanks,” he said. “Not yet but probably soon.”

Shane leaned down and kissed his forehead, and Ilya nearly melted. Or cried. Maybe both. Instead he pulled Shane down on top of him and held him tight for a little while.

Eventually they got up and got dressed, then sat at the table and ate the leftover bagels and muffins. 

“So you will drive back later today?” Ilya asked. 

Shane nodded. “Yeah, no reason to stay longer. I got a lot more done with you helping,” he said, giving Ilya a small smile. “I'll have to come back soon anyway.”

“You will take the car again.” Now that he’d been out here himself, he couldn’t believe Shane was going to rely on uber. 

“Ilya—” he started.

“Shane,” he cut him off, giving him a look. “You don’t even have cell service out here. What if you get stuck? Please…just…let me help.”

Shane inhaled and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ilya said, leaning in to kiss him.

Shane just smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

Ilya stood up from the table. “I guess I need to go.”

Shane got up too. “Thanks again for coming. Seriously, I…I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Ilya pulled him into a hug. “I was happy to.”

“Have a safe drive back,” Shane said, and his voice was tight. Ilya pulled back, taking in his worried face. He cradled his jaw, leaned in, and kissed him.

“I will. You too,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Score a goal for me.”

“Of course,” Ilya said, grabbing his bag. He gave Shane one last kiss and headed for the door. “See you later.”

“See you,” Shane said, standing in the doorway, watching him go. Ilya wanted nothing more than to turn around, kiss the sad look off his face, and stay. But he couldn’t, so he got in his car and drove away. He made it about two miles before a hot tear ran down his cheek.

-

After Ilya left, Shane felt the dark cloud settle over him again. He was glad he’d decided to leave today because spending another night here without him sounded unbearable. He walked through the house, tidying up, stopping in front of the door to his parents’ bedroom. He still hadn’t opened it. He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. Or maybe he could. He could have a cleaning service come in and dispose of or donate everything. It might even be worth the cost. But no. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t throw away what was left of them without running his hands over it, letting it seep into him, so he could carry it with him for as long as possible.

He walked into his bedroom instead. He’d packed up the bits and pieces, taken the posters down. It was just a room now. Gone were the pieces of Shane Hollander the up and coming star Canadian hockey player. Gone was the hint of someone who had a whole life ahead of him that disappeared in the blink of an eye. He walked into the next bedroom, the guest room. This room hadn’t had much in it to begin with, but now it was just a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. There were boxes piled in the corners of each room, waiting to be donated. There were things he wanted to keep, but he had nowhere to put them. Renting a storage unit was a bill he couldn’t afford. 

Back in the living room, he walked up to the window and stared out. The view was unfamiliar because they’d never come here in winter. Seeing everything covered in snow gave him a strange feeling. Like he’d stepped into some alternate version of his life. Except he’d already done that, the day he’d stopped being someone with parents. The day he’d unlaced his skates for the last time. The day he’d gotten on a plane to Vancouver and never looked back. 

He didn’t realize he was crying until the view out the window became an unidentifiable blur. He decided he was done. He’d finished what he wanted to and now it was time to go. Back to Ottawa, where he felt like a ghost haunting his own life. But now there was Ilya. He smiled at the thought. Then he sighed because he knew when this thing ended, it was going to hurt. And he wasn’t sure how many more hurts he could take.

-

He pulled up to his building early in the afternoon. By the time he got upstairs, he was tired. Exhausted. Probably not even the kind that sleep would fix, but he decided he could try anyway. He napped for a couple of hours, got up and ate dinner, then got dressed and walked to the bus stop. He wasn’t driving Ilya’s car for anything else. First, because that wasn’t their deal, and he didn’t want to take a chance. And second, because he didn’t want to pay for parking at the arena. It was early enough to risk the bus. 

He walked into the arena about 20 minutes before the puck drop, walking to the familiar section and settling into his seat. The cold air, the low hum of voices, the smell of the arena…something cold and sharp and familiar…it all made him feel calm, settled. Like his body remembered, even if his brain wished it didn’t. He was happy, though. Excited to watch Ilya play. And when Ilya skated out and gave him a grin and a wink, he couldn’t help the smile that stretched wide on his own face. 

The first period was rough. Ottawa didn’t score, and they’d let in two goals. When the teams left the ice during the intermission, his phone buzzed.

Ilya: did you drive here?

Shane: No

Ilya: wait for me after?

Shane smiled and wondered if his stomach would ever stop fluttering in the face of Ilya Rozanov.

Shane: Of course.

Ilya: good…happy you’re here

Shane: Me too.

The Centaurs made a comeback in the second period, scoring twice, one by Ilya and one by Troy Barrett. Shane jumped out of his seat and whooped with the rest of the crowd when Ilya scored, and he bit his lip when Ilya skated past his section with a wink. The third period went similarly well, and the Centaurs won by two. Shane noticed the crowd was bigger today than it had been for the last game he’d attended. The team was looking and playing great, and their fans had started to trickle back in little by little. Ilya and his team deserved a sold-out arena. 

Shane was waiting out front by the time Ilya pulled up. 

“Great game,” he said as he slid into the passenger seat.

Ilya was grinning. “Thanks,” he said. “You might be my good luck charm.”

Shane’s ears went hot. “I don’t think so…you’re the best player in the league.”

“Mm, I know some commentators who would disagree,” Ilya said. He reached over and grabbed Shane’s hand. “So…do you need to go home?”

“No, not really. I’m off tomorrow still.”

“Want to come over?”

“Obviously,” Shane said, smiling.

The grin Ilya shot back at him sent a jolt right to his dick. It was full of heat, and Shane wanted to climb over the seat and straddle him right then and there. Instead, he kept holding Ilya’s hand and let himself enjoy the anticipation.

-

About an hour later, Shane was lying on his stomach in Ilya’s bed, in a wet spot, with Ilya half collapsed on his back, still inside of him. And there was no place he’d rather be. 

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya murmured. “You killed me. I am dead. And I think I fucked up my shoulder when Hanover slammed me into the boards.” Shane could feel him moving his left arm. 

“Are you okay?” Shane asked, even though his brain was still trying to refocus earth-side. 

“Yeah,” Ilya said. “Just sore. Come on, I need the tub jets.”

Ilya slowly climbed off him and stood, holding a hand out. Shane took it and groaned as he was pulled off the bed, his body still pleasantly boneless. 

When the tub was half full, Ilya stepped in first, leaning against one end, and Shane sat in front of him, his back to Ilya’s chest, Ilya’s arms around him. He melted into him, letting the hot water keep him boneless for a while longer. 

“Do you skate at all still?” Ilya asked. Shane tensed against him without meaning to.

“No,” Shane said softly. “I haven’t.”

“Would you want to?” Ilya asked. “Not hockey, just ice skating for fun.”

Shane swallowed. “Um, I’m not sure,” he said. Although he actually was pretty sure. “Why?”

“I have heard a lot about the Rideau Canal.”

Shane nodded against him. “Yeah…it’s cool. I went as a kid.”

“Not something you want to revisit?”

Shane was quiet for a few beats. “Not really.”

“That’s okay,” Ilya said, running a hand through his hair.

“You should still check it out,” Shane said. “It’s fun. Huge draw for locals and tourists.”

“Reminds me a little of the outdoor rinks my mother would take me to in Moscow,” Ilya said. “Before hockey took over.”

“That must have been nice. I hardly remember life before hockey.” He paused. “And now I hardly remember life with hockey.” He smiled sadly at the thought. The before and the after, the in between hardly a blip, and yet somehow it sat the heaviest of them all. And here he was, back to coexisting with hockey. Because of Ilya. “I think you’d enjoy it,” he added. “Skating there. It really is fun, even with the crowds.”

Ilya nodded against him. “Maybe.”

“You leave tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Five days,” Ilya said. “Hopefully I’ll see you when I’m back?”

“Of course,” Shane said. “I need to get your car back to you.”

“Just keep it for now.”

“Ilya,” Shane said. “That was not the deal.”

“Just until I get back. Then we can figure it out.”

“Fine,” Shane said. He turned his upper body so he lay against Ilya’s chest, soaking up the closeness while he could.

-

They won the first away game. The team was in good spirits, and a bunch of them headed out to the bar. Ilya joined them for a couple of beers and then left early, wanting to go back to his room to call Shane.

“Hi,” he said when Shane picked up.

“Hi. Great game,” Shane said. “That hit looked bad, though. Is your shoulder okay?”

“Still sore. The team trainer told me to ice it, but otherwise fine.”

“Good. I’m surprised to hear from you tonight.”

“Why?” Ilya couldn’t stop the surprise in his voice. 

“Um,” Shane said, and there was a slight pause. “I guess I thought you’d be out.”

“I went out for a little while. Couple of drinks with the team.”

“Right,” Shane said, voice still hesitant. “I mean…I thought you might be out like…with someone.” 

Ilya let that sink in. He knew he had a reputation. He’d never been shy about it, and he used to have regulars in several of the cities they played in. And for the ones he didn’t, he’d find someone easily enough. 

“Shane,” he said, voice low, wondering if this was a bad idea but needing him to know. “I’m not…” he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m not seeing anyone else.”

The truth was, even if he hadn’t already leaned away from that, he would now, no question. He didn’t want anyone else. 

“Oh,” Shane said softly, surprise evident in his voice. 

“You can, though,” Ilya added quickly. “I’m not asking you to…I just wanted you to know…”

“I’m not either,” Shane said before he could find more words. Ilya let out another breath, in relief this time. 

“Okay,” he said, a smile curving his lips. 

“Okay,” Shane said, and he could hear the smile in his voice too. “Tell me about that move you did after Anderson lost the puck.”

Ilya’s grin stretched wider, and he settled back against the pillows of his hotel bed to talk to Shane about his second favorite thing.

-

They lost the second away game. It wasn’t a blowout, but it was close. The mood was decidedly dour. Ilya had talked to Shane for a while, grateful for the distraction, but when they hung up, he felt the emptiness creeping in. He slipped his shoes on and went down the hall to knock on 521.

Barrett opened the door with his usual resting miserable face.

“I’m coming in,” Ilya said, taking a step forward. Barrett’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t say anything, just stepped back so Ilya could brush by him. 

Ilya flopped on the bed that was still made. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Um,” Barrett said, looking at him uneasily. “Nothing.”

“Talking to Harris?”

Barrett blushed. “No,” he said. “Maybe.”

Ilya sat up. “Did I interrupt phone sex?” he asked, not bothering to hide his gleeful smile at the way Barrett’s cheeks went even redder.

“Of course not,” Barrett said, sitting on the other bed. 

Ilya sighed. “Fuck, maybe that’s what I should be doing.” He hadn’t asked Shane if he was into that. But maybe he would. Next time.

“So…you have someone…I mean, you’re dating someone?” Barrett asked.

Ilya thought about the fact that they’d both admitted to not seeing anyone else. The fact that Shane was suddenly the most important thing in his life besides hockey. The fact that if he had to choose between them right now…a lot of people probably wouldn’t like his choice.

“Yes, I think so,” he said. 

Barrett nodded slowly. “A guy?”

“Yes.”

“So is he like, your boyfriend?” The word came out smoother this time. Ilya suspected Harris had a lot to do with that.

Ilya rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure,” he said. He had never had a boyfriend. He’d barely had a girlfriend, preferring not to be tied to any one person. And the word felt small, too casual for what he felt. But also too big, too permanent, for what he was afraid was only going to last until Shane finished what he needed to do in Ottawa and moved on to better things. “I would like him to be,” he said finally. Because he did want that. He wanted Shane for as long as he’d have him. “But we haven’t talked about it.”

“What will you do if people find out?” Barrett asked.

Ilya shrugged. “I don’t really care if they do.”

“But…the press and…I know you said the team would be fine, but…” Barrett sounded like he’d been thinking about it a lot.

Ilya nodded. “I’m sure people will have a lot to say,” he said. “Maybe I will tell the team soon. In case it comes out…they should hear it from me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, why? Do you want to come out first? Tell them you want to fuck our social media guy?”

“Oh my god,” Barrett spluttered. 

“Is true, yes?”

Barrett groaned. “It’s not…I mean…” 

“Fine, fine,” Ilya said. “Let’s watch a movie.” Barrett looked at him for a second, surprise back on his face.

“Okay,” he said eventually and settled back on his bed, turning the TV on. 

-

They lost the third away game, and by the time Ilya had gotten home, he was ready to crash. He texted Shane and then went to bed. The next morning, he took his coffee to the glass-walled room and sat across from the paintings. He hadn’t been spending as much time with them lately, not when he had something so much better, the someone who had created them. But sitting here, soft morning light filtering in, settled him. 

He was in a much better mood when his phone buzzed around lunchtime.

Shane: Are you free tonight?

Ilya smiled at his phone.

Ilya: yep

Shane: Want to grab dinner? There’s a place I want to try.

Ilya: sure
Ilya: tell me where and when

Shane sent him an address, and then there was a pause before the next message.

Shane: 6:00 okay?

Ilya: perfect
Ilya: want me to pick you up?

Shane: No, I’ll meet you there. Try to find street parking nearby, no parking lot.
Shane: Gotta get back to work. See you later.

Ilya didn’t look up the address. He really didn’t care where they were eating, he just wanted to see Shane. Around 5:30, he headed out. The address Shane gave was only about fifteen minutes from his house, but he wanted to make sure he had enough time to find parking. And it was good he did because that took longer. It was a weeknight, less traffic, but there were still very few spots available. 

He finally pulled into a spot and headed to the restaurant, wondering if Shane was already there. Ilya could see the address Shane had given him up ahead on his phone map, but it looked like a closed shop, not a restaurant. A little way past it was a small wooden building, not big enough to be a restaurant. Maybe something with a walk-up window. He shrugged to himself and pulled out his phone to text Shane.

Then, before he could type a message, he spotted him standing off to the side just ahead, waiting. When he saw Ilya, his face broke out into a huge grin, and he walked over to meet him. Ilya didn’t even hesitate; he pulled Shane into his arms, not caring who saw. 

“I missed you,” he said.

Shane laughed and leaned in. “Me too.”

“So, where are we going?” Ilya asked, pulling back.

Shane bit his lip. “So…I hope you’re not too hungry.”

Ilya cocked his head. “Are we not going to dinner?”

“We are,” Shane said. “But not yet.” 

“Okay,” Ilya said. “So what are we doing first?”

Shane nodded his head to Ilya’s right. Ilya hadn’t even paid it any attention, too focused on finding the address and meeting Shane. But they were standing beside the Rideau Canal, currently full of people skating and sledding, laughter and the scrape of skates filling the air. Ilya looked back at Shane, eyes wide.

“Skating?”

Shane nodded. “If you still want to.”

“I do,” Ilya said, grabbing Shane’s hand. “But are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said, smiling. “I already rented skates, we just have to go pick them up. Luckily there is a lot of information about you online, including your skate size.” 

Ilya laughed. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes burning, knowing that Shane did this for him, even though it was hard. Probably much harder than it was worth, even if Ilya was absolutely melting on the inside. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I wanted to,” Shane said softly. “But…just remember that I haven’t been on skates in like fifteen years and might be terrible.”

Ilya smiled. “I bet you will pick it up again, no problem.”

Shane exhaled loudly, a nervous smile on his face. “Well, only one way to find out.”

Chapter 8: There was a time you let me know

Chapter Notes

I need you all to be okay with pretending that The Last of Us show came out a few years earlier in this universe because that is what suited me and it does not have any far-reaching impacts on anything. (And spoilers for ep 3, iykyk)

Ilya had a permanent grin stuck on his face. Shane was skating next to him, and Ilya had never seen anything so beautiful. Shane had taken one shaky step onto the ice and then transformed into someone who looked more at home on the ice than Ilya did. Privately he thought maybe he would have been kind of fucked if Shane had kept playing hockey. If he had been one of Canada’s best and skated like this…

They’d been on the ice for about thirty minutes, and Shane had been smiling the whole time. A wave of relief had gone through Ilya, knowing that he was at least enjoying this a little. 

“Doing okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Shane said, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “It’s better than I expected. It feels…” He rocked his head side to side, like he was looking for a word. “It feels like finding something I didn’t know I was missing,” he said softly, his smile falling away. Ilya could see that he was blinking rapidly. 

He reached out and took Shane’s hand in his, squeezing gently. Then he brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand, still not caring who might see. And he had been spotted already, even with a toque pulled low. 

“So,” Ilya said after a while. “Are there any actual dinner plans, or do you want to stop for something here?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, no, there aren’t,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Ilya said. “This is great. Look.” He pointed up ahead at the little red stand. “I need whatever that is.”

Shane followed his gaze and laughed. “BeaverTails. They’re good.”

“I want to try them all,” Ilya said as they got closer. 

They waited in line, and when they reached the window, Ilya did, in fact, order one of each of the five flavors, plus two hot chocolates. “Anything else?” he asked Shane. 

Shane was just looking at him, smiling. “I don't know. Are you going to share those?”

“Yes,” Ilya said. "Maybe." 

They found a just vacated table to sit at, and Ilya bit into the first BeaverTail. He moaned in delight. The fried dough was hot and crispy on the outside and soft on the inside.

“Fuck, this is delicious,” he said. “Eat.” Shane had just been watching him, an amused look on his face. 

“I haven’t had these in a long time,” Shane said, picking up the maple one and taking a small bite. 

“How is it?” Ilya asked, looking at him, head cocked to the side. Shane looked like he was somewhere else, stuck in a memory, maybe.

“Just as good as I remembered,” Shane said softly.

Ilya put his down and reached across the table to brush a thumb across Shane’s cheek, touching the freckles that were seared into his mind just as deeply as the teardrop painting. Shane leaned into it briefly, then set the maple one down and took a bite of the brownie one.

“No fair,” Ilya said, dropping his hand and picking up one of the other BeaverTails. “Let me catch up. We need to decide which one is best.”

They spent several minutes sharing the BeaverTails and arguing and laughing about which was best. Ilya was firmly on board with the brownie one, while Shane insisted the original cinnamon sugar was by far the best. 

“Okay fine,” Ilya said, eating the last bite of it. “You win. That one is best.”  

“There are other food places up ahead,” Shane said. “Do you like poutine?” 

“I don’t think I’ve had it.”

“We should stop there too.” 

Ilya nodded. “You ready?”He tossed what they hadn’t finished and their hot chocolate cups.

Once they were back to skating, he reached for Shane’s hand again. He glanced over at him occasionally, watching different expressions dance across his face. Sometimes a small smile, like he was just enjoying the moment. Sometimes a slight look of surprise, like the experience wasn't what he expected. Sometimes a slight pinch in his brow, like he was thinking very hard. And once, Ilya noticed his eyes were misty, his bottom lip pulled in. Ilya didn't interrupt. He let Shane feel whatever he needed to feel. And he was grateful that Shane was willing to face whatever that was...for him. Ilya could have come here alone or with a teammate, but he probably wouldn't have. Not even to relive whatever glimpse of his mother he could find out here. He reached up with his other hand and held the gold cross, a flash of it dangling, catching the winter sun, while she bent to fix his scarf. He did feel her, but mostly he felt Shane, and that was enough.

“Will you come over tonight?” Ilya asked eventually.

“If you want me to.” Shane was looking over at him, still moving gracefully over the not-so-smooth ice.

“Of course I do,” Ilya said. “Did you drive here?”

“No, I took the bus.”

“Okay,” he said. That was easier, logistically speaking at least. “But you could have you know?”

Shane shrugged. “I need to get the car back to you.”

Ilya resisted an eye roll. “When are you going back to the cottage?”

“Probably in a few weeks. I’m supposed to schedule a walkthrough with the realtor soon,” he said, voice tight.

“Just keep the car until then. I don’t need it right now,” Ilya said, squeezing Shane’s hand. “Please.”

Shane nodded.

“And you can use it as much as you want,” Ilya added, because that’s what he really wanted to say, even if he knew what the response would be. “Just think about it okay.”

“Thanks,” Shane said and squeezed his hand back. “Now let’s go get poutine.”

-

By the time they got back to the skate rental place, it was dark, and they were cold. Shane’s cheeks were red, but he looked happy. On the walk to Ilya’s car, he grabbed Shane’s hand again.

“Did you have an okay time?” he asked, even if the whole thing had been Shane’s doing.

“Yeah,” Shane said, looking over at him. “I’m glad we went. Did you?”

“I loved it,” Ilya said. He loved spending time with Shane. He loved even more that it had been skating, something that they maybe only shared tangentially, but Ilya liked being able to share that part of his life with him, even if only here and now. “You skate very well for someone who hasn’t put skates on in fifteen years.”

Shane glanced over at him, a shy smile on his face. “Not really, but at least I didn’t wipe out.”

“I think you would show me up, if we were on good ice, with good skates.”

Shane laughed. “You’re ridiculous. You outskate everyone.” 

“Not true,” Ilya said. “I am fast, but not so pretty as you.”

“Pretty?”

“Mhm,” Ilya hummed in affirmation. “You are very elegant. Like figure skater.”

Shane laughed again. “I’m definitely not that good. But thank you.” 

“If you ever want to go again, I would be happy to.”

Shane nodded. “Maybe.”

-

The first thing they did when they got to Ilya’s was take a hot shower. The walk-in was spacious, with rainfall showerheads that let them both stand comfortably under the water. Ilya made Shane turn around while he massaged shampoo into his hair, fingers rubbing his scalp until Shane’s head tipped back and he made a low, satisfied sound. 

“You like that?” Ilya asked.

“Yes,” Shane said, his voice soft and a little rough. “But I don’t know if it’s making me want to go to sleep or get—” He cut himself off.

Ilya leaned against him, pressing his hard cock against Shane’s ass. “Or get what?” Ilya whispered against his ear.

Shane groaned. 

“Say it.” He pushed against Shane’s ass again.

“Fucked,” Shane murmured.

“Mm, I thought so.”

Shane turned around, his shy, crooked smile on his face. 

“You can tell me what you want, you know,” Ilya said, still washing the shampoo out of his hair.

“I did,” Shane said, closing his eyes against the water.

“I don’t just mean now…I mean anytime.”

He knew Shane was getting bolder, but it was worth saying anyway. He suspected Shane spent a lot of time not asking for things he wanted. Or things he needed.

“I know,” he said as Ilya turned off the water.

“Okay.” Ilya grabbed two of his microfiber hair towels and two regular towels and handed one each to Shane. “But I mean it. Not just sex, yes?”

Shane nodded, still toweling off. “I know.”

Ilya leaned in and kissed him. “But definitely also sex. Come on. We will practice.”

“What?” Shane asked with a laugh.

“You’re going to tell me exactly what you want.”

“Ilya,” Shane said, giving him a look. “I already did.”

“Then should be easy.”

Ilya stretched out on the bed, back against the headboard, and patted his thigh. Shane rolled his eyes but climbed up and straddled him anyway. 

“Kiss me,” Ilya said. Shane was still looking at him with a little smile that pursed his lips. “Please,” he added, stretching the word out.

Shane leaned in and kissed him, hands settling on his shoulders, and Ilya moaned into his mouth and gripped his hips. They kissed until they were both hard and moving against each other, needing more.

“Tell me,” Ilya murmured against his neck. 

“I already told you,” Shane said, his voice low, neck stretched to the side to give Ilya more access.

“Ah, but there are so many ways I can fuck you,” he said, scraping his teeth beneath Shane’s jaw and drawing a needy little noise from him. “You need to be specific.”

“Ilya,” he said again, a little exasperated.

“Shane,” Ilya said, giving him the same tone back.

Shane leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Ilya’s shoulder. “Fine.”

“I’m waiting,” Ilya said, running his hands up and down Shane’s back. 

“From behind,” Shane said, barely audible. “But I want to finish the other way. So I can see you.”

Fuck…leave it to Shane to say something sexy and then make his eyes burn all in the same breath. 

“I can do that,” Ilya said softly. “Go on, hands and knees.”

Shane climbed off of him and Ilya scooted over, reaching into the nightstand for what they needed. Then he knelt behind Shane and spread his cheeks, leaning in to lick over his hole. Shane groaned and let his upper half collapse onto the bed, forearms braced on either side of his head. Ilya kept lapping at him, drawing more soft moans from him.

He pulled back just enough to say, “I should have made you ask for this too.” He leaned in again, tongue swirling, then stopped again. “Maybe I should make you do it now anyway.”

“Ilya,” Shane groaned. “Please.” 

“Fine, fine,” Ilya said. “Next time though.”

He started dragging his tongue over Shane’s hole again, lapping at him until he could feel him starting to relax. He reached over and grabbed the lube, slicking his fingers without removing his tongue, pushing at him until he could slip inside. He fucked him with his tongue until Shane was whimpering beneath him, then he pulled back and slipped a finger into him instead, curling it just right, while Shane pushed back against him. Ilya leaned down and pressed his lips to Shane’s back, trailing them along that smooth skin while he pushed in another finger and Shane moaned softly into the sheets. Ilya scissored his fingers and added another, his lips finally to the dimples above Shane’s ass. He kissed and licked each one, entranced by the little hollows made just for his tongue. Shane looked back at him with dark eyes full of desire and something softer that made Ilya’s eyes flutter. 

When Shane was ready, Ilya rolled a condom on and lined himself up. “This is still what you want?” he asked, slowly pushing inside. “I want to hear it.”

“Fuck,” Shane said, his voice already wrecked. “Yes.”

Once he was in as far as he could go, Ilya leaned down, braced his hands on either side of Shane’s shoulders, and pressed his mouth between his shoulder blades. “Fuck Shane, you’re perfect.” 

He started rocking his hips, gently at first, but Shane was pushing back against him. Ilya took the hint and straightened up so he could grip Shane’s hips and thrust harder, drawing a low moan from his throat. Ilya couldn’t take his eyes off of him…the way his back stretched, perfect and muscled, flexing as he arched, his face slack with pleasure, one side pressed into the sheets, his red lips parted, eyes screwed shut. Ilya watched his cock slide into that clenching heat, Shane’s ass perfect and round and practically made just for him. It made him feel possessive. It made him wonder how he’d lived so long without him. It made him want to try to be as perfect for Shane as he could, to be someone he might stay for. 

Ilya shook his head. Dangerous thoughts for another time. When Shane’s moans became more frequent and more broken and his hips moved back against Ilya with more urgency, Ilya stilled them with his hands and gently slipped out. Shane groaned at the loss and looked back at him.

“Turn over,” Ilya murmured, rubbing a hand down his thigh.

Shane turned over onto his back, and Ilya wasted no time pushing his legs up and sliding back in.

“This is what you want, yes?” He didn’t move yet. He just leaned down, covering Shane’s body with his, while his cock was nestled inside of him.

Shane nodded.

“Tell me, Shane,” Ilya whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

“Yes,” Shane breathed. “I want to see you when I come.”

Ilya groaned and started thrusting again, Shane’s words sending a jolt of lust and warmth through him. He stayed close though, leaning down to press their lips together again. It was messy, more of a shared breath, their lips sliding past each other. The air was thick with matching moans and sharp intakes of breath, the slap of skin against skin, and Ilya was lost to it, to the hooded brown eyes staring up at him and the hands grasping at his back.

“God, Shane,” he whispered. He wanted to tell Shane that nothing and no one had ever felt so good, that he had never needed anyone as much as he needed him. But the thought scared him, and Shane’s eyes were fluttering and his mouth was open in a silent moan, his breathing getting faster and Ilya could feel his own orgasm approaching. “Are you close?” he asked, his own voice low and rough, barely there.

Shane nodded without opening his eyes, a few quick jerks of his head. Ilya shifted his hips just a little, changing the angle, and Shane’s eyes snapped open.

“Ilya,” he breathed, and Ilya felt him clench hard around him, felt the warmth of cum hit his chest, pressed so close to Shane’s, and he leaned down and caught his lips, Shane moaning into his, sending Ilya into his own release. He rolled his hips a few more times, pulsing inside of Shane, whispering his name across those perfect lips. 

When Ilya stopped moving and collapsed more fully against him, Shane’s arms tightened around his back, holding him close. Ilya buried his face in Shane’s neck and let himself melt into him, knowing he needed to get up soon and clean them up, acutely aware of the slickness between their chests. He started to shift, bracing one arm next to Shane, but Shane’s arms squeezed him harder.

“Stay,” Shane whispered. “Just a little longer.”

Ilya nodded against him. Shane’s legs were resting lightly against Ilya’s lower back, Ilya’s cock still inside of him, and he wished he could live here in this moment, where everything was soft and warm and felt like all the things he couldn’t say.

“See,” he said instead, before the burn in his eyes became something more. “I knew you could ask for what you wanted.”

Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “Shut up.”

Ilya picked his head up, looking down at Shane’s face, at the small smile on his lips. He kissed it until the curve faded, and Shane was kissing him back, their tongues dancing lazily. Eventually Ilya pulled back.

“I think I should clean us up before we stick together,” he said, leaning down to press his lips to Shane’s once more. Shane nodded, and Ilya slowly sat up and pulled out. “Stay.” 

He quickly cleaned himself up and then brought a warm, damp cloth to do the same for Shane, taking his time, dragging the soft material up and down his chest and stomach. Shane watched him with a small sleepy smile, and Ilya leaned in to kiss him again because he couldn't help it. Then he moved the cloth down to wipe the lube and sweat from between his legs, and Shane’s head tipped back, face relaxed, and Ilya’s chest went tight. Sometimes he was overwhelmed by the trust he could feel from him, like maybe Shane felt safe. Maybe something more.

He tossed the cloth and crawled back up the bed to stretch out beside him, propped on one elbow.

“That was good?” he asked, brushing the bangs off Shane’s forehead. Shane nodded, smiling. “See…asking for what you want…” Ilya leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It’s good.”

“I know.”

“But sometimes you like when I decide, hm?”

“Yes,” Shane said, his eyes more serious now. “Sometimes.”

“Good. I do too.” He did, in bed especially. But also out of bed, because Shane didn’t like to ask for help, and he only reluctantly accepted it, and Ilya knew that sometimes he would have to push.

Shane was still looking at him like he was considering something, his eyes intent. “You know you can ask too, right?” Shane said. “For what you want.”

“I know,” Ilya said. He shifted so he could lay his head on Shane’s chest and drape an arm over his waist. Because his eyes were burning again and he didn’t know what to do with that. “Thank you for taking me skating.”

“You’re welcome,” Shane said. “I had fun too.”

“Yeah? It was okay? Being back on the ice?”

“I didn’t think it would feel so…right. Almost like I never stopped.”

Ilya looked up at him. “I would love to skate with you again. If you ever want to. We can go to the same place or to a rink with better ice. Or maybe even the team’s practice facility.” 

Shane was quiet for a few moments. Then he ran a hand through Ilya’s hair and said, “I’ll think about it.”

Ilya nodded against him. “Only if you want to.” He let his hand drift up Shane’s stomach to his chest, tracing idle patterns. “You must work out a lot.”

“Oh,” Shane said, “not as much as I used to. I had a gym membership in Vancouver, and in college, I played intramural basketball, just for fun. And I like to run.”

“No gym here?”

“No, I just have a couple of dumbbells. It works out,” he said, shrugging lightly.

“I have a whole gym in the basement.” It was one of the few parts of his house that was fully furnished. Not just an empty room waiting for someone to decide that it was worth filling.  “You can use it anytime.”

“Oh. No, I’m okay,” Shane said.

“Shane.” He pinched Shane’s stomach lightly, making him squirm. “Use the gym.”

Shane huffed a laugh. “Are you trying to tell me I’m out of shape?”

Ilya propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at him properly. “Obviously not,” he said, running a hand over Shane’s chest. “But if you like to work out, you should. We can even do it together.”

“Okay,” Shane said finally, giving him a small smile. Then he yawned.

“Ready to go to sleep?” Ilya asked. 

“Yeah,” Shane said. “I guess skating wore me out.”

“Oh, skating huh? Not me?”

Shane rolled his eyes and smiled. “Yes, that too.”

Ilya leaned up and kissed him, then turned out the lamp and pulled him against his chest.

-

Shane was woken up the next morning by a warm hand rubbing his back. He blinked his eyes open to find Ilya perched on the side of the bed, fully dressed.

“Hey, sorry to wake you. I have practice,” Ilya said, and Shane started to sit up. “No, no, stay. I’ll be back in a few hours. The fridge is stocked and there’s coffee.”

“I should go—” he started to say.

“Please stay,” Ilya said, cutting him off. “You’re off today right?” 

Shane nodded.

“If you need to go, that’s okay. But you can stay if you want. I want you to.”

“Okay,” Shane said, lying back against the pillows.

Ilya smiled and bent to kiss him lightly on the lips. Then he got up and crossed the room, pausing in the doorway, his eyes raking over Shane. “I like you in my bed,” he said with a wink, then turned and left.

Shane sighed and nuzzled his face into the pillow. It smelled like Ilya. Warm and clean and familiar. Eventually he sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and then groaned. His legs were sore. Not just a little bit sore…the maybe standing up was going to be a problem kind of sore. His body may have remembered skating, but it sure as fuck was not used to it. He eventually dragged himself off the bed, got dressed, took each stair very carefully, and wandered into the kitchen, his muscles warming up little by little. 

In the kitchen, he found fresh coffee that Ilya must have made especially for him and sat and sipped that for a while at the kitchen island. After, he opened the fridge to find it mostly full and grabbed a container of vanilla greek yogurt and a handful of blueberries, then sat back down and wondered how this had become his life.

He’d been barely existing in Ottawa for almost a year now, feeling like an unmoored boat lost at sea, wondering if his life would ever get back to something familiar, and being constantly haunted by the ache of it. And now here he was, sitting in Ilya Rozanov’s kitchen, eating his greek yogurt, feeling a different kind of ache, a tender, sweet one, and his life was still unrecognizable. But he didn’t want to run from this one, he wanted to cling to it, hold it tight and let it fill up all the empty places. It scared him, how much he wanted it. How much Ottawa was starting to feel like home again, just in a different way. 

When he was finished in the kitchen, he found himself walking down the hallway to the glass-walled room. The tree was gone, the room empty again but for the two paintings leaning against one wall. Shane had a moment of doubt, wondering why they were on the floor and not the wall. Maybe Ilya didn’t want them permanently marring his walls, despite seeming to like them. Maybe he didn’t want Shane permanently marring his life. He sighed, knowing he was being dramatic. 

He thought about going to check out the gym but decided against it because his legs might not make it down anymore stairs. Instead, he settled on the couch in front of the TV and flipped through streaming services until he found something to watch. He landed on The Last of Us on HBO, having played the game, back when he still had the time and energy and money for such things.

A few hours later, he was still lying on the couch when he heard the front door open and close, and then Ilya was there, dropping his bag, a huge smile on his face. Then he saw Shane and his face fell, and he knelt down in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” Ilya asked, and Shane realized he had tears on his face.

“Oh. Nothing,” Shane said, smiling. “I was watching this show.” He gestured at the TV. “Episode 3 wrecked me.”

Ilya looked at the TV. “I haven’t seen it. I want to watch.”

“You should, it’s really good.” 

“I want to watch with you.”

“Okay,” Shane said, bringing a hand up to rest on the back of Ilya’s head, his curls still damp from the shower. “I’ll rewatch these episodes with you.”

Ilya leaned forward and kissed him.

“How was practice?” Shane asked. 

Ilya was grinning again. “So good. Chiron was there and he sat in my lap the longest and gave me the most kisses,” Ilya said rapidly. Shane could feel his brows going up, mouth opening involuntarily. “He was so sweet, but then Barrett stole him.” Shane could not catch up with this conversation or who Ilya was kissing or why Troy Barrett was involved.

Ilya’s eyes scanned his face, moving back and forth quickly, his smile fading. Then his eyes went wide and his grin returned, even bigger than before.

“Shane,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Chiron is a puppy.”

“Oh.” Shane let out a breath and leaned his head back against the armrest. Well, that explained it.

Before he could say anything else, Ilya was on the couch, straddling him, leaning down until their foreheads touched.

“That was very cute,” he said, still grinning.

“What?”

“You were jealous.”

“I was not,” Shane said, staring at Ilya’s lips and avoiding his gaze.

“Yes, you were,” he said, still delighted. “You were looking at me like an angry kitten.”

“Shut up,” Shane said, his ears going hot. 

“No, I love it,” Ilya said, tipping his chin up to kiss him. “But you are the only person I’m kissing.” He kissed him again for emphasis. “I promise.” When he pulled back again, he added, “I thought I told you about the puppy.”

“You did,” Shane said. “But I don’t think you mentioned his name.”

“My fault,” Ilya said. “He’s good for the team. Everyone played well at practice. Are you coming to the game tonight?”

“Well…I kind of have a problem.”

“What’s wrong?” Ilya asked, and Shane smiled at the concern in his voice.

“Nothing bad. I’m just very, very sore. Turns out skating for three hours after taking a fifteen year break is a bad idea.”

Ilya nodded slowly. “Did you soak in the tub?”

“No.”

“Might help,” Ilya said. “I also volunteer to give you a massage.”

Shane laughed. “I think I’ll manage.”

Ilya pouted dramatically. “What if I want to?”

“Maybe I’ll let you,” Shane said, tilting his head back and forth like he was considering. “So I can make it up the steep arena stairs. Thank you.” He leaned up and kissed him again. 

“Okay, later,” Ilya said after, then he shifted until he was lying on the couch between Shane’s legs, with his head on Shane’s stomach. “I want to watch this show that made you cry first.”

Shane started it over from the first episode. Ilya was fully invested right away, but during episode two he looked up at Shane. “This is very good, but not as sad as I expected.”

Shane laughed quietly. “Just wait.”

In episode three, by the time Bill and Frank were getting into bed together the first time, Ilya had crawled up further between Shane’s legs and was lying on top of him, head tucked under his jaw. 

“They’re not going to die, are they?” he asked. “Shane…you are not making me watch this sweet love story just for them to die, are you?”

“Shh,” Shane said, running a hand through Ilya’s now dry hair. “I promise it’s good.”

When Frank took Bill to pick strawberries, Ilya snuggled in closer, arms going tighter around Shane. He kept his fingers in Ilya’s hair, massaging lightly, feeling warm and happy, because maybe he could relate to the simple joy on screen, and maybe a little melancholic, because he wanted it to last.

As soon as Frank told Bill his plan with his pills, Shane realized he’d made a very big mistake. “Ilya,” he said, reaching over to pause the show. “I’m so sorry.”

Ilya lifted his head to look up at him, his eyes a little watery. “What?”

“I wasn’t thinking…the pills, it must remind you of…I didn’t mean—”

“Hey.” Ilya cradled his jaw with one hand. “It’s okay.”

“I should have warned you.”

“No,” Ilya said, shaking his head. “Thank you…for being worried about me. But I’m good. Come on, let’s watch so I can cry about it too.” He was smiling, and Shane’s shoulders loosened. He reached over and hit play again.

When the credits started rolling, Ilya reached over and paused it this time, then braced himself on his forearms so he could look at Shane. Ilya’s eyes were watery, a couple of tear streaks on his cheeks.

“Good, huh?” Shane asked. 

Ilya just nodded and leaned closer to kiss him. “Kind of beautiful.”

“I played the game so I knew about those characters, but it doesn’t show their story like this. It’s nice, getting a whole episode about two men...” He paused. “And maybe surprising, even now.”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Definitely nice.” He was looking at Shane like he wanted to say something else. “Would you save me during the zombie apocalypse?” he asked, very seriously.

Shane couldn’t help but laugh. “What makes you think I’d survive?”

Ilya shrugged. “You are smart. You’d probably make it.” 

“If so, then of course I’d save you. But we’d probably be better off here at your house.”

“True. If I ever get my gate fixed.”

Shane laughed. “Maybe you should do that. Just in case. You never know when the outbreak will happen.” 

“Mm,” Ilya hummed. “At least if that happens, I will have you alone here, all to myself.” He shifted to push his hips against Shane. 

“Is that all you’ll be thinking about while the world is ending?”

Ilya tilted his head. “Maybe. It’s all I’m thinking about right now.” He leaned in to kiss him, pushing his tongue into Shane’s mouth, and Shane moaned into it. When the kissing went from sweet to hungry, Ilya leaned up to pull Shane’s sweatpants down.

“Um,” Shane said, trying to focus. “Nothing that involves bending my legs too much, please.” 

Ilya laughed. “I can work with that. Be right back.”

Shane was still lying on the couch, now half naked, while Ilya went down the hall. He came back a minute late with a bottle of lube, pulled his clothes off, tugged Shane’s shirt over his head, then stretched out on top of him again, nudging his thighs apart so he could settle between them.

“Just enough to let me in?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, I just don’t think I can hold them up right now.” 

Ilya slicked his hand and then reached between them, wrapping his fingers around both of their lengths. Shane groaned at the contact. “Is okay?” Ilya asked.

“Very okay,” Shane said, pushing his hips up, sliding against Ilya. “This is what you want to do when the zombies come?” 

“Yes,” Ilya said, leaning down to kiss him again. “But I must not be doing a good job if you are talking about zombies right now.” He tightened his grip and rolled his hips more forcefully.

Shane’s head tipped back further into the armrest. “You can do better,” he said, his breathless voice that went high at the end giving him away.

Ilya grinned down at him. “Is that a challenge?” He moved his hand so it twisted around the heads of their cocks.

“Fuck,” Shane moaned. “Yes.”

Ilya leaned down and pressed his mouth against Shane’s neck, kissing and nipping his way up, stopping below his ear. “I will make you come first then.”

He scraped his teeth against that soft skin, then soothed it with his tongue, and Shane’s hips bucked up, making his cock slide along Ilya’s even more forcefully, which drew a low moan from his throat.

Ilya chuckled against his neck. Then he kept kissing him there, trailing his lips back up his jaw, until he finally caught his lips again. “I can tell you are close already.”

Shane was close. And he was happy to lose this challenge. “I am.”

“Come for me,” Ilya whispered against his lips. And as if he had a direct line to Shane’s cock, he did. His hips pushed up, and Ilya tightened his grip again, giving Shane the friction he needed. His cock pulsed in Ilya’s hand, and the added slickness let him move more easily, the new sensation drawing another spurt from his cock. Just as Shane’s hips started to still, Ilya moaned louder into his ear and pressed against Shane harder and faster until his own slickness joined Shane’s. 

Ilya pulled his hand out from between them and grabbed Shane’s t-shirt off the floor, which was really Ilya’s t-shirt that he had borrowed. He leaned up enough to wipe their stomachs mostly clean, then collapsed on top of him again.

“How did I do?” Ilya asked, his voice still low.

“Okay, I guess,” Shane said, smiling when Ilya lifted his head to look at him, mock offense on his face.

“Maybe I will just let the zombies have you then.”

Shane hummed in amusement. “No,” he said, dragging out the word. “I’d do that with you anytime. Even if the zombies are coming.”

Ilya smiled and kissed him again. “Okay, come on. Let’s go soak your poor legs and clean up before I have to get ready.”

-

A couple of hours later, they were in Ilya’s Porsche on the way to Shane’s apartment.

“Why don’t you pack some stuff and put it in my car?” Ilya asked as he turned onto Shane’s street.

“What?” Shane asked, looking over at him. 

“To keep at my house…extra clothes, toothbrush, whatever you need.”

“Oh,” Shane said, his chest fluttering for no reason. “Okay, yeah.”

“You will stay tonight, right?”

“Um, I have work in the morning.”

“You can leave from my house,” Ilya said, like it was obvious.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Shane said. “But I’ll have to get up early. I don’t want to bother you.”

Ilya grabbed his hand. “You won’t. I will fall back asleep, I promise. Plus, I’ll be gone for five days after that. I want you while I can have you.”

“Okay,” Shane said, knowing he was going to give in anyway.

“Maybe you should drive to the arena, though. So you can take the car to work tomorrow,” Ilya said. Shane started to open his mouth to argue, but Ilya added, “Unless you want to take the Porsche.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay well, easier to drive from my house to work,” Ilya said, shrugging as he pulled up in front of Shane’s building.

“Fine,” Shane said, caving again. “I’ll drive to the arena.”

“Good. See you later,” Ilya said, leaning over to kiss him. "Wait." Then he pulled his keys out of his pocket and twisted one off the keyring to hand to Shane. “So you can go straight to the house after the game. No need to wait for me.”

“Thanks,” Shane said, pocketing the key and stepping out of the car. “Good luck tonight.”

-

The Centaurs won the game, and Shane had jumped up and cheered for every goal. Especially the three scored by Ilya. He didn’t think Ilya skating in his direction with a wink after each one would ever get old. And he hoped he’d be there on the receiving end of many more. 

He pulled the BMW through Ilya’s broken gate and parked in the driveway, leaving room for Ilya to get to his garage. Unlocking the door to Ilya’s house made him momentarily dizzy. He was in Ottawa, after just watching the Centaurs play, walking into the home of a millionaire, and that millionaire happened to be Ilya Rozanov. And then he laughed because it seemed almost unfair that Ilya was one of, if not the, best player in the league, and also the best looking. Some people would argue both of those claims, but Shane was not one of them. And then for him to somehow be into Shane, even though the whole world thought he was straight. He shook his head as he headed for the kitchen. What even was his life anymore?

He thought Ilya might appreciate something to eat when he got home. He looked in the fridge and pulled out a few things, hoping he wasn’t being presumptuous by cooking in Ilya’s kitchen. 

An hour later, he heard the front door, and a minute after that, warm arms slid around his waist as he stood at the counter. 

“What is this?” Ilya asked.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Shane said. “I hope this is okay.”

Ilya stepped back, and Shane turned around, gaze going to Ilya’s face. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stomach dropping at the look on Ilya’s face, the tears in his eyes, wondering if it was about using his kitchen or something worse. “What happened? Is it th–“

Before he could finish, Ilya pulled him into a tight hug, pressing his face against Shane’s neck. He could feel Ilya’s body tremble just slightly against him. 

“What is it?” Shane asked softly, resting a hand on the back of Ilya’s neck. 

Ilya pulled back and kissed him. Not a happy to see you after the game kiss…an I want to devour you kiss. And Shane didn’t know what spurred it on, but he was all too happy to be the recipient, letting Ilya kiss him until he was panting. Then Ilya pressed his face into Shane’s neck again and murmured something in Russian.

“You cooked for me?” Ilya asked when he finally leaned back to look at him.  

“Um,” Shane said, hesitantly. “Yeah…is that okay?”

Ilya cradled his jaw and brushed a thumb over his cheekbone. “Yes,” he said, his voice still sounding like he was on the verge of tears. “No one has cooked for me after a game in a very long time.” 

“Oh, um…don’t get too excited. It’s nothing special.”

“It is,” Ilya said. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Shane said, smiling in relief because that did not go the way he was expecting. “Um…why don’t you sit? I’ll fix everything.” He grabbed two plates from the cabinet Ilya had taken them from last time. 

“I assume if it was in your fridge or pantry that you like it…” Shane said as he set a plate in front of Ilya. “It’s just maple-Dijon glazed salmon, roasted potatoes, and asparagus.” 

“It’s perfect,” Ilya said, already cutting into the salmon. “I’m starving.” 

“I figured.” Shane fixed his own plate and sat beside Ilya. “That was a great game. I bet Ulrich was pissed after that last one. Pittsburgh needs a new goalie.”

Ilya snorted. “I would have done the walk of shame if I had missed that.” 

“You should tell Haas he’s opening his shoulders a touch too early,” Shane said. 

Ilya’s eyes went wide, and Shane realized what he’d just said. 

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Shane said, wanting to disappear on the spot. “As if you need my opinions. Please ignore that.”

“No,” Ilya said. “No, that’s good. He’s been recovering from an oblique strain. He might be compensating.” 

Ilya pulled his phone out and looked up game footage. Shane glanced over at the screen, watching some of the replays from earlier. 

Ilya laughed. “Fuck, you’re right.” 

“I’ve only noticed it in the last couple of games.”

“You have a good eye,” Ilya said, and he was smiling at Shane like he’d done something impressive. 

Shane still felt silly. He was no hockey expert. Not anymore. Not ever. Playing when you’re twelve and being told you’re good enough to go pro one day is not the same as having a nearly decade-long career in the MLH. 

“Shane?” Ilya asked, and Shane got the feeling he’d missed part of the conversation.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you’d want to meet Haas. And my other teammates.”

Now Shane’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Bood…Zane Boodram…he has barbecues every couple of months for the team. He makes his own sauce and everything. Most of the team goes.” Ilya was looking at him nervously. “Would you want to come to the next one? It’s Friday, after we get back.”

Shane thought he might be having an out of body experience. Like he was watching this unfold from somewhere else. Because it was too much to wrap his mind around. 

“You want to introduce me to your team?” he asked in disbelief.

“Um…yes?” Ilya said, voice uncertain. “If you want to.”

Shane put his fork down. “Do they know about me?”

Ilya rocked his head from one side to the other. “They know there is someone. Apparently I’ve been um…happier. And smiling at my phone too much.” He was looking at Shane with a shy half smile that looked out of place on his usually confident face.

Shane felt his stomach swoop, his chest flutter, his heart skip a beat. All the silly little signs that he was in far too deep, and consequently, also the signs that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

“And do they know I’m…um…not a woman?”

Ilya took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Not yet. But I will tell them, if it’s okay with you.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, if that’s what you want.” It really wouldn’t affect Shane’s life at all. But it would certainly change Ilya’s. “But don’t do it for me, okay? I know even with what Hunter did, being out in the league won’t be easy. You should really think about it.” 

I’m not worth it. 

“I don’t care about the league,” Ilya said. “And maybe if there are more of us, things really will change one day.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, giving Ilya a small smile. “Maybe.”

-

The five days Ilya was on the road went by quickly. Shane mostly worked, and in the evenings he watched Ilya’s games, and in between he texted or talked to him on the phone. Ilya had even convinced him to jerk off while they were on the phone together and suggested that next time they should do it on facetime. Shane had laughed, but he also thought it might make road trip weeks a little more bearable. Ilya got back in town on Thursday, but Shane had a closing shift that night and didn't see him.

On Friday, he worked a morning shift and then came home and got ready for Ilya’s team barbecue. He still couldn’t quite believe Ilya had told his team about him and that he wanted him to meet them. He felt like he was living in some kind of rom-com movie and everything was going to go very wrong very soon. He fussed with his hair in the mirror once more, let out a long breath, and then headed downstairs to meet Ilya, who pulled up right after he stepped outside.

“Hi,” he said, sliding into the Porsche. Ilya leaned over and kissed him.

“God, I missed you,” he said. Then he leaned back in his seat and stared at Shane intently, like he was thinking about something. “I have to tell you something. Don’t get mad.”

Shane’s stomach dropped involuntarily. “What?”

“Okay so,” Ilya said, already grimacing. “Harris brought Chiron to practice this morning.”

“Okay…” Shane said, not seeing the problem yet.

“Well, you know I love Chiron.” Shane nodded. “So I got distracted. And by the time I was undistracted, pretty much everyone had gone home.”

Shane squinted at him. “Um…I’m not following.”

“I didn’t get a chance to tell them about you,” Ilya said quickly, words spilling out of him like a confession.

Shane’s jaw dropped open. “Ilya,” he said. “No.”

“I’m sorry. But listen, if you don’t want to go, we don’t have to.” 

Shane could tell by his face and his voice and his stupid, adorable pouty lips that he really wanted to go.

“They think I’m a woman? You want me to walk in there and surprise them?”

“I mean…to be fair, the surprise will be directed at me. They do not know I like men.” Ilya bit his bottom lip, suppressing a smile.

“Oh my god,” Shane said in disbelief. “You’re going to enjoy that. You want to shock them.”

“What? No,” Ilya said in the least convincing tone Shane had ever heard.

Shane sighed. 

“You can say no,” Ilya said. “We can go to my house and do what I’ve been wanting to do for the last six days instead.”

A little surge of heat went through him. And he almost said yes to doing just that. But he sighed again and leaned his head back against the headrest.

“No, let’s go meet your team.”

He glanced over and Ilya’s grin was infectious. “Really?”

“Yes,” Shane said, smiling now. “Hurry up before I change my mind.”

-

Twenty minutes later they were walking up to a large house in a nice neighborhood. Shane could smell woodsmoke and hear voices coming from around back. Ilya opened the front door without knocking and walked in. 

“They are all out back,” he said by way of explanation. They hung up their coats and then made their way through the house to the semi-enclosed back patio, stopping in the doorway. There were string lights hung all around, a grill and a smoker on one side, chairs and benchs and a firepit on the other. People were sitting and standing in groups, talking and laughing, most of them holding beers. Shane recognized several faces.

“Shut up, everyone! Roz is here,” someone shouted. “He’s supposed to introduce us to his lady!”

Ilya glanced at Shane, an apologetic look on his face. Shane was pretty sure he was glaring. Everyone seemed to stop talking all at the same time, every gaze snapping up. There was soft music thumping from a speaker, and someone reached over and turned it down. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with, you assholes,” Ilya said playfully, smiling around at his friends. “This is my…” he trailed off and looked over at Shane again. “Shane.”

Shane glanced around at the faces. Half of them were looking at him in disbelief, mouths hanging open. Half of them were on the verge of laughing, like they were waiting for a punchline. The only face that was doing neither of those things was Troy Barrett’s. He was looking from Shane to Ilya with a soft smile. The man next to him, who was a little shorter and stockier with a nice beard, was doing a combination of the two…he had a huge grin on his face, but his eyes were wide in surprise.

“You’re fucking with us,” someone shouted and Shane wasn't sure who. He did note that the voice wasn’t hostile. There was more chatter after that, and most of it in the same disbelieving tone. “What happened, Roz, she couldn’t come?” someone else said.

Ilya looked over at Shane again. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, low enough that only he could hear. “I trust them,” he added. 

“You asshole,” Shane laughed quietly, keeping his voice low. “I was right. You do want to shock them.”

Ilya shrugged. “Maybe. But then they’ll believe me and we can get this over with.”

Shane shook his head and looked back out at the sea of half-confused, half-shocked faces, again relieved that no one seemed particularly offended. “Fine.”

And then Ilya wrapped his arms around his waist, pulled him in, and kissed him.

Chapter End Notes

I know nothing about hockey and read way too many reddit posts and then ended up knowing even less somehow...so if my hockey commentary is incorrect, you can let me know *nicely*. But only if it's like really wrong...because it doesn't actually matter that much here.

Chapter 9: And it doesn't matter which you heard

The kiss was not polite or chaste. Ilya kissed him thoroughly, with tongue, not holding back. Being kissed by Ilya was always like being consumed, and this was no different. But Shane managed to keep one tiny fraction of his brain online to register the brief moment of silence, like a collective intake of breath, followed by several whoops and wolf whistles, a few “oh my god"s, mostly from the women, a couple of confused “what the fuck”s, and at least one “did you know?”

By the time Ilya stepped back, the noise had returned at a full roar, everyone talking at once. Ilya was grinning, and Shane wanted to simultaneously roll his eyes and kiss that satisfied, irritating grin off his face. But he was smiling too, because even though Ilya’s trust in his team full of probably straight men was questionable at best, the noise remained…cheerful. Shane glanced around. Still a few confused and surprised faces, but also plenty of grins. 

“I am bisexual,” Ilya said loudly when the noise dulled some, not an ounce of shyness in his voice. “Now everyone can fucking relax.”

There were several laughs and more shouts, followed by conversations resuming.

“Come on,” Ilya said, taking his hand. “And thank you.” He was smiling affectionately at Shane, and Shane felt his chest flutter, his brain still catching up to the fact that Ilya had just come out to his team, kissed Shane in front of them, and was now happily holding his hand.

Shane let him drag him over to Troy Barrett first.

“This is Troy,” Ilya said, gesturing at him like he was an object on display. “And this is Harris. He runs our social media and he brings Chiron to practice for me.” 

“Not just for you,” Harris said with a laugh. He had a loud voice, but it was warm and friendly.

“Yes, yes,” Ilya said, waving that away. “This is Shane.”

Troy held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.” He still had a small smile on his face. He looked slightly uncomfortable, like maybe he wasn’t used to smiling. 

“You too,” Shane said, shaking his hand. “That goal against Carolina was impressive. I’ve never seen anyone pull off that move so effortlessly.”

Troy’s eyes went wide, and Harris was looking between Shane and Ilya like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“Shane knows a lot about hockey,” Ilya said. “Probably more than most of these idiots.” 

Shane bumped his shoulder. “I don’t,” he said. “I know a normal amount. Ignore him.”

“Is that how you met?” Harris asked. “Do you play?”

“No,” Shane said quickly. 

“Shane is an artist,” Ilya said, squeezing his hand. Shane appreciated that he didn’t fill them in on his hockey backstory. “I bought his painting.”

“No way!” Harris practically shouted. “The painting you showed me?” 

Ilya nodded. “Yes, that one,” he said, voice a little softer.

“Holy shit,” Harris said. “You’re brilliant.”

Shane’s cheeks heated. “Thanks.”

“So you paint…is your stuff showing anywhere?” Harris asked.

“Um, no,” Shane said, looking down. “Not anymore.”

Harris looked at him in confusion for a second. “I’d love to see your work, even if it’s old stuff. Do you have any online galleries?”

“Oh, um. No.” Then, to not seem like a complete downer, he said, “But I have an old instagram page where I used to post stuff. I haven’t updated it in over a year though.”

Harris was already whipping his phone out. “What’s your username?”

Shane could see Ilya staring at him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s @Shollander24.”

“Oh my god,” Harris said, tilting his phone so Troy could look. Shane was regretting this little admission now. He looked at Ilya, who was still staring, expression unreadable. 

Ilya took a deep breath, his face shifting immediately. “Come on, let’s go say hi to Haasy.” 

Shane was grateful that Ilya moved them along before he had to answer any more questions from Troy and Harris, but he had a feeling he’d be answering some from Ilya later. The former two were so engrossed in the phone that they didn’t even look up when Ilya excused them.

“Haas is an artist too,” Ilya said before they got in hearing range of the blonde rookie who was just about to sit down across the way. “And he has a crush on me.”

Shane looked at him in surprise. “What?” 

Ilya shrugged. “I think anyway. This team is…” he trailed off with a smile. “Well. We will see.”

Luca Haas looked up as they approached, and his face was pulled into a comical expression that lived somewhere between surprise and horror. Like he’d had a shock and was now panicking about being perceived. Shane could relate.

“Haasy,” Ilya said, clapping him on the back. Shane watched Luca’s eyes go even wider, a little squeak escaping his throat, and worried for a moment he might be on the verge of fainting. “This is Shane. He is an artist too.”

Shane held his hand out, and Luca looked at it, then at Shane’s face, then at Ilya, then back at Shane before he reached out and shook it. 

“Hi,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.” His voice was mostly steady, but there was a thread of something else, shaky, kind of nervous. Shane wondered if maybe he did have a crush on Ilya, and finding out that his formerly “straight” captain was not actually straight was tilting his world on its axis. Shane could relate to that too. 

“What kind of artist are you?” Shane asked, hoping it might settle whatever was going on. 

“Oh,” Luca said, blinking at him. “I draw. Just for fun. What about you?”

“I paint,” Shane said, the present tense slipping out before he noticed. “I mean, I used to anyway. Not so much these days.”

Luca nodded like he understood. “What style of painting?”

“A little of everything,” Shane said. “Kind of a blend of lyrical abstraction, expressionism, occasionally portraits mixed in.”

“Wow,” Luca said, looking impressed. “Did you go to school for art?”

“Um, kind of,” Shane said, feeling a little self-conscious now. He hadn’t talked to another artist in a long time. “I double majored in Art History and Education.” He paused. “I didn’t finish though.”

Shane could feel Ilya’s eyes on him again. “Why don’t we grab a beer and make the rounds?” he said gently. “We’ll be back, Haasy.”

Next up was Wyatt Hayes and his wife, Lisa. 

“This is Hazy and his much better half, Lisa,” Ilya said. Wyatt clasped Ilya’s hand and pulled him in for one of those dude bro shoulder bumps, and Shane could see that Wyatt had no qualms about Ilya’s revelation, a huge grin on his face, highlighting a pair of dimples

“It’s true,” Wyatt said, nodding to Lisa. “Much better. Nice to meet you, Shane.” He shook Shane’s hand, firm but not the macho bullshit way that some men liked to do, especially when they were uncomfortable. “You could have told us, you know,” he added, looking at Ilya.

Ilya shrugged. “I am telling you now.”

“Have you made it to many games?” Lisa asked Shane.

“Oh, um, just a few,” Shane said, glancing at Ilya. 

“Well, I don’t go to nearly as many as I’d like, but hopefully next time I’ll see you there? We can hang out, I’ll introduce you to some of the other WAGs who aren’t here tonight.”

“Thanks,” Shane said, feeling a little squeeze in his chest. “That would be great.”

Ilya was looking at him with a smile that Shane couldn’t quite pinpoint, his eyes suspiciously watery. Then he blinked a few times and turned away. “Lisa is a doctor. She is off saving lives while we hit pucks with sticks.” 

Lisa laughed. “Yes, well. I do like the sticks and pucks too.” She pulled Wyatt in with an arm around his waist.

They talked to Wyatt and Lisa a little longer, then Ilya introduced him to Evan Dykstra, Zane Boodram, and a few other teammates and spouses. Not a single one of them hesitated to shake Shane’s hand or clap Ilya on the back. There were a couple of jokes about his former playboy status, which simultaneously made something twist in Shane’s chest and then soothed it because Ilya was here, with him, introducing him to his team, knowing that when this revelation left the confines of this warm patio, his life would be forever changed.

When the party started wrapping up, Shane was sitting with Troy and Harris again, listening to Harris talk about an upcoming photoshoot for a series of social media posts about the team. Shane noticed that both Troy and Harris were always half-paying attention to the other, even when they were talking to someone else. Ilya was across the way, talking to Bood, but a moment later, he walked over and slipped an arm around Shane’s shoulders.

“Are you ready to head out?” he asked. Shane stood immediately. As nice as everyone had been, being passed around like show and tell had exhausted his social battery. 

“Yeah,” he said. “It was really nice to meet you both.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Harris said. “You’ll have to come meet Chiron soon.”

“I’d love that,” Shane said.

They said their goodbyes and grabbed their coats from inside. At the car, Ilya opened his door for him.

“I can get my own door,” Shane said, smiling. “But thank you.”

Ilya still had that unreadable little smile on his face. “I know.”

In the car, Ilya was very quiet for a few minutes. Shane wanted to ask if he was okay, if he thought that went well, if he was having regrets.

“So,” Ilya said eventually. “You have an instagram.”

“Oh," Shane said. He'd known this was coming. "Yeah. I haven’t logged in since before I moved here.”

Ilya nodded. “And it has your paintings.”

“Some of them. It was a way to show inventory and promote showings, that kind of thing.”

“You have not mentioned it.”

Shane looked over at him. His jaw was a little tight. “Are you mad?”

Ilya’s eyes snapped over at him. “Of course not. I just…would like to see your work.”

“Yeah…I'm sorry. You can look at it. I just haven’t thought about it in a while.”

Ilya grabbed his hand and pulled it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, then settling them both on his thigh. 

“I would like to know more about your majors. Did you want to teach?” Ilya asked.

Shane nodded and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess so. Part of me wanted to find a way to make painting my career. It’s not exactly lucrative, though. And I spent a lot of time thinking about how it helped me and how it might help other kids.”

“That sounds like a very fulfilling thing to do.”

“Maybe. I didn’t get to find out.” He paused and looked out the window. “Depending on how the sale of the cottage goes, I’ve thought about going back to finish.”

“How much do you have left? To finish?”

“A little over a year probably. I dropped out after my aunt got sick, so I could help her. We had to travel for some of her treatments and everything was…” he trailed off. “I just fell behind.”

Ilya nodded. “That must have been hard.”

“Yeah. But I would have done anything for her. She did everything for me.”

Ilya squeezed his hand again. They were mostly quiet for the rest of the drive to Ilya’s house. Inside, Ilya pulled Shane up the stairs and into the bedroom.

“We should shower,” he said, already pulling his clothes off. “We smell like woodsmoke.”

They undressed and got under the hot water, and Shane noticed Ilya was still a little tense, his eyes distant. He’d seen a faint tremor in his hand when he had reached up to turn the water on.

“Hey,” Shane said, reaching over to put a hand on his jaw. “Are you okay?”

He smiled and pulled Shane in for a hug. “I think I am maybe having an adrenaline crash.”

“Oh.” Shane ran a hand up and down his back. “What can I do?”

“This is good.”

“Okay,” Shane said, staying pressed close while the hot water washed over them. “Why don’t you let me wash your hair?”

Ilya nodded against his shoulder. Shane stepped back and grabbed the shampoo. “Turn around.”

Ilya stood in front of him, head tipped back, while Shane lathered shampoo through his hair, gently massaged his scalp, and then rinsed it out. He did the same with the conditioner. Ilya sighed contentedly and leaned into his hands until he was done. Then Shane quickly washed his own hair, soaped up his hands, and ran them lightly over Ilya’s back and chest.

“Is this okay?” he asked, running his hands down further, between his legs.

“Mhm,” Ilya hummed. 

By the time Shane was done, they were both hard and Ilya was kissing him and Shane was laughing against his mouth while trying to turn off the water and grab towels. They eventually tumbled into bed, and Ilya pulled Shane on top of him. His eyes still looked a little far away.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

Ilya nodded. “I think maybe telling my team was…bigger than I thought?” He sounded uncertain.

“Are you having regrets?”

“No,” Ilya said quickly. “None. But it feels like something heavy I was carrying for a long time, you know? Now I feel…” He shrugged and let his arms flop heavily against the bed, like they were too tired to hold up.

“That makes sense. You were right, though. They seem very supportive.”

“I thought they would be. Is good to know...I think our team is maybe very gay.”

Shane laughed. “What do you mean?”

“Troy is gay. And he is in love with Harris.”

Shane’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Yes…not so subtle really.”

“I did notice some looks.” He paused and brushed damp curls off Ilya’s forehead. “I think you might be right about Luca too. He looked like he got his world rocked, poor kid.”

Ilya laughed softly. “Yes, I think so. He will be okay. Hopefully having more out players in the league will help.”

“I think it will. Are you going to come out more publicly?”

“Mm, maybe. For now I just wanted my team to know, but I’m sure it will get out.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes,” Ilya said and pulled him down for a quick kiss. “I know I did a bad job preparing them…and you. Thank you for going along with it.”

Shane huffed a laugh, remembering the kiss. “I can’t believe you kissed me in front of everyone.”

Ilya grinned. “I would kiss you on live TV like Scott Hunter.”

“Alright, let’s not get carried away,” Shane said, smiling back. “But um…I am very flattered that you wanted me to meet them.”

Ilya was looking up at him, his eyes shiny. He took a deep, shaky breath and then pulled Shane down fully on top of him, so their chests were pressed together and Shane’s head was lying on his shoulder. Shane nuzzled into him.

“What?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Ilya said, his voice thready. “I’m a mess. Sorry.”

Shane picked his head up again, so he could look at Ilya’s face. “Don’t apologize. It was a big night.” 

Shane privately thought it was kind of endearing that Ilya went in so cocky and was only now reduced to grappling with sharing something so important, even if it was with his team, who were basically like family…if you were doing it right anyway. And Ilya was doing something right because the respect and fondness they had for him was obvious to anyone with eyes.

Shane leaned down and kissed him, and it didn’t take long for it to go from soft and sweet to urgent and messy. Shane took advantage of being on top to kiss his way down Ilya’s jaw, to his neck, smiling to himself at each breathy little moan he managed to wring from him. He moved down further so he could press open-mouthed kisses along his collarbones, then further to his chest, stopping at each nipple so he could scrape his teeth over them, then soothe them with his tongue. Ilya’s head was tipped back into the pillows, one hand in Shane’s hair. He moved down further, trailing his lips down Ilya’s chest to his stomach, then running his tongue through the happy trail starting at his navel, the hair guiding him like a treasure map to his destination. When he finally got there, he took Ilya’s cock into his mouth, and the low moan that escaped him went straight to Shane’s cock. 

Both of Ilya’s hands threaded through his hair, lightly resting, not pushing. Shane moved his mouth up and down, slow at first, taking his time to drag his tongue up the underside, stopping to lick at the tip, around the head, swirling until Ilya’s hips were trying to buck off the bed. Shane was enjoying it, each sound from Ilya driving him. But there was something else he wanted to do, especially tonight, while Ilya was so raw and emotional and maybe needed Shane to take the lead. He pulled off and looked up at him. Ilya’s eyes were dark and staring at him, but his face was soft, lips parted. 

“Can I?” Shane asked, and then dipped his head lower, spreading Ilya’s cheeks, making his intentions clear.

“Yes,” Ilya breathed. “Please.” He pulled his legs back to give him more room.

Shane leaned in, licking over Ilya’s hole, just a quick flick at first. He had never done this before, not even with a girl. The feel of it against his tongue and the way Ilya let out a punch of air made him lean in more, pressing his tongue more firmly, dragging it up and down, swirling it around the tight muscle. He tasted faintly of the soap they’d used earlier. Shane reached up to wrap his fingers around Ilya’s cock again while his tongue kept moving, and one of Ilya’s hands was back in his hair, gripping a little tighter now. Not enough to hurt, but enough to let Shane know he wasn’t as in control of himself as usual, and that made Shane's cock even harder if possible. He could feel Ilya’s hole relaxing under his tongue, little by little, and his cock was leaking more and more.

“Shane,” Ilya said in warning, his fingers tightening a little more in his hair. Shane pulled back and looked up at him. He looked wrecked in a way Shane wasn’t used to, and it sent a surge of heat through him. He crawled back up the bed, knelt beside him, and leaned down to kiss him, and Ilya pushed his tongue into his mouth immediately, hungry and desperate and Shane knew his own cock was leaking too because doing that to Ilya and listening to his needy little noises and being devoured by him was undoing him quickly. He leaned over and grabbed the lube from the nightstand, slicked his fingers, and reached back to press one against his own hole. Ilya watched him, his chest rising and falling faster.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his gaze back on Shane’s face. 

“Was that okay?” Shane asked, trying to focus while he had one finger in himself.

“Fuck yes,” Ilya said. “Thank you.” He leaned up to kiss Shane again, and Shane moaned into his mouth. Ilya kept kissing him and slid one hand between his legs, up his wrist, until he pressed against Shane’s hole too. He pushed one of his fingers in alongside Shane’s and Shane arched his back, sinking down on both of their fingers. 

“Shane,” Ilya breathed, and that was enough. He pulled his finger free, Ilya’s following his, and reached over for a condom. He rolled it onto Ilya’s cock, then quickly slicked it with lube. Ilya was watching him, his eyes hooded, perfect lips red and parted, a soft moan escaping them at the contact. 

Shane moved to straddle him, pausing briefly to ask, “You want to do it this way?”

Ilya huffed a laugh. “Yes. Obviously.”

Shane bit his lip, swung one leg over Ilya’s lap, and then lined himself up with Ilya’s cock in one hand, the other planted on his chest. He sank down slowly, but his own weight and gravity pulled him down quicker than usual, the slight burn taking a few moments to subside. Ilya was watching his face, running a hand up and down his side, even while his own face was pulled tight, in pleasure or restraint or both. When Shane was fully seated, he leaned down to kiss Ilya again, taking his time, wanting to show him without words how much tonight had meant to him and that he wanted to take care of him and all the other things that were too big for words. 

When Ilya started rocking up against him, Shane pulled back. “Impatient tonight?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ilya said through his teeth, lips curved up into a wicked smile. “You are so fucking sexy.” 

Shane lifted himself up and then sank down hard, pulling a low moan from both of them. “Yeah?” Shane asked, voice breathless already.

“Mhm,” Ilya hummed, his gaze drifting down to where their bodies were connected. Shane started moving faster, lifting himself and rolling his hips, both hands on Ilya’s chest now to hold himself up, while Ilya’s hands were gripping his waist, helping him stay steady. “Fuck, Shane,” Ilya breathed, his hips lifting off the bed to thrust up, making their bodies slap together harder, forcing a soft groan from Shane on each impact. 

He tried to keep his gaze on Ilya’s face, to watch those eyes, a swirl of colors that Shane could fall into if he let himself, darker now, his pupils blown wide, eyelids low and fluttering, his lips red and a little swollen from their earlier frantic kisses, shaped into a little O as he panted, letting small sounds of pleasure slip from them, his golden brown hair, still damp but curling now, a few of them plastered to his forehead. But even inside of all that, deeper under the surface, under the heat of desire and the abandon of pleasure was something warm and soft shining from his eyes, spilling out of him in the tender way his hands were curled at Shane’s waist, the way they slid up his side in a soothing gesture every so often, the way his eyes moved rapidly across Shane’s face like he was checking in and making sure he was okay, even while he was half lost to the way their bodies were moving together. Shane melted into it, his own eyes fluttering shut, both because of how good it felt and because he wasn’t sure he could keep watching without letting something slip. 

Ilya started thrusting up faster, and before Shane realized what he was doing, Ilya pulled him closer, wrapped his arms around him, and flipped them both over in one smooth motion, keeping them connected. He leaned in to kiss him and started moving his hips again, leaning down to brace himself against the bed, his mouth moving to Shane’s chest, kissing him in sweet little presses of his lips. Shane could feel the warm, tingly wave starting to spread through his core. He reached down to wrap his fingers around his cock, stroking slowly while Ilya watched.

“You’re close?” Ilya asked, voice rough and low, and Shane could tell he was close too.

Shane nodded. “Almost.”

“Do it,” Ilya leaned down and whispered against his ear. “I want to see it.” Then he leaned up again, eyes on Shane’s hand, which he moved faster now.

It only took a few more strokes before his body went taut, back arching as his release ripped out of him, over his hand and his stomach, and Ilya’s eyes darted quickly from his face to his cock and back, and then he was coming too, just as Shane’s body stopped jerking and his muscles went loose, Ilya’s hips snapped into him faster and then stilled. Shane could feel him pulsing inside of him, and he had just enough strength left to reach up and cradle the side of Ilya’s neck with his clean hand, watching as his face tightened, a low moan slipping from his throat before he whispered Shane’s name and collapsed against him. 

Shane moved his hand up to run through Ilya’s hair while he breathed hard against him. Eventually Ilya rolled off and started to get up, but Shane put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me.”

Ilya looked up at him, his face open and soft, and nodded. Shane gently pulled the condom off of him, which got a small groan from Ilya, and Shane leaned down to kiss him before he got up and cleaned himself off in the bathroom. He brought a damp cloth back to wipe Ilya’s stomach where he’d collapsed into Shane’s mess. Then he hesitated, looking back at Ilya’s face, wondering if he wanted to do the rest himself. He gave a small nod, and Shane used the cloth to wipe his cock clean, carefully, gently pulling his foreskin down and wiping the sensitive skin there too. It felt impossibly intimate, and Shane knew that was ridiculous, considering where his tongue had been earlier, where Ilya’s tongue was often and his cock had been moments ago. And yet somehow this careful thing he was doing because he wanted to take care of Ilya felt like something caught between a confession and a surrender, even if he couldn't voice it. Maybe it was because they were both emotionally raw after the evening with Ilya’s team, but Shane thought maybe it was something much, much more dangerous. For him at least. 

He tossed the cloth and curled against Ilya, who pulled him closer, arms tight around him. He kissed the top of Shane’s head and quietly said, “Thank you.”

“What for?” Shane asked. So many things were bouncing around his head.

“For being you,” Ilya said softly. “For coming with me to the barbecue. And letting me introduce you to my team. And letting me kiss you in front of everyone. And for this.”

Shane shifted so he could look up at Ilya’s face. “This what?”

Ilya’s nose crinkled, and Shane could see the tears filling his eyes. Shane turned over so he was half lying across Ilya’s chest, faces inches apart. “Tell me,” he said, brushing a thumb across Ilya’s jaw. 

“Sorry,” he said, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I don’t know why this fucked me up so much. But I’m happy, I promise.”

Shane nodded. “You came out to your whole team. I know you’re Mr. Nonchalant, but that’s a big fucking deal.” 

“I had to keep that part of myself secret for a long time…for many reasons. So yes, I guess it is.”

“It definitely is. Now what did you mean by ‘for this’?”

Ilya looked at him for a moment, considering. “For making me feel so…” he trailed off, eyes darted away from Shane’s face, tears still there, holding but shining. “Cared for,” he said finally, and Shane could hear the tears in his voice.

Shane leaned down and kissed him softly, letting his fingers trail along his cheek, down to his jaw. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Ilya.”

Ilya sighed and pulled him closer again. 

“I know my opinion means next to nothing, but…I’m really proud of you. For coming out to your team. I think, even more than Hunter maybe, it will mean a lot to a lot of people.”

He could feel Ilya tense up beneath him, and then his hands pushed Shane up, until their faces were inches apart again. And now the tears in Ilya’s eyes had spilled out, leaving tracks from the corners of his eyes. Shane automatically reached up to run a thumb over one, and Ilya grabbed his wrist and kissed his hand.

“Shane,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Your opinion is the only one that means anything to me.”

And now Shane’s eyes were the ones filled with tears, and he didn’t have any words that made sense and wouldn’t ruin this moment so instead he leaned down and kissed him again. This kiss wasn’t messy or frantic; it was heavy but soft, lips barely moving, just anchoring each other against the wave of whatever was rushing between them. When they pulled back, Shane slid off of him, onto his side, and Ilya rolled onto his so they were facing each other. 

Shane rested one hand against the side of Ilya’s head, fingers moving gently through his hair.

“Was tonight okay for you? With the team?” Ilya asked softly.

“Yeah, everyone was really nice. I didn’t expect to feel so…accepted.” He thought about how they’d all asked him questions and seemed to be genuinely interested in getting to know him. No jokes at his expense, only a few at Ilya’s, and they were clearly good-natured. “You’re lucky…you have a good group of guys.”

“I know,” Ilya said, his hand coming up to rest in Shane’s hair, mirroring him. “I am lucky.”

Shane wanted to ask Ilya why he really came to Ottawa, why he needed a change. But the way he was looking at Shane right then, so relaxed and content, eyes a little sleepy, lips pulled into a soft smile…Shane didn’t want to break the spell, so he swallowed it down, saving it for another time. 

Instead, he said, “I get off at 6 tomorrow. I could probably come to the game.”

“Are you asking? Because you don’t have to ask,” Ilya said. “You can always come if you want.”

“Then I’ll be there.

Ilya smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

“Turn over,” Shane said when he pulled back.

Ilya raised his brows in surprise but then did it, so that his back was to Shane, and Shane scooted closer, until his chest was against him, draping an arm over his waist. He pressed his lips to the back of Ilya’s neck, and Ilya sighed and snuggled back into him even more. 

“How are you feeling?” Shane asked. “Adrenaline crash settled?”

“I think so,” Ilya said, voice soft and sleepy. “I feel like I am floating now.” 

Shane kissed his neck again and then reached behind him to turn out the lamp.

“I think that’s a good thing,” Shane said. “But you should probably get some sleep.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight,” Shane said.

“Goodnight.” Ilya turned his head so he could reach Shane’s lips once more, then snuggled back into him and let out a small, contented sigh.

-

Ilya walked into the locker room the next day to a few whistles and shouts, and he couldn’t help the dumb smile plastered on his face. He’d come in a little early to talk to Coach Wiebe and tell him what he’d told the rest of the team since chances of it eventually becoming public knowledge were high. They’d had a really good chat, Wiebe admitting he himself was bisexual, and Ilya had felt…good. Far less alone than he would have in Boston, that he was sure of.

“Do mine eyes deceive me, or is Ilya Rozanov blushing?” Hayes asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Of course not. Russians do not blush,” Ilya said, trying and failing to replace his smile with a scowl. “Shut up.”

“Come on, man, we’re all happy for you,” Hayes said. 

Dykstra walked up and bumped his shoulder. “We don’t care that Shane’s a dude, we’re all just shocked that anyone locked you down.”

“Bet there are going to be a lot of disappointed ladies in every city we visit from now on,” Bood yelled from the bench across from them. 

“Fuck off,” Ilya said. “But yes, probably.” He smirked at them. “Assholes.”

“Lisa wants to add him to the WAG chat,” Hayes said. “She wasn’t sure if that was offensive. What do you think?”

Ilya glanced up at him. Would Shane want that? He was a good sport about meeting everyone, but…their relationship didn’t even have a label. Not that Shane would fit under wife or girlfriend, but was he even the equivalent? He was to Ilya, but that wasn’t the same thing. 

“Ah, maybe not yet, okay?” Ilya said. “He only just met you idiots. Give him a minute. But also, tell Lisa thank you. Maybe soon.”

Hayes was looking at him a little puzzled. “Yeah, of course.”

Practice went by quickly, but Ilya still felt slightly out of sorts. His attention was drifting more than usual, mostly to Shane but also to the previous night and how he maybe wished he could have been free to be himself sooner. But he'd always had his father and Russia and the MLH hanging over his head. And would it have mattered? The truth was, he’d never felt the need to come out because he’d never had anyone in his life who mattered. The occasional hookup with a man, under the cover of darkness, behind closed doors, no names given and none taken. Sasha all those years ago, just the curiosity and danger of youth and forbidden things. He’d been happy enough with women, and he’d certainly had his pick. But this was different. He was different now. Shane was certainly different. And he would make sure Shane knew that.

-

Shane left for work before Ilya got home from practice. He’d taken the BMW, and he hated how familiar that was becoming. He’d slid into the leather seat, turned on the radio, and made it halfway to work before he even thought about the fact that he wasn’t on the bus. And that he wouldn’t have to catch the bus after work to get to the arena. Or to Ilya’s after the game. He sighed because he didn’t know how to feel about it, and really all he wanted to feel was happy because he was and that hadn’t been true for years.

“You’re doing that goofy smile again,” Jen said, leaning against the counter. “You’ve been doing it a lot lately.”

“What?” Shane said, looking up from where he was wiping down the espresso machine. 

“Tell me more about your boyfriend. Why doesn’t he ever come in here?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. And I don’t know...he doesn't live nearby.”

“Mhm,” she said. “What does he do?”

“Oh, um,” Shane’s brain went unhelpfully blank. “He uh…I’m not sure.”

She squinted at him in confusion. “You haven’t asked him about his job?”

Ilya’s team knew about him now. Could he tell someone? But maybe Ilya’s team would keep his secret…and he knew Jen, but not well enough to know if she was a gossip outside of work. 

“I have,” Shane said quickly. “He manages a team of people…like…I don’t know. Boring stuff.”

“Huh,” she said, not looking convinced. “So if he’s not your boyfriend, then what is he?”

Shane shrugged because he’d like to know the answer to that as well. “It’s just casual, you know.” 

“Well, you should tell him to come in here one day so I can be nosy,” she said. “I need to know who is making you smile at your phone like that. He must be packing because I’ve never smiled at my phone like that for a man in my life.”

“Oh god,” Shane said, rubbing his eyes. “Please stop.”

The bell at the door jingled then and two women stepped in. Shane gratefully turned away from Jen and took their orders, his ears still hot.

-

Shane made it to the arena early enough to get in his seat before puck drop. He didn’t recognize anyone else in his section from the barbecue, so he settled in and pulled his phone out. He had an email from Mr. Grenier, and his stomach sank at the subject line: Tuyau qui coule. [leaking pipe]

He quickly read the email in Québécois, still knowing enough to get by for their monthly check-ins. A pipe had burst in the kitchen. Mr. Grenier had turned the water off in time to prevent much damage, but it needed to be fixed sooner rather than later. Shane knew he needed to take care of it before he had the realtor come in. Fuck. Ilya’s money from the painting had dwindled quickly and this would certainly drain the rest of it plus some. He sighed and wrote back to tell Mr. Grenier to go ahead and schedule the plumber and send him the bill. He sank lower in his seat. Maybe he could pick up extra shifts while Ilya was on the road next week. 

His attention was still split as they neared the end of the first period, half on the cottage, half on the game. The score was 0-1, Toronto. Then his attention was suddenly fully on the game and he was on the edge of his seat because Ilya had just hit Dallas Kent hard enough that he was down on the ice, yelling and gesturing wildly. Ilya pulled him up by the front of his jersey, flung off his glove and punched him square in the face. It was taking the refs a suspiciously long time to break them up. By the time one of them had Kent and another had Ilya by the arm, Kent had recovered enough to take a swing, clipping Ilya’s left cheek. 

“Oh god,” Shane muttered. Ilya spat on the ice and had a grin on his face when he turned and winked at Barrett. Then he looked over at Shane and his grin softened, but Shane could already see color blooming where Kent’s hit had landed. He shook his head and leaned back in his seat again while the ref forced Ilya off the ice.

The rest of the game thankfully passed without incident, but they did lose to Toronto. Shane figured that must sting for Troy especially, but also Ilya, considering the Dallas Kent of it all.

On the way back to Ilya’s house, he stopped and got takeout, knowing he couldn’t afford it now and doing it anyway. When Ilya walked in, Shane was waiting for him in the kitchen, opening containers.

“Are you okay?” Shane asked, hand coming up to hover over Ilya’s cheek.

“Yes,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “Barely hurts. Worth it to shut Kent up.”

“What’d he say? To make you hit him.”

“He called Barrett something rude. And then asked if I was protecting my boyfriend.”

Shane shook his head. Kent would have deserved it anyway. “Do you want to put ice on that?” he asked, letting his thumb brush lightly over Ilya’s cheekbone just past the swollen purple spot.

“No, is fine. What is this?” he asked, gesturing at the containers.

“I stopped and picked up shawarma. And a few other things. Sit,” Shane said, pushing him toward a stool. “Is this okay? I should have texted to see what you wanted.

Ilya sat, and Shane grabbed utensils before he slid onto the stool next to him. “This is perfect,” Ilya said, already dragging a huge piece of pita through hummus. “You don’t have to have food waiting for me after games though.”

“I know I don’t have to.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes before Shane decided to broach another subject. “Was everyone cool today? After last night, I mean.”

Ilya nodded. “Yes, very normal. I told Wiebe, just in case it comes out more publicly. He was good about it.”

“Good,” Shane said. “Is Troy planning to come out?”

“I think he will, yes. He’s still working through his own shit though.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

When they were done eating, Shane put the leftovers away and sat back down because Ilya was staring at him intently. 

“What?”

Ilya took a deep breath. “We are boyfriends, yes?”

“What?” Shane said again, surprise pushing his brows up and his voice high.

“I mean…” Ilya trailed off, his tongue swiping nervously across his bottom lip. “When I introduce you to people…is okay to say boyfriend?”

“Oh,” Shane said, his brain still trying to catch up and unhelpfully melting instead. “Uh yeah…is that what you want?”

Ilya laughed. “Hey, remember that time I took you to team barbecue and kissed you in front of everyone?” Shane couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips, and he pushed playfully at Ilya’s thigh. “Of course that’s what I want,” Ilya said, bringing both hands up to cradle Shane’s face, grinning. He leaned forward and pressed a loud smack of a kiss to his lips. 

Shane laughed. “Then yes.”

“Come on,” Ilya said as he stood up and pulled Shane off his stool. 

“What are you doing?”

“I need to fuck my boyfriend.” 

Shane’s chest went all warm and tingly, and he knew he still had a stupid smile on his face, and he couldn’t be bothered to care because Ilya Rozanov was his boyfriend.

-

It didn’t take long for Shane to be grasping at the sheets, gasping, “Ilya, Ilya wait.”

Ilya pulled off his cock, looking up at him. “What?”

“I’m going to come if you keep that up.”

Ilya crawled up to lie on top of him, trapping both their cocks between them. “My boyfriend doesn’t want me to make him come?” he asked, leaning down to kiss him.

“Yes, but I thought you wanted to fuck your boyfriend,” Shane said against his lips.

“Mm, yes,” Ilya said, mock seriously, pulling back enough to look at him. “I did say that. Does my boyfriend want to be fucked?”

“He does.”

Ilya was grinning at him, both of them stupidly giddy, and when he leaned down to kiss him again, they were both smiling against each other's lips. Ilya managed to slick his fingers and push one into him while they were kissing, and Shane moaned into his mouth when he stroked over his prostate. Ilya's lips were on his neck when he pushed a second finger in, kissing down to the curve of his shoulder where he stopped to nip at the sensitive skin there, then back up to suck on his ear, which made Shane moan loudly, his hips rocking on the bed.

“Ilya,” Shane said in warning again. “Please.”

“What?” Ilya said, lifting his head. His mouth was parted, and his lips were red and puffy from kissing, and Shane wanted to lean forward and catch them again. “Too much?”

“Yes.”

Ilya sat up and rolled on a condom before settling himself between Shane’s legs. He pushed in slowly, giving Shane enough time to adjust, then he leaned down and braced his arms against the bed. Shane reached up to run a hand along his jaw but hesitated, not wanting to touch the bruise on his cheek.

“Is okay,” Ilya said, and nuzzled into Shane’s hand like a cat.

“That was pretty hot,” Shane said.

Ilya’s brows went up in question. “Oh?”

Shane nodded and pushed his hips up, drawing a little groan from both of them. “Yeah, watching you lay that asshole out. Very hot.”

Ilya grinned down at him and started thrusting. “You were hard, watching me?”

Shane laughed, even as his eyes rolled back because Ilya shifted his angle. “Maybe.”

“How long? Whole game?”

Shane shook his head, still smiling. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“Mm, maybe I will have to do that more often then.”

“Please don’t,” Shane said, pulling him down into a kiss. “I need your face to stay intact so I can kiss it, okay?” 

“Okay,” Ilya said softly and then kept kissing him and fucking him until they were both breathing too hard and Shane’s fingers were digging into his back.

Shane slid one hand between them so he could stroke himself, his cock so slick with precome it was shiny and flushed, and he was on the verge of coming already. Ilya must have noticed and he started thrusting faster.

“You gonna come for me?” Ilya whispered in his ear.

“Yes,” was all Shane could get out before his cock was spurting in his hand and he was rocking up against Ilya.

“Fuck,” Ilya murmured, pushing his forehead into Shane’s neck as he thrust into him harder and faster until Shane could feel his cock pulse inside him. Then he slowly relaxed on top of Shane, his weight familiar and grounding, and Shane wrapped his arms around him.

“So,” Ilya said, against his neck, his voice still low. “Did your boyfriend do a good job fucking you?”

“Hm,” Shane hummed. “Tell my boyfriend I’ll have to think about it.”

Ilya picked his head up and grinned at him. “I will give you something to think about.” He bent to kiss him, and Shane involuntarily pushed his hips up, making them both groan. Ilya carefully slipped out of him and went to clean up, then brought a cloth back for Shane. 

Ilya stretched out next to him again and ran a hand idly up and down his chest. Shane reached up to brush the curls off his forehead, then trailed one finger down the side of his face. Ilya winced just slightly as he passed the bruise.

“Hurts?”

“Just a little,” Ilya said. “I’ll put ice on it tomorrow.”

“When do you leave for LA?”

“Tomorrow night. But then we fly back after the game the next day.”

Shane nodded. “I was thinking…”

“Yes?” Ilya prompted.

“Maybe we could try skating again.”

Ilya’s brows went up. “Really? You want to?”

“Maybe,” Shane said. “On better ice…just to see.”

Ilya nodded slowly. “Just tell me when.”

“Maybe in a few weeks.”

Ilya kissed him on the forehead, and the sweetness made Shane’s chest even warmer and more melty than it already was.

“Um…that reminds me,” Ilya said after a minute, looking hesitant. “My friend Svetlana wants to come visit.”

Shane opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. “Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

Maybe his brain was still coming down from the afterglow. “What?”

“She is my…” he trailed off, like he was thinking. “My best friend, from home. Russia. But also Boston. She lives in New York now, but she was traveling last time we played there. I haven’t seen her lately.”

Shane just stared up at him. “Okay.”

“Is it okay with you if she visits and stays here for a few days?”

“Ilya,” Shane said, still confused. “Why are you asking me? If you want your friend to visit, obviously she should.”

Ilya’s eyes opened comically wide, brows going up. “Shane,” he said, just the hint of exasperation in his voice. “Boyfriend, remember? I want to make sure you’re comfortable with it. Since you will also be here I think.”

“Oh.”

“I want to introduce you to her...as my boyfriend. Is that okay with you?”

Shane exhaled slowly. Oh. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

Ilya leaned down and kissed him. “Thank you. I think you will like her. She will talk your ear off about hockey though.”

“When is she coming?”

“I have to check. Probably in a few weeks. After next long road trip.”

Shane nodded. “I look forward to meeting her then,” he said with a soft smile. He could tell this was important to Ilya.

As if to confirm, Ilya lay back against the pillows and pulled Shane in close, so his head was resting on Ilya’s chest and he pressed a kiss against his hair.

“I think I’m going to have the realtor out to the cottage a week from Saturday,” Shane said after a while. “But I’m only going to spend one night there. Maybe none, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Ilya said. “I will come with you if you want.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Shane said. “It’ll be boring and hopefully quick.”

“I can see I am going to have to remind you about this boyfriend thing often,” Ilya said. He pinched Shane’s nipple.

“Hey,” Shane said, laughing. “And I know, but that doesn’t mean you have to do every boring thing with me.”

“I want to do boring things with you, Shane,” Ilya said, voice serious now. “All of them.”

Chapter 10: I did my best, it wasn't much

While Ilya was in LA, Shane got another email from Mr. Grenier. The damaged pipe, now fixed, was only the tip of the iceberg. It turned out that even with the quick action by him to turn off the water, there was still water damage to the floor and interior wall, and even worse, some of the other pipes were too old and compromised and had to be replaced asap. It would cost thousands, if not tens of thousands of dollars, depending on the extent. The plumber had only given a best guess, but other contractors would be needed to fully assess.

Shane had been at work when that email came through. He’d asked Jen to cover him while he went in the back and tried not to break down. He had no choice but to sell as is, let someone else take on the repairs. In no world could he afford to deal with it. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was selling anyway. This just moved the timeline up a little. Lowered the price. Nothing he couldn’t live with. He sent a quick email to the realtor, letting her know what the new situation was and reconfirming their meeting the following Saturday.

Back up front, Jen took one look at him and said, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said, waving her away. “Just dealing with some annoying house repair stuff.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “So, it’s not your boyfriend?”

“What?” He looked up at her. “No.”

“Okay, because if he makes you look like that, I’m going to need to meet him out back for a few minutes.”

Shane laughed, grateful for the distraction.

“No, he’s great. I promise.”

“I see you’re not arguing about him being your boyfriend anymore,” she said, lifting her brows at him.

“Oh yeah…I guess not. I think we’re official now.” He could feel his mouth curving up, just thinking about it, pushing the cottage further out of his mind.

“Well, about time. Does that mean I get to meet him now?”

“I’ll ask him if he wants to stop by one day, but no promises,” Shane said, not sure if he’d actually ever do that. He wasn’t ashamed of his job, but…compared to Ilya’s….

“Why not today? Is he at work right now?”

“He’s on a work trip.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “A work trip?”

“Yes, a work trip,” he said, guessing where her tone was going. “He has to travel a lot. It’s not suspicious.”

“Okay,” she said. “Sorry…that was my own bias sneaking in. You remember the guy I told you about? Jason? Yeah, he went on a lot of work trips.”

Shane grimaced. “Right…sorry. That guy sounded like a creep.” 

“He was. Did I tell you about the guy I met at the gym the other day? We’re going out on Friday.”

“No, tell me,” Shane said. He would happily take the distraction from the cottage and from having to decide what he should or shouldn’t say about Ilya, despite their new relationship status.

-

On the flight home from LA, Ilya plopped into the seat next to Troy.

“You look extra happy lately,” Ilya said.

“I do?” 

“You’re smiling right now.”

“I am?” Troy said, pulling his face into something more recognizable, though not as miserable as usual.

“So you finally told Harris, huh?”

Troy glanced over at him, the smile creeping back in. “Uh yeah. I guess.”

“Good for you,” Ilya said. “Going to tell the team?”

Troy nodded. “Eventually. I was thinking maybe on pride night.”

“If you can keep your hands off Harris until then.”

“Shut up,” Troy said. “How did Shane feel about meeting everyone? They all seemed cool after the shock wore off.”

“I think good. He likes everyone. They’re already trying to add him to the WAG chat. Maybe Harris can join too.”

Troy snorted. “Jesus.” Then, “Shane knows hockey.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, he used to play. But keep that to yourself, Barrett. If he wants to tell people, he can.”

Troy looked over at him, curious. “Really?”

Ilya glanced over at him. “It’s his story to tell.”

“Got it.”

“Maybe you and Harris can come over for dinner soon?” Ilya thought it might be nice for both of them. Shane could probably use a friend like Harris anyway.

“Sure, yeah. That would be…” he sounded apprehensive, but not disinterested. “I’ll ask Harris. He’s kind of obsessed with Shane’s paintings.”

Ilya’s stomach dipped a little at that. He hadn’t looked at Shane’s instagram yet. He’d typed in his username several times, but couldn’t bring himself to pull up the page. He wasn’t even sure why.

“Is that so?” Ilya said, standing up to go back to his seat. “Tell Harris he can only come if he brings Chiron.” 

Back in his seat, he pulled out his phone and sent Shane a text. The team jet had WiFi, so iMessage worked between their phones.

Ilya: coming over tonight?

A couple of minutes later, a notification popped up.

Shane: Yeah, I get off at 6. Home already?

Ilya looked at the time. It was 2:00 in Ottawa. 

Ilya: still in the air
Ilya: another hour

Shane: Want me to bring dinner over?

Ilya: no, just yourself

Shane: Okay…gotta go for now. See you tonight. Miss you.

Ilya smiled and closed the message, then opened his Netflix app. He pressed play on some reality show about home renovation and let it distract him until they got back to Ottawa.

-

Shane had barely raised his hand to knock on the front door when Ilya swung it open and pulled him into a hug.

“Hi,” he said, closing the door behind them. “Come on, I made dinner.”

Shane followed him to the kitchen, where two pizzas were waiting on the counter.

“You made these?” Shane asked.

“Well, I cheated and bought premade dough. But I put all the other stuff on them,” he said, leaning against the counter. He pointed at the one on the left. “Pepperoni, Italian sausage, onions, peppers.” Then at the one on the right. “Basil, tomatoes, parmesan, olive oil.” 

“You didn’t have to do this after being on a plane half the day,” Shane said. “But this looks amazing.”

“Good,” Ilya said. “Let’s eat.”

Shane grabbed a slice of each and sat at the island.

“Before I forget,” Ilya said from across the counter. “Here.”

He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out. A key.

“What’s this for?” Shane asked between bites.

“So we don’t have to pass a key back and forth anymore. You can just let yourself in anytime.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s easier, I guess,” Shane said, pocketing the key. It sat in his pocket like a warm weight, pulling him down deeper into whatever he was still fighting against.

“I mean it…anytime. Even when I’m on the road, you can stay here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Shane said, knowing he wouldn’t be doing that. “Thanks.”

“I’m pretty sure Troy and Harris are fucking finally,” Ilya said, grinning over his pizza.

“What? Really?”

“Mhm…Troy was smiling like an idiot the last couple of days. I didn’t ask for details, but…seems official. We can have them over for dinner soon. If that’s okay?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, that would be nice. I like them.”

“I also talked to Svetlana.”

Shane looked up at him. “Oh?”

“She can come in a few weeks. End of February.”

“Okay,” Shane said. “How long is she staying?”

“Four days I think. She’ll come to the Montreal game that weekend. You will have a seatmate for once,” he said, smiling. “If you can go.”

“I’ll make sure I can,” Shane said. He could tell it was important to Ilya.

“Thank you.” Ilya got up and slid his arms around Shane from behind for a moment. Then he took their plates to the sink and turned around to face him again. He took a deep breath and said, “I need you to know…Svetlana and I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We used to be lovers.”

Those words hit Shane like a light punch to the gut. He knew Ilya had been with other people, a lot of other people. But knowing that and having one of them come to stay in your boyfriend’s house for four days were two very different things. 

“It’s not like that anymore,” Ilya said quickly. “And it hasn’t been for a while. She’s like family to me. The only family I…” he trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The only family I care about,” he said finally, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before.”

Shane nodded slowly, not sure what to say. “Does she know about me?”

“She knows there is someone, yes.”

“And she’s okay with that…coming to visit you and having to meet me?”

Ilya pushed off from the counter and walked around the island, spinning Shane’s stool until their knees were touching.

“She might be family, but she doesn’t get a say in this. You are part of my life now.” He gripped Shane’s chin lightly, tilting it up. “Okay?”

Shane nodded, his eyes suspiciously wet.

“But…she wants to meet you. So you don’t have to worry about that anyway.”

Ilya leaned down and kissed him, soft and sweet. 

“She is kind of pushy though. You can tell her to shut up anytime.”

Shane huffed a laugh. “Alright.”

“Hey,” Ilya said, still holding his chin. “I mean it okay? There was never anything romantic between us. We grew up together, and she’s been there for me through a lot of shit. But you are the most important person in my life.” He moved his hand up Shane’s jaw, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “Are you sure you’re still okay with her coming here? Because if not, I need you to tell me.”

“I’m okay with it,” Shane said softly. And he mostly meant it. Maybe it was Ilya’s words making him crumble, making his chest feel all warm and fluttery, but… “I want to meet her. If she’s important to you.”

Ilya bent down and hugged him. “Thank you.” 

Shane leaned into it. He felt raw. Ilya’s words had cut through the tiny thread that was holding him together today. The realtor had emailed him back and told him she’d work on getting everything ready to list the cottage. They’d do the walkthrough, he’d look all the details over, and then it’d go up. He’d made it clear there was urgency now. He needed it to be out of his hands before anything else went wrong. He was nearly in the negative already, and he hadn’t even paid Mr. Grenier his usual monthly fee yet. 

“I missed you,” Ilya said, still wrapped around him.

“I missed you too.” His voice was shaky, and Ilya noticed. He pulled back, eyes scanning Shane’s face.

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to tell her no?”

“No,” Shane said. “No, not at all. Sorry. It’s been a bit of a day.”

“What happened?”

Shane swallowed hard. “I’m putting the cottage up for sale now. Instead of waiting.” 

Ilya’s eyes went wide. “What? Why?”

“There are some issues with the pipes. A leak that did some damage. And they found more pipes that need to be replaced. It’s a mess. I’m selling as is.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Ilya asked, concern in his voice.

Shane shrugged. “I don’t have any other choice. And maybe it’ll be better to just get it over with. So I don’t have to think about it anymore.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Shane said with a small smile. “Take me to bed?”

Ilya was looking at him with a soft, worried smile. “I can do that.”

-

Ilya had a game the day Shane was going to meet the realtor at the cottage. Shane was leaving from his house and taking the BMW.

“I need to get going so I’ll be there on time,” Shane said, watching Ilya move around the kitchen. 

“You will be back here tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably stop at home first.”

“Okay, drive safe,” Ilya said, walking over to give him a long kiss goodbye. 

“Good luck tonight. I’ll probably have to wait until tomorrow to see how it goes.” 

“That’s okay. Call me on your way back tomorrow. When you get reception. The BMW has built in bluetooth.”

“Uh, okay,” Shane said. “I’ll see if I can figure that out.” He leaned in and kissed Ilya once more before heading out.

The drive to the cottage provided too much time to think about the cottage. The cottage that would soon no longer be his. Back to being nothing but a memory, lost amongst a boxful of them, each sharper than the next, just waiting for him to stick his hand inside so it could slice him open again. 

He pulled into the gravel driveway out front and headed inside to wait for the realtor. When he stepped inside, he expected to be hit hard with the grief he’d been feeling only moments ago, but instead, he saw Ilya cooking pasta for him, Ilya holding him on the couch, Ilya moving behind him the bed, Ilya holding him together while he packed up the pieces of his life that no longer existed. And he smiled because those memories now lived alongside the ones from his childhood, and they were joyful, even if they were touched by grief. His smile faded when he realized those memories were going in the box too. They couldn’t stay here in this place that was only worth whatever someone else would pay for the broken pieces. 

Shane heard tires on the gravel out front and opened the door. The realtor, Mary Lapointe, stepped out of a white sedan and made her way up the steps.

“Shane,” she said warmly. “It’s nice to meet you in person.”

Shane shook her hand. “ You too. Thanks for coming.”

“Alright,” she said, following him inside. “I think I’ve got everything ready to go, I just need to fill in a few things.”

They went to the kitchen first.

“I see where the floor is starting to warp from the leak,” she said, pointing with her pen.

“Yeah, that was really bad timing,” Shane said, having a hard time looking at it.

“It is unfortunately going to add up, with that and the wall damage and the pipes. I’m sure any potential buyer will want their own assessment done, to make sure we’ve factored everything in appropriately.”

“I understand.”

“How old is the water heater?”

“Uh,” Shane said. “It hasn’t been replaced that I know of, so over fifteen years.”

She nodded. “That will also pull the price down. Usually I’d recommend replacing it before the sale, but if you want to sell as is, it’ll be another line item to subtract. The roof as well.”

Shane sighed. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, this is a great piece of property. Whether someone buys it to renovate or as a teardown,” she shrugged, holding her hands up in front of her. “Either way, there will be interest.”

Shane swallowed hard. A teardown. 

“Okay, so,” she said, heading for the kitchen table. “I pulled some comparable sales and other cottages in the area. I’ve got a draft listing ready to go. All we have to do is tweak based on what we find today. Let’s go ahead and walk the rest of the house, then I’ll show you what I’ve got. Okay?”

Shane nodded. “Sure.”

They walked through each of the rooms, then outside around the property. She pointed out a few other things that buyers would note. Mostly some areas where things were just a little rundown, but would be significant updates if he were to fix them.

Back inside, they both took a seat at the table.

“So, before we proceed. You’re sure you want to sell as-is, where-is? No repairs other than the leak that was fixed and no updates?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I can’t do any of that. I just need the property out of my hands.”

“I understand,” she said kindly. “I’ll need to get some additional information on the property, like septic, last date of service, etc. etc. Any paperwork you have on property taxes. I’ll have someone out either tomorrow or Monday to take photos. We should be able to get a listing up within the next week.”

“Okay,” Shane said. “Mr. Grenier will have the information about the property and I’ll send what I can by email.”

They talked a little longer about the specifics, then Mary stood to leave.

“I know this probably isn’t how you pictured this going,” she said. “But don’t worry. We’re going to get it listed and get this moving for you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

He walked her out and watched her drive off. Then he flopped down on the couch and pressed his hand over his eyes hard, trying to hold back the flood of disappointment, regret, grief...everything at once and no one was here to hold him together.

-

Ilya was in a bad mood after the game. They’d lost. It had been close and a few stupid mistakes had cost them. He patted everyone on the back anyway, praised their successes, told them they’d do better next time, then stood under the hot water in one of the shower stalls until his skin was red and his head was quiet. He wanted to call Shane, but he knew he wouldn’t get through while he was at the cottage.

He thought of Shane’s instagram page on the drive home. Maybe he would finally look at it. He wasn’t sure what he was saving it for, but tonight, while he felt empty and Shane was two hours away, felt like the right time. He drove through his broken gate, pulled into the garage, and went inside, dropping his bag by the stairs on his way to the bedroom.

The lamp in the bedroom was on. Ilya didn’t remember leaving it on, but figured he probably had. Until he stepped in to see Shane lying on the bed, on top of the covers, wearing a pair of Ilya’s light gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, curled up asleep. Ilya’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt his eyes burn, seeing him here in his bed. His face was so relaxed, so peaceful, Ilya almost didn’t want to wake him.

He stepped up carefully next to the bed and ran a hand lightly through his hair. Shane stirred, eyes blinking open.

“Hey,” he said sleepily, sitting up. “Hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

Ilya sat next to him and pulled him into a hug.

“Of course it is. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“I saw the score,” he said. “Close. Must have been a rough one?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane said, squeezing him tighter.

Ilya pulled back to look at him. “I thought you were staying at the cottage tonight.”

Shane shrugged. “I just couldn’t.”

“How did it go with the realtor?”

Shane’s eye darted away, and Ilya could see they were shiny.

“It was fine. She was really nice. We’ll probably have it listed sometime in the next week.”

Ilya’s eyes went wide with surprise, and his stomach dropped so hard he almost leaned forward. The cottage would be sold soon and then Shane would have no reason to stay in Ottawa. He’d go back to Vancouver to finish school, and Ilya wouldn’t be able to go with him. Not that Shane would want that. Maybe they could do long distance. Just the thought of it made him want to sob. 

“That’s fast,” was all he could manage.

“Yeah, well…it has a lot of issues, more than I considered. The quicker the better. All I have to do is finish packing. I’m going to do that on Monday since I’m off. Drive up early, stay until I’m done. I’m off Tuesday too, in case I need more time.”

“Do you want me to come help?”

“No,” Shane said. “You have practice Monday, right? I’ll be fine. Not much left to do.”

“I would skip if you need me.”

“No, no. Don’t do that. Your team needs you.”

Ilya wanted to tell him that he didn’t care and he’d choose Shane over them. But he knew that was crazy. Even if it was true. Instead he asked, “What will you do with all the boxes and furniture?”

“I’m just going to have it all hauled away. I need to call around and see who can do it out there.”

“Away? Like…garbage?”

Shane nodded. “I don’t have anywhere else for it to go.”

“You can put it here for now.”

Shane’s face went from surprise to disbelief to something else in very quick succession. “No, that’s okay. It’s really not a big deal.”

“I have several empty rooms. I do need to furnish one of them before Svetlana comes,” he said, making a mental note. “But there are more. Plus the garage. It will not be in the way at all, I promise. And then you’ll have time to go through it properly .”

Shane was already shaking his head. “I appreciate it, but I—”

“Shane,” Ilya cut him off. “Please let me help. Boyfriends remember?”

Shane sighed, but he was smiling now. “Maybe.”

Ilya shook his head. “Not maybe.” He pulled his phone out. “Come on, let’s do this right now. We will find a service that will pick everything up and bring it here.”

“What?” Shane said, grabbing his wrist. “No. I’ll take care of that.”

Ilya gave him a pointed look. “I’m doing it.”

“Ilya.”

“Shane.”

“I was just going to find whatever the cheapest option is. Which is probably going to be some random local with a truck.” 

“No,” Ilya said. “Let me do this one thing, okay? I can’t come help you pack, but I can do this.”

Shane let out a long breath. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Ilya said, leaning in to kiss him. “Now was that so hard?”

Shane rolled his eyes. Ilya climbed further onto the bed and stretched out next to him, and they sat there, going through different moving companies until they found one with availability on Tuesday that covered the necessary territory. Ilya filled out all the details, including payment, while Shane complained, but in the end, Ilya won. The pickup and dropoff were scheduled. He had done it for Shane’s benefit, because he couldn’t stand to see Shane throw away what was left of that house and his parents, but maybe also selfishly, because it would keep Shane here, in his house, for a little longer. He hoped anyway.

“Thank you for doing this,” Shane said. “Even though it really wasn’t necessary.”

Ilya just leaned over and kissed him. When he finally had everything squared away, he put his phone aside and rolled on top of Shane and kissed him again.

“I really am glad you’re here,” he said, leaning down to suck on the sensitive spot below his ear.

“Me too.” Shane moaned, his neck stretching, giving Ilya more room.

Ilya took his time, moving his mouth slowly up and down Shane’s neck, kissing, sucking, nipping until Shane was pushing his hips up off the bed, his hard cock rubbing against Ilya’s. 

“Eager tonight?” Ilya murmured against his throat before scraping his teeth down the side of it. 

“Yes,” Shane moaned, his hips still moving. Ilya ignored that and kept up what he was doing, making his way back up to Shane’s right ear, stopping to suck on the lobe and then trailing his tongue up the shell of it. “Jesus,” Shane breathed. 

“You like that huh?” Ilya whispered directly into his ear, which got another push of his hips and a shiver down his body. “Oh yes,” Ilya laughed softly, still keeping his mouth close. “You do.” 

He licked along Shane’s ear again before dragging his lips back down, sucking a spot behind his ear, then moving down to the curve of his neck. He bit there a little harder, and Shane whimpered and rocked against him. 

“I might just do this until you come,” Ilya said, leaning up to look at his face. Shane’s eyes were dark and fluttering, his lips parted, hair still sticking up a little from how he’d been sleeping earlier.

“Ilya,” he whined. 

“What?”

“Please.”

Ilya kissed his lips briefly, then dipped his head again, kissing his way along Shane’s neck to the other side, pressing his tongue against that soft skin, dragging his teeth before soothing it with his lips. He sucked on his left ear the same way as his right, until Shane was writhing beneath him. Ilya couldn’t get enough of the breathy, needy little noises he was making, the way he was rubbing his cock against him. 

When he finally pulled back, Shane was rocking up against him even harder. Ilya shifted off of him and looked down to see a dark wet spot on Shane’s sweatpants. 

“Look at you,” he said, reaching down to run his finger across the slick precome leaking through. “So wet.”

Shane looked down at it, then threw his head back against the pillow and covered his eyes with his forearm and groaned. But it sounded more like embarrassment than pleasure.

Ilya grabbed him by the wrist and pulled his arm down until he could see his eyes. “What's wrong?” 

Shane huffed a laugh. “I don’t know. Fuck.”

“I love this,” Ilya said, rubbing Shane’s cock through the soft material, thumb sliding over the wet spot. “Love that I can do that to you.”

He bent and put his lips against it now, mouthing the head of Shane’s cock through the material, tasting the salty precome and making the wet spot bigger. 

“Oh fuck,” Shane breathed, and it turned into a moan at the end because Ilya took more of him into his mouth, breathing out so he could feel the warmth through the material. Shane’s hips were pushing against him, and Ilya held him down with one hand on his thigh. 

Eventually Shane said, “Ilya,” in warning, and Ilya stopped. He looked up at Shane, flushed and wrecked and perfect. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled them down to his knees. 

“Turn on your side,” he said, patting Shane’s thigh and nodding away from him. Shane did, and Ilya grabbed the lube and then got behind him. He slicked his cock, adding more until it was nearly dripping, and then more to his hand. Shane looked over his shoulder to see what Ilya was doing. 

Instead of telling him, he scooted closer until his chest was pressed against Shane’s back, pulling him closer by the hip until his cock was nestled against his ass. Then he pushed it between Shane’s thighs, sliding against and past his balls as far as he could go. He pulled back, his cock sliding perfectly, rubbing against Shane's hole, and then pushed through again, harder. Once he had a good rhythm going, he reached around with the hand he’d poured lube in and wrapped his fingers around Shane’s cock. Eventually he managed to match the rhythm of his hand to that of his hips, so every time he pushed his cock through Shane’s thighs, he stroked up on Shane’s cock. 

“This okay?” he asked, pressing his lips against Shane’s neck. 

Shane nodded and pushed his head further into the pillows. Ilya figured that meant he wanted more. He smiled against Shane’s neck and then sucked on the spot, kissing further up behind his ear. Shane moaned and pushed back against him, squeezing his thighs tighter around Ilya’s cock, which got an answering moan from him. He kept thrusting between Shane’s thighs, stroking his cock, kissing his neck, wringing all kinds of filthy, delicious noises from him. 

“God,” Ilya whispered against his ear. “You’re so hot like this.”

He leaned up so he could see his cock jutting through the front of Shane’s thighs. The sight of it pulled a groan from his throat. For a non-athlete, Shane had some of the sexiest thighs Ilya had ever seen. Thick, muscled, a light dusting of dark hair. Perfect for holding onto. Perfect for fucking. 

He stayed propped up, watching his cock, Shane’s cock, Shane’s face, wanting to watch them both come. Shane went first, Ilya made sure of it. He felt Shane’s body go taut against him, his hips pushing his cock more insistently into Ilya’s fist. He stroked him faster, angled his own cock so it bumped harder against Shane's taint, and watched Shane’s cock erupt over his hand. He looked down at Shane’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut, mouth open, perfect lips parted, letting out a sexy moan that had Ilya’s own hips pumping faster until his release tore out of him, in the tight space between Shane’s thighs, slicking the way even more as he rocked a couple more times, then stilled behind him. 

He leaned his cheek against Shane’s shoulder for a moment, giving himself a second to recover. Then he leaned down and kissed Shane, who turned his head and kissed him back.

“I made a mess of you,” Ilya said.

Shane looked down at himself, cum on his stomach, dripping from his thighs. He gave a short laugh and looked back up at Ilya.

“Sorry,” Ilya said, kissing him again.

“I’m not complaining,” Shane said, his cute, crooked smile on his face.

“The least I can do is clean you up,” he said. “Come on.”

He got off the bed and pulled Shane up and toward the bathroom. In the shower, he lathered up a washcloth and washed him clean. 

“Tonight was much better than I thought it was going to be,” Ilya said, making him turn around so he could wash his back. “I’m glad you drove back.”

“Me too,” Shane said. “But I’m sorry you guys lost. How’d Troy do?”

“Good. He’s been playing really well. I think he’s finally getting out of his own head.”

Shane nodded. “That’s great.”

“Why are you asking about Troy?”

“I don’t know. I was reading more about him calling out Kent about the sexual assault. I knew he did, but I hadn’t read the accounts from the women. It’s awful…I can’t believe he’s still playing at all.”

“I know. It’s bullshit. The league protects pieces of shit like him when they should be protecting people like Hunter. And Barrett. That asshole commissioner Crowell. If I ever see him, I’ll let him know exactly what I think.”

Shane turned around to look at him. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

Ilya shrugged. “I don’t care. What’s he going to do to me? I’m one of his star players. Not even Lemaire can get away with what I can.”

Shane shook his head, smiling. “I know. Come on, Mr. Star Player. Turn around. My turn,” Shane said, taking the washcloth from him. 

-

On Monday morning, Shane drove to the cottage. He knew this was likely the last time he’d make this drive. He was planning to stay the night, so he’d be there when the movers came the next day. Then he would lock up, leave the key for the realtor, and never come back. He was feeling about as bad as he figured when he finally pulled into the gravel drive. His emotions were all over the place. Sad, yes, but also angry, because it seemed unfair that he had no choice in the matter. He either sold now, before things piled up more, or he’d be forced to sell because he owed too much in property taxes. No one cared that he once lost a tooth here because he fell while playing hide and seek with his dad and the tooth fairy left him $50. No one cared that his mom taught him how to swim in the lake. No one cared that they used to sit around the fire pit and roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories that would keep Shane up all night until he finally crawled into bed with his parents and they soothed him to sleep. And no one, except him and Ilya, cared that Ilya had driven here on New Year’s Eve after a game just to hold him. The cottage was just numbers in a spreadsheet now, and a box of memories Shane was too scared to dig through.

He decided to tackle his parents’ bedroom first. He needed to get it out of the way so he could focus on the rest of the house. After he kicked his shoes off with a little smile, he walked down the hallway and stood in front of their closed door. He turned the doorknob slowly, counting to ten in his head, trying to push away the tears that were already forming.

He pushed the door open to reveal a slightly bigger room than his, a bed centered against the wall on the left, a dresser across from it, a rocking chair in one corner, leftover from when Shane was just a baby and Yuna had rocked him to sleep in it. The window on the far wall was letting in late morning light, a mote of dust hanging in it, the only spectators of the absence of life here. Shane stepped inside. The quilt on the bed was familiar, navy and white and grey. How many times had he curled up under it, between Yuna and David, when he’d had a nightmare or a fever or just didn’t want to be alone. He pulled it off the bed and folded it up, ignoring the cloud of dust. He went back into the living room to get one of the empty boxes and set the quilt carefully inside. Then he pulled off the rest of the bedding and opened the dresser drawers. There was hardly anything in them. They didn’t keep a lot here, and they had already left for the summer when it happened. That made it easier.

He finished packing up their room, the photos on top of the dresser the hardest of all. Their wedding photo, a family portrait taken when Shane was five, a picture of Yuna and David in Japan, visiting the city Shane’s grandparents were born in, both of them grinning widely. Shane had cried while holding those. He folded the sheets from the bed around them carefully, making sure they wouldn’t be damaged in the truck. When he was done, he moved on to the rest of the house, stopping long enough to eat a protein bar. And he laughed because he knew Ilya would shake his head at him for still not bringing real food. When the sun had done down, and his eyes were red and burning from dust and tears, he stripped down and crawled into his bed one last time.

-

The next day, the movers showed up on time, and Shane watched them load the last pieces of this part of his life into the bed of a truck and drive away with them. Then he locked the door, put the key under a fake rock in the garden, and followed them. He looked back in the rearview mirror as he drove away, and the briefest glimpse of his parents, standing on the top step of the rock stairs leading up to the front door flashed in his mind. David putting an arm around Yuna, both of them smiling, and Shane liked to think that maybe that’s what they would be doing, if they could see him now. Maybe they would be happy for him, that he had Ilya in his life. That he was going to try to go back to school. That he was trying to find a way to move on after living like a ghost for the past year. He tried not to think about whether they’d be disappointed that he was gay, that he had quit hockey, that he was working a job that barely paid him enough to exist. He shook his head. He knew his parents. They had loved him unconditionally…he had never doubted that. 

He cried for the first hour of the drive to Ilya’s house. Silent tears that he barely felt unless he reached up and wiped them away. When he finally pulled into Ilya’s driveway, nearly at the same time as the moving truck, he had pushed everything away and was calm and steady when he got out to direct them to one of the spare rooms on the first floor. They placed the few pieces of furniture and neatly stacked the boxes. Shane had decided not to keep any of the beds and only some of the other furniture. He’d been able to get the movers to put what he didn’t want out for pickup, making it much easier to fit the rest in just one bedroom at Ilya’s. 

Ilya was in Buffalo for a game. He’d be back late that night. Shane decided to stay, wanting to be there when he got home. He was exhausted anyway, emotionally if not physically. They’d texted after the game, and then Shane had taken a shower and gone to bed, knowing Ilya would wake him in a few hours.

-

Shane woke the next morning to Ilya pressed against his back, warm and familiar. He must have shifted too much because Ilya stirred and stretched behind him, then pulled him closer with his arm around his waist.

“Morning,” Ilya said, voice thick with sleep.

“Morning. You didn’t wake me last night.”

“You were sleeping too soundly. You didn’t even move when I got in,” Ilya said. “I let you sleep.”

“Thanks,” Shane said, turning over to face him. “But I would have been happy to see you.”

Ilya smiled. “You’re seeing me now.”

Ilya turned to lie on his back, and Shane scooted in close so he could rest his head on Ilya’s chest.

“How did it go at the cottage?”

“Fine,” Shane said. “It’s done.”

“You don’t need to go back at all?”

“No, the realtor will take care of everything from here. Whenever we get to the point of closing, I’ll meet her at her office probably.”

“How are you feeling about that?”

Shane shrugged against him. “Too many things.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ilya asked, running a hand through Shane’s hair, the touch soothing and sweet and making his eyes burn.

“Not really. It’s just hard, you know? That place held a lot of memories. But I’m glad you got to see it…be there at least once. It was nice,” Shane said, reaching up to rub his eyes.

“Me too,” Ilya softly.

“I need to get ready for work,” Shane said, even though he wanted to stay in this bed forever, wrapped around Ilya, who made him almost forget what he’d left behind yesterday.

“Call in sick,” Ilya said, his voice teasing.

“I wish.” Shane sat up and kissed his forehead, and Ilya’s eyes fluttered shut and Shane’s heart fluttered open. “But I can come back tonight. If you want me to.”

“I always want you.”

-

Later, while Shane was at work, during a lull in customers, his phone buzzed.

Ilya: do you still want to skate again?

Shane stared at the message for a bit before responding. Did he? He’d be lying if he said no. He’d been thinking about it, the way it felt to be back on the ice, even the rough ice of the Rideau. He liked the way it felt, and also hated it. 

Shane: I think so. Why?

Ilya: how about on sunday?

That was only five days away. He still felt raw from the cottage, and he wasn’t sure if this would dig the blade in deeper or staunch the bleeding. He pulled up his work schedule. Off.

Shane: Okay, sure.

Ilya: Wiebe is going to do me a favor and extend our practice on the practice facility’s schedule but everyone will leave at normal time
Ilya: we’ll have an hour
Ilya: is that ok?

Shane: He’s cool with that?

Ilya: yes, promise

Shane: Okay, let’s do it.

Shane’s chest felt all tangled up, but he was smiling and thinking about skating next to Ilya.

-

When he got back to Ilya’s house that evening, the house smelled like tomato sauce and garlic and bread, and Shane’s mouth was watering already. He walked into the kitchen to see Ilya at the stove, stirring something in a big pot.

“Hey,” he said, stepping up next to him. “What are you cooking?”

Ilya leaned over and kissed him, then said, “I made meatballs and spaghetti. And garlic bread.”

“Holy shit,” Shane said. “That looks delicious.”

“Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving.”

“Good,” Ilya said. “Sit.”

Ilya brought him a plate and Shane didn’t even wait for him to dig in.

“How is it?” Ilya asked, setting his own plate down and sitting on the stool next to him.

“So good,” Shane said, talking with his mouth full and not caring.

“First time I make this,” Ilya said. 

“Well, you’d never know. You could be a chef if you ever get tired of hockey.”

Ilya laughed. “Private chef only.”

When they were done and the plates were in the dishwasher and the leftovers were put away, Ilya led Shane into the living room.

“I have something for you,” he said, looking at Shane nervously.

“What is it?”

Ilya picked up a red box from under the coffee table. Shane knew his face was not doing what Ilya wanted it to do. He could feel it and didn’t even want to stop it, except that Ilya’s face fell, and his sad eyes were going to undo Shane before he even got a chance to be mad.

“Ilya, no. Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Why? You agreed to go.”

“Yes, in a pair of rented skates. Not brand new CCM skates.”

“Just try them. Please.”

He set the box down and opened it, and Shane might not be a hockey expert anymore but he knew those were not the cheap ones. Those were top of the line hockey skates. He shook his head.

“You can’t just buy me $1000 skates.”

“Why can’t I? I have a brand deal with them still. Big discount.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Shane,” he pleaded. “Please. I wanted you to have good skates. Comfortable. Not like the rented skates that are twisted ankles waiting to happen.”

“It’s too much,” Shane said.

“You know it’s not.”

Fuck. He did know that logically. This was nothing to Ilya. He could buy Shane a pair for every day of the year and probably not feel the dent at all, while Shane was counting pennies and wondering if he could pay his rent on time this month. And now his anger was leaking out of his eyes. 

“Hey,” Ilya said, stepping in close and swiping a thumb under his eye. “I’m sorry. I’ll get rid of them.”

“No,” Shane said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ilya pulled Shane in by the waist and hugged him. “I should have asked. I just wanted you to have a good time.”

“I know.”

“And I want to buy things for my boyfriend. I’ve never had anyone to buy things for.”

Shane let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Ilya leaned back and looked at him. “If you don’t want them, it’s okay. We can rent some again.”

“No. I’ll wear them. I’m sorry,” Shane said.

“Don’t apologize. I think maybe I am not good at being a boyfriend,” Ilya said with a sad smile. 

Shane shook his head. “That’s not true at all. You’re perfect. I’m the one who isn’t.” 

Ilya leaned in until their foreheads were touching. “You are perfect. Maybe we just need more practice.” 

Shane smiled, blinking the tears away, feeling embarrassed now. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Let’s watch a movie,” Ilya said. “We can worry about these later.” He closed the red box and slipped it back under the coffee table, out of sight.

Ilya sat on the couch and held an arm out until Shane curled around him, and everything felt right in the world again.

Chapter 11: He broke your throne and cut your hair

On Sunday morning, Shane drove to the Centaurs’ practice facility in the BMW and sat in the parking lot, waiting for Ilya to text him that it was all clear. At his request, no one other than Wiebe knew what they were doing because Shane didn’t want anyone to hang around and see him skate. He barely wanted Ilya to see. His phone buzzed.

Ilya: everyone is gone
Ilya: come around to the back door

Shane grabbed his bag out of the back, heavy with the new skates, and walked around the back where Ilya was waiting and smiling, sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, excitement clear on his face.

“Ready?” he asked. 

“As ready as I can be,” Shane said, still half doubting this decision. 

He followed Ilya down a hallway and through a few more doors until they were in a locker room. The smell of sweat and deodorant hit him strangely. He’d been in other locker rooms since his hockey days…but this was different. Gross certainly, but familiar in a way regular gym locker rooms were not. 

Ilya had stopped in the doorway, just watching him.

“Do you want me to skate with you?” he asked. Shane could see his skates sitting by a stall.

“Of course.”

“Okay,” Ilya said. “Skates on.”

Shane pulled the skates out and slipped the first one on. It felt good. The difference between these and the rentals was significant, one scratching and flimsy, the other smooth and sturdy.

“These are really nice,” he said quietly. “Thank you for getting them. Sorry I was ungrateful.”

“Hey,” Ilya said, walking over to him. “It’s okay.”

Shane bent to tighten the laces and Ilya knelt in front of him, pushing his hands away. “Let me.”

He fiddled with the laces, starting at the bottom and working his way up, until they were molded around Shane’s ankle, tight enough to be supportive but still comfortable, like the best kind of hug. Shane wanted to tell Ilya he didn’t need to do that. He figured Ilya was still trying to atone for the perceived mistake, and Shane also wanted to tell him he had nothing to atone for. But it was sweet, and maybe he just liked seeing Ilya on his knees in front of him.

“Good?” Ilya asked, starting on the other one.

“Perfect,” Shane said, stretching his leg out and flexing.

Ilya finished tightening the other one and then put his own skates back on. They made their way out of the locker room into the blessedly empty practice rink. Ilya stepped onto the ice first and skated a little way out, giving Shane room. He hesitated just for a moment, his eyes sweeping around the large room. There were no stands here, just the boards and the clear plexiglass and the windowed walls behind them. The ice hadn’t been resurfaced after the Centaurs had their practice, but it was smooth enough.

Shane took a deep breath of cold air, set one foot onto the ice, and pushed off. Even more than the Rideau, this felt like coming home. Shane was unprepared for the way his body hummed with each stride, as if electricity flowed up through the ice, the blades, pushing him forward in place and backward in time.

He did a quick lap around the perimeter, while Ilya stood in the middle watching him, a huge smile on his face that he was clearly trying to control by biting his bottom lip. Shane skated over to him, and Ilya grabbed his hand.

“Well?” Ilya asked.

Shane knew he was smiling, could feel his lips curving up. “It feels good.”

“Do you want to just skate or…” Ilya’s eyes darted over to the bench. “We could pass a puck around?”

Shane meant to say no. To tell Ilya he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t ready to handle a stick or a puck, had forgotten how that felt and wanted it to stay that way. “Yes,” he said, the word slipping out before he could catch it.

Ilya’s smile was too big, and Shane was already skating after him, toward the two sticks that were leaning against the other side of the boards. 

“Nothing fancy,” Ilya said. “Since we are not wearing gear.”

“You were pretty confident huh?” Shane asked, his voice light. “That I’d want to do that.” He nodded to the sticks, the puck. 

“I was hopeful.” Ilya shrugged.

He handed one of the sticks to Shane. The familiar weight of it pulled him back to center ice, waiting for Ilya. The first hit of the puck against his stick, the familiar vibration up his arm, shook a laugh loose from him. He took the puck, pushed it forward, let the blade curve around it, nudging it side to side while his wrists remembered the movements. With each tap, he felt more and more of it come back to him. At the net, he turned and made his way back to Ilya, who was once again just watching him, a look of awe on his face.

“What the fuck, Shane?” he said with a laugh. “Are you sure you weren’t lying to me? Fifteen years?”

Shane laughed. “I definitely wasn’t.”

Ilya shook his head, still smiling. “Okay. Pass it.” 

He took off, and Shane slid the puck to him. Watching Ilya’s stickhandling up close was…impressive. And hot. The way his hands gripped the stick, the look of concentration on his face, the way he moved so gracefully…seeing it from the stands did not do any of it the proper justice.

They passed the puck back and forth for a while. Ilya had a smile that was half wicked, half sweet plastered on his face, like this was simultaneously foreplay and actual play, and Shane was pretty sure he had a matching smile on his face. His was tinged by how surreal it was to be passing a puck with the Ilya Rozanov. And maybe a little relief, because whatever Shane had been expecting to feel here…the weight of expectations that hadn’t fully died with his parents, the regret of what he could have become if he hadn’t quit, the envy of knowing Ilya was living that life while he was stuck, reliving the heartaches of the past. There was none of that. Maybe there was curiosity. What if he had kept playing? What if he had gone pro? What if he’d been drafted at the same time as Ilya and they’d met for the first time in a face-off? But then he might have missed out on this…he looked over at Ilya, who was looking at him like he was witnessing something holy. Reverent and soft, the usual heat there too, under the surface. That look scared him as much as it moved him.

Shane skated in close, stopping the puck easily. He glanced around, making sure they were still alone, then he leaned in and kissed him, hoping Ilya could feel all the things Shane did. He pulled back, and Ilya’s eyes were shining. 

Ilya blinked a few times and swallowed, then said, “Our time is almost up.”

Shane nodded, exhaling softly, letting the spell break so he could pull himself together as they skated back toward the bench. When they got to the locker room, Ilya quickly unlaced his skates and started pulling his sweaty clothes off.

“Shower here,” Ilya said.

“You sure?”

Ilya stood up and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “There will not be time when we get home, and I don’t think you’ll want me sweaty.” His tone made it clear why there wouldn’t be time, and Shane’s blood ran hot asthe earlier desire he felt watching Ilya on the ice came roaring back.

Ilya disappeared into the showers and Shane quickly followed, stepping into a separate stall or else they’d never leave. He was quick but thorough. They drove home separately, also probably for the best, and Shane pulled through the gate just after Ilya. As soon as the door closed behind them, Ilya’s lips were crashing into his, his hands grasping at Shane’s waist, pushing until his back was up against the wall. It was hard and messy and they were both moaning into each other's mouths. Ilya was grinding against him, pushing him up so forcefully, Shane was practically on tiptoes. He wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist, letting their cocks rub together more easily, pulling another groan from Ilya, who stopped kissing him long enough to say, “As much as I’d like to fuck you against this wall, condoms are upstairs.”

Shane knew he was absolutely gone because for a split second, he considered telling Ilya he didn’t care. But whatever tiny fraction of his brain still getting bloodflow reminded him that now was not the time for that conversation.

They made it upstairs and into the bed, clothes disappearing somewhere along the way. Between one kiss and the next, Ilya had a finger inside him and Shane barely noticed because Ilya was kissing him like he’d die if he stopped, and Shane thought maybe he would too. There was no talking, only Ilya’s tongue in his mouth, his cock pressed against Shane’s thigh, his finger stroking inside him over and over again, and the helpless little moans neither of them could hold back. Shane felt like he was being consumed, and he was happy to let Ilya partake.

When Ilya finally pushed into him and they both came up for air, Shane watched his face, his unfocused eyes, the flush in his cheeks, the vein popping in his temple, the way his lips parted. He was too beautiful to be real, and Shane pulled him down to press their mouths together again, just to be sure, nipping at his bottom lip until Ilya moaned and thrust harder. 

“Shane,” Ilya breathed against his lips. “Fuck.”

It was not gentle, and Shane didn’t want it to be. He wanted Ilya to fuck him hard, to make him feel it for days. Why whatever happened on the ice was affecting them both so much, Shane didn’t know or care, he just knew that he needed Ilya to take him and not hold back.

“Harder,” Shane said between gritted teeth. 

Ilya pulled out and told him to turn over. When he pushed back in, he put a hand between Shane’s shoulder blades and held him down while he thrust into him, hard and fast. Each thrust pushed a breathy moan from Shane’s throat, mixing in the air with Ilya’s groans and the loud slaps of skin against skin. Shane didn’t even have time to warn Ilya that he was going to come. One minute he was lost to the feeling of Ilya’s cock sliding inside of him just right, the next he was twisting his hands in the bedsheets while his release tore out of him with a moan that was high and broken and full of the kind of pleasure that makes your vision go spotty. He felt more than heard Ilya come not long after, felt his cock pulse inside of him, his hips slap harder against him, the vibration through his body as he moaned Shane’s name, and his weight push him down until they were both lying flat.

Eventually Ilya slipped out of him and rolled onto his back, not even pulling the condom off. He spread his arms wide, one above Shane’s head, breathing hard. Shane rolled over and was going to attempt to do something, but before he could, Ilya reached down to pull the condom off and then propped himself on one elbow. He bent down and pressed his lips to Shane’s cheek and then his lips, one finger trailing down his chest, through the cum on his stomach and back up again. Most of it was still on the bed, and he could feel the wet spot beneath him.

Shane huffed a quiet laugh against his mouth and said, “Stop that.”

Ilya smiled and kissed him once more, then got off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Shane got up a few seconds later and followed him. Ilya was cleaning himself off and looked up in surprise. 

“Thought maybe we could soak,” Shane said, nodding at the tub. “I don’t know if my muscles are going to be angry this time.”

“Probably a good idea,” Ilya said. He swiped at Shane’s stomach with the towel in his hand, then leaned over and turned on the faucet. 

When they were both settled in the hot water, Shane at one end, Ilya at the other, legs entwined, Ilya asked, “You seemed to enjoy that, yes?”

“Obviously,” Shane said. “What gave it away?”

“I meant the skating,” Ilya said, pushing his foot against Shane’s side lightly under the water, making him squirm.

“Yeah…I think I did. Enjoy the skating, I mean.”

“You handle a stick like you never stopped.”

Shane shook his head. “Not true. But it did come back to me easier than I thought.”

Ilya nodded slowly. “I liked watching you out there.”

“I could tell,” Shane said with a laugh. “Maybe I’ll do it again if it gets me that kind of attention after.”

Ilya grinned at him, eyes going up suggestively. “You can have that anytime,” he said. “But if you would like to skate again...I’d be happy to go anytime. I don’t know if we can always use the practice facility, but I can try.”

“No, I understand. Don’t do anything that’ll get anyone in trouble. It’s not like it matters anyway…I’m never going to play hockey again.”

Ilya shrugged lightly. “You could, though. If you want to. There is nothing wrong with playing for fun.”

“I guess,” Shane said.

“Come here.” Ilya held his arms open, and Shane turned and leaned back against him. “I’m glad you went, even if you don’t ever want to go again. No pressure, okay?”

Shane nodded against him. “Thanks.”

“Want to go out for late lunch?” Ilya asked.

“Sure,” Shane said. That reminded him. “I haven’t seen any headlines about you. Your team is really keeping it locked down.”

“I know,” Ilya said. “I didn’t even ask them to.”

“Being out in public with me so much might do the job though. I’d understand if you don’t want to.”

“Shane,” Ilya said, one hand coming up to turn Shane’s face toward him, putting them only inches apart. “You already know I don’t care. I’m not ashamed.”

“No, I know.”

“Then stop worrying,” Ilya said, running a hand through Shane’s hair, making him melt into him.

Shane sighed softly. “Sometimes I can’t help it.”

Ilya laughed. “I have noticed.” He kissed Shane’s temple. “But everything is fine.”

-

The cottage went up for sale the following Friday. Shane looked at the listing obsessively. The number fixed at the top of the page had made his stomach sink, even though he'd known it was coming. It was low. So much lower than he had hoped. But he’d looked over everything and the realtor was right…that’s what it was worth, and even then, she thought he’d be lucky to get that.

Ilya was on the road that day, so Shane hadn’t even brought it up when they talked on the phone. Didn’t want to think about it anyway. His fingers didn’t get the memo, though, because he opened the zillow page at least once every twelve minutes, watching the number of views and saves tick up slowly. The realtor had let him know there were already a few viewings scheduled throughout the weekend and early the next week, and she’d let him know how they went. 

As it turned out, there were several people interested, but no one was ready to put in an offer yet. She said most of the interest was for the property itself, and a few mentioned renovations for a possible rental. Shane’s heart sank lower every time she gave him an update. The reality of it was starting to settle heavy in his chest, a constant reminder of what he was about to lose. He kept reminding himself that this was good. He would no longer have to worry about it, he’d have a little bit of money whenever the sale was finalized…maybe not enough to go back to school, but enough to not worry about falling behind in rent and bills for a while. Maybe buy a car. He could move on with his life.

Luckily he had a distraction in the form of Svetlana the following Thursday. She arrived in the afternoon while he was at work, and Ilya had picked her up from the airport. Shane thought about just going home after work when he got off at 6, letting them catch up, even if it made his stomach twist unpleasantly. But his phone buzzed at 5:30.

Ilya: you are coming here tonight right?

Shane typed and deleted several responses before finally sending one.

Shane: I was thinking maybe I should go home and let you two catch up.

Ilya: no

Shane laughed.

Shane: Okay?

Ilya: come, I’m cooking
Ilya: and stay over like usual
Ilya: please

Shane sighed. Would it make him feel better to be there? It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ilya. Of course he did. It was more about missing out than being jealous.

Shane: Okay. I’ll be there in a little while.

When he got to Ilya’s house, he knocked on the front door because it just didn’t feel right to let himself in when he had company. Ilya was there, opening the door with a slightly confused smile.

“Where is your key?” he asked.

“I have it.” Shane shrugged and stepped inside.

Ilya gave him another look, kissed him, and said, “Okay then.”

He followed him into the kitchen, where Svetlana was sitting at the kitchen island. She was beautiful. Light brown skin, shoulder-length curly hair, a smile that would light up any room. The kind of person Shane would love to paint, because any combination of background colors and textures would be enhanced by her presence. Kind of like Ilya. 

“Shane Hollander,” she said, her voice melodic and lightly accented, a little less so than Ilya’s. She stood up and held out a hand.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly, taking it. 

“Shane, this is Svetlana Vetrova,” Ilya said. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Shane said.

“Likewise, Shane Hollander.” She said his name again, like she was rolling it around on her tongue, testing the feel of it.

Shane glanced over at Ilya just in time to see him glaring at her. Then his face relaxed into an easy smile, and he said, “We’re having pelmeni,” he said. “You know it?”

Shane shook his head.

“They are like…dumplings. With pork. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Shane said. “Sounds great.” 

“Sit,” he said. “Everything is almost done.”

Shane sat on one of the stools, leaving an empty one between him and Svetlana. She was glancing between Shane and Ilya across the counter. His back was to them as he tended to the food. 

Svetlana said something in Russian, and Ilya turned around, giving her a look. He glanced at Shane, then back at her before answering also in Russian. His tone was somewhere between aggravated and exasperated. When she replied, hers was cool and calm and mostly amused. 

“Sveta,” Ilya said. And even without context, Shane could tell that was Ilya ending the conversation. Then he turned to Shane and said, “Sorry, we won’t do that again.” He looked at her pointedly, and she just smiled back. 

“Sorry, Shane,” she said, turning to him. “That was rude.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” 

“So,” she said, still looking at him. “Ilya tells me you are from here.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah. I lived here until I was twelve and then moved to Vancouver. I’ve been back for a little over a year.”

“Why did you move back? I’ve been trying to figure out why Ilya moved here since the day he broke the news. Maybe you’ll be more forthcoming.” 

“I had some stuff to take care of here. Property to sell. And I thought it might be nice to come home.”

She nodded at him, eyes squinting slightly, like she knew he was holding back. “Is it nice? To come home?”

Shane huffed a laugh before he could stop himself. His eyes darted over to Ilya. “In some ways.”

Her eyes went wide. “Did you two know each other before Ilya signed here? Is that why you transferred?” She turned toward Ilya, who was glaring again.

“No, we didn’t. We met a few months ago,” Ilya said. “I told you why I’m here.”

“I know what you told me. It just doesn’t add up.”

“Why do you care? You moved. Fancy new job. Makes no difference if I’m here or in Boston,” Ilya said, waving a wooden spoon around.

“It’s your career I’m questioning. Not the distance from me,” she said. Shane could tell that whatever disagreement they were stuck on, she did care about him. There was a softness in her voice, concern in her eyes.

“My team is playing great. My career is just fine.”

“I know, Ilya,” she said with a soft sigh. 

Ilya came around the island counter and set a plate in front of each of them, piled with little dumplings and something that looked like sour cream with dill sprinkled on top.

“Do you want wine or ginger ale?” Ilya asked, resting a hand on the back of Shane’s neck. 

“Ginger ale is fine,” Shane said. “Thank you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shane could see Svetlana watching them, her eyes tracking Ilya’s hand. She had a small smile on her face, eyes a little wide.

Ilya came back with a can of ginger ale and sat on the stool between them. Shane took a bite of pelmeni. The soft dough was warm, and the meat filling was hot and flavorful, but not overly so. He dipped the next bite in the sour cream and dill, and the creamy, cool tang of it paired perfectly.

“This is really good,” Shane said. Ilya glanced over at him with a smile while he chewed and bumped his knee under the counter.

“Sveta doesn’t like to cook,” he said between bites. “She told me she found good pelmeni in New York City, so I had to remind her what she was missing.”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “Yours are better.”

Ilya had a satisfied smile on his face. 

“So many things you deprive me of by moving all the way to Canada,” she said, mockingly dramatic.

Ilya’s head snapped over to her, and though Shane couldn’t see, he was fairly certain Ilya was glaring again. Shane had heard the innuendo. And he would be lying if he said his stomach didn’t twist just a little. But if Svetlana was trying to get a rise out of him, she’d have to try harder. 

Ilya took a deep breath and turned back to his plate. “I’m going to take Sveta to the Rideau tomorrow,” he said, turning to Shane. “Just for a quick skate, to see it. Do you want to join us? If not, I will pick you up after for dinner.”

“Oh,” Shane said. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to skate with anyone other than Ilya, but the thought of it made him feel unpleasantly exposed. He also thought he should give them a chance to spend some time without him. “I think I’ll just join you for dinner. So I’ll have time to get ready after work.”

“Okay,” Ilya said softly. He put one hand on Shane’s thigh and gave it a small squeeze. “Reservation is for 7. I’ll pick you up around 6:30. Is that okay?”

Shane nodded. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out tonight, Ilya?” Svetlana asked. “There must be something fun to do around here.”

“I told you already that you can go wherever you want. Take the Porsche.”

“That’s no fun. I came here to see you.”

“And you can see me here all night. You live in New York City, I know you didn’t come here for the club scene.”

She laughed playfully. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. You know I’m just giving you a hard time. I didn’t expect you to be so…domesticated.”

“Fuck off,” he said, but his voice was light. “Are you still seeing that surgeon you told me about?”

“Ugh, no. He was of the opinion that if we were together, I didn’t need to work anymore,” she said. “I think he wanted me barefoot and pregnant.”

The look of disgust on Ilya’s face was comical. “Did he know you at all?”

“Clearly not.”

Ilya stood up, picking up his empty plate, then Svetlana’s. “Can I get you anything else?” he asked her.

“More wine,” she said, holding up her glass. 

He turned to Shane next, picking up his plate. “I can help,” Shane said.

“No, no. Sit. You need anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” Shane said. “Thanks.” 

Ilya walked over to the sink, leaving the space between Shane and Svetlana much too empty.

“So,” she said, facing him. “What do you do?”

Shane cleared his throat. “Um, I work in a cafe right now.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes still on him, like she was trying to decipher something.

“Shane is an artist,” Ilya said from the sink. 

“An artist? What kind?”

“I used to paint,” Shane said. “Not so much anymore.”

“That is how we met,” Ilya said. He walked over and poured more wine into her glass. “I bought one of his paintings.”

Svetlana’s eyes went wide. “Well, let’s see it.” She stood up. 

Ilya glanced at him and mouthed “Okay?” 

Shane nodded. 

The three of them walked down the hallway to the glass-walled room. Ilya turned the overhead light on, and there were his paintings, still leaning against the wall.

Svetlana walked over to them and bent at the waist, looking at them closely. She didn’t just glance politely and turn back around. Her eyes moved up and down each one, taking it all in, like she was at a museum, admiring works much more worthwhile than his. He felt very self-conscious standing there while someone inspected his paintings. He shifted uncomfortably, taking a step back. Ilya must have noticed because he took Shane’s hand in his and squeezed lightly. 

“These are amazing,” Svetlana said, standing upright. “You did both of them?”

Shane nodded. 

“This is incredible. What a talent.”

He felt his ears go hot. “Thank you.”

“But why are they on the floor?” she asked, eyes shifting to Ilya.

“Ah…well. I don’t have one of those things to find where the wood beams are in the wall. Or a hammer.”

“You don’t have a hammer?” Svetlana was looking at him aghast. “You are hopeless. You want me to hang these for you while I’m here?”

“Uh…no,” Ilya said, confused. 

“Why not? You don’t need a studfiner.” She started knocking lightly on the wall every couple of inches, then stopped. “See, here is one right here. Give me some nails and a level and I will hang them for you.”

Ilya glanced briefly over at Shane. He had a sheepish look on his face. 

Svetlana sighed dramatically. “Men.”

Ilya’s phone rang then. He looked at the screen and then said, “Sorry, team stuff.” He stepped out and down the hallway.

Svetlana turned to him. “I am impressed,” she said. “These are really something. You don’t paint anymore?”

“Not really,” he said. “I hope one day I will again. But it’s just not working for me right now.”

She nodded in understanding. “I hope you do too. I’d buy one from you,” she said with a wink, and Shane blushed.

Ilya walked back in then. “Okay, I need a drink,” he said. “Anyone else?”

-

They spent the rest of the evening lounging in the living room with glasses of wine. Shane had only had two glasses, but he was leaning against Ilya, who had one arm draped loosely around his chest, feeling pleasantly warm and a little sleepy. He listened to them talk about New York and Svetlana’s job, then some mutual acquaintances, and eventually Ilya’s new team. He told her about each of them, and she was very curious about Troy and the Dallas Kent situation. Shane made the mistake of chiming in about who he thought deserved MVP for the previous season, and Svetlana’s gaze locked on him, her eyes wide in surprise.

“So you’re a hockey fan?” she asked, leaning forward from the other side of the sectional.

“Um…sort of,” he said. “I mean, yes. I like hockey. I used to play.” He rolled his eyes. At himself. Wine and loose lips.

He watched as Svetlana’s eyes moved from him to Ilya, and he knew there was a whole conversation happening between them that wasn’t being conducted out loud. He felt Ilya’s head move, but he couldn’t tell if it was a nod or a shake. 

“Okay,” Ilya said eventually. “I need sleep. Practice in the morning. Sveta, let me know if you need anything, but the guest bedroom and bathroom should be stocked.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, like the conversation wasn’t really over. “Don’t worry about me.” 

Shane sat up, and Ilya stood, holding a hand out to him. “Goodnight,” he said to Svetlana, then pulled Shane toward the stairs.

“Night,” Shane said in her direction. She was watching them go with a small smile and a slight shake of her head.

Once Ilya shut the bedroom door behind them, he kissed Shane, his tongue pushing into his mouth immediately. He tasted sweet like wine, warm and comfortable, and Shane wanted to climb inside him and stay like this forever.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said when he pulled back. “Was tonight terrible for you?”

“What? No, not at all,” Shane said, slightly confused. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I told you Svetlana can be pushy. And not so subtle.” He looked worried. “I just want you to like her.”

“I do,” Shane said, bringing a hand up to cradle his jaw. “She cares about you. And don’t worry about me. I can handle it.”

“Okay,” Ilya said, smiling now.

He tugged Shane toward the bed, stopping him beside it. Then he undressed him, slowly. First he pulled his shirt off and bent his head to kiss his chest, sweet little kisses and kitten licks across his skin, his nipples, down, down, until he was kneeling in front of him. Then he pulled Shane’s pants and boxer briefs down, tapping his ankle until he stepped out of them. He pressed his face into the soft skin beneath his navel, kissing and nipping down to his thigh, then back up, ignoring his already hard cock, and down the other thigh. Then he pushed Shane down on the bed and pulled his socks off and pressed a kiss to the inside of each foot, sending a shiver through Shane’s entire body. When he was fully naked and stretched out on the bed, Ilya shed his own clothes and climbed on top of him, nudging Shane’s thighs apart so he could settle between them.

“Tell me what you want,” Ilya murmured against his lips.

Shane was already rocking up against him, so his next words lacked any tone that might be a little bit convincing. “Are you sure we should do that while…” he tilted his head to the side, as if pointing toward the guest room.

“She is way downstairs...is fine,” Ilya said before kissing him again. “Now tell me.”

Shane blinked up at him. His head was still buzzing just a bit, warm and tingly. It was making him clingy, like he couldn't get enough of Ilya's skin against his. 

“I just want to be as close to you as possible,” he said honestly, threading one hand through Ilya’s hair, the other resting on his lower back.

“I can stay like this,” Ilya said, pushing his hips down. “Or I can be inside of you.”

Shane made a whiny noise in his throat, which was maybe a little embarrassing, except he didn’t care because Ilya’s face was inches above his and he was giving Shane a small smile that was pure affection, and it made Shane feel even warmer, like he could literally melt into him.

“Okay,” Ilya said. “Like this. So I can stay right here.”

Shane nodded. “Yes. Stay.”

Ilya closed the distance between their mouths again, kissing him so sweet and tender, his tongue sweeping into Shane’s mouth, unhurried and soft. Shane sighed into his mouth, his body relaxing even more, Ilya’s warm weight on top of him the only thing keeping him from floating. Shane’s knees were drawn up slightly, cradling Ilya between them, while they were pressed together from face to cock. 

“This is nice,” Shane said against his lips. 

“Mm, yes. We can make out until we fall asleep,” Ilya said, his lips still touching Shane’s, neither of them willing to move. “Or…” he rolled his hips against Shane. They were both hard, and the added friction had him groaning. “Or I can make you come like this.”

“Both.”

Ilya rolled his hips again. “Okay.”

He went back to kissing him, but now their cocks were sliding together and Shane was not being quiet and he wanted to care about that but he was having a hard time concentrating on anything that wasn’t Ilya’s tongue in his mouth and Ilya’s cock against his and Ilya’s hand in his hair. He could feel him everywhere, his whole body humming with it. The warmth in his groin started to spread and he could feel his orgasm building little by little and then suddenly all at once and he was gasping into Ilya’s mouth and rocking up against him, his whole body lighting up, curling in on itself except Ilya was there holding him down and keeping him grounded, and not long after the warm slickness of his own release was pressed between them, Ilya’s joined it, his body going taut above Shane, pressing him down harder, whispering something in his ear that sent another little aftershock through Shane’s body.

When they were both still and breathing hard, Shane tightened his arms around Ilya and kissed his temple, and Ilya shuddered and nuzzled his face into Shane’s neck. Shane felt warm and cozy, and he wanted nothing more than to stay here, in this little cocoon made of something safe and easy and perfect. 

Ilya sat up, and the cool air prickled against the wetness that coated his stomach and chest, sending a chill through him. He forced his eyes open to find Ilya looking down at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. He leaned down and pressed another kiss to his lips before he got up, and Shane let his eyes close again. He must have drifted because the next thing he knew, Ilya was curling around him and Shane’s stomach was clean and the blanket was pulled up to his shoulders. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, then turned on his side so Ilya could spoon around him.

Ilya murmured something soft in Russian against his neck and pulled him closer, and Shane let himself drift off again.

-

They both got up early the next morning and left the house together without waking Svetlana. Ilya to practice, Shane to work. Shane was working with one of the baristas who clearly hated this job more than Shane did. Kevin was twenty-one, and he hadn’t quite figured out how to interact with other humans. Instead of asking customers “Hi, can I help you?” or “What can I get you today?” or literally anything at all, he just stared. It made them uncomfortable. It made Shane uncomfortable. But he was even worse at making drinks and warming pasties, so it was a lose-lose situation. By the time Shane got off that afternoon, he was out of patience and glad he had decided to forego the trip to the Rideau Canal. 

He went home to his apartment, which was feeling less and less like home by the day. Not that it had much to begin with, but he rarely spent a night there anymore, even when Ilya was on the road. Ilya’s bed had become too familiar, making Shane’s feel like something that no longer belonged to him. Like a hotel bed that dipped in all the wrong places.

He sat heavily on it anyway, looking around the small space. He still had all the art supplies Ilya had bought months ago, shoved into a corner. There was a framed photo of him with his parents from a trip to Vancouver when he was ten. Those were the only things here that held any value. He sighed and flopped back on the bed, marveling at the strange turn his life had taken. 

A little before 6:30, he went downstairs to wait. Ilya pulled up in a different car than Shane was used to. He didn’t even know what it was…red and probably something very expensive. At least it had four doors. Svetlana was in the passenger seat, and he slid into the back. Ilya was turned toward him with his favorite grin.

“Hey,” he said. “Did you have a good day?”

Shane thought about Kevin and lied. “Yeah, it was fine. Did you two have fun skating?”

Ilya nodded. “I made Sveta try a BeaverTail. She was not impressed.” He pouted and then shook his head at her.

“I never said that,” Svetlana said, shoving at Ilya’s shoulder. “I said watching you eat it was terrible.”

Shane laughed. “I believe her.”

Ilya exhaled dramatically. “Now you will gang up on me. I see how it is.” He put the car in drive and pulled out into traffic. A few minutes later he asked, “Shane, you will drive to the arena tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure. But you’ll have to drop me back at my apartment to get the BMW.”

Svetlana was looking between them with interest.

“Or you can take this one,” Ilya said. Shane wanted to argue. Wanted to google what this car was and how much it cost. But he didn’t want to do that in front of Svetlana.

“Sure.”

-

The next evening, a little while after Ilya had left for the arena, Shane and Svetlana got into the red car and followed. The three of them had a pleasant day, hanging out, going to a sandwich place for lunch, where Ilya ate a truly disgusting sandwich that has hot Cheetos on it, and Shane and Svetlana had mutually agreed on that. 

Now that he was alone with her, Shane felt the edge of nerves creeping in. They drove to the arena in mostly comfortable silence, but Shane could feel her eyes on him and he wondered what she was thinking. Or assessing more like. 

Once they were in their seats, she angled herself toward him slightly.

“You are not what I expected,” she said finally.

“Because I’m not a woman?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. He knew it was what everyone who met him was thinking.

“No, actually.” She was smirking, but more in surprise, like she hadn’t expected him to say that out loud. “Well…maybe. But not in the way you’re thinking.”

Shane looked at her. “Then why?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Has he told you much about his family?”

“Just that his parents are dead. We have that in common.”

Her mouth twisted. Sympathy, and he was grateful it stayed there, in the pull of her mouth and not spoken aloud.

“His father was an asshole. Nothing Ilya ever did would have been good enough for him, but being…well, being anything other than straight in Russia is dangerous. And Ilya would not have found a safe haven in his own family.”

Though Shane had never gotten a chance to tell his parents about his sexuality, didn’t know for sure himself until later, he’d be lying if he said he never wondered what they might say. But he never doubted that they would still love him. Protect him. His heart ached for Ilya.

“The league…well, Ilya would love to give a giant fuck you to that idiot Crowell and all the rest of them,” she continued. “But I guess I still didn’t actually expect him to come out publicly. And it will come out. Hockey players are the worst gossips.”

Shane smiled, thinking about Ilya’s teammates.

“But,” she said, waving a hand, “that is not the reason.”

“What?” 

“The reason you are not what I expected.”

“Oh,” Shane said, not sure he wanted to know. “Then why?” 

She looked at him thoughtfully. “You really see him. You are not here for his money or his hockey fame or because he is Ilya Rozanov. In fact, I think you might be here despite all that.”

Shane looked away and let out a long breath. 

“Ilya told me to mind my business, so I don’t know when you used to play hockey or why you stopped, but I know there is more to it.”

He nodded slowly. “I played until I was twelve. I was what Ilya was to Russia probably. One of the top players in my age group for Ottawa. For Canada. My parents made sure I had everything I needed to keep getting better. To go pro one day. That was the plan. Everyone treated me like it was a sure thing, which was probably ridiculous at that age.” He smiled sadly. “I was pretty good though.”

“Why did you quit?”

“After my parents died, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t neatly separate hockey from them.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Sometimes I think if it had happened a few years later, I might have been…I don’t know, better able to handle it. Maybe I could have kept playing.”

She laid a hand on top of his on the armrest. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” 

Shane gave a polite nod. “Thanks.”

“It must be hard for you,” she said, moving her hand, eyes still on him. “Getting involved with Ilya. Being reminded of that all the time.”

Shane had thought about that. It seemed like it should be true. “No,” Shane said. “Maybe at first. But watching him…it’s been a good reminder that I still love it. It was the background noise for all the good years with them.” Shane smiled then. “Plus, he’s really fucking good. Hard not to be proud of him.”

Svetlana laughed. “Yes, he is.” Then she sighed. “I was worried when he moved here. I thought he was…punishing himself. Or worse. But I get here and he’s fussing over his team like a mama duck trying to get her ducklings in a row. He is very proud of them. I never heard him talk like that in Boston. They’re good for him.”

“They love him,” Shane said. “I’ve only met them once. They respect him for sure, but…it’s more than that.”

“They’re certainly playing better. I might be eating my words soon.” She shook her head. “If he wins a cup with Ottawa, I’ll never hear the end of it. He’ll be insufferable.” 

The team in question skated out onto the ice then, and she was watching Ilya fondly. 

“It’s not just the team that’s good for him,” she said, glancing over with a small smile. Shane smiled too, his eyes following Ilya as he skated their way, a huge grin on his face. 

-

Shane had to work the next day while Ilya took Svetlana to the airport. She’d given him a hug and a whispered, “You call me if I need to kick his ass,” and an out loud, “Keep in touch and come visit me in New York.” Ilya had watched them affectionately. 

The feel-good vibes of the weekend only lasted until midday Monday when Shane got a call from the realtor.

“Good news, we have two offers,” Mary said. “One at full asking price from a holding company, likely an investor looking for property. The other is slightly lower with a few conditions, also likely buying as an investment, but they’re more particular about the condition of the house.”

“Okay,” Shane said. “What does that mean for me?”

“Full offer carries less risk here. It’s a strong offer and would be a quicker close. The other one, besides being lower, could fall through if we can't meet their requests.” 

She explained further, and Shane listened, trying to quiet the dull roar in his head. A quick close was what he wanted...that's what he kept telling himself.

“You can take a day to think about it,” she said kindly.

“No, no, if you think the full offer is the way to go, let’s do that.” The more time he had to think about it, the worse he would feel.

“Okay. I already have the paperwork drafted. We can even do this electronically. I’ll email everything to you, look it all over, sign digitally, and then we’ll get the process started.”

After Shane hung up, he flopped on Ilya’s couch and stared at the ceiling for a while. Ilya was on his way to Chicago and would be on the road for the next few days. He thought about texting him, but there was no reason to yet. He’d wait for the paperwork to go through.

The rest of the week passed in a bit of a blur for Shane. He signed the documents and sent them back to Mary, and then that was it. He just had to wait. He worked and then went to Ilya’s house and slept in his bed, they talked on the phone, Shane watched the games when he could. By Friday, Shane was dying to have Ilya back home. He needed something besides work to take his mind off what felt like another loss. This one was different, not a person, but he felt just as hollow now as he did a year ago.

On Friday afternoon, his phone buzzed and provided him with a different kind of distraction.

Ilya: don’t come over
Ilya: i’m sick

Shane: What’s wrong?

Ilya: flu
Ilya: half the team is down
Ilya: don’t want you to catch it
Ilya: feel like I’m dying

Shane rolled his eyes.

Shane: I get off in 2 hours. What do you need?

Ilya: nothing

Shane: I’ll see you soon.

He expected an argument, but no more texts came through. After work he stopped at the store and swiped a credit card to get meds, a thermometer, and ingredients to make soup. When he got to Ilya’s, he found the first floor empty. He stopped in the kitchen to put the food away and grabbed one of Ilya’s electrolyte drinks before heading upstairs.

In the bedroom, the only part of Ilya that was visible under the covers was sweat-damp hair poking out. Shane sat next to him and put a hand to his forehead. He felt hot, but that didn’t translate into anything useful. 

“Ilya,” he said softly, running a hand on the back of his neck. 

He stirred and groaned.

“You didn’t have to come,” he rasped.

“Of course I did. Have you taken anything?”

“No.”

“Can you sit up for a minute?” Shane asked, pulling the thermometer out of the packaging.

Ilya pushed himself up slowly with a whimper. “I think I grew extra legs. Just so they can hurt. How many are there?”

Shane snorted quietly. “Let’s see just how high that fever is. Open,” he said, holding the thermometer to his mouth. Ilya let his head thunk back against the headboard, making Shane chase him with the thermometer like a parent doing the airplane trick. He eventually got it under Ilya’s tongue. 

The thermometer blinked red. 39°C.

“I got some Advil Cold & Flu. It’ll help with the fever and the aches. Okay?” Shane said. “Take it with this.” He popped two of the pills out of the blister packs and handed him the electrolyte drink. “Ilya,” he said, because his eyes were already closed. “You still with me?”

Ilya sighed. “Yes, thank you.” He took the pills with a few sips of the drink. Shane set the bottle on the nightstand and then moved to the other side of the bed so he could climb in next to Ilya. “Lay back down.”

Ilya snuggled back under the covers, nuzzling his face against Shane’s chest. “Do you need anything else?”

Ilya shook his head against him. “No. Everything hurts.” 

“I know,” Shane said, running a hand through his hair. “Get some rest. I’ll make you soup for later.”

“You should go,” Ilya said, his voice barely audible, rough with congestion. “Don’t get sick.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He stayed in the bed for a while, running his fingers lightly through Ilya’s hair until his breathing evened out and his face relaxed, the pinch between his brows smoothing out. He carefully slipped out of the bed, making sure not to wake him, and went down to the kitchen.

Shane spent the next hour chopping vegetables and chicken for soup, then occasionally stirring it while it simmered. The broth was rich and flavorful and reminded him of sick days on the couch watching bad daytime TV while his mom made soup and then served it to him with a stack of saltines. He didn’t know if it was the soup that made him feel better or the ritual, but it had never failed him. 

A couple of hours later, Ilya shambled his way into the kitchen, looking only slightly less like the walking dead than earlier, but his eyes were brighter, and he had a small smile on his face when he saw Shane.

“Hey,” Shane said, walking over to him. “How do you feel?”

Ilya made a whiny noise. “Bad.”

Shane smiled and held a hand to his forehead again. It didn’t feel as hot, at least.

“Do you feel up to eating?”

Ilya nodded. “Just a little.”

“Sit.”

He fixed a small bowl of soup and set it in front of him with a couple of crackers. Ilya took a bite and let out a contented little sigh.

“This is good. But even picking up the spoon hurts,” he said. 

“I can feed you if you want,” Shane said with a smile.

Ilya rolled his eyes and took another bite. “You didn’t have to come over.”

“Of course I did. You’re sick.”

Ilya looked up at him with watery eyes. He rubbed them and then put his head in his hand.

“Hey,” Shane said, moving around the island so he could stand next to him. “It’s okay. Tell me what you need.”

“I have what I need,” he said, lifting his head and picking up the spoon again. “Thank you.”

Shane sat next to him and ran a hand up and down his back. “How was the game last night? I couldn’t watch at work.”

“Lost,” Ilya said. He cleared his throat, then said, “I think half of us were already feeling like shit.”

Shane nodded. “Hopefully everyone recovers before the next one.”

Ilya sighed. “Fuck.” 

“Do you want any more?” Shane asked, taking his empty bowl. 

“Not right now, but thank you. I feel a little better already,” Ilya said. His voice was stronger. 

“You still need to rest. Let’s go lie down.”

Shane got them settled on the couch, Ilya tucked under a blanket, head in Shane’s lap. He turned on the TV, and by the time he pressed play on something, Ilya was asleep.

-

The next morning, Ilya looked and sounded more like himself again. His voice was still a little raspy and he was still weak, but he sat up without whining, so Shane thought that was an improvement.

“I’m disgusting,” Ilya said, his voice still raspy. He was pulling at the armpit of his t-shirt. “Where did all this sweat come from? I need a shower.”

“How about a bath? A shower will zap your energy. Trust me.”

Ilya sighed. “Yes, fine. Why are you expert on flu?”

Shane laughed. “I’ve had the flu before. And I almost passed out in the shower once because I was impatient. I cut my arm on the metal track of the sliding door,” he said, holding up his left arm where there was still a scar. 

Ilya ran his fingers over it. “Okay, Mr. Expert,” he said. “Help me up. I am still dying over here.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Come on.” 

When Ilya was reclined in the tub, head leaning back, eyes closed, Shane sat on the floor beside him, back against the side. 

“The cottage sold,” he said. It had been weighing on him, even with the distraction of taking care of his very-bad-at-being-sick boyfriend. Ilya picked his head up, eyes going wide in surprise.

“Already?” 

Shane nodded. “Realtor called on Monday. I accepted the offer.”

“How are you feeling about it?”

Shane shrugged. “Pretty shitty. But it’s also a little bit of a weight off my shoulders, I guess. I’m glad I won’t have to think about it anymore.”

Ilya’s eyes were scanning his face, like he was waiting for Shane to break down. 

“I’ll be fine,” Shane said. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Ilya said softly. 

Shane decided to change the subject because despite what he said, he was not fine yet. “I’m gonna go change the sheets, okay? Stay in here.”

“Shane,” Ilya said as Shane stood up. “You know the cleaning service will do that.”

“Yes, but not before we need to get back in it, and I’m not sleeping in your fever sweat tonight.”

Ilya exhaled loudly. “Fine. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to do that.” 

“Hey,” Shane said, bending down to kiss his forehead. “I don’t mind.”

Ilya’s eyes fluttered shut. “Thank you.”

“Please don’t drown while I’m gone.”

-

Ilya recovered and Shane did not catch the flu, but that didn’t stop him from having a bad week. At work a few days later, he was washing out the cold brew containers in the big metal sink in the back when his phone rang. He pulled it out to see that it was just spam, and before he could put it away, his phone slipped out of his hand and into the sink, the glass hitting the edge of a metal container and then landing in the several inches of dirty water. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. He fished it out of the water to find the screen shattered, water already seeping under the glass. He almost tossed it back in out of pure frustration. Another expense he could not afford. Not even on a credit card. He was months, maybe only weeks, away from having some of his financial woes unburdened, as long as the sale of the cottage didn’t fall through. But of course, he was now unreachable if anything were to go wrong. 

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was fine. Everything was fine. He would get paid in a few days, and most of that would go to Mr. Grenier’s last payment and what was left of the plumbing bill. But if he had a little bit left over, he could go get a cheap pay-as-you-go phone to use for now.

When he got to Ilya’s later that evening, he found him in the kitchen with a bag of takeout on the counter.

“Hey, I texted you earlier. I wasn’t sure what you wanted for dinner,” Ilya said. “I ordered from that sushi place we passed the other day. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, perfect. My phone is dead.”

“Go plug it in.”

“Not that kind of dead,” he said and pulled his phone out of his pocket, holding it up. He’d stuck it in one of the clear pastry bags from work to keep the pieces of glass from getting everywhere. 

“What the fuck happened?” Ilya asked.

“Dropped it in the sink.”

“Do you want to go out and get a new one after we eat?”

Shane sighed. “No.”

“When are you going to?”

Shane shrugged. “In a few days.”

Ilya was looking at him in confusion. “But you need a phone.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Shane knew his tone was edging toward being rude. “Sorry.”

“Okay,” Ilya said, dragging the word out. “Sit. Let’s eat.”

-

The next morning, Ilya left for practice early while Shane was still asleep. When he got to the locker room, Harris was there with Chiron, who was huge now, and Ilya was in heaven.

“Chiron, you’re too big for me to pick up now,” he said, squeezing Chiron’s big cheeks. “How did this happen?”

“That's how it works,” Hazy said. “When you feed them, they grow.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Ilya said. “You’re still the best good boy though.” Then Chiron grabbed a piece of padding and there was chaos as he ran around the room with it like a toy. Harris just laughed, watching it unfold while Troy stood next to him. Even amongst the cartoon chase he was participating in, Ilya did not miss the very tender looks shared between them, or the way Troy brushed his hand against Harris’s while everyone was distracted. 

By the time he left the practice facility, he was in the best mood. He tried to call Shane on the way home and remembered he couldn’t. He stopped at Best Buy and bought Shane a new iPhone just like the one he had because he wasn’t leaving tomorrow night on a multi-day road trip without being able to talk to him while he was away.

He found Shane in the living room when he got in, watching something on TV with a distracted look. He brightened when he saw Ilya, a smile stretching across his face.

“Hey,” he said. “How was practice?”

“Amazing. Chiron was there and he’s huge now.”

He pulled out his phone to show Shane pictures. 

“Wow, he is big,” Shane said. “That’s adorable.” He swiped to a selfie Ilya took where Chiron was licking his face.

“I stopped and got you a phone, hope that’s okay. I don’t want to not be able to talk to you while I’m gone,” Ilya said, setting the box on the table. “They said your SIM card should be fine and you can just transfer it.”

Shane was looking at the box on the table, his jaw tight. Ilya sighed. He was hoping after the skates, this would go better.

“Shane?”

“Please take it back. I don’t need it.”

“Oh,” Ilya said. “You already got one?”

“No. I’ll get one when I get paid.”

He sighed. “It’s just a phone. I got the same one you already have. I want to be able to call you from Nashville tomorrow. You can get a different later if you want.”

“You can’t keep buying things without asking me,” Shane said, clearly frustrated.

“I thought we already talked about this. You’re my boyfriend…I want to buy you things.”

“That’s not the same thing. This isn’t a gift.”

“It can be.”

“Ilya. I’m not…” he trailed off, eyes darting away. Ilya could see tears in them, and he hated everything about this conversation because he knew nothing he said would make it better. “I’m not some helpless charity case,” Shane said.

“I don’t think of you that way, and you know it. What if you have an emergency? You need a phone. Now you have one. Simple.”

“Well life isn’t that fucking simple sometimes,” Shane said, and now the tears were outside of his eyes.

“Shane,” he said softly, reaching to take his hand, but Shane pulled away. “You know I can afford this. And I wanted to do it.”

“I’m gonna go,” Shane said, standing up and rubbing at his eyes.

Fuck. This was not a conversation Ilya wanted to have, but maybe they needed to have it. 

“Don’t go. Let’s talk about this. About money stuff. I think we need to.”

Shane shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He walked out of the living room and into the entryway. 

“Shane,” Ilya said. “Shane, don’t leave. Please talk to me.” But the footsteps kept going, and he heard the front door open. 

“What if it were me?” Ilya shouted, trying to get the words across a space he could walk in five seconds and now might as well be worlds away. He started to follow Shane, but before he reached the entryway, he heard the door click shut. He sagged against the wall and let himself slide down until he was sitting, head in his hands. Of all the things he thought might be insurmountable in a relationship, this had not been one of them. And maybe that was naive, from a place of privilege that he took for granted, but how could Shane not know that Ilya would give him anything? Everything if he could. And now he wondered if it might be too late.

Chapter 12: And remember when I moved in you

Chapter Notes

In the words of my favorite loverboy Ilya Rozanov...I would not leave you like that [for long]

A few moments later, Ilya heard footsteps again and he looked up and Shane was there, standing in front of him, tears tracking down his cheeks, making his freckles catch the light.

“What did you say?” Shane asked, his voice broken and small.

Ilya swallowed hard. “I said…what if it were me? What if you were in my shoes and I was in yours, and I needed help? You would not help me?”

Shane was looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

“It’s not so crazy,” Ilya said. “If you had kept playing, you would be where I am, this much I know. If my father had not let me come to America to play, I would have left anyway. Eventually. And then we would meet somehow, but it would be the opposite.” 

Shane knelt in front of him. “Of course I would help you.”

Ilya grabbed his hands. “Then please, why won’t you let me?”

“Fuck,” Shane said quietly, looking up and turning his head. 

“I know this is…I mean…I have a lot of money,” Ilya said. “It’s not something I have to think about anymore, and maybe I take that for granted…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for that. You deserve everything you have.”

“Not really. They pay me a stupid amount to skate around and hit pucks. Makes no sense.”

Shane huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s not your fault. You’ve earned it.”

“Then…why is it so bad? Why is my money a problem?”

Shane sighed and sat fully on the floor in front of him. “It’s not a problem. It’s just…” he trailed off and took a deep breath. “I’ll never have anything to offer you like that. I feel worthless in this relationship. Always the one needing something.”

Ilya’s mouth dropped open, and now his eyes were full of tears too. “What are you talking about? You are worth everything.” Shane was looking down in his lap, and Ilya gently gripped his chin and lifted it. “You’ve given me so much. You come to my games, you let me call you when I’m on the road, even when it’s late, you went skating with me, you took care of me when I was sick. Do you know how long it’s been since anyone even gave a fuck that I was sick?” His voice broke on the last word, just thinking about how Shane had come and stayed with him and brought him medicine and made him eat and sat with him and massaged his scalp and kissed his forehead like his mother used to do.

“Ilya, those are just normal things you do for…for people you care about.”

“So is buying them a new phone when they need one.”

Shane nodded slowly. 

“Isn’t that what we are doing here?” Ilya asked. “Caring about each other? Because…” his eyes were burning beyond his control now. “Fuck,” he said with feeling. “I would do anything for you, Shane. Anything. I love you.”

Shane’s eyes went wide, lips parting but no sound passing through them.

“I know it’s soon,” Ilya said quickly. “I know we haven’t known each other that long and maybe—”

“I love you too,” Shane said, cutting him off. 

Ilya let out a breath, his whole body deflating with it...he’d been braced for something painful and instead found something soft and warm. He pulled Shane to him, until he was straddling Ilya’s lap, and he kissed him with all the force of the confession that had been waiting so impatiently to become something shared instead of something hidden. 

Shane pulled back to look at him, his eyes still shiny. “You said we would still meet somehow, if things had been different.”

Ilya nodded. “Yes. Don’t you think so?”

Shane smiled at him. “Yeah. I hope so.” Ilya kissed him again.

“Before I take you upstairs and show you how much I fucking love you,” Ilya said, “should we talk more about the other stuff?”

Shane shook his head. “No, I’m sorry I freaked out. Again. I think I’m just…everything with the cottage…it’s a lot.”

Ilya sighed. “I know. It’s okay. But Shane…please just talk to me when you’re feeling this way. I only want to help, however you need me to. Okay?”

“Okay,” Shane said. “But I need you to talk to me, too. If we’re going to do this, you can’t make decisions without me.”

Ilya nodded slowly, not meeting Shane’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Shane leaned in, hugging him tight. “Now you can take me upstairs.”

-

They did make it upstairs, barely. Shane wanted nothing more than for Ilya to take him apart, piece by piece, and put him back together again, the way only he could. He was still raw from the cottage, from the phone, from finally saying out loud what he’d known for a while now.

Because Shane also knew that the cost of loving someone was living with the knowledge that one day you might lose them, and he had already paid that price too many times. He also knew he would risk it again, no matter the cost, for this. 

Ilya was worshipping his body, there was no other word for it. He was pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across his chest, his stomach, the sensitive skin at the crease of his leg. He stopped to suck little spots, color blooming under his mouth, leaving Shane’s skin a work of art. Ilya had asked if he minded, and Shane didn’t. He wanted more. He wanted to be claimed and marked and loved, and Ilya was obliging. When he finally moved toward Shane’s cock, he stopped him with a gentle hand on Ilya’s cheek.

“My turn,” Shane said. Ilya lay back on the bed, and Shane crawled over him, giving him the same treatment, using his mouth to show Ilya how beautiful he was, kissing over each mole he could reach, swirling his tongue through the hair around his nipples, and mouthing his way down his chest. He wanted to see his marks on Ilya too, but he knew he would be in the locker room nearly every day that week and didn’t want to make things awkward for him.

Ilya must have noticed because he said, “Do it. Just one, so I can take it with me tomorrow.” Shane moved down to just below Ilya’s right V line, pressed his lips against the smooth, warm skin, and licked at it, then sucked, just enough to bring color to the surface. Then he kissed the spot again and crawled back up Ilya’s body, settling on top of him until their faces were inches apart.

“I wish you weren’t leaving tomorrow,” Shane said.

“Only a few days. I will call you every night,” Ilya said, pulling him down into a kiss. 

“You better,” Shane said, smiling against his lips. He hoped it was enough, to let Ilya know that he wasn’t mad about the phone and that he wanted to be able to talk to him more than anything. “How else will I tell you I love you.”

Ilya took a shaky breath and tightened his arms around Shane. “I love you too,” he said, his voice thready. Shane pushed up to see that tears were collecting in his eyes.

“Hey,” Shane said, brushing a thumb against the corner of one eye. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m happy.”

Shane kissed him again, and they stayed like that, kissing, tender and sweet, until Ilya finally rolled them so he was on top. And even later, when he was inside of Shane and they were moving together, they stayed close, mouths never far enough apart to stop sharing breath, bodies pressed as close together as possible, and Shane could no longer tell where he ended and Ilya began, and that was how he wanted it to be always.

When Shane felt his orgasm nearly reach the tipping point, he said, “Ilya, I’m—” in warning.

Ilya’s hips stopped moving immediately. “Not yet.”

Shane couldn’t help the whimper and the way his hips pushed up, seeking what he needed. Ilya just kissed him again, while Shane’s body cooled enough to stop writhing. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” Ilya murmured against his ear. “Be patient.”

Ilya stayed inside of him, unmoving, kissing him for ages, until Shane was grinding against him again. Ilya laughed softly against his mouth.

“Okay,” he said. “You can come now.”

Shane shook his head, smiling up at Ilya, but then he started thrusting again and Shane was quickly lost to it. They came together, each other's names on their lips, their bodies entwined. Ilya cleaned them up and then wrapped Shane in his arms, and they fell asleep that way.

-

After work the next day, Shane stopped at home to grab more clothes to bring to Ilya’s. His apartment was getting emptier and emptier, the inverse of what was happening to him. He smiled, thinking about Ilya and their promised call later after his game. Shane glanced around the apartment, eyes landing on the pile of art supplies. He needed to do something with them, other than let them sit and dry up while he wasn’t here.

On the way to Ilya’s, he decided to stop at the Ottawa House Youth Centre to see if they had any need for a donation of paint and brushes and canvases. He pushed the door open of the little white building with its colorful sign in the window. There was an open door on the right when he walked in, and he could see someone sitting behind an office desk inside.

The man looked up from his computer. “Hello. Can I help you with something?”

“Hi,” Shane said. “Um…I know you do art programs here for the kids, and I wanted to see if you take donations. Of supplies.”

The man’s eyes went wide. “Yes, we’re always in need of donations. Art supplies would never go to waste here.”

Shane nodded. “I have a small collection of paint and brushes, a few canvases.”

The man held out his hand. “Jacob Martin. I’m one of the program coordinators here.”

“Shane. Hollander.” He shook Jacob’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Shane. Is this donation on behalf of an organization or from your personal collection?”

“Oh no, they’re mine. Very lightly used.”

“We’re not fussy here. Are you an art teacher? Artist?”

“Um, neither right now. I used to paint, but I don’t do much of that anymore. I don’t want the supplies to go to waste.”

“I don’t suppose you’d ever want to spend an afternoon with a bunch of teenagers who don’t use enough deodorant and give them some painting tips?” Jacob asked with a laugh.

Shane just blinked at him, the words getting lodged somewhere in his chest.

“Sorry, it’s just that our program coordinator who handles most of the art programs is out on maternity leave, and the rest of us have been doing our best but...I’m always on the lookout for someone who might want to give up an afternoon in exchange for pizza and the incredibly stimulating conversation only fourteen year olds can provide.”

Shane smiled and said, “I’m not sure I’d be very good at that.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t keep you,” Jacob said, still smiling politely. “We’d be happy to take any donations, though. Feel free to drop by anytime during business hours.”

Shane nodded. “I’ll do that.”

He turned to leave, but Jacob said, “Let me give you my card. In case you change your mind about teaching a class. It can be anything, even just how to mix colors or do certain techniques. They’re really quite a good audience.”

Shane accepted the card. “Sure. I’ll think about it. Thanks.” 

On the way back to the car, he slipped it in his pocket, knowing he’d never use it.

-

At Ilya’s house, he settled on the couch and turned on the game. The Centaurs were on fire. Wyatt was stopping everything, and Ilya was skating like they were already in the playoffs. Shane should have known things were going too well. During the second period, he watched as one of the Nashville players said something to Ilya, and then Troy was there pushing the guy, and then Ilya was pushing, and then gloves were off and arms were flying and Shane was cursing the cameras for not getting a good enough angle to see what was happening. By the time the refs had everyone under control, all three of them were bleeding. 

Shane sighed and leaned back against the cushion. The rest of the game was free of punches being thrown, but he could tell Ilya was off just by the way he was skating, the way he handled the puck. Thankfully they still won, but Shane was eager to talk to him and find out what happened that had him so out of sorts. When the game was over, he went up to shower, then grabbed the new phone and curled up in bed, pressing his face into Ilya’s pillow to breathe in the familiar scent of him. 

“Hi, are you okay?” Shane said when the phone finally rang, and he answered immediately.

“Hi. I’m fine, just a bloody nose.”

“What happened with Smith to get you and Troy on him?”

He heard Ilya exhale. “I think my secret is out.”

“Oh,” Shane said, his stomach dropping. “What did he say?”

“That he heard I take it up the ass now. I was going to let that go, but then he started running his mouth about Barrett and the Kent stuff. Got carried away.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane said. “How’s Troy?”

“He’s fine. Bloody nose too. He got a good hit in, though.” Ilya laughed. “Probably needed that.”

“How are you feeling? About what he said.”

“You know I don’t care,” Ilya said. “I don’t give a fuck what any of them have to say about me, but I also won’t be anyone’s punching bag.”

“I know. Hopefully that’s the end of it.”

Ilya sighed. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“You know what would make me feel better?”

Shane laughed because he could guess. “What?”

“Listening to you jerk off.”

“Mhm,” Shane said, smiling. “And what will you be doing?”

“The same obviously. I will spare you from video call and seeing my fucked up face. Plus, I want you moaning in my ear.”

A current of heat ran through Shane, and he pressed his palm against his cock through his shorts, a quiet moan slipping out.

“You started already? Fuck,” Ilya said, and Shane could hear the rustling of clothes or sheets. “Let me catch up.”

“I’m still fully clothed,” Shane said.

“Well, fix that.”

Shane set the phone down just long enough to pull his shorts and t-shirt off and set them aside. “Okay. Fixed.”

“Mm, tell me what you’re doing.”

Shane’s cheeks heated. They’d done this a few times, but he still felt self-conscious. “Stroking myself. You?”

“The same. Do you want me to tell you what to do tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Get the lube from the nightstand.”

Shane reached over and fished the bottle out of the drawer. “Got it.”

“Use it. A lot. I want to hear it while you’re stroking.”

Shane poured some into his hand and wrapped his fingers around cock again. Maybe he’d overdone it because it was dripping down into his pubic hair, onto his balls, between his thighs. “I think I used too much,” he said with a laugh.

“No,” Ilya said. “Let me hear it.”

Shane kept stroking, the squelch of the lube as he tightened his fist was obscene, but he could hear Ilya’s breathing get louder. “Now what?” Shane asked.

“Reach down and rub your hole for a while.”

Shane did as he was told, moaning into the phone. “I wish you were doing this,” he said.

“Me too. But don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you when I get home. I would tell you to get one of the plugs in the bottom drawer of my nightstand, but I think we will save that for another day.”

“You have plugs?” Shane asked. He pressed one finger into himself and let out a louder moan.

“Yes. What did you just do?” Ilya asked, his voice getting lower.

“Um…pushed my finger in.”

There was a sharp intake of breath and then, “I didn’t tell you to do that.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Shane asked.

“No. Fuck yourself with it.”

Shane did. He curled his finger, pressing just right, enough to make him moan and push down against himself.

“How does it feel?” Ilya asked.

“Good. But not as good as you.”

“As my fingers? Or my cock? Or maybe my tongue?”

“None of them. Never as good.”

“Which one would you choose right now? If I were there?”

Shane thought about it. Or at least tried to think about it. But thinking about any of those things had him moaning louder and moving his finger faster.

“Shane.” Ilya’s voice was deep and rough and commanding, but with the tenderness and love that Ilya never held back, and it made Shane clench around himself.

“Your cock,” he gritted out finally.

“Good choice.”

Shane closed his eyes and turned his head briefly, so he could breathe in Ilya’s scent from the pillow while he had the phone pressed to his other ear. He moaned again, writhing on his finger.

“Are you ready to come?” Ilya asked.

“Yes. Please.”

“Take your finger out and stroke yourself again. Don’t come until I say.”

Shane started stroking himself again, the excessive amount of lube making his hand move too quickly. He was already so close.

“Ilya, please,” he said, his voice edging toward a whine.

“Not yet. Tell me how it feels.”

“So fucking good,” Shane breathed. “But I still wish it was you.”

Ilya groaned, and Shane could hear his hand moving too, not quite as wetly as his own. “Fuck, Shane. I’m close. You ready to come for me?”

“Yes,” Shane whimpered.

“Do it now.”

It only took one more stroke of his hand. His body was a trigger and Ilya’s words squeezed it. He moaned loudly into the phone, not caring, hoping Ilya knew it was all for him. He heard an answering moan from Ilya, a quiet, “Fuck,” and then Ilya’s breath against the speaker.

“God, I needed that,” Ilya said, his voice still low and sexy. Then it got softer. “But I wish I could hold you now.”

“Me too. I love you,” Shane said, and his heart fluttered still, saying those words out loud.

“I love you too. So much.” 

Shane squeezed his eyes shut, soothing the burn from Ilya’s words, the tenderness in his voice, the way he wished he were there, wrapped around him. “Only three more days.”

“I will call you again tomorrow night. Text me when you wake up,” Ilya said, and his voice sounded how Shane felt.

“I will.”

“Okay. I will let you get some sleep. I love you. Goodnight.”

“I love you too. Night.”

Shane hung up and set the phone on the nightstand, slowly made his way to the bathroom to clean up, then crawled back into the bed and fell asleep with his face buried in Ilya’s pillow.

-

After Ilya hung up, he couldn’t sleep. He missed Shane, and he was still rattled about what happened on the ice. He hadn’t told Shane the full truth. Not only had Smith said what he relayed, but he’d also called Shane something unforgivable, even without naming him specifically. Ilya didn’t care what anyone had to say about his sexuality or his sex life, but he sure as fuck was not going to let anyone say a word about Shane. Or Troy, for that matter. 

He picked his phone up again and opened instagram. He typed in SHollander24. The little circle profile picture was a painting of Shane himself. It was tiny, but Ilya could see how his lips were just slightly downturned, his brows a little drawn. But his eyes were bright, and there was a touch of pink in his cheeks. The background was yellow and orange and gold, mixed with several shades of blue. It felt like sunshine…hopeful, but with the undercurrent of something sad. 

Ilya swallowed hard, unsure if he was ready to see more. He opened the page. There were 44 posts. The first one was another portrait, the background an abstract rendering of what Ilya could only guess was blown glass, based on the shapes and the way it was touched by lighter colors to create reflections. The subject was a woman, middle-aged, her face kind and clearly painted with love. The caption showed only a date. The second post was a painting of a familiar shoreline, surrounded by trees and rocks. Ilya had only seen it when the ground was covered in snow and the trees drooped, but he knew it anyway. The middle of the painting was clear and sharp, but the further out it got, the more the painting twisted, got darker, blurred into something unfamiliar and haunting. It made Ilya’s heart ache, because he could feel it, knew that kind of grief himself, the way it twisted things, made them hard to look at. 

Ilya kept going. He made it to the sixteenth post before he realized almost two hours had passed. It was late, and he needed to sleep. He rubbed his eyes only to realize they were wet. And once he felt it, he realized the t-shirt he’d slipped on was wet too, where tears had dripped down unnoticed. Shane’s paintings were full of so many things that moved Ilya. Not all the tears were sad. But one thing he knew with a dreadful certainty…if leaving Ottawa was what Shane needed to start painting again, Ilya didn’t want to stop him. Even if it would break him. 

-

The rest of their road trip passed without any more homophobic slurs, at least not targeted ones, thrown his way. Ilya was in a good mood on the flight back. He was ready to see Shane and be back in his bed. Their bed. Because it was, and maybe he needed to figure out how to make that official without starting another argument about finances. 

Mid-flight, he sank into the seat next to Troy. “What are you doing, Barrett?”

“Writing an instagram post,” Troy said, tilting his phone toward Ilya. “I’m posting resources for sexual assault victims. Harris was on me about using my account more.”

Ilya tilted his head. “Probably not quite what Harris meant, but I think this is better. You continue to surprise me, Barrett.”

Troy smirked at him. “How’s Shane?”

Ilya smiled. “Good. He likes you and Harris for some reason. I guess we will have to finally invite you over for dinner.” 

Troy snorted. “Everyone likes Harris.”

Ilya nodded sagely. “Yes. Luckily for you.”

Troy looked serious again. “What happened the other day…with Smith…” he trailed off.

“That was my fault. I should have ignored him. And you should too, next time that happens. Because it will happen again.”

“I know. Probably even more because…I think I’m going to come out to the team soon. Like really soon,” Troy said.

“We will support you. You know that. Fuck what anyone else says,” Ilya said.

Troy nodded. “I know. Thanks.”

“And for pride night? You will still do it publicly?”

“I think so. Harris is going to help me make a video for my page.”

“I’m proud of you,” Ilya said, standing up and putting a hand on Troy’s shoulder briefly. “Let me know if anyone gives you any shit, okay?”

Troy was looking at him with an unreadable expression that made Ilya's chest tight.

When he settled back into his own seat, he had a text from Shane.

Shane: Did you know Svetlana hung the paintings?

Ilya had forgotten about that conversation entirely.

Ilya: no…she did?

Shane: Yep. She did a good job too. You should have a look when you get home.

Ilya: what time do you get off work tonight?

Shane: 9

Ilya pouted. And then sent a sad face emoji.

Ilya: can’t you leave early
Ilya: I miss you

Shane: You don’t have to wait that long. You’ll be fine.

Ilya smiled, but he did not agree.

Ilya: ok, I love you

Shane: I love you too

-

When Ilya got home, he brought his stuff upstairs and changed into comfortable clothes, then he went down to the kitchen to find a note waiting for him on the counter.

Dinner in the fridge. I love you. -Shane

Those words in any form from Shane made his heart flutter every time. And now that they had said them, neither could stop, and Ilya hoped that never changed. 

He opened the fridge to find a container with some kind of chicken and rice dish and another with roasted vegetables. He wondered if Shane had cooked this just so he’d have something when he got home. 

After he ate, he texted Shane again.

Ilya: thank you for dinner
Ilya: I will thank you properly later

Shane: You better.
Shane: See you soon.

Ilya scrolled up to their last few messages and remembered about the paintings. He headed for the glass-walled room, but when he stepped inside, his eyes slid past the two paintings Svetlana had hung. Because there was a third one now.

That fact alone would have sent Ilya to his knees. But the subject of the painting was…him. It was his face, on a background of green and blue. There were some shades of brown accenting the other colors, gold, a hint of bronze, something brighter, yellow or white. A careful chaos of colors and textures that coalesced into his eyes, captured in perfect detail, the way only someone who had been up close, intimately so, could ever get right. And he knew that this was another way Shane was saying I love you because while Ilya recognized himself, he had never seen himself this way. Shane captured him through a lens of softness and tenderness and love, through the exact curves and dip of his upper lip, curled up on either end in a way Ilya must only look at Shane when he was above him, inside him, because he had never seen that look in the mirror. The mole on his cheek, the way his hair curled into hearts sometimes, the way one eyebrow was imperceptibly lifted above the other. All perfectly rendered in a way only Shane ever could.

Ilya slid to the floor in his familiar spot. He had to lean his head against the wall now, his gaze higher since the paintings were no longer on the floor. He would send Svetlana flowers. A fruit basket. A fucking Porsche. Because these paintings did not belong on the floor. He didn’t know when Shane did this, or when he’d hung it beside the other two. 

When Shane got home a little later, he found Ilya still there, on the floor. Ilya looked up at him when he walked in, and Shane had a small crooked smile on his face.

“Hi,” he said, kneeling next to Ilya. He brought a hand up to Ilya’s face, his thumb brushing under his eye. “No tears.”

Ilya pulled him in until Shane was straddling him, arms squeezing him tight. “Shane,” he whispered. “You did this for me.” It wasn’t a question.

“I felt inspired,” Shane said. “I have for a while now. I’ve been thinking about it, maybe since I met you.”

Shane pulled back enough to look at his face. “Hey,” he said, swiping at Ilya’s tears again. “What is it?”

But Ilya didn’t have words, so he pulled Shane in and kissed him, pouring out all the words he wished he could find and couldn’t. Not in English. Maybe not even in Russian. Maybe words for things this big didn’t exist in any language except this one, where lips mashed together and tongues slid against each other and bodies moved as one. When they finally separated, they were both breathing hard.

“Thank you,” Ilya whispered. “I love you so fucking much. When did you do this?”

“While you were away. Parts of it are probably still drying, but I made sure the part touching the wall is okay.”

Ilya cradled his jaw, not caring about the wall even a little. “This is…” he sniffed, trying to hold it together, “the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. It makes me feel…” he trailed off. “Fuck. You are making me lose my words.”

Shane smiled at him, so sweet, his eyes crinkled, freckles bunching up. He brushed the hair off Ilya’s forehead and leaned in to press a kiss there, and then there were more tears on his face that Shane kissed away, one by one.

“I’m glad you like it,” Shane said, pressing their foreheads together. “And I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too,” Ilya rasped, his voice thick with tears and love.

“Come on,” Shane said, standing up. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Ilya followed him up to the bedroom. He let Shane undress him and push him down onto the bed. He let him settle between his legs and kiss him until they were both breathless. He let him kiss his way down his body until he took Ilya’s cock into his mouth and didn’t stop until Ilya was coming down his throat. And he didn’t stop him when he crawled back up and kissed him again. 

Eventually Ilya switched places with him and gave him the same treatment in return. Then he curled around Shane’s body, head on his chest, one leg drawn up over Shane’s, an arm loosely draped across his stomach, while Shane ran fingers through his hair.

“How are you feeling about painting?” Ilya asked softly. 

Shane took a moment before he answered, fingers rubbing lightly across the top of Ilya’s head, making him want to nuzzle into it. “Better than I have in a long time,” Shane said.

“That’s really good,” Ilya said, something in his chest loosening at Shane’s words. “I’m glad.”

“I stopped at the youth center while you were gone. I was going to donate all the art supplies.” 

“But you didn’t?”

“No, not yet. I still will, because I told them I would and they can use it.”

Ilya nodded against his chest. “We can always get more. That sounds like a nice thing to do.” 

“Yeah. I think so.” He paused. “The guy I talked to there…he asked if I wanted to teach a class.”

Ilya picked up his head and looked at Shane. “And?”

“Well, I told him I wouldn’t be good at that. But he gave me his card.”

“But isn’t that what you want to do? Teach art? That sounds perfect.”

Shane shrugged. “I didn’t know if I had anything to offer if I couldn’t even paint myself. Plus…it would just be a one time thing I think. As a volunteer.”

“You should do it. I bet you’d be great. They would love you.”

Shane smiled. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

Ilya lay his head back down. “Maybe they will want you to be a regular.”

“I don’t know if I can afford to be an unpaid regular,” Shane said.

Ilya picked his head up again, giving Shane a look that he hoped said what he was thinking in a way that wouldn’t lead to an argument.

Shane rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. You’re going to have to give me some time and space to…come to terms with that. Okay?”

“Okay. But you know I love you and only want you to do whatever makes you happy. And I think you should at least take them up on the offer to go once.”

“I know. I promise I’ll think about it.”

“Would this be a bad time to ask you to move in with me?” Ilya asked before he could stop himself.

Shane’s mouth opened, and Ilya could see the no coming like a freight train. But then Shane closed his mouth, licked his lips, and smiled. “I was thinking about how there was hardly anything left in my apartment because I keep bringing more things over here. And how I can barely sleep in my bed anymore because it’s uncomfortable without you.”

Ilya’s eyes went wide. “Is that a yes?”

Shane rolled his eyes playfully. “My lease is up in two months.” 

Ilya tilted his head. “Okay.” 

“I can’t break it early, but…I haven’t renewed it yet.”

“That sounds like a yes to me,” Ilya said, biting his lip to suppress his smile and failing. He shifted so he could lean forward and kiss him. “Please say yes.”

“Yes,” Shane said against his lips. 

Ilya climbed fully on top of him so he could kiss him properly. “Thank you. For everything.”

Shane tightened his arms around him. “How was the rest of your trip?” he asked.

“Good. Didn’t have to punch anymore assholes at least. Troy is going to come out to the team this week, I think.”

“That’s great,” Shane said. “Do you think anyone is going to have a problem with…I don’t know, having more queer people on the same team?”

“No. Any other team, probably.”

“Your guys are great. I wonder how Scott Hunter’s team reacted when he came out.”

“They already respected him. That probably helped,” Ilya said. “He is old and boring, but…he is a good captain.”

Shane laughed. “Yeah. I can tell.”

“I told Troy we are inviting him and Harris to dinner for real. So maybe we should pick a day. If that’s okay.”

“Of course. I want to get to know your friends,” Shane said.

Ilya was about to argue that Troy was his teammate, but Shane was right. They were friends. 

"I was also thinking..." Shane said. "About skating again. Maybe."

"Yeah?" Ilya asked, trying to contain his excitement.

"I really like being on the ice with you," Shane said. "Puck not required, but...I'd do that again, too."

"Okay," Ilya said, and he felt like his heart might explode before this day ended. "Then we will."

Chapter 13: The minor fall

Chapter Notes

Coach Wiebe was able to get Ilya two extra hours at the practice facility a few days later. There was nothing else going on there until later in the day, so it worked out perfectly.

“You’re sure Wiebe is cool doing this?” Shane had asked when he met Ilya at the back entrance.

“He was happy to. Being me has its perks,” Ilya told him with a grin.

“Don’t I know it,” Shane said, bumping his shoulder.

In the locker room, Ilya sat on the bench. “So…I got you some pads and a helmet. Don’t worry, just extra stuff no one is using. In case you want to try more than easy passing.”

Shane looked at him, an unreadable expression on his face that Ilya worried meant he’d gone too far. Then Shane nodded, mouth quirking up on one side. “Okay. But don’t make fun of me if I can’t keep up.”

“Somehow I don’t think that will happen.”

Ilya pulled his own gear and skates back on, keeping an eye on Shane, who put his on like it was still a daily routine. Seeing him in full gear made Ilya’s heart swell. Maybe not only his heart.

“Ready?” he asked.

Shane took a deep breath, nodded, and followed him out to the ice.

“I’ll let you warm up a little first,” Ilya said, taking a seat on the bench, two sticks and a puck next to him.

Shane skated out onto the ice and did a few laps. He really was a natural. Ilya might have been biased in some ways, but Shane was objectively a talented skater. He had the grace of someone who trained those skills early and the instincts of someone with natural talent. As usual, Ilya couldn’t help but wonder what might have become of him if his parents hadn’t died. If he had met Shane as a competitor, an equal in this sport. Would he still have fallen in love with him? It was hard to imagine a world in which he didn’t.

“Ready?” Shane asked, skating up to the boards in front of the bench. 

Ilya got up and joined him on the ice, handing over one of the sticks and dropping the puck. “What do you want to do?” 

Shane shrugged. “Let’s just pass it for now. And then we’ll see,” he said with a wink.

Ilya grinned at him and took off, moving the puck until Shane was level with him across the ice. He passed it, and Shane intercepted it smoothly, pushing it forward for a while until he glanced over and hit it back. They did a few laps, passing the puck with ease. Ilya rarely felt this in sync with anyone else on the ice, and maybe it was because he and Shane were intimately connected off the ice, but he thought it was more than that. 

Eventually it turned into a 1 on 1 competition, and though Shane could not quite match his skill level—only because Ilya had been training and playing for fifteen years straight and Shane hadn’t, that much he was sure of— he put up a good defense, and he stole the puck off Ilya a few times. When Shane got a goal past him, Ilya knocked their helmets together and cheered.

When had he last had this much fun playing hockey? Even with the Centaurs playing so well lately, this was a different kind of joy. It was partly selfish, because he was having fun with Shane, being on the ice together, sharing the second most important thing in his life with the most important one. But it was also because watching Shane enjoy it was infectious. He could see the little burst of surprise every time Shane did something and realized he was having fun, like he thought it was going to hurt him and when it didn’t, the revelation lit him up…his eyes were bright, his smile was wide and genuine and full of childlike wonder that Ilya thought Shane deserved more than anyone, especially here, doing this thing that was taken from him by the greedy hands of misfortune. And seeing this through Shane’s eyes did something for Ilya too, because while he still liked hockey, it had become a job. Something he had to do even when he didn’t feel like it, something that weighed on him because he was responsible for a whole team of people. Expectations on top of responsibilities on top of obligations. Maybe sometimes he forgot that he still loved it too.

When their two hours were up, they headed back to the locker room, both flushed and smiling. 

“How are you feeling?” Ilya asked while he pulled off his gear. 

“Good,” Shane said. “I had fun. I feel like a kid again when I’m out there.”

“A little more practice and you could probably kick my ass,” Ilya said, still grinning at him.

“Shut up,” Shane said, laughing. “I’d be out of my element in a real game with full teams.”

Ilya shrugged. “You might be surprised.”

“Playing with you is enough for me right now.”

Ilya nodded and stood up. “Whatever you want to do is fine,” he said, squeezing the back of Shane’s neck. “I’m hitting the showers.” 

Because if he didn’t, he was going to do filthy things to his boyfriend in this not-so-private locker room.

When they finally made it home, much like the aftermath of the last time, Ilya didn’t let Shane get more than a few steps into the house before he was on him. 

“Fuck,” he breathed against his mouth. “Watching you play hockey does things to me.”

Shane smiled, his lips brushing Ilya’s. “I’m not complaining.”

Ilya pushed his already aching cock against Shane’s, backing him up against the wall. “No one has ever looked sexier handling a stick.”

Shane laughed. “Is that an innuendo?”

“Maybe,” Ilya said, reaching between them to palm Shane’s cock through his pants. “One day I want to fuck you while you wear nothing but my jersey.”

Shane moaned and pushed against his hand.

“Ah, you like that idea too?” Ilya murmured, leaning in to scrape his teeth along the side of Shane’s neck, earning him another delicious little noise that made him greedy for more. “No time for that today.”

Before he could do anything else, Shane dropped to his knees in front of him, hands grabbing the waistband of Ilya’s pants and dragging them down. He looked up, eyes dark, a wicked little smile on his face, and then he took Ilya’s hard cock into his mouth, and Ilya’s eyes rolled back, his forearms coming up to brace himself against the wall. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, trying to stay still while Shane was swirling his tongue and lapping at the head of his cock, making him moan louder than he meant to. Then Shane took him in until Ilya could feel the back of his throat, no longer a problem for Shane, who swallowed around him, making Ilya’s knees weak. Shane kept working him until Ilya had one hand fisted in his hair, not pushing, just hanging on, while his hips rocked involuntarily.

“Shane,” he said, giving his hair a light tug in warning. Shane sped up, bringing a hand up to the base of Ilya’s cock to stroke up and meet his mouth, which became much more focused on licking and sucking around the head, pulling his orgasm from him forcefully. He moaned Shane’s name, his hand tightening in his hair as he pressed the top of his head against the wall, looking down to watch that dark hair wrapped around his fingers, those perfect red lips wrapped around his cock, drawing another low groan from him. Shane gave his cock one last long lick, making Ilya shiver, before standing up, pulling Ilya’s waistband up on the way.

Ilya kissed him against the wall, tongue pushing past his lips, tasting himself in Shane’s mouth. Shane pulled him in close, grinding his hard cock against Ilya’s thigh. Ilya started to kneel down to return the favor, but Shane’s grip on his back tightened, and he made a noise of protest, so Ilya stayed where he was, kissing him and letting him grind harder. Shane was moaning into his mouth, and Ilya wanted more. He moved his lips to Shane’s neck, sucking and biting and pulling more little noises for him.

“You sure you don’t want me to?” he whispered against Shane’s ear, hand moving between them to rub against his cock.

In answer, Shane shoved the front of his pants down far enough to free his cock, then said, “Kiss me.” So Ilya did. He wrapped his fingers around Shane’s cock and kissed his mouth the way he always wanted to…hard and messy and sweet, all tongue and sliding lips and breathy moans. Shane kissed him back the same way, and Ilya would have happily stayed there forever, giving and taking and existing together. When Shane finally came, Ilya pressed him against the wall, holding him up, never letting his lips go, even while Shane gasped into his mouth.

When he finally pulled back, he could see that Shane’s lips were red and swollen, and Ilya couldn’t help but lean in and run his tongue over them again, which made Shane smile. 

“Fuck,” Ilya said. “You make me want to do this to you at center ice.”

That made Shane shudder against him.

“Mm, I see I am not alone.”

“You’re a bad influence,” Shane said, leaning his forehead on Ilya’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing we don’t play together.”

Ilya hugged him. “I would love it. But I love this more.”

-

After they cleaned up, they ended up on the couch watching TV. Shane was lying down with his head in Ilya’s lap, and Ilya had a list of things he wanted to talk to him about.

“What is the 24 in your instagram name?” he asked, deciding to go with that one first.

Shane turned his head to look up at him. “It was my favorite jersey number. There was a framed one at the cottage from when I was like 10, probably.”

Ilya nodded, thinking about Shane still clinging to that number, even now. It made him happy that Shane wanted to play again. It seemed like maybe he hadn’t let it go as cleanly as he thought he had, which meant it was important enough to hang on to. To find again.

“Do you want to keep playing? With me, I mean.” 

“Oh, yeah, I mean…I wouldn’t mind, but you don’t have to keep doing that,” Shane said. “You already play almost every day between practice and games. It’s not like playing with me is helpful at all.”

Ilya quickly stood up and then pinned Shane down on the couch, grabbing both of his wrists and pushing them up while he stretched out on top of him. Shane was grinning up at him, and Ilya kissed him until it faded under his lips. “You know that’s not true,” he said when he pulled back. “Have I not made it clear how much I like being out there with you?” he said, grinding his hips against Shane. “I would rather play 1 on 1 with you than anyone else in the world. And I will go with you as often as you want. Okay?”

“Okay,” Shane said, smiling again. “I just don’t want to bore you.”

“Never.”

“I should be able to come to the game tomorrow. I’m off at 6.”

“Good,” Ilya said. “I need you there. My good luck charm.”

Shane pulled him down into a kiss again. The next time they separated, Ilya asked, “What day do you want to have Troy and Harris over?”

“You’re thinking about Troy and Harris while you’re kissing me?” 

“Jealous?”

“No,” Shane said. “Only of Chiron.”

Ilya nodded very seriously. “You should be.”

Shane laughed. “I guess next week. We could do Thursday or Friday. I have a morning shift Thursday, off on Friday, and you guys don’t have games.”

“I’ll ask them if either of those works.”

“Okay, let me know. I was thinking I might stop by the youth center and drop off the art supplies next week.”

“We should go out and buy some more for them,” Ilya said. “I donate money often, but not usually like…you know, real stuff. Would be fun.”

“Really? You want to?” Shane asked, and Ilya was relieved he wasn’t even trying to argue.

“Of course. We can go to the store where we met.” He leaned down and kissed Shane. “Best day. You were so nervous, waiting there.”

Shane laughed. “Um, yeah. Ilya Rozanov was harassing me about painting and then pulled up in a Porsche. I was very fucking nervous.”

“But look how that turned out for you,” Ilya said, wiggling his hips against Shane.

Shane sighed happily. “I’m glad I didn’t chicken out.”

-

On Thursday, Shane worked in the morning and Ilya had practice, but after that, they took a trip to the art supply store. Shane still felt slightly ambivalent about spending Ilya's money, but it helped that it wasn’t for him.

“I will follow you around with stupid basket again,” Ilya said, grabbing one on the way in. “Get whatever you think they can use.”

Shane started down the aisles, grabbing a few of the bigger sized tubes of paint in basic colors, enough shades for mixing. He grabbed several sets of paintbrushes. Not the fancy ones, but still good quality, because that made a huge difference if they were learning brush stroke techniques.

“Get a few more,” Ilya said, watching him. “They are kids, yes? Probably lose and break things a lot.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.” He grabbed a few more and then moved to the canvases. There were cheaper ones, in packs of 2 or 4, that would still be perfect for what they were doing. 

Shane grabbed a few, but once again, Ilya said, “More.” Shane just smiled at him and grabbed a few more. They kept walking the aisles, Shane looking at the stuff on the shelves, Ilya looking at him. 

“I think this is a good start,” Shane said. 

“Are you sure?”

Shane nodded. “I can always ask if they need anything else.”

“Okay,” Ilya said, turning toward the front of the store.

At the register, the number that popped up on the screen made Shane’s stomach momentarily sink, but Ilya didn’t even blink. He just swiped a card and happily took the receipt and helped Shane carry the bags out.

In the car, Shane turned to him. “Thank you for doing that.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I was happy to. Should we go drop it off now?”

“Oh,” Shane said. “I didn’t know you’d want to come. But we can, yeah.” It was still early enough in the afternoon to be business hours.

Shane gave him the address, and a few minutes later, they were pulling into the parking lot. They grabbed the bags out of the back and headed into the little white building. Jacob was there in his office, sitting behind his computer again. Shane could hear voices coming from other areas of the building, the loud, unrestrained yells and laughs of kids.

Jacob came out of his office, eyes going wide. “Shane, right?”

“Yeah, hi. I came back with the promised art supply donation,” he said, holding up the bags. 

Jacob looked between him and Ilya, his head cocking to the side, clearly in recognition. 

“Um, this is Ilya Rozanov,” Shane said awkwardly. “The donation is also from him.”

“Oh I’m familiar with Mr. Rozanov. What a lucky day for us when you signed with the Centaurs.”

“For me too,” Ilya said, his eyes just briefly sliding Shane’s way. “It’s nice to meet you…”

“Jacob Martin.” He held a hand out, and Ilya shook it. “Thank you for doing this. We have a pretty sad collection of art supplies right now. It’s amazing how fast paint disappears around here.”

“We would be happy to donate more,” Ilya said. 

“Oh no, this is really great,” Jacob said, looking at the bags. “You have no idea. We’re beyond grateful. Don’t suppose you’ve thought anymore about teaching a class or two?” He looked at Shane expectantly.

“I might be able to do that,” Shane said hesitantly. “I’m a little rusty, but I could probably do something simple with them.”

Jacob waved his hand. “Truly, anything would be welcome. These kids just need something to do and someone to believe in them. We give them a place to go that keeps them out of trouble. If they think you care, they’ll give you their undivided attention.”

Shane nodded. “That sounds really great. I’d love to help out.” He realized it was true. Just thinking about it was making him feel…something. Excited maybe. He almost didn’t recognize it, the feeling he used to get when he thought about art, especially sharing it with others. He’d helped his aunt teach a few classes here and there, mostly in the mediums she worked in, but occasionally basic painting techniques. He’d always loved that part, watching someone else try something and realize they could do it, could create something. 

“Do you have a minute? There is some paperwork. We require a background check, all that stuff. Working with kids, you know.”

“Sure,” Shane said. He turned to Ilya. “Is that okay?” 

Ilya was watching him with a small smile that looked like it was containing a much bigger one. “Of course.”

They followed Jacob into his office and sat in the two chairs across the desk from him. He handed Shane a clipboard with a few documents to fill out.

“We usually have our art programs on Mondays and Wednesdays, right after the kids get here from school between 3 and 4.”

Shane nodded. “I can probably make it for either of those with a little advance notice.”

He handed the clipboard back to Jacob. “Okay, excellent. I’ll get these processed and then give you a call so we can schedule.” He stood up and held out a hand. “Thank you again for the donation. And for volunteering your time.”

He shook Ilya’s hand next. “And Mr. Rozanov. If you ever want to stop in and meet some of the kids, they’d be starstruck. No pressure, but you’re welcome anytime.”

Ilya was grinning. “I would love to come by. And you let us know if you need more art supplies. You can reach me through Shane.”

Jacob looked between them with a hint of curiosity. Shane just nodded. They said their goodbyes and headed back to the car.

“I’m proud of you,” Ilya said.

“What?”

“For doing that. Agreeing to come teach a class. They will love you.”

Shane smiled. “We’ll see. Hopefully I don’t embarrass myself in front of a bunch of teenagers.”

Ilya reached over to squeeze his hand, and Shane leaned back against the seat, the warmth from Ilya’s hand in his spreading to meet the warmth in his chest as he looked out the window and watched the familiar sights of Ottawa slide by.

-

The next day, Ilya was in the locker room after practice, pulling off sweaty gear when Troy walked by.

“Barrett,” he said. “Is Harris bringing Chiron to dinner tonight?”

“Uh.” Troy looked nervous. “I don’t think he can.”

“Relax. I’m kidding. We will see you at 6?”

Troy nodded. “We’ll be there. Harris is excited.”

“Tell him he can thank me by bringing Chiron to practice next time.”

Ilya hit the showers and then drove home, looking forward to spending the rest of the day with Shane until their dinner guests arrived later. Shane wasn’t in the living room or the bedroom or the kitchen. 

“Shane?” 

Maybe he was in the gym. But before Ilya got to the basement door, he heard Shane answer him from down the hall. Ilya headed toward the glass-walled room, and before he stepped inside, Shane was there in the doorway, the sun streaming in through the glass behind him, a streak of sage green paint across his cheek, a blue one on his right forearm. 

Ilya’s heart stuttered. He looked angelic against the sun, perfect and happy, his smile wide and unguarded.

“Hi,” Shane said. Ilya grabbed him around the waist and lifted him off the ground. “Oh my god, what are you doing?” Shane laughed.

“You are painting?” Ilya asked, setting him back on his feet.

“Uh yeah…just a little. I had some ideas floating around and I thought maybe I should practice. You know, before I try to teach anyone else anything.”

“Can I see?” Ilya asked. He could see the dropcloth and the easel. Tubes of paint and brushes sitting on the floor.

“Oh…yeah,” Shane said, stepping further into the room. He walked Ilya over to the canvas. “It’s not done, of course.”

It was beautiful. Greens and blues and browns, abstract but recognizable as trees and sky. Flowers dotted the grass. But in the middle was the silhouette of a woman, facing away, hand outstretched like she was calling out to someone to join her.

“Your mother?” Ilya guessed.

Shane nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just a memory that…” he shrugged. 

“It’s very beautiful.”

“Thanks. I haven’t quite got the background how I want it. Still not completely back into my usual process.”

Ilya looked around again. “What can we put in this room to help? I don’t know what studios need. But keeping your paint on the floor can’t be good.”

“What? Oh no, it’s fine. Don’t worry, I doubled the dropcloth, nothing should leak through.”

“Shane,” Ilya said, grabbing his hand. “I don’t care about the floor. If you are going to live here, I want you to have a proper place to paint. Furniture. I’ve been meaning to furnish all these rooms anyway, I just don’t know what they need.”

“Oh. Maybe a desk?” Shane said.

“Please pick whatever you want. We can order it together later. Please,” Ilya said, pulling him in close. “Okay?”

Shane smiled, eyes starting to roll. Ilya knew he was giving in. “Okay.”

“Thank you. Come find me when you’re done,” Ilya said, brushing a thumb over the green paint on his cheek, almost as adorable as the freckles it was obscuring.

-

Just before 6, Shane and Ilya were in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner. They’d decided to go with chicken parmesan…delicious and crowd pleasing. Shane was draining the spaghetti when there was a knock at the front door.

“I will let them in,” Ilya said.

A minute later, Ilya came back into the kitchen with Troy and Harris in tow.

“They didn’t bring Chiron,” he pouted. Shane laughed.

“Hey,” he said. “Good to see you guys again.”

Troy nodded, a polite smile on his face. Shane wondered if being in Ilya Rozanov’s house was having an effect on him. Shane could relate, even still.

“Shane,” Harris boomed in his loud, cheerful voice. “I’ve been dreaming of your paintings. I just thought you should know that.

Shane laughed. “Thanks,” he said. “Um…I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Truly. You’re amazing. I’ve liked every post on your instagram.”

“Shane is going to teach an art class to kids at the youth center,” Ilya said, his lips pulled into a little smile, like a proud parent. Shane’s cheeks warmed.

Harris’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god, what a great idea. Which youth center?”

“Ottawa House.”

Harris nodded. “I know of it. Those lucky kids will be getting a top-tier education from a professional.”

“I’m no professional. But I know how to mix colors. And a few other things.” Shane shrugged. 

Harris laughed and glanced at Ilya. “Your modesty must balance out his ego.”

“Rude. I invite you here and you insult me,” Ilya said.

“You’re not insulted and you know it.”

Ilya shrugged. “Fine. You are correct. Now are we eating or talking?”

They sat around the table to eat for once, instead of the island. 

“Which one of you made this?” Harris asked.

“We cooked together,” Ilya said, taking a sip of wine. “But Shane did most of the work.”

Shane shrugged. “Ilya cooks all the time.”

“Really?” Troy asked, looking surprised.

“What, you think I can’t cook because I’m good at hockey?”

“I can’t,” Troy muttered, picking up his fork again. 

Ilya laughed. “Your instagram posts make up for it. I saw your latest one, about being an ally. The league needs more of that.”

Troy looked up again. “I might have to stop posting. The commissioner isn’t happy.”

“Crowell? He talked to you?”

Troy nodded. “He called and warned me. Thinks I’m stirring shit up. Making Kent look bad.”

“Someone needs to. I don’t like this.”

“I stopped posting for now. Everything he said…it felt like a threat.”

Ilya shook his head, anger clear on his face. “I will be talking to him when I get a chance.”

“Don’t do that,” Troy said quickly. “I don’t want to make it worse.”

“I’m sick of this shit. He protects people like Kent and silences people doing good. I still don’t like the way they’ve treated Hunter.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to do anything else…you know, come out more publicly like I planned. The team knows, so the league will eventually. But now that I’m on his shit list…”

Ilya shook his head. “Don’t let Crowell stop you. We need to be louder. We need more inclusivity in the league. Don’t give in to this shit. You know I will stand up for you. So will the rest of our team. And Hunter.”

Harris was nodding along, and Shane could see he had hold of Troy’s hand under the table.

“You came out to the team?” Shane asked.

Troy nodded. “Today actually. In the locker room.” He glanced over at Harris. “They were really cool about it.”

“Congrats. That must feel good.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling at Harris, sappy and cute and probably the way Shane looked at Ilya. 

When the conversation settled into something less tense, Harris looked over at Shane. “So…that painting Ilya bought. Can I see it up close?”

“Yeah,” Shane said. “If everyone’s done…” He looked around at the empty plates.

“Go,” Ilya said. “I’ll take care of these.”

Shane nodded in thanks and led Harris and Troy down the hall. He still had the painting he’d been working on earlier set out on the easel, sitting in front of the wall opposite where the other three paintings hung. 

“Holy shit,” Harris said, his eyes sweeping across the ones hanging. “You are incredible.”

Troy was looking at the painting of Ilya, eyes wide. “Wow.” 

Harris looked over at the unfinished painting. “Shane…I need you to let me help you get your instagram page going again. Please tell me you plan on showing your stuff here?”

Shane quickly shook his head. “Oh, I don’t have anything to show. I’m not even sure…I mean, I’m only just starting to paint again. After a long break.”

“Okay, okay. But you’ve seen my social media work and you know where to find me. I think the Ottawa art scene could use some new blood.”

Hearing himself mentioned in the same breath as the Ottawa art scene made his stomach feel like it had just crested the first free fall of a roller coaster. Since he’d been back, thinking of art here had been like punishment. Something taken away from him for daring to come back, trying to find anything familiar, anything that made him feel like he was still the same person he’d been when his life had been mostly on the ice, skating and the unrelenting crash of bodies, his parents always there supporting him, pushing him. Not paint and color and creating something beautiful out of chaos. Those two lives couldn’t coexist. He only had the latter because the former died with his parents. Except…

Ilya walked in then, stepping right up to Shane, slipping an arm around his waist. 

“I was just telling Shane he should start showing his work here. When he’s ready. The Ottawa art scene would be lucky to have him,” Harris said.

Ilya’s face had gone soft, and he was glancing over at Shane. “I agree. If he wants to.”

Shane leaned into him. “Maybe. One day. You’ll all be the first to know, I promise.” To have people here, supporting him again, pushing him, gently and lovingly, was enough to undo him. He could feel the tears starting to well. “Come on, we made tiramisu for dessert,” he said, turning away and walking out before they could fall.

-

Later that night, after Troy and Harris had gone home and the kitchen was clean, Shane was lying on his stomach on the bed, naked, waiting for Ilya to finish fussing with his hair after they’d showered. 

“Are you ever coming out?” he called toward the bathroom.

“Someone is impatient,” Ilya said from the doorway. 

A moment later, Ilya’s warm weight was pressing down on his back, his lips against the back of Shane’s neck. 

“This is what you wanted?” Ilya asked, pushing his already hardening cock in the crease of Shane’s ass.

“Yes,” Shane groaned. 

Ilya sat up and Shane wanted to tell him to come back, but Ilya tapped the side of his thigh. “Turn over for a minute.”

Shane did, and Ilya settled back between his legs so that they were face to face. “I stopped at the clinic last week.”

Shane’s brain was lagging. “What? Why?”

“To get tested. All negative.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Shane said, but Ilya was looking at him expectantly.

“Since we are…you know, exclusive, living together, I thought maybe we could…” he reached over and picked up a condom off the nightstand, waving it around before tossing it aside.

“Oh, yeah,” Shane said. “Of course.”

“Only if you want to.”

“I do. I haven’t been with anyone else in…well, a long time. I’ve been tested multiple times since then.”

Ilya leaned down and kissed him. “Like I said, only if you want to. I just wanted you to know.”

“Yes,” Shane said, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s back. “But can we get to it?”

Ilya laughed. “So impatient. Turn back over,” he said, sitting up.

Shane flipped himself over, so he was flat on his stomach again. Then he felt Ilya’s hands spreading his thighs, then his face pushing into the crease of his ass, then his tongue pressing against his hole. Shane moaned and pushed his hips into the bed and then back against Ilya, who was lapping at him with short, firm strokes, then long, softer ones. Shane couldn’t focus on anything but the drag of his tongue, the hard press of his fingers into Shane’s thighs, his warm breath on his skin, all sending shivers of pleasure through him until he was unapologetically grinding against the bed.

“Ilya,” he whined, wanting more. 

He felt Ilya shifting behind him, and then his tongue was replaced with a slick finger pushing into him, which only made Shane’s hips move more, seeking what he knew was coming. Ilya curled his finger and then pushed another in, making Shane moan. He felt Ilya’s lips against his lower back, trailing wetly against his skin, stopping to press against a spot above his ass on the right and then the left. Then he scraped his teeth there, and Shane really couldn’t stop whatever noises were coming out of him because his skin was overly sensitive and every touch was like a direct line to his cock. 

“Ilya,” he said again. “Please.”

Ilya removed his fingers. “Turn back over. I want to look at you while I’m inside you with nothing between us for the first time.”

Shane sucked in a breath, his whole body tingling in anticipation. He turned over, and Ilya settled between his legs again, crashing their lips together before Shane had even leaned back against the pillows. 

“Want you like this so much,” Ilya whispered against his lips, before trailing his mouth down to kiss along his jaw.

“Me too. Please.”

Ilya sat back long enough to slick himself and line up his cock, then he slowly pushed into Shane, and Shane didn’t know if it was really that different, or if was just knowing that Ilya was inside of him, just him, nothing between them, but he could feel him everywhere, his whole body felt like it was lit up, on fire, wrapped in the softest, warmest hug…everything all at once. 

“Oh fuck, Ilya,” he moaned, back arching when Ilya was fully seated, their bodies flush. Ilya’s lips were parted, his eyes dark and full of something tender but scorching hot. He dropped his forehead against Shane’s shoulder, not moving yet.

“You feel so good,” Ilya murmured against him, his voice low and rough. “I love you.”

Shane’s eyes prickled, and he pulled Ilya as close against him as he could, wrapping his legs around his lower back, one hand threading through the curls at the back of his neck. “I love you too.”

Ilya picked his head up and kissed him. It started slow and sweet, sealing those words in, while their bodies were connected in the most intimate way. Shane tugged lightly on his curls, making Ilya moan into his mouth and move against him, and that was enough to turn it from tender to hungry, their mouths moving harder against each other while Ilya started to roll his hips. 

They finally broke apart, panting too hard as Ilya thrust harder and Shane moved against him, but they stayed close, face to face, Ilya’s eyes locked onto his. 

“Does this feel different for you too?” Shane asked, his voice breathless.

Ilya nodded. “Yes. So fucking good. Perfect.”

Shane pulled him down into another kiss, messy and sweet, and when Ilya pulled back, Shane caught his bottom lip in his teeth, making Ilya groan and lean back in, pushing his tongue into Shane’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Ilya whispered against his mouth. “Can you come this way?”

Shane nodded. He could probably come without touching himself, his whole body so sensitive, every kiss, every touch going straight to his cock while Ilya hit his prostate on every thrust. 

“Tell me when,” Ilya said, leaning in to press his lips to Shane’s neck, kissing and then nipping at him, making Shane moan louder. He felt Ilya sucking a spot lower, past the curve of his neck. His body was starting to go all warm and tight, his orgasm building. Then Ilya leaned up just enough to pull his hips up a little higher, changing the angle just enough, and that was all it took.

“Ilya,” he cried out, his back arching as he came, warm cum splashing against his stomach. He was so lost to the waves of pleasure rocking through him that he almost missed Ilya coming right after him, and he was glad he hadn’t succumbed completely because the sight was beautiful. His perfect red lips that Shane had finally captured in the curves of his brushstrokes, his unfocused eyes the color of the sea, flecked with golden sunlight that he’d finally mixed to perfection on canvas, the sweaty curls plastered to his forehead, the way he whispered Shane’s name like a holy word, his voice gone low and rough and so sexy it pulled another wave of pleasure through Shane, making his cock twitch and spurt again as Ilya pushed into him once more before collapsing onto him and finding his lips again.

They breathed into each other's mouths, neither wanting to move away yet. “I love you,” Ilya whispered, letting his forehead rest against Shane’s. 

“I love you too.”

Then Ilya whispered something else, something in Russian.

“What does that mean?” Shane asked.

“It is just ‘I love you’ in Russian.”

“Say it again, slower.”

“Ya…tebya…lyublyu.”

Shane repeated it back, trying to match his pronunciation.

Ilya was smiling at him, the kind of smile that means you adore someone, and Shane felt adored. Loved. Warm and safe in Ilya’s arms. 

“Maybe you can teach me Russian someday.”

Ilya nodded. “Important things only. That one is most important.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane said again. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Ilya said, leaning down to kiss him again. Eventually Ilya’s softening cock slipped out of him, and Shane could feel the evidence of what they’d just done sans condom there now too. When Ilya sat up and climbed carefully off the bed, Shane shifted uncomfortably. He was going to get up and follow Ilya to clean up.

“Stay,” Ilya said, brushing a hand through his hair. “I will take care of it.”

Shane didn’t argue. His body felt boneless and useless in the best way. But he had expected Ilya to get up and go in the bathroom, so when he felt his thighs being lifted again, Ilya's tongue pressing gently against his tender, used hole, his head snapped up.

"Ilya," he said, his voice breaking on the word because Ilya's tongue was warm and soothing and Shane moaned, torn between how intimately filthy this was, and how hot and tender and oh god. "Ilya," he said again, this time a moan he wasn't even trying to hide. Ilya popped back up and crawled up until they were face to face again.

"What? Too much?"

"Oh god," Shane said, letting his head fall back against the pillows. "No. Just unexpected."

Ilya bent close, lips curved into a smile and hovering above his. "Can I?"

Shane nodded and then leaned up, pressing their mouths together again. He could taste it on Ilya’s tongue and that just made him want more.

"Okay," Ilya said when they broke apart. "Now stay."

This time he actually got off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, coming back a minute later with a warm washcloth. He wiped Shane's stomach and then carefully cleaned up around his still very sensitive hole. His touch was impossibly gentle, and he was still looking at Shane with that same look of adoration and affection from earlier, and it was making his chest feel fluttery and warm. 

“Love is making me very mushy, I think,” he said out loud when Ilya stretched out next to him again.

“Hm?” Ilya looked at him.

“I don’t know. You make me feel…” he trailed off because now what he was feeling was silly.

“Tell me.”

Shane shrugged. “Warm and gooey. Like all I want to do is be wrapped around you.”

“Mm, yes. I feel this way too. I think we are allowed to enjoy being in love,” Ilya said. He ran a hand up and down Shane’s stomach, tracing idle patterns, his lips pulled into a little smile.

“I wish you weren’t leaving tomorrow,” Shane said.

“I know,” Ilya sighed. “Only three days though. We will fly back after the game Monday night.”

“I’ll be able to watch both games. Florida has a good team this year. But you guys have been on fire.”

“As long as we don’t slip early on, I think we have a good chance.”

“Hopefully Troy is okay after the stuff with the commissioner.”

Ilya groaned. “Fuck. I hate that asshole. But Troy will be fine.”

“I like your friends. We should hang out with them more often.”

“I think maybe they are your friends now too,” Ilya said, moving his hand up to cradle Shane’s jaw.

Shane felt his eyes prickle with tears again. Ilya noticed because he brought a thumb up to gently brush against one eyelid, then leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of his eye. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Just happy.”

Ilya let out a little breath and then scooted down until he could lay his head on Shane’s chest. “Me too.”

-

The Centaurs did win against Florida in Sunrise on Saturday night. Ilya had called after the game in a good mood. Shane didn’t keep him because the team was going out for celebratory drinks. On Sunday, Shane worked in the morning, thankfully with Jen, not Kevin.

“What’s got you in a good mood today?” she asked. 

“Centaurs won last night,” Shane said, which was technically the truth.

“Since when do you care about hockey? Never heard you mention it before.”

“I’ve always been a fan.” He shrugged. “I played as a kid.”

“Really? I can’t picture it,” she said, but Shane knew it wasn’t meant to be rude. “Maybe because I know you paint. But you don’t seem like the type to be wrestling around on the ice with big sweaty men.”

Shane laughed. If only she knew how often he was wrestling around with a big sweaty hockey player.

Mid-shift, Shane got a text from Jacob Martin.

Jacob: Hey Shane! Didn’t want to call you on a Sunday, but I got all your paperwork processed yesterday so you’re clear to come in anytime. We have nothing planned for tomorrow afternoon if that’s not too last minute, but don’t feel obligated. Feel free to give me a call anytime!

Tomorrow. That was soon. But he was off…and Ilya wasn’t getting home until late tomorrow, flying back after the game.

Shane: Hi Jacob. I’m at work right now so easier to text. But I can make it tomorrow. Let me know what time I should arrive. Looking forward to it.

Not even a minute passed before he got a response.

Jacob: Excellent!! Between 2:30-3 would be great. I’ll show you around before the kids arrive.

Shane: Great, see you then.

Shane’s stomach suddenly felt all tangled up, making him vaguely nauseated. 

“What’s wrong?” Jen asked, looking at him suspiciously.

“I agreed to teach an art class at the youth center tomorrow,” he said. “Kind of nervous now.”

“Oh shit,” she said. “That’s cool. I thought you weren’t that into art anymore?”

He shrugged. “I’m trying. Plus it’s for a good cause. Their usual art program coordinator is out right now.”

“Are you about to tell me you’re quitting and leaving me here with Kevin?”

Shane laughed. “No, it’s just a volunteer thing. You’re still stuck with me for now.”

“Thank god,” she said, and it was so serious and full of relief, Shane laughed. 

-

The next day, Shane was pulling into the youth center’s parking lot a few minutes after 2:30. When he walked inside, he found Jacob in his office.

“Hey, you made it!” 

“Yeah,” Shane said. “Happy to be here.” Which was true, but his stomach was still doing somersaults. 

“Okay, give me one second, and I’ll show you around the building and then show you the art classroom.”

Jacob finished up whatever he was doing on the computer, then stood and beckoned Shane to follow him down the hallway on the right. 

“So. This is kind of an employee lounge.” He gestured to a door on the left. “Which you are welcome to. Fridge, microwave, tables and chairs. Might be important if I can talk you into coming back,” he said with a wink.

They walked a little further down and stopped in front of another door, this one half ajar, and Shane could see desks and chairs. “This is one of our other classrooms. Mostly used for tutoring and the like.”

“Back through those double doors in the gym. They can play basketball, volleyball, sometimes other things. Some of them practice whatever extracurriculars they do.” He was pointing to the end of the hallway where two windowed grey doors stood. 

“But this,” he said, pushing open a door on the right, “is the art room.”

It was a decent sized room with a couple of big windows on the far wall. There were a couple of long tables that Shane associated with school classrooms, blue plastic chairs pushed under them. There were some plastic bins of supplies pushed into the built-in wooden shelves, a few easels stacked in the corner. There was a teacher's desk in one corner, a chalkboard, and a few paintings hanging along the walls, varying from child-like nonsense to very good, if not a little unskilled, landscapes and portraits. 

“We usually have anywhere between 8 and 15 kids here on a given afternoon. You might get lucky with a smaller group for your first class. But don’t worry, I’m here and Alice, one of our assistants, is around too, if you need a hand with anything. The kids are mostly between 13-17 years old.”

Shane nodded. His nerves were still making it feel like a cat was batting at his insides. “Anything in particular I should do with them?”

Jacob shook his head. “Whatever you want. I’d recommend letting them all start with a fresh canvas and giving them something specific to do. It’ll keep their attention. And they’ll want to do a good job…it keeps them engaged. They know how to set everything up and share paints at their tables.”

“Okay,” Shane said. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to introduce you properly. They should be here soon. You know where to find me if you need me in the meantime, or you can send me a text,” Jacob said. “And one more thing, before they get here…the main thing is to have fun. The nice thing here is that you’re not a teacher making them do assignments. They’re here to have fun, which makes it fun for us.”

Shane nodded. Jacob clapped him on the back and then went back to his office. Shane walked around the room, taking in the supplies they’d dropped off the other day plus whatever else they’d already had. He looked closer at the paintings, seeing some real talent among them.

A few minutes later, Jacob was back with several kids in tow. 

“Alright, take a seat everyone.”

Shane counted. Nine of them. 

“This is Shane Hollander. He’s an artist who offered to spend an afternoon with you all. And we are very grateful for his time,” Jacob said, looking around. “Now, please give Mr. Hollander your full attention and maybe you’ll learn something cool.”

They were all looking at Shane expectantly. 

“Okay, have at it,” Jacob said. He walked out, and Shane was left with eighteen wide eyes staring at him. But instead of making his nerves worse, it kind of helped him relax. He recognized those eyes. Those stares. These were just kids, probably kids with more going on in their lives than was fair for their age.

“Hi,” he said. “You can call me Shane or Mr. Hollander, whichever you prefer. I thought maybe I’d show you some color mixing and color blending techniques. But if that’s something you’ve already covered, we can try something else.”

He looked around, waiting to see if anyone had any comments. One boy, blonde hair, looked to be around 13-14, raised his hand.

“Yes?” Shane asked. 

“Can we get new canvases?”

“Yeah, Jacob said you can all start a fresh one today.”

Everyone got up at once. One of the girls picked up the packs of canvases and ripped the plastic off and started handing them out. Once everyone had one, she started passing out brushes and paints to the two tables. 

“Janice,” one of the other girls called. “I need brushes.”

“Got it,” the first girl, Janice apparently, said. 

“Thanks, Janice,” Shane said. “Everyone good?” 

There was a round of nods. Shane grabbed a canvas and brushes for himself. He used the paints on one of the tables and grabbed a clean palette. He started off showing them how to use whites and yellows to create gradients, incrementally lighter colors, starting with blues and greens first. Everyone was crowded around the main table watching. He was surprised at how rapt their attention was. It was very quiet at first, just his voice echoing around the room.

“Okay,” he said eventually. “Are we ready to try something on canvas?”

There was an enthusiastic response, and everyone scattered back to their seats.

“I’ll let you decide what you want to try, but water or trees would be a good place to start. You can really use those blending techniques to create texture and shadow. I’ll come around and help you if you get stuck on what color you need, or where to blend.”

He walked around and watched as they got started.

“You’re a real artist?” asked one kid. He was soft-spoken and seemed to be one of the older ones. 

Shane nodded. “I’ve been painting since I was younger than you.” 

“Wow,” he said. “Do you sell paintings?”

“I used to, yeah. I don’t paint as much anymore, but I’m hoping to get back into it.”

“I wish I could be an artist,” he said as he squeezed out several colors of paint on his palette. “This is the only time I get to paint.”

“If you paint, you’re an artist. There’s no set amount of time or work required,” Shane said. “So if you paint here, you are.”

The kid smiled, but it was a little sad. “We only get to do this sometimes. There usually isn’t anyone here to supervise, so we end up hanging in the gym.”

Shane watched as he mixed some colors and then started brushing them onto the canvas. It didn’t take long before he had a really nice base for a forest, the trees slowly coming into being. He had a really good handle on shadows and perspective.

“This is excellent,” Shane said. He glanced around the room to make sure everyone was staying on track, then leaned in. “See right here,” he said, pointing to the bottom left side. “Add some black, it’ll bring out the details.” He watched him mix in some black.

“Wow,” the kid said. “How did you know that?”

Shane shrugged. “You learn as you go what brings out which details. Today was just a basic overview, but maybe next time we can go more in-depth.” He realized, just as the words slipped out, that he’d said ‘next time’ and realized maybe he did want to come back. 

“What’s your name?” Shane asked. 

“Tim.”

“Well, Tim. You’ve got a good eye already. Better than I had when I first started,” he said, and Tim gave him a shy smile.

Shane moved on, wanting to give everyone a few minutes, answer any questions.

“Mr. Hollander?” Janice asked, raising her hand. “Can you show me how to make this look like waves? I can’t get the white part right.”

Shane moved beside her. “You’ve almost got it. See here,” he said, pointing. “Instead of just solid strokes there, you can use dots and feathering to give it texture.” He grabbed a brush and showed her on a corner of the palette. 

She tried it. “Oh my god,” she said. “That’s exactly what I wanted it to look like.”

Shane smiled and moved on, stopping to look at everyone’s paintings, offering suggestions and answering questions. Jacob had been right, they were genuinely excited to learn.

They didn’t seem to have a definitive ending time, with some of the kids leaving sooner than others, presumably whenever their rides arrived. They each put their canvas up on a shelf to dry as they left. Eventually only one kid was still in the room. Shane learned earlier that his name was Joseph. He looked to be about 16, and he seemed to be the least excited of the bunch.

“How are you doing?” Shane asked. He looked at Joseph’s painting, which didn’t seem to be his best effort.

Joseph shrugged. “Painting isn’t really my thing. But I didn’t feel like being in the gym today.”

Shane nodded. “That’s okay. What would you rather be doing?”

He shrugged again. “I like sports. Just not the ones at school or here.”

“Which ones?”

“Hockey and rugby. We don’t have teams at my school. And my mom can’t afford to put me in any of the leagues.”

“Have you played in the past?” Shane asked, his heart aching for this kid he didn’t even know.

“Yeah, I played when I was little, before my dad left. I was on a pee wee hockey team for a while. And we had a rugby team at my old school.”

“I used to play hockey,” Shane said. “What position did you play?”

“Center.”

“Hey, me too.”

“You don’t play anymore?” Joseph asked.

“Only for fun. I quit for a long time.”

Joseph was looking at him like he couldn’t quite understand why anyone would quit if they didn’t have to, and that look hit him strangely. Like guilt. 

Joseph’s phone rang, and he said, “My mom’s here. See you.”

“Bye,”  Shane said, watching him go. He turned back to the empty room. There were a few tubes of paint still sitting out, dirty palettes on the tables.

A few minutes later, Jacob came in.

“How’d it go?”

“Good, I think,” Shane said, looking up at the canvases drying on the shelves.

Jacob followed his gaze, eyes going wide. “Wow, these are great. Better than anything I’ve seen them do before.”

“They were good listeners.”

“Don’t suppose they were polite enough to convince you to come back?” Jacob asked with a smile.

“Oh yeah, they were. I would,” Shane said. “Come back, I mean.”

“Music to my ears,” Jacob said, shaking his fists in triumph.

Shane laughed. “I could probably come again at the same time next week. If that would be helpful.”

“Beyond helpful. And you don’t need to stay and do all that,” he said. Shane was about to pick up the dirty palettes. “I get paid to be here…I’ll take care of that. You’ve done enough. More than enough, you have no idea.”

“It was fun. I look forward to coming back,” Shane said genuinely.

“Well, enjoy the rest of your afternoon. I’ll be in touch, but same time next week should be great.”

-

After Shane left, he stopped and got takeout from a Thai place down the street and then went to his apartment to pack up what was left of his clothes. He sat at his tiny table, eating and looking around the small space. He would probably just get rid of the few pieces of worn furniture here, none of it meaningful. The clothes that were left would fit in his backpack. There hadn’t been many to begin with, considering he’d hardly bought anything new since college. What he had left was mostly worn t-shirts and ripped jeans. He’d been wearing Ilya’s clothes a lot lately, which was kind of nice for a variety of reasons. He smiled at the thought.

When he was done eating, he shoved everything he could into the backpack, including the framed photo of him and his parents. This place was no longer home, and that picture deserved to be home. He didn’t think Ilya would mind. 

By the time he pulled up to Ilya’s house, it was early evening and the Tampa-Ottawa game had already started. He grabbed the mail and went inside, intending to park himself in front of the TV and cheer the Centaurs on. 

He dropped the mail on the coffee table and reached for the remote, but the top envelope caught his eye. It was addressed to Irina Holdings Inc.

Shane cocked his head. Why did that ring a bell? And then his whole body went cold, and he sat heavily on the couch. No.

He pulled out his phone and quickly opened his emails, looking for the paperwork for the cottage that Mary had sent him to sign. He pulled it up, waiting for the large document to load, and then scrolled. 

His stomach sank. Kept sinking until it felt like it had fallen through the floor. Through several layers of the earth. Because Irina Holdings Inc. was the buyer of the cottage.

-

The Centaurs beat Tampa, giving them back to back wins in Florida. The mood in the locker room after couldn’t have been better. Ilya was grinning like a madman, slapping everyone on the back. He gave Luca a sloppy kiss on the cheek because the rookie had played like a champ. His cheeks went red and he turned back to his stall and Ilya couldn’t help but laugh.

He sat at his own stall and pulled out his phone to text Shane. But he already had a few texts from him that were timestamped only a few minutes ago.

Shane: Ilya. I can’t believe you pulled this shit again.

And then there were photos. The first of a piece of mail that made Ilya’s stomach sink. His whole body sank. He sagged against the bench, suddenly feeling like he might vomit. This was not how he wanted Shane to find out. He didn’t have a very solid plan for how he wanted to tell him, but he was going to. He wanted to tell him the night they argued about the phone. But then Shane probably would have left, and he might never have gotten a chance to tell him he loved him. And now maybe it didn’t matter anyway.

The next photo was of the closing paperwork for the sale, with his company’s name. Ilya sighed. He had no idea how to make this right, especially over the phone. He'd hoped that maybe he could take Shane there, to the cottage, when the renovations were done. He’d had the roof and the pipes replaced, the wall and floor fixed where the leak damaged them. The walls painted. Nothing that would change anything, just the things that needed to be done to keep it standing. To keep it the place Shane knew. 

Ilya: I’m sorry…please let me explain

Shane: Explain why you went behind my back?
Shane: Why you made a decision without me?
Shane: What the fuck? How could you do this to me again?
Shane: I put the cottage behind me and now you’ve dragged it back up again.

Ilya took a deep breath. He knew he had to let Shane get it out. Be angry. Maybe hate him.

Ilya: I know
Ilya: I’m sorry
Ilya: can we at least talk about it

No response. Ilya finished taking his gear off. Still no response. He showered. Still no response. He got dressed. Still no response. He packed up his stuff. Still no response. He left the locker room. Still no response. He got on the bus. Still no response. He made it to the airport with the team. Still no response. He boarded the plane. Still no response.

Ilya: will i see you tonight?

The typing bubble popped up, and his heart skipped a beat.

Shane: Probably not.

Ilya let out a long breath and leaned back in his seat. Fuck. He'd known this was going to be hard, but fuck, why did it have to be the worst possible scenario. 

Once the plane took off, he put his noise-canceling headphones on and hoped his team was too busy celebrating their win to bother him. He cycled through a million things he could say, and none of them were going to be good enough. He hadn't wanted to go behind Shane’s back, but he knew, confidently, that Shane would not have let him help if he had asked. He would have happily just paid for all the repairs and taxes and not gone through the headache of purchasing it. Especially since he wanted it to be back in Shane’s hands eventually. So he'd done the only thing he knew would work.

He was still in his seat, headphones on, eyes closed, when a loud noise rocketed through the plane, loud enough to be heard through his headphones. But even if it wasn’t, the plane rocked violently. He ripped the headphones off, watched the can of coke he’d had on the tray table fall to the floor, and then the plane dropped. He was screaming. Everyone was screaming. He was holding onto his armrests, thinking only about the fact that he was probably about to die. The plane was going to crash and he was going to die and Shane was going to lose another person. 

The plane leveled out for a moment, and the pilot’s voice was there, announcing an emergency landing, something about an engine. Someone behind him was yelling about a fire. Everyone was still screaming, crying, there was too much noise.

Ilya quickly took his phone out, barely able to hold it, his hands were shaking so badly. He typed as fast as he could, not knowing how much time he had, not knowing if the WiFi would hold.

Ilya: Shane, I’m sorry about the cottage
Ilya: I just didn’t want you to have to say goodbye to anything else you love

Tears splashed on his screen.

Ilya: if this is goodbye for us, know that I love you more than any words can say
Ilya: since the moment I met you, maybe even before that
Ilya: you are the best thing in my life
Ilya: whatever happens I know you’ll be okay
Ilya: I’m thinking only of you right now, every memory
Ilya: I love you

It was all true. He was thinking only of Shane, every smile, every touch, every kiss, every laugh, Shane painting, Shane skating, Shane stealing a puck, Shane’s perfect lips parted while Ilya moved in him, Shane saying his name like a prayer, Shane looking at him like he was the most important thing in the world. And he was thinking about how unfair it was that this might be another goodbye for him. 

He briefly thought about his mother and whether he believed in anything after death, and if so, would he see her again. It was a comforting thought. And a darker one followed behind it. Maybe this was easier than having to face Shane walking away from him because of what he’d done. No. Even if Shane didn’t want him anymore, he didn’t want it to be this way. Didn’t want Shane to have to live with that forever.

Ilya closed his eyes, wrapped a hand around the gold cross on his neck, and prayed to nothing and no one, just whoever might be listening. For Shane to be okay, to survive another loss, to find happiness without Ilya. He prayed for more time. So he could make it right. To show Shane that he did what he did only out of love. Please, he thought. Let me make it home so I can tell him.

Chapter End Notes

The tags are accurate. Just remember that 💛

Chapter 14: The major lift

Shane had waited until the game was over to text Ilya the photos. He was mad, but he didn't want Ilya to see the texts between periods and be compromised on the ice. But now the game was over, Ilya had read them, and Shane was ready to be properly mad. Not just mad...the grief and betrayal and frustration of it all were too much. He was also happy the Centaurs had won. He could be both. But mostly he was pissed off.

Shane: Explain why you went behind my back?
Shane: Why you made a decision without me?
Shane: What the fuck? How could you do this to me again?
Shane: I put it behind me and now you’ve dragged it back up again.

Ilya: I know
Ilya: I’m sorry
Ilya: can we at least talk about it

Shane didn’t want to talk right now. He wanted to cool down. To figure out what this meant for him. For them. He was feeling too many things. He put his phone down and sat back against the couch for a while, until it buzzed again.

Ilya: will i see you tonight?

Shane: Probably not.

He decided the best thing to do was go home. He took one last look at the envelope on the table, pocketed his phone, and walked out of the house. He kept walking, out through Ilya’s stupid broken gate and down the sidewalk because he wasn’t taking the BMW right now. Instead, he walked all the way to the bus stop, took the familiar route that he hadn’t needed in some time, and stared out the window until he got off at his stop.

At home—except it wasn’t home—he turned the volume on his phone off, set it on the nightstand, shed most of his clothes, and curled up in his bed. His pillow smelled stale and felt lumpy. His bed was scratchy and hard. His chest was cold and empty. But not because he was mad. Because even now, all he wanted was to be wrapped up in Ilya’s arms, in their bed. 

He sighed. He was mad, though. Buying his whole fucking cottage behind his back was…too much. The cottage he’d all but buried. Just old bones, broken beyond repair, drowning in tears and full of painful things that cut him open when he thought about them.

But then...Ilya at the front door in the middle of the night on New Year’s, Ilya making him pasta, Ilya holding him while he cried, while he laughed, while he picked up the pieces of his broken life...he was there. Always Ilya.

Shane let the tears fall. The ones touched by grief, the ones turned from anger, the ones made of love, the ones that only Ilya could see and understand, the ones he turned to paint on canvas, the ones that were born of every happy moment with Ilya, and there were so many of those. So many. Shane knew why Ilya did it. He knew it was out of love, even if his methods could use some fucking work. Shane smiled at that. Asshole. 

He fell asleep, too wrung out from crying to keep his eyes open. When he woke, it was still dark outside. He looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. 3:44am.

Everything came flooding back…Ilya, the cottage, Irina Holdings. He needed to talk to Ilya.

He quickly pulled his clothes back on, shoved his phone in his pocket, and hurried out the door. Then he realized he didn’t want to wait for a bus and didn't even know if they were running right now. He pulled his phone out, intending to get an uber, but he had a wall of notifications. All texts from Ilya.

Ilya: Shane, I’m sorry about the cottage
Ilya: I just didn’t want you to have to say goodbye to anything else you love

His eyes welled with tears. He’d known that already. Of course he did.

Ilya: if this is goodbye for us, know that I love you more than any words can say

Shane sighed. Did Ilya really think he was going to leave him over this? He kept reading.

Ilya: since the moment I met you, maybe even before that
Ilya: you are the best thing in my life
Ilya: whatever happens I know you’ll be okay
Ilya: I’m thinking only of you right now, every memory
Ilya: I love you

Shane was crying, and he didn’t even know why. Why was Ilya texting him like he’d already left him? He closed the text thread and called him. Straight to voicemail. Fuck. He quickly ordered an uber, figuring this was worth waking Ilya for either way.

When the car eventually pulled up, Shane slid into the backseat and pulled out his phone again. He opened one of his social media apps and the first headline was: Ottawa Centaurs’ Plane Makes Emergency Landing After Engine Failure.

Shane gasped out loud. The driver turned to look at him briefly, and Shane muttered a quick, “Sorry.” He pressed a hand over his mouth, whether to keep any other noises in or because he might vomit, he wasn’t sure. He scrolled through the article, his heart beating so hard he thought it might burst out of him. …engine failure…no injuries reported…landed safely…

He read the words over and over, trying not to think about the fact that Ilya’s texts were…Shane was crying again, hot silent tears running down his face, and it took everything in him not to sob in the back of that car and scare that poor driver. Because those were Ilya’s final words. At least, he’d clearly thought so at the time. And he would have died with Shane being mad at him. Thinking Shane didn’t want to see or speak to him. And Shane would have lost him. Permanently. Another goodbye. The most impossible, unbearable, painful goodbye that Shane could imagine, and he didn’t really have to imagine it, because he already knew about goodbyes. 

When the car finally pulled up in front of Ilya’s house, Shane said a quick thank you and jumped out of the car. He practically ran to the front door, fumbled his key for more seconds than his impatient body could stand, then pushed his way inside. The house was dark and quiet, and Shane realized he should have read the article more closely because he had no idea if the team had gotten another flight out after their emergency landing, or even where they’d landed. He walked more slowly through the living room, stuck his head in the kitchen and hallway…all dark. He went upstairs and found the bedroom equally dark and quiet, the bed empty. 

Shane went back downstairs, pulled inexplicably to the room where his paintings hung. He could sit and wait for Ilya and watch the sun come up through the glass. But when he stepped into the doorway, Ilya was there, curled on the floor, head on one arm, asleep. He looked so peaceful, lying there in the dark, only moonlight streaming through the window, shining in his curls, catching the gold chain around his neck.

“Ilya,” he whispered, his voice still broken with tears.

Ilya stirred, eyes blinking open and then going wide as he sat up.

“Shane,” he said, and his voice was broken too. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Shane said, kneeling in front of him. “You’re okay.”

He wrapped his arms around Ilya, tight, too tight, not tight enough, and climbed into his lap. A sob escaped his throat before he even realized it was coming. Ilya’s hand ran down the back of his head, settling against his neck.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Ilya murmured. “I’m here.”

“Oh god,” Shane whispered. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

Ilya shook his head. “No, I’m okay. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Shane pulled back enough to look at him. “Tell me what happened.”

Ilya relayed the same details Shane had already read. 

“It was…scary,” he said finally. “I’m still shaking, I think.” Ilya held up a hand, and there was a slight tremble in his fingers. “I’m glad they were able to get us on another flight so quick, even though everyone was very nervous.”

“Me too,” Shane said. “When did you get home?”

“Not very long ago,” he said. “I probably fell asleep right before you got here. I thought you weren’t coming.”

Shane sighed. “I’m so sorry. I was mad.” He reached up to brush the curls off Ilya’s forehead to soften his words. “I’m still mad. But not enough to walk away. I was on my way here before I even read your texts.”

“You were?”

“Yes,” Shane said, wiping at his own eyes. “We agreed to talk about things, didn’t we?”

Ilya nodded. “I’m sorry I went behind your back. I just…I thought one day you might regret letting the cottage go.”

Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “I regretted it the minute I decided to do it. I didn’t have any choice, so I made peace with it. Or tried to.”

“And I ruined that.”

“No, Ilya. You didn’t ruin anything.” 

Ilya let out a shaky breath and pulled Shane in tight again. “Fuck,” he said. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you too. I don’t ever want to say goodbye to you. Not like that,” Shane said.

Shane could feel Ilya’s body shaking against him, with tears, and maybe still the aftermath of what’d he been through. 

“It’s okay,” Shane said, but he was crying too. He buried his face in Ilya’s neck and held on. “We’re okay.”

They held each other for a while, until the tears ran their course, and then Shane pulled back so he could look at Ilya. His face as familiar as his own now. He ran a hand along his jaw, thumb brushing his perfect lips that Shane knew he would never get enough of. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ilya’s forehead, then another to his temple, then one to his cheek, until finally their lips met, and Ilya kissed him back. There was no pretending that this was anything but desperate and life-affirming and all-consuming. Neither of them could hold back, raw and uninhibited, broken open by what could have been. Shane let a hand rest on Ilya’s neck, maybe without even realizing why, but his pulse, a little fast but steady, sent another wave of relief through him, making him pull back from the kiss.

“You must be exhausted,” he said. Ilya’s eyes were red and shiny still.

“I am,” Ilya said. “But I want to shower and then hold you for a while.”

Shane nodded. “Come on.” He stood up and held out a hand, letting Ilya pull himself up. Shane could tell he wasn’t entirely steady. His body was probably crashing from exhaustion and adrenaline.

Shane led him upstairs and into their bedroom. He undressed Ilya because his hands were still shaking, and then himself. In the shower, he made Ilya turn around while he washed his hair.

“I can do that,” Ilya said, reaching for the conditioner.

“I want to,” Shane said, pushing his arm back to his side. “You can do your own hair stuff when we get out. That part is beyond me.”

Ilya laughed quietly. “I think I can skip that today.”

Shane did make him stand still afterward, while he toweled his hair, running the microfiber through it gently, massaging his scalp and making Ilya groan, like a purring cat. “Do you feel better?” Shane asked when he was done. Ilya seemed steadier at least, more relaxed.

“Yes, thank you.” 

Shane nudged him into the bedroom and asked, “Do you want to put clothes on?”

Ilya’s brows lifted at that. “Might get in the way.”

“Of what?” Shane asked, stepping up behind him, arms going around his waist. “This?” he let one hand drift down to Ilya’s cock, already half hard.

“Would that be inappropriate right now?” Ilya asked with a small laugh. “Almost dying is probably not supposed to make you horny, but…” He sighed, and Shane felt the weight of it, the joke turning too serious because it was too real.

“I think that’s a thing actually,” he said, moving them past that and pressing his own half hard cock against Ilya’s ass, letting him know it was in fact appropriate, at least for him. “It’s like your body wanting to confirm you’re still alive or something.”

Ilya turned around, facing him. “Good. Because I need to do that. Need you.” He kissed Shane and backed them up until they were tumbling onto the bed, mouths hardly separating.

Shane felt Ilya reaching over to the nightstand, he heard the click of a cap, he felt Ilya’s finger against him, all without breaking the kiss. When he finally did, it was to tell Ilya, “That’s enough. Just need you.”

Ilya slipped his finger out and replaced it with his cock, pushing in gently, and Shane relished the slight burn because he wanted to feel Ilya, all of him. When he was fully seated, he leaned down close, lips hovering over Shane’s, his eyes shiny.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever get to do this again,” Ilya said, leaning in to kiss him. “Fuck.” He took a shaky breath and brought one hand up to wipe at his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Hey,” Shane said, brushing at the tear starting to fall. “You’re fine.”

Ilya shook his head. “Not just because of that. I thought the cottage…” he trailed off. “I thought I fucked everything up.”

“No,” Shane said. “Do you want to talk about this right now?” he asked, smiling. “While you’re fucking me?”

Ilya huffed a small laugh. “Why not? We get distracted by sex and don’t finish talking. Maybe this way we can finish before we ah…finish.”

Shane laughed too. “Okay,” he said. Then Ilya rolled his hips once, making Shane groan. “Why did you buy it without telling me?” 

“I knew you wouldn’t let me help otherwise. Am I wrong?” Ilya asked. 

Before Shane could answer, Ilya pulled out and thrust back into him hard. “Fuck,” Shane breathed. “I guess…stop that,” he said as Ilya thrust again, looking down at him with his bottom lip between his teeth, suppressing a smile. “I probably wouldn’t have let you, that’s true. At the time.”

“Then you would have lost the cottage. Now that we are together and you love me,” he punctuated that with another thrust that made Shane’s back arch. “We can make a decision about it together.”

“You already made the decision without me,” Shane said.

Ilya nodded. “Yes, but if you tell me to sell it now, I will. It’s up to you what we do.”

Ilya bent and kissed Shane’s neck, which was making it very hard for him to work through what he’d just said. Ilya rolled his hips, and Shane pushed his up off the bed to meet him, making them both moan.

“Wait,” Shane said, voice already breathless. “You’re distracting me.”

Ilya stilled his hips, eyes focused on Shane’s face. “Do you want me to sell it?”

Shane let out a breath. “No.”

“Good,” Ilya said, thrusting again.

“When I was thinking about it…” he trailed off because Ilya was still moving and his brain was not made to have serious conversations while Ilya Rozanov’s cock was inside of him. “Fuck. Um…” 

Ilya laughed and stopped moving. “Sorry.”

“When I was thinking about the cottage,” Shane started again. “It started to feel more like...I don't know...our place, instead of just…what it used to be. Even though you were only there once, it was…” This time, he distracted himself by pulling Ilya down for a kiss. “It was perfect.”

“It was,” Ilya said. He bent to press another kiss to Shane’s neck. “I would like to spend more time there with you. If you want to,” he murmured against Shane’s jaw, moving back up to his lips.

“I do.” 

Ilya moved a hand between them to stroke Shane’s cock and then dared ask him a question. “I need you to let me know what else we should have done to it, after basic renovations. But then, we can move stuff back into it, yes?”

“What?” Shane asked because his brain had only chosen to tune into part of that. “Do what?”

Ilya chucked softly and stopped stroking, but then he rubbed his thumb across the tip of Shane’s cock, pulling a little moan from him. “I got the roof replaced,” he said, and then he brought his thumb up to Shane’s mouth, and Shane’s love-sick brain did not even hesitate, he sucked Ilya’s thumb, tasting himself there and grinding his hips up against Ilya, who also did not hesitate. He started thrusting, just enough to make Shane’s head tip back, before he stopped again.

Shane blinked up at him. “I don’t know if this method of talking is working,” he said. “What did you say about the roof?”

Ilya stayed still while he said, “Replaced. It was bad. I had the pipes replaced and the water damage fixed. New water heater. Had the walls painted. Only necessary things. I wanted it to still be the same place you know and love.”

Shane could feel tears welling now. It was too much, the bills would make his head spin. But it was also…everything. Shane couldn’t even be mad because he knew Ilya loved him enough to do this without hesitation, expecting nothing in return.

“No,” Ilya said, swiping his thumb across Shane’s cheek where a tear had escaped. “I’m sorry.”

Shane shook his head. “Thank you. For doing that.”

Ilya leaned down to kiss him, soft and tender, and it made Shane’s eyes leak more. “I am sorry though. That I did it without asking. But not for doing it. I meant what I said earlier, when I texted you,” he said, his eyes going shiny now too. “I did it because I didn’t want you to have to say goodbye to a place you love. I could see how much, while we were there. There are still good memories.”

Shane nodded. “So many good ones. With you now, too.”

This time Shane brushed tears off Ilya’s face. Ilya sighed and buried his head in Shane’s neck. When he shifted, his hips rocked, and Shane was swiftly reminded that Ilya was still hard inside of him, and his hips bucked up of their own accord. “Yes. Are we done talking?” Ilya asked, thrusting again.

“Uh,” Shane said. He was going to say something else, wasn’t he? “Fuck,” was all that came out because Ilya had lifted his head and started moving faster. “Wait.”

Ilya slowed but didn’t stop. “Tell me.”

“You still have to talk to me,” Shane said, his hands snaking down Ilya’s back. “About decisions…oh fuck…” Ilya was rolling his hips so slowly, but he shifted the angle just right. “Okay?” he gritted out.

“Yes,” Ilya said. He stopped moving again. “I promise. We do everything together from now on.”

Shane nodded. “Thank you.”

“I love you, Shane. Everything I said in those texts was true. You are the best thing in my life, and I will never do anything to risk that.”

“Fuck,” Shane said because he was crying again. “This must be a record for crying during sex.”

Ilya gave him a watery smile. “That’s okay. Is important.”

“I love you too. More than anything. Fuck, Ilya,” he took a deep breath, trying to ignore his boyfriend’s cock shifting inside of him because he was trying to be serious. “I meant what I said too. I don’t ever want to say goodbye, not for any permanent reason. We always talk, okay?” He paused. “But um, maybe not always like this.” 

Ilya smiled down at him and thrust into him hard, making Shane exhale sharply. “I don’t know…I kind of like talking to you like this.” He rolled his hips and bent to kiss him again briefly before stilling. “But yes, we always talk. I promise.”

“Okay,” Shane said, sucking in a breath of air. “Now fuck me, please.”

“Yes, moya lyubov.”

“What does that mean?” Shane asked.

“My love,” Ilya said softly. He bent to kiss Shane’s neck, and between that and the rhythm of his hips, Shane was already moaning, already pushing up against him, needing more. Ilya gave him more. Every time Shane moved, Ilya moved; every time Shane needed harder, Ilya pushed harder; every time Shane wanted to be closer, Ilya kissed him. They moved like that, in perfect sync, answering each other without needing to think. Words had been left behind, only breaths and moans and the meeting of skin against skin filling the air between them.

“Shane,” Ilya whispered eventually, head bent close to his ear. “I’m close.”

Shane reached between them so he could stroke himself. He was close too, and it didn’t take long before he was clenching around Ilya, his orgasm washing over him, pulling a moan from his lips that ended in a whisper of Ilya’s name, holding so much emotion in it that it turned to tears in his eyes. He watched Ilya’s face go tight and then slack, his own orgasm hitting him just as hard, hips rocking into him once more before he collapsed and whispered Shane’s name again, reverent, like a prayer, like a promise, like he was thanking someone.

Shane could tell by the weight of him that Ilya was more exhausted than usual. Ilya’s head rested next to his against the pillow, and Shane ran his fingers through the still-damp curls while his other hand rubbed up and down Ilya’s back. One of Ilya’s hands came up to cradle his jaw while he lifted his head, and Shane could still feel the faintest tremble in it.

“Hey,” Shane said softly. “Are you okay?”

Ilya nodded, his eyes fluttering. “Perfect.” His softening cock slipped out of Shane’s body, and he shifted to the side. Ilya started to push himself up, but Shane stopped him.

“I’ve got you,” he said, gently pushing Ilya down onto his back next to him. “Please.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and Ilya sighed contentedly. 

Shane cleaned himself up in the bathroom and then brought a warm, damp washcloth back to do the same for Ilya, with the same gentle devotion Ilya always showed him.

“Thank you,” Ilya said when he was done. He pulled Shane down until his head was resting against Ilya’s shoulder.

“You need sleep,” Shane said, pulling the blanket up over them.

Ilya nodded against him. “Yeah.” His voice was low and rough, the exhaustion evident. 

Shane noticed the sun had started to come up, soft light filtering in through the windows. “I’m assuming you don’t have practice today?”

“No, coach gave us the day off.”

“I’m off today too.”

“Good, because I’m not letting you go,” Ilya said, tightening his arm around him. “I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Go to sleep now,” Shane said. “I’m here.”

Ilya nodded against him, and before long, his breathing had evened out, already asleep. Shane drifted off soon after.

-

Shane woke a little before noon. Ilya was still asleep beside him, his head against the pillow framed by fluffy, untamed golden brown hair, his lips just slightly parted. He looked angelic. Shane wanted nothing more than to scoot closer and wrap himself around him, but he let Ilya sleep. He figured after last night, he needed as much as he could get today. 

He slipped out of bed quietly, grabbed a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and tiptoed to the bathroom. When he was done, he went quietly downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed some yogurt and fruit from the fridge to eat at the island counter. 

He pulled out his phone, which he hadn’t looked at since last night. He still had the news article open about the plane. This time he read it more carefully, including the updates added this morning. They were hailing the pilot as a hero who stayed calm and landed the plane safely despite an engine failure. Shane’s stomach twisted so violently he had to push the yogurt aside. He opened Ilya’s texts again and read them…what could have been his last words to Shane. Fuck. He was crying again. 

A few minutes later, Ilya came downstairs. He had a smile on his face until he saw Shane crying at the island. 

“What’s wrong?” he said, stepping up beside Shane, an arm going around his shoulders.

Shane shook his head. “Nothing.”

Ilya glanced down at his phone, where Shane hadn’t closed the text thread. “Shane,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I…” he trailed off.

“No,” Shane said quickly. “They’re…everything. I’m just glad they weren’t necessary.”

“Me too,” Ilya said, pulling Shane against his chest.

“How are you feeling?” Shane asked.

“Fine,” Ilya said. “Maybe a little tired still. I’m glad we don’t have anywhere to be today.”

“Want something to eat?”

“I can get it,” Ilya said, walking over to the fridge. “We can get takeout for dinner.”

“Sure.”

Ilya sat beside him with yogurt and a banana. “What do you want to do today?”

Shane shrugged. “Anything as long as it’s with you.” He huffed a laugh. “Is that sappy?”

“Mm, yes. But I like it,” Ilya said, bumping his shoulder. 

“I think I want to paint you again,” Shane said, the thought turning itself into words without his permission.

“Really?” Ilya said, sounding surprised.

“I um…I already started the canvas a few days ago. I thought maybe I’d do it from memory, but…” 

“You want me to model for you?” Ilya asked, a grin stretching across his face.

“Only if you want to.”

“Of course I do. Nude?” He was way too excited.

Shane laughed. “I mean, if you don’t mind, yes.”

“Oh I definitely don’t mind. Where will you hang this nude of me? Living room?”

“You want your friends to see you nude every time they come over?”

“They would be lucky to,” Ilya said. “You would be jealous?”

“Maybe,” Shane said. “Depends on how much detail I put into it. I was thinking I’d have you pose while you’re…”

“Hard?” Ilya asked, still grinning and biting his lip now.

Shane laughed. “Yeah. I’ve done a few nude models, but obviously never like that.”

“I will happily be your first.”

“You want to do that today? Or we can just watch TV.”

“Oh no,” Ilya said. “I want to. Now we have to do it.”

“Okay,” Shane said, grinning at Ilya’s enthusiasm. “You finish eating and then join me. I’m going to set up.”

Shane went to the glass-walled room and spread the dropcloth and set up the easel with the canvas he’d already painted a background on, just waiting for something else to make it whole. Then he ran upstairs to get a blanket from the linen closet, so Ilya didn’t have to lay on the hard floor.

When Ilya came into the room a few minutes later, Shane had the blanket laid out in front of the glass wall. 

“Where do you want me?” Ilya said, already pulling his shirt off. 

Shane nodded to the blanket on the floor. “You okay laying on that for a while?”

“Yes, I will be very good model, I promise,” he said, pushing his shorts down and stepping out of them. 

Shane couldn’t help but let his eyes rake over Ilya’s body. He wondered if Ilya would ever stop taking his breath away. His eyes scanned all the sculpted muscles, from his calves to his thighs to his abs to his pecs to his biceps. When he walked past Shane to get to the blanket, his eyes snagged on those perfect back muscles shifting under perfect skin flecked with perfect moles, his ass perfectly round and sexier than it had any right to be. Shane was almost disappointed that this would be Ilya on his back, instead of his stomach. One day, he would paint those moles, every beautiful mark on him, and the rest.

Ilya sat on the blanket and looked up at him expectantly. “How should I be?” he asked. 

“Um…lay back, propped up on your elbows, so your forearms are flat on the ground and your elbows are level with your shoulders. Eventually I’ll have you lean your head back a little, with your neck slightly stretched. But not yet.”

Ilya shifted into the position just as Shane imagined it. 

“Perfect. And bend your knee,” he said. Ilya bent the one closest to him. “No, your other one. Unless you want to be modest and leave your dick out of it.”

Ilya switched knees, so his soft cock was on full display. “No,” he said. “You promised you’d paint me hard. I need to see that in your beautiful art.”

Shane laughed. “Not full of yourself at all, hm?”

“I think you like it.”

“I do. Now be quiet while I work.” Ilya pouted. “I’m kidding. I don’t need silence.”

“What do I do? Just lay here? What about my poor soft cock?”

“It’s fine for now. I’m not going to get to that for a bit. You’re going to regret doing this…too boring.”

“No,” Ilya said softly, voice serious again. “Never boring with you.”

-

Two hours in, and Shane decided Ilya was lying. He was definitely bored. But they talked. About hockey and the team and their playoff chances. A little more about the cottage and what Ilya had already done with it since Shane hadn't been listening all that closely before. Then Shane told him about his afternoon at the youth center. 

“There was one kid who didn’t want to paint. He just wanted something to do that wasn’t hanging out in the gym,” Shane said. “He said he used to play hockey but couldn’t anymore because his mom can’t afford any of the local leagues.”

Ilya’s face immediately shifted into concern. “There are no free hockey programs for kids?”

“There are. I looked it up after, out of curiosity. But it seems like they’re sponsored and fill up quickly. Limited resources.”

Shane looked up from where he was shading Ilya’s pectoral muscles to see him staring intently out the glass. 

“I wonder if we could help out any of those programs,” Ilya said thoughtfully. “You know, to expand them or something.”

“I’m not sure how any of that works. It’s probably hard to get enough people to supervise and coach on a volunteer basis.”

“Hm,” Ilya hummed. “Maybe. I will ask around and see if anyone knows anything.”

Shane smiled at him. “You don’t have to do all that. But thank you.”

Shane put his brush down and looked at his progress. It was coming along nicely. He had a few more things to paint, and then he could probably do the next session without Ilya. From memory.

“Guess what time it is,” Shane said. 

Ilya looked up at him for a second, and then his brows lifted suggestively. He reached down and grabbed his cock. “You’re ready for me?”

Shane laughed. “Yes.”

“Well…aren’t you going to help me?” Ilya asked. "I need a fluffer."

Shane laughed. “This isn't porn. I don’t think you need my help getting hard,” he said, watching the evidence of that in Ilya’s hand. 

“But don’t you want me at most aroused? Hard as a rock and dripping?”

“Fuck,” Shane said. Now he was getting hard. “Come here.”

Ilya got up off the blanket in one smooth motion, quickly stretched his back, then walked over to stand beside Shane. His eyes drifted down to the canvas.

“Wow,” he said softly. “That’s me?”

“Yeah. Or at least it will be when I’m done.”

Then Shane leaned over and took Ilya into his mouth. Ilya’s hands landed in his hair, hips pushing forward just a little. Shane worked him for a couple of minutes, listening to Ilya’s soft moans and trying to remember that he needed to stop so he could finish painting. 

“Okay,” he said when he pulled off. “I think you’re hard enough.”

Ilya laughed. “Fuck. Now I have to go lay down and stay like this?”

“Hey, you volunteered for this.”

“Mm, well, my prize for being such a good boy better be worth it.”

Shane pressed a hand against his own cock. “It will be.”

He picked up one of his brushes and tried to concentrate again. Of course, now he had to keep looking at Ilya’s hard cock, shiny with saliva and precome, lying almost flat against his stomach, just the slightest curve in Shane’s direction. He took his time, getting the colors just right to match his skin tone, getting pinker the higher up he went, ending in the darker flushed head. He glanced at Ilya’s face every so often, and his attention was fixed on Shane. He had a faint small on his face, slightly pursed in the middle, pulled up at the corners. Shane knew that smile. It was his I adore you and I want to fuck your brains out smile, and Shane was already impatient to let him get his way. But he focused on what he was doing, wanting to get every detail perfect, but especially this one. 

When he’d done as much as he could for this session, he set his brush down and looked over at Ilya. He was still watching, still hard, still giving Shane that smile. 

“I’m done for today,” Shane said, biting his lip. 

“Strip,” Ilya said, not moving.

Shane stood up and pulled his t-shirt and shorts off and set them aside.

“Come here.” 

“Hang on,” Shane said. He capped a few tubes of paint and bent over to pick up his palette.

“Fuck. Turn around, let me see you bent over with the light coming through this window,” Ilya said, still on the blanket.

“What?” Shane turned too quickly, and the palette brushed his forearm, leaving a smear of paint. Fleshy tones, pink, white, several shades of yellow, some red and orange. “Fuck,” he laughed. “This is your fault. Now I need to go clean up.”

“No,” Ilya said. His voice was so commanding that Shane stopped mid-movement and looked over at him. Ilya shook his head. “Come over here.”

Shane didn’t even hesitate, and he didn’t want to think too hard about why that was. He just set the palette down carefully on the dropcloth and went over to where Ilya was still lying back on his elbows in front of the window. He reached up and pulled Shane down on top of him. Before Shane could do anything to stop it, his forearm brushed Ilya’s chest and streaked him in paint. And then Shane was on top of him, the paint smearing between them.

“Ilya,” he said, laughing. “We’re going to make a mess.”

“I hope so,” Ilya said, using one hand to guide Shane’s lips to his and pulling him down on top of him. “Watching you paint is almost as hot as watching you play hockey,” he said between kisses.

“Almost?” Shane laughed. 

“Mm, no. Maybe hotter.”

Ilya rolled them so Shane was beneath him, then kissed him again, their cocks sliding together now. When Ilya lifted his head, Shane could see the streaks of paint across both of their chests, his arm, Ilya’s arm. They were a kaleidoscope of colors.

“I want you right now,” Ilya said breathlessly. “Get on all fours.”

Shane did, with the briefest acknowledgement that he was right next to a giant window. Thankfully Ilya’s property was large, and no other houses were visible from here. Before the thought even finished, Ilya’s tongue was on his hole, and he was not taking his time today. He was lapping at Shane like he was trying to climb inside him.

“Oh fuck,” he said, letting his head hang down. “Oh god, Ilya. What are you doing?” He could feel saliva sliding down his crack…a lot of it. Then he felt Ilya’s finger pressing into him, over and over. Oh. Right. They didn’t have lube in here. 

By the time Ilya stopped what he was doing, Shane’s face was pressed into the blanket, his body was trembling, and his cock was leaking. Ilya reached under him and palmed the head of his cock, making Shane moan. Shane looked back in time to see Ilya use the same hand to stroke his cock, then he spit in his palm and did it again.

“Turn over,” Ilya said. “Is this okay?”

Shane nodded. It was somewhere between filthy and hot and slightly gross, but Shane didn't care in the least because he wanted Ilya now. 

“If it hurts at all, you tell me,” Ilya said, lining himself up. He pushed into Shane, and while it wasn’t as smooth as usual, it didn’t hurt. He was relaxed enough from Ilya’s mouth, saliva and precome removing enough of the friction.

“Fuck,” Shane breathed. Ilya stopped moving immediately, eyes scanning his face. Shane shook his head. “No. It’s good.” 

“Are you sure?” Ilya asked. His voice was strained, and Shane knew he was holding back for his sake.

“Yes,” Shane said, pushing up against him. “Come on. Claim your prize for being a good boy, remember?”

Ilya sucked in a breath, a little flash of surprise on his face. He grinned and started moving, and then they were both panting and moaning, bodies moving together, paint still smearing between them every time Ilya leaned down to kiss him and nip at his neck.

The light coming in through the glass was making Ilya’s eyes more green and brown, the gold flecks coming through. Between that and the paint smeared across his chest, he looked like a work of art. He always did, but today, after Shane had painted his body, one that would be envied by the Renaissance masters, he looked like a deity, like something to be worshipped. 

Shane pulled him down into a kiss, paint somehow on his hand, now on Ilya’s cheek. A streak of yellow and white and pink, and Shane couldn’t help but smile because nothing he ever created would be so beautiful and he felt very lucky that this man had chosen him.

“Ilya,” he breathed, and it came out holy and broken. “I love you so fucking much.” His body was thrumming with a chord of pleasure, already going tight, warmth spreading through his core.

Ilya blinked at him, his eyes unfocused but still looking at him like he was something precious, awe-inspiring, and he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that look. “I love you too,” Ilya said. “Fuck, Shane.” 

That was enough…his body arched into Ilya’s, spilling himself across his stomach, painting his already paint-streaked skin with ropes of cum, pulled from him by the rough slide of Ilya’s cock, the reverent whisper of his voice, the achingly tender look in his eyes, all making Shane feel like he was breaking apart into a million pieces while Ilya put them back together again, into something familiar but held together with more love than he had a name for.

Ilya followed him over the edge, and Shane held him close while his body stilled and went loose on top of him, pressing them together. When Ilya finally lifted his head, Shane couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. Ilya was flushed, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, the paint was drying into a perfect gradient of color across his cheek, like it was intentional. His perfect cupid’s bow lips were still parted, eyes dark with wide-blown pupils. 

“What?” Ilya asked, voice still low. 

Shane reached up to swipe a thumb over the paint. “You have paint on you.”

Ilya lifted his chest and looked between them. “I think we both do.”

“But you look like a work of art,” Shane said, pulling him down into a quick kiss. “I want to paint you like this now.”

Ilya smiled at him. “I think you should paint yourself.”

Shane cocked his head in question.

“That painting,” Ilya said, nodding his head to the easel. “Can you paint yourself into it?”

“I guess…why?”

“Then it will be perfect. We can hang it in our bedroom.”

Shane felt the slightest burn in his eyes. Maybe he would never get used to this. “You want your cleaning people to see that? Because I think I’ve made this pretty accurate,” he said, reaching down to where their bodies were still connected and running a finger around Ilya where he was stretching him, making them both squirm. 

Ilya let his forehead rest against Shane’s. “We can have them skip that room from now on. Our space only.”

“Okay,” Shane said. “I’ll think about it.” The way he’d painted Ilya left a lot of room where he could add himself, lying beside him. Maybe he’d subconsciously done that on purpose.

“I love it either way. Seeing myself through your eyes is…” Ilya shook his head. “A gift.”

“Don’t make me cry during sex again,” Shane said, blinking.

“Technically we are not having sex now,” Ilya said. “But if you want to go again, I will try.” He moved his hips, and they both groaned. Ilya slipped out of him and huffed a laugh. “Okay, maybe later.” Ilya rolled off of him, onto his side. 

“Stay there,” Shane said. He got up and fished his phone out of the pocket of his shorts, still on the floor by his easel. Then he lay back down next to Ilya and opened the forward facing camera. Ilya snuggled in close until their heads were side by side, both with soft smiles on their faces. Shane could see now that he had paint on his face too, and he wanted to capture them like this, messy and happy and together. 

“Perfect,” Ilya said, looking up at the screen. They both turned their heads until their lips met, and Shane snapped another one.

-

The following Monday, Shane worked a morning shift, and to his never-ending annoyance, it was with Kevin. Which meant Shane was basically opening by himself. He set up everything while Kevin scrolled on his phone and pretended to pour cream into a carafe for twenty minutes. By the time Jen arrived for a mid-morning shift, Shane had never been so happy to see her.

“I would have known who you were working with even if I didn’t see him standing in the corner,” she said under her breath when she stepped out from the backroom. “You look like you’re going to murder someone.”

“I might,” Shane said grumpily.

“So,” Jen said, dragging the word out. “You didn’t tell me your painting-buying boyfriend was Ilya fucking Rozanov.”

Shane’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“You’ve been holding out on me. No wonder you were so happy about the Centaurs.”

“How did you know that?”

“You two are all over the internet. I guess it was just rumors floating around on social media, but one of the gossip sites has pictures. Sorry,” she said, looking at him apologetically. “I thought you knew.”

“Fuck,” he said, pulling out his phone . “Can you cover me for a minute?”

She took his spot at the register while he stepped into the back.

He googled “Ilya Rozanov” and tons of recent articles popped up. From celebrity gossip sites, sports media, twitter…fuck.

Ilya Rozanov spotted with male lover?

Hockey superstar Ilya Rozanov outed as gay

Fans Speculate After Star Center Ilya Rozanov Spotted Hand-in-Hand With Mystery Man

And on and on it went. Shane opened one of them to find a picture of himself at a recent game, leaning forward in his seat, talking to Cassie Boodram. The caption speculated that he was Ilya’s secret lover. Shane rolled his eyes. He opened another one and found a picture of him and Ilya holding hands all the way back from when they went skating at the Rideau. Apparently a fan had taken the photo and waited for the perfect opportunity to sell it.

He pulled out his phone to text Ilya.

Shane: Have you been online today?

The typing bubble popped up immediately.

Ilya: yeah…no big deal

Shane: You sure? I’m sorry this is happening.

Ilya: you know I don’t care
Ilya: now everyone can see how hot my boyfriend is

Shane rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t suppress a smile.

Shane: Shut up. I love you. See you at home later.

Ilya: love you too

He went back up front. Kevin was nowhere to be found. 

“Everything cool?” Jen asked.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “I just didn’t realize it was out publicly.”

“Ilya Rozanov,” she said with a grin. “Holy shit, Shane. Why are you still working here if you’re with him?”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Because I’m still my own person.”

She shrugged. “I’d be my own person at home drinking wine and watching TV. Not putting up with that,” she nodded to where Kevin was wiping the same spot on a table in the corner over and over again while he looked at his phone.

Shane spent the rest of his shift thinking about Ilya and about what he was going to teach the kids at the center later. He’d get off at 2, then go straight there, and he was looking forward to it much more than he’d ever expected. 

-

He pushed open the youth center’s door just after 2:30, getting a familiar greeting from Jacob.

“I’ll leave you to it today,” Jacob said. He was giving Shane an unusual and slightly surprised look. Shane wanted to ask if he’d done something wrong, but Jacob continued. “You know where to find me if you need anything. The kids were asking about you every day last week.”

“Really?” Shane asked in surprise, forgetting the weird look already.

“Yeah…I told you. If you treat them like they’re worth your time, you’ll be their favorite person. Don’t get too comfortable, though…they’re still teenagers, and they will not hesitate to remind you that you are in fact not cool.”

Shane laughed. “That’s fine. They were great last time.”

“Alright,” Jacob said. “Have at it.”

Shane went down to the art room and started setting up an easel and canvas for himself so he could show them a few techniques.

When the kids started streaming him, he recognized mostly the same group from last week, a couple new faces, maybe one or two missing. 

“I thought we’d go over some shading techniques today,” Shane said. “I’ll show you how to create shadows and perspective. If you weren’t here last week, don’t worry, you can jump right in.”

“Mr. Hollander?” It was one of the girls.

“Yes?” he said expectantly.

“Is it true you’re dating Ilya Rozanov?”

Shane’s face went hot, and his stomach did something violent. What was he supposed to say? Was he allowed to answer that? No one had prepared him for this. And he had naively not considered that teenagers with access to the internet might have seen the articles along with everyone else.

He took a deep breath. “Um…yeah. It’s true. But that’s not really important to what we’re doing.”

“You’re dating the Centaurs’ captain?”

It was Joseph, the kid who wanted to be playing hockey, not painting.

“Yes. Now let’s get started.”

“Can we meet him?”

“Oh,” Shane said, remembering that Ilya told Jacob he’d happily stop by here one day to meet them. “Maybe. But not today, so let’s get back to painting.”

There was some more excited chatter and whispering, but eventually they settled down while Shane showed them some basic shading techniques. 

When he was walking around after to see how they were doing, he stopped by Tim first, the older kid who wanted to be an artist. 

“Looking great, Tim. You’ve already got the perspective down. The shading on those trees is perfect. Right here,” he said, pointing to one area. “That should have more shadow.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hollander. Are you going to show us more advanced stuff? Like how to paint people?”

“Is that something you want to learn?”

“Yeah, I’m good at drawing people. I think I could probably paint them too.”

Shane nodded. “We can probably work on that one day.” 

In his head, he was sketching out a plan for how to get them from shading to more advanced techniques to portraits and other styles, and he realized if he did it properly, it would take weeks. Maybe months. He hadn’t planned for months. He’d planned for a class or two, just to help out. Fitting this in with the cafe, painting for himself, going to Ilya’s games…maybe.

He continued walking around the room, eventually coming to Joseph, who, unsurprisingly, did not want to talk about painting.

“Do you get to go to all the games?” Joseph asked.

“Not all of them, but some.”

“That’s so cool. So you know all the Centaurs?”

Shane nodded. “I’ve met most of them.”

“I really like Troy Barrett. What he did was cool. With his old teammate.”

Shane smiled. “Yeah, it was. I’ll tell him you said that.”

Joseph’s eyes went wide. “Could you get me his autograph?”

“Um…maybe. I’m not sure, but if I can, I will.” This was a slippery slope. But somehow, Shane thought Troy wouldn’t mind. Especially when he heard that one of the reasons Joseph was a fan had to do with calling Kent out on his disgusting behavior.

Once all the kids had left for the afternoon, Jacob came in.

“How’d it go?”

“Um…well. I guess they’ve heard I’m um…” Shane trailed off, trying to figure out how to make this sound like not a big deal.

“Dating Ilya Rozanov?” Jacob filled in with a small smile.

“Uh, yeah. Is that a problem?”

“Because you’re in a relationship with a man? Or because that man is the captain of the Centaurs?” Joseph asked with a laugh. “But no, of course not. I kind of figured when you two came in together. And I’m gay myself. Sometimes the kids say…questionable things. Teenagers, you know? They’re mostly respectful though. Hopefully they didn’t give you a hard time?”

“No, not at all. Just curious.”

Jacob nodded. “We’d still love it if he ever wanted to stop by and meet them.”

“Yeah, I bet he would. I’ll talk to him about it.”

“Either way, thank you for coming again. You’re clearly doing a great job with them,” Jacob said, looking around at the paintings on the shelves. “We’d be happy to have you for as long as you’re willing.”

Shane nodded, wondering if maybe he could keep coming, the lesson plans in his head already taking shape more and more.

-

Ilya was on the couch, scrolling through streaming services when he heard the front door, and then Shane was there, looking absolutely adorable with his paint-stained hands and t-shirt.

“Hey,” Shane said, flopping onto the couch next to him. 

Ilya pulled him in for a kiss. “How was work?”

He watched Shane’s face pull into a grimace. “The worst. Well, no. I had to open with Kevin, so it was a shitty start to the day. But then Jen came in. She’s the one who told me that we’d made the gossip sites,” he said.

Ilya nodded. He’d already been on the phone with various people, including his agent and publicist, telling them he didn’t care and the rumors didn’t need to be quashed. 

“How was the center?” he asked. 

The way Shane’s face shifted from annoyance to joy was something to witness.

“Great, actually. They did ask about you. And they want to meet you.” He laughed. “I think most of them think I’m cooler now. One of them wants Troy’s autograph. Do you think he’d do that?”

Ilya scoffed. “They want Barrett’s autograph instead of mine? These kids need better education. Who is teaching them about hockey?”

“Relax,” Shane said, laughing. “They’ll all be starstruck by you. You can let Troy have one.”

“Fine,” Ilya said, dragging the word out on a sigh. “I’m sure Barrett will be happy to sign anything. Maybe I will drag him with me one day.”

“That would be great. I’m sure they’d all love it.”

“Are you going back then? To teach more?”

Shane nodded slowly. “I think so. I’d like to. Most of them seem to really want to learn, and I have a lot of ideas.”

Ilya wondered if he could say what he wanted to say without an argument. He thought they were on much more solid footing now, after the cottage and everything that had happened. 

“Shane,” he said, taking his hand. “Don’t get mad at what I’m about to say. Just listen. Okay?”

Shane gave him a suspicious look. “What did you do?”

Ilya laughed. “Nothing. You don’t trust me?”

“You know I do, but…also not,” Shane was smiling at him, so that was a good start. Ilya leaned in and kissed him briefly.

“I don’t think you enjoy working at the cafe,” Ilya said. “And it seems like you do really enjoy teaching at the center.”

Shane didn’t say anything. He was biting the inside of his lip, and Ilya couldn’t tell if it was because he was already angry or something else.

“I’m just saying…if you wanted to stop working at the cafe, you could. I’m not asking you to, or telling you to. I just want you to know, if you want to focus on the center and painting…you can.”

Shane was still just looking at him, and Ilya’s stomach was starting to twist. “Say something,” he said, grabbing Shane’s hand.

“Thank you,” Shane said finally. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Ilya said, and he couldn’t suppress his smile because Shane wasn’t mad. He leaned back against the armrest and pulled Shane on top of him. “I just want you to do whatever makes you happiest.”

“I know,” Shane said. “I appreciate that. I just don’t want to feel like I’m not contributing anything, I guess.”

Ilya nodded. “I understand that. But…we are good, financially. What’s mine is yours. You know this already.”

“I do. I’m trying to…accept that.” Shane leaned down to kiss him. “Thank you,” he said against his lips. 

“Plus,” Ilya said. “If you do want to start painting more, maybe you can start showing and selling them again. Harris will come in his pants if you ask him to help with your social media stuff.”

Shane laughed. “Yeah…I think I would like to. But it’ll take a little while. To get back into painting more seriously again. I do feel more…” He paused. “I don’t know. Like the block I’ve had since I got back to Ottawa is almost gone. But I’m still not quite back to my usual painting headspace yet.”

“That’s okay. Take your time,” Ilya said, brushing Shane’s bangs off his forehead. “You can keep painting me nude if you want. Lots of people would buy them.”

Shane snorted. “I’m not selling nudes of you. That one was only for me. For us.” 

“I know,” Ilya said, pulling him down for another kiss, and this time he didn’t stop.

-

A couple of weeks later, Shane was at work, thankfully only with Jen and one of their supervisors, who was in the back. 

“So…” he said, when they had a break in customers. “I put in my two weeks notice last week.” Today was the first time he’d worked with her since.

“No!” She gave him a comically horrified look. “Shane, don’t do this to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really will miss you. But we can hang out sometime. I’ll come in to visit.”

“Okay, you'd better because I still have not met Ilya, and that seems like a crime considering. You can’t keep all that to yourself.”

Shane laughed. “I mean…he’s literally on TV multiple times a week and half naked in photoshoots nearly as often. I don’t think I’m keeping him to myself.”

“Fine. But I still want to meet him,” she said.

“Okay. I’ll drag him in here one day, just for you.”

“Thank you. Now, are you quitting to be a stay at home hockey husband, or did you get a new job?”

“Uh, neither. I’m going to keep teaching at the youth center. And maybe sell my paintings again, one day.”

Jen reached out and hugged him, surprising Shane for a long second before he responded and put his arms around her. 

“I’m happy for you. And I hate you. I have got to find a new job,” she said, pulling back. “Before I go to jail for murdering Kevin.”

Shane laughed. “Call me if you need bail.”

-

Later that evening, Shane was on the couch watching Detroit vs. Ottawa. This was the game that would clinch a playoff spot for either team, and he knew Ilya was proud of the Centaurs and how far they’d come, whether this ended the season or continued it, but Shane wanted this for them so bad. 

The game was tied in the third period. Detroit was not letting up, and Shane could see Ilya standing by the bench, helmet briefly off, hair damp with sweat, the captain’s C on his chest like a pulsing beacon. He could feel the weight of this game on Ilya’s shoulders. When Ilya hopped over the boards, back on the ice with under 2 minutes left, Shane sat forward on the edge of the couch, hands beside his eyes like he was waiting to cover them because he wasn’t sure if he could watch. 

He’d looked away for a second, and now Troy had the puck, driving hard toward the net, pulling the Detroit defense with him, giving him the briefest opening to pass to Ilya, who immediately took the puck and fired it clean into the net milliseconds before the goalie slid across. 

Shane jumped off the couch and cheered and fist pumped and celebrated, and he didn’t care that he was alone in Ilya’s living room. He’d never been so happy or proud. He watched the arena explode into cheers on TV, Ilya and Troy were hugging, and then the other Centaurs were there, joining the pile. The joy was palpable…you’d almost think they’d already won a cup watching the magnitude of their celebration. But Shane knew this was unexpected, miraculous even, considering the team they had at the beginning of the season, and they deserved to celebrate.

He was still beaming, watching the interviews after the game. Ilya’s grin was infectious, his sweaty curls plastered to his head, cheeks flushed. Shane’s chest felt like it was made of sunlight, warm and glowy and radiating pride. He couldn’t wait for Ilya to get home later tonight, thankful that the flight from Detroit would be a quick one. 

He eventually turned off the TV and went to the glass-walled room, now furnished with shelves and a desk against one corner opposite the glass. After he set up his easel and paints, he sat in front of it, feeling the overwhelming urge to paint, and not just to waste time until Ilya got home. In the past, his painting had been fueled by grief, memories, sometimes some other fleeting emotion. Usually he wanted to pull out things that were too heavy to carry around. To put them somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t have to revisit them unless he wanted to. But this was a new experience. He was…happy. He didn’t want to give that away, didn’t want to put it aside or stop thinking about it. He briefly wondered if that would keep him from painting how he used to, like he needed to hoard it, protect it. Even when he painted things or people he loved in the past, they were always touched with something sad. Like the portrait he’d done of his Aunt Sylvie after she’d passed. It had been a labor of love, a way to memorialize her and how much she’d been adored by everyone who knew her, now hanging in the room where she taught most of her pottery classes. But he couldn’t have done it without the weight of her loss. He’d always needed that.

But he realized…as his eyes slid to the almost finished painting of Ilya, nude and perfect, a look of adoration perfectly captured on his face, now complete with Shane laying next to him on his side, similarly nude and hard and looking down at Ilya like he was seeing something divine…he had already started painting out of love and joy, and there was no darkness there between them. Maybe he could take the cold and broken things and make them into something warmer. 

He thought about the cottage. The way it had felt like a cold, empty tomb the first time he stepped back through the front door. Until Ilya had come, and now it was something more. They were planning to take a trip there soon, to check on the renovations and plan out the next steps. Shane found himself looking forward to it. Thinking of summers they could spend there at the lake, Ilya lying in the grass, the sun reflecting off his golden brown curls. He sighed happily and turned back to his canvas. 

An hour later, his phone buzzed.

Ilya: on the plane finally

Shane’s stomach gave a nervous little dip at that. He knew statistically speaking, what happened after Tampa was unlikely to happen again, but still.

Shane: Congrats. I’m so proud of you.

Ilya: don’t make me cry on this plane in front of my team

That made Shane briefly wonder how long it had been since Ilya had anyone outside of his teammates and Svetlana be proud of him.

Shane: Okay okay. I’ll save it for later. Great game though. How are you feeling?

The typing bubble appeared and disappeared a couple of times before a message finally came through.

Ilya: really fucking proud and happy

Shane smiled.

Shane: As you should. Go celebrate with your team. I’ll see you soon. Love you.

Ilya: love you too, can't wait

Shane put his phone away, let himself keep the stupid grin on his face, and started cleaning up his paints so he could wait for Ilya to get home and celebrate.

Chapter 15: I used to live alone before I knew ya

Chapter Notes

Yes, I did change the chapter count. I'm sorryyyy...I misjudged how much more was necessary between the previous one and the final one, and it got too long (truly my mistake for including hockey). But the good news is...you get more of these two fools in love (which I think is good?). And so...here is the penultimate chapter. The finale will be worth the [short] wait (I hope).

Even though it was late when Ilya got home, he was wired. He was so fucking happy and proud of his team. At the beginning of the season, even with him joining the Centaurs, no one expected them to even get close to the playoffs. Now they were in, and even if they got knocked out early, it was still an accomplishment. It made him feel like his decision to leave Boston had been the right one, for more than just the obvious reasons.

He expected Shane to be up waiting for him when he walked in, but the downstairs was dark and empty. Maybe he’d been too tired to wait. Ilya went upstairs quietly, not wanting to wake him. They could celebrate tomorrow. 

But Ilya didn’t have to worry about that. In fact, Ilya’s cock had never gone from soft to hard faster in his life, and that was saying something. Because Shane was on their bed, wearing nothing but one of his jerseys, and…Ilya walked further into the room. Shane had been lying back on the bed, but when Ilya walked in, he turned over on all fours, legs spread just enough to show off a fucking plug.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Ilya whispered. He had also never removed his clothing so fast in his life. He was on the bed in seconds, his hand a magnet to the base of the plug. He twisted it and pulled on it, making Shane squirm. He leaned over him, pressing himself against Shane’s back, leaning close to his ear. “So fucking good to me,” he whispered. 

Shane moaned and pushed back into him while he played with the plug. “Congratulations,” Shane said, his voice breaking when Ilya gave the plug a firm push. “I thought maybe it was a good night for wearing your jersey.”

“You were correct,” Ilya said. “Turn over.”

Shane turned over and lay back on the bed, and Ilya took him in. Seeing his number and his name and his colors on Shane was already threatening to have him on his knees begging, but laid out, with the jersey rucked up, exposing his nakedness from the waist down…

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” Shane said before pulling him down into a kiss. Ilya’s body was at war with itself, torn between the tears gathering in his eyes, impossible to stop upon hearing those words from Shane’s mouth, and the rest of his body, which was desperate to pin him down and have his way with him immediately.

Shane must have noticed because when he pulled back, he swiped a thumb beneath one of Ilya’s eyes, then kissed him again and tugged on the curls at the back of his neck, hard enough to pull a needy little noise from his throat and send him back into want-to-pin-him-down mode.

“Shane,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if he was asking for more or begging him to stop. “Are you having fun torturing me?

Shane leaned up. “Yes.” He nipped just below Ilya’s jaw. “Are you not enjoying it?”

Ilya pushed his hard cock against Shane’s thigh. “What do you think?”

“How do you want me, Captain?” Shane asked, biting his lip. 

“Fuck” Ilya breathed. His cock throbbed. “You’re trying to kill me.” 

Shane laughed and reached between them to wrap his fingers around Ilya’s cock. “Well?”

“On your stomach,” Ilya said, shifting so Shane could turn over again. 

Ilya knelt next to him, running a hand down Shane’s back, fingers brushing ‘Rozanov’ and ‘81’ before sliding over his lower back dimples, the perfect roundness of his ass, until he got to the plug again. 

“How long have you had this in?” he asked.

“Since right after we texted.”

“Fuck,” Ilya said. “So ready for me.” He pulled the plug almost all the way out and then pushed it back in, making Shane whimper. 

Ilya leaned over to grab lube from the nightstand, slicked himself, and then slowly pulled the plug all the way out. He ran his hand down Shane’s ass again, letting his thumb dip into his hole on the way down. Shane pushed back against him, and Ilya decided not to make either of them wait any longer. He stretched out on top of Shane, pressing him flat against the bed with all of his weight, nudged his thighs open a little wider, then lined up and pushed his cock inside. 

He pressed his face into the back of Shane’s neck, moaning against him at the feel of that tight, slick warmth. 

“What were you planning to do if we lost?” Ilya asked as he started thrusting into Shane.

“Uh…” Shane’s voice shook with each push of Ilya’s hips. “Probably this…oh fuck…you still…” Shane moaned louder as Ilya lifted his hips and angled down more. “Jesus…proud of you either way.”

Ilya kissed his neck, letting Shane’s words wash over him. Then he slowly pulled out and sat up on his knees, deciding he needed a better view. “Thank you. Now ride me.” 

Shane looked over his shoulder at him. “What?”

Ilya stretched out on his back and patted his thighs. “Come on. Let me see you in that jersey properly.”

Shane got up and straddled his lap. “Like this?” he asked, putting his palms flat on Ilya’s chest and leaning down to kiss him. When he pulled back, Ilya chased his lips, wanting more, until he felt Shane’s hand wrap around his cock, holding it steady so he could lift his hips and sink down onto him.

“Fuck…yes.” Ilya’s brain was already lacking blood flow, and then Shane leaned back, moving his hands to rest on Ilya’s thighs, stretching out before him, the bottom of his jersey draped over Shane’s cock like it was a towel hook. “Jesus.” Ilya could find no other coherent words. 

“Want me to keep the jersey on, Captain?” Shane asked, stretching back even further. He knew exactly what effect he was having. 

“Yes.”

Shane started rolling his hips, slow at first, not letting Ilya’s cock slide out very far. Ilya pushed the jersey up so he could run his hands up the warm, muscled expanse of Shane’s stomach, squeeze each pec, roll his nipples under his thumbs, making Shane lose his rhythm for a moment. Then Shane started lifting himself up and pushing down, and Ilya’s hands fell back to grip his waist, letting the jersey hang down again.

“Fuck,” Ilya whispered. “Come here.” He drew his knees up, making Shane lean forward, then he pulled him down for a messy, breathless kiss. “You should have facetimed me while you put that plug in.”

Shane laughed against his mouth. “While you were on the plane with your team?”

“That’s what bathrooms are for. Next time I want to watch.”

Shane’s lips parted on a moan, head stretching back. “You seem very sure there’ll be a next time," he said breathlessly.

Ilya held Shane’s hips still for a moment so he could thrust up into him. “I am.”

Then Ilya tightened his arms around Shane’s waist and rolled them over so he could fuck him properly. He was thrusting hard, harder than usual, because Shane, spread out beneath him in black and red, his eyes unfocused, hair a mess across his forehead, a pink flush creeping up his neck, perfect red lips half parted to let little moans and breathy noises of pleasure slip through them, all while wearing his name and number…Ilya was undone. 

“Is this okay?” he whispered near Shane’s ear before leaning up to look at his face again, watching his eyes, his mouth, for any signs that he wasn’t just as far gone as Ilya.

Shane nodded. “More.”

Ilya lifted one of Shane’s legs to rest on his shoulder, pulling his hips up slightly off the bed, and he watched Shane’s eyes roll back, neck stretched against the pillows, low noises escaping him with each thrust of Ilya’s cock. He kept thrusting, pushing into him hard, the sounds of their moans and bodies slapping together loud in the otherwise quiet room. When Ilya felt his orgasm building, knew it wouldn’t be denied any longer, he gently lowered Shane’s leg back to the bed and leaned down to whisper in his ear again, pressing their cheeks together.

“Do you want to come on my cock or in my mouth?” 

The question ended up being unnecessary because Shane’s body chose that moment to clench around him, his fingers digging into Ilya’s back hard enough to leave marks, a low moan punching out of him while he spurted between them. It pulled Ilya’s orgasm from him, no resistance possible in the face of that tight heat, the way Shane pulled him in closer, like he needed to cling to him while he was coming apart, and Ilya did the same. As he pulsed deep inside of him, he pressed himself down, curling around Shane, both of them holding each other together.

When Ilya recovered enough, he lifted his head so he could look at Shane. His eyes were still a little unfocused, but he had a small smile on his face, which Ilya kissed away. 

“Fuck, that was hot,” Ilya murmured, pulling at the sleeve of his jersey. 

“Sorry,” Shane said. “Got cum on your jersey.” 

Ilya laughed. “Good.” He kissed Shane again, and again, and again. “Best post game celebration ever,” he murmured against his lips. 

Eventually they both cleaned up and Shane took the jersey off. Ilya was sad to see it go, but he was ready to have Shane wrapped around him under the sheets. 

“So how is everyone feeling about Toronto in the first round?” Shane asked after Ilya had recounted a couple of close moments from the Detroit game.

“We will wipe the floor with them,” Ilya said cockily. He believed it. “I think everyone is in a good place right now. Even if we don’t make it to round 2, this is good for us. For next season. But I think we can do it.”

“I agree,” Shane said. “Troy is really something. Thank god you’re not relying on Dillon anymore.”

“Fuck. It’s true. We wouldn’t have made it this far…even with me.” Ilya paused. “I’m a little worried about Troy having to play against his old team, since he came out. If that asshole Kent does anything…”

“Troy can handle it. He’s got Harris now. And the whole team at his back.”

Ilya nodded. “Yes, he does.”

-

The first two games of Round 1 were in Toronto, so Shane watched from home. The Centaurs won the first game, and game 2 was close. Too close for comfort. Shane watched as Toronto got around their defense and drove the puck toward the net. And then between one breath and the next, Ilya was there, in front of the net, taking a puck to the knee. 

Shane jumped off the couch, hands pressing on either side of his head, holding his breath while he watched Ilya go down on the ice, holding up a hand, presumably to tell them he didn’t need a medic. Troy was there, offering him a hand up, and then some of the others, and to Shane’s relief, Ilya stood up and skated gingerly to the bench. Shane let out a huge breath and fell heavily back onto the couch. Thinking about Ilya being out this early due to injury made his stomach turn.

A minute later, his phone buzzed.

Harris: Ilya asked me to text you. Says he’s fine
Harris: Between you and me…he’s hurting
Harris: But nothing too serious

Shane let out another breath, slower this time. He figured Harris had traveled with the team since it wasn’t too far. 

Shane: Thanks for letting me know.
Shane: Tell him I said not to do anything stupid.

Harris: I think we both know that’s a waste of time

Shane laughed, because yes, it was. 

The next time Ilya was on the ice, Shane could see him subtly favoring that knee, but he otherwise looked great, and the relief that Ilya really wasn’t out for the playoffs made Shane’s own knees feel weak. Unfortunately, they still lost the game. But that put them at 1-1…still a good position to be in this early.

After the game was over, Shane went to work on a painting until Ilya called. He’d been working on a new piece for the last several days, and he wasn’t even sure what it was yet. That happened sometimes. He’d just start painting and see where it took him. This one was taking him somewhere with trees drooping under the weight of snow, branches sparkling with ice, and the warmth of sunlight peeking through. 

He was just about done cleaning his brushes when his phone buzzed.

“Hi,” he answered. “How’s your knee?”

“It fucking hurts. But I’m okay.”

“That was stupid, you know. Stopping the puck is the goalie’s job,” Shane said, keeping his voice light and teasing.

Ilya sighed. “So I’ve heard.”

“Are you really okay?”

“Yeah…nasty bruise already. I’ll be fine for the next game.”

“Do you want to talk about the game?”

“Not really. What are you doing?”

“I was painting. About to go upstairs.”

“Are you trying to turn me on?” Ilya asked.

“No. Why...is it working?”

Ilya laughed. “Always.”

“What are you doing right now?” Shane asked as he turned the light off and headed for their bedroom.

“Lying in bed. Do you want to know what I’m wearing too?” Ilya teased.

“I’d rather see.”

“Fuck,” Ilya said. “Okay, I’m switching to facetime.”

Shane hit accept, and then Ilya was there on his screen, perfect as ever.

“Hi,” he said again, smiling down at his phone like an idiot.

“Hi,” Ilya said, doing the same. “Are you going to put on a show for me?”

Shane laughed. “Maybe.”

Upstairs, Shane got undressed and got in bed, wishing Ilya was next to him instead of on his screen.

“Mm, I think I just want to watch your face tonight,” Ilya said softly.

“Okay,” Shane said. “Me too.”

-

When Ilya finally hung up so Shane could get some sleep, he flopped back against his pillows and stared up at the ceiling for a while. These little moments when he was alone were the worst. Even when they hadn’t lost a game. When Shane wasn’t there, or his team, or the paintings, or Chiron, or anything to hold onto, he felt himself slip a little. The emptiness was still there, lurking around the edges, held back by so many good things in his life, but never gone. The edge, not close anymore, still existed, behind the brick wall and the painted glass and the million moments of joy and happiness, looming just enough to scare him.

He sighed. He knew one day he would need to tell Shane. Knew he couldn’t fix himself by looking away from it. But he could reach out and hang on when he needed to…to Troy, Harris, Bood, Wyatt, Dykstra, even Haas. Svetlana was always there, anchoring him when he needed it. And now, the most solid, important thing in his life…Shane. Always there with him.

He opened his photos app and scrolled. They didn’t have a lot of pictures together yet, but there were more and more all the time. Plus some he’d taken of Shane. Sitting at his easel with the light coming in behind him, giving Ilya a cute, exasperated look. The ones Shane took of them smeared in paint, lying together on the floor, smiling. And then kissing. One of Shane in his jersey, at Ilya’s request…a PG version as a compromise.

Next he opened Troy’s instagram page. His posts supporting sexual assault victims, his coming out post, pictures of him and Harris together. He opened the team account that Harris managed and scrolled through the pictures of his teammates doing goofy things, visiting hospitals, playing with Chiron, celebrating a win.

Ilya eventually put his phone away and pulled the covers up. He fell asleep thinking about all the people he cared about and how he wanted to be his best for them.

-

The next two games were taking place in Ottawa, allowing Shane to attend. Game 3 had been…not great. They lost, putting them at 2-1 in favor of Toronto. 

That night, when Ilya got home, Shane took him to bed and did his best to take his mind off of it for a while. He started by giving him a massage, complete with massage oil. Ilya was naked facedown on the bed while Shane kneaded his back.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” Ilya asked, his voice soft and relaxed.

“I watched a youtube video.” He’d watched at least 6 of them, in fact.

“Really? Just for this?”

“Of course…why, is it bad?”

Ilya huffed a quiet laugh. “I am in heaven.”

Shane smiled and kept going, pushing his fingers into Ilya’s muscles, trying to remember which spots to dig his thumbs into more. He was mostly just working on instinct, the youtube videos going out of his head once confronted with the perfect muscles and mole-flecked golden skin of Ilya’s back. He leaned down and pressed his lips against one mole, and then another, making his way across Ilya’s back, while Ilya made contented little noises beneath him. His hands moved further down, eventually massaging the unfairly perfect round cheeks of his ass. Shane noticed that Ilya’s hips were pushing down against the bed every so often.

“Do you want to turn over?” he asked, giving Ilya’s ass cheek one last pinch.

Ilya didn’t hesitate, he flipped himself over, folding his arms beneath his head and stretching out, his cock hard and waiting as Shane expected. 

“Are you expecting this to be a happy ending massage?” Shane asked teasingly, starting again at Ilya’s shoulders and moving down. 

“Um, yes,” Ilya said. “Obviously.”

Shane sighed dramatically. “If you insist.”

Ilya grabbed his face and pulled him down into a kiss. “Such a chore for you?” he asked against Shane’s lips, his own curving into a smile.

“You know the answer to that. Now be patient,” Shane said, pulling back and returning to what he was doing. He moved down the bed so he could massage Ilya’s thighs, the thick muscles tense there.

Ilya groaned as Shane’s fingers dug in, gentle but firm, thumbs making circular patterns against his skin. “Fuck. That feels good.”

“Don’t you get massages regularly from someone who knows what they’re doing?” Shane asked.

“Yes, and they are not even half as good as this.”

“I think you’re lying,” Shane said. “The only part that’s better is this.” He reached up and stroked Ilya’s cock once, just enough to have him pushing his hips up for more. “At least I hope your team’s massage therapist isn’t doing that.”

“Oh, you are jealous? I’ll ask her to stop.”

“Shut up,” Shane laughed and pinched Ilya's hip, making him squirm.

Shane moved one hand back up, wrapping his fingers around Ilya’s cock again, watching his eyes flutter shut, lips just slightly parted. He looked relaxed, his face slack with pleasure, the earlier tension he’d brought home melting away under Shane’s fingers.

He let his other hand drift up his thigh, using it to roll Ilya’s balls around, massaging them with as much care as he’d put into the rest of him while his other hand continued to stroke, up and down. Ilya was giving him satisfied little groans that were going straight to his own cock, but he ignored it.

“Gonna come if you keep that up,” Ilya said, voice strained.

“I want you to.”

He kept working both hands, watching Ilya’s face, listening to him moan, enjoying the flex of his muscles as his hips moved. Without stopping, he shifted so he was between Ilya’s legs, nudging his thighs further apart. Then he moved his hand from Ilya’s balls down further so he could brace himself and push his face between his cheeks, letting his tongue drag along his hole. The answering moans from Ilya and the way he pushed against him had Shane pushing his own cock against the bed, using every last brain cell to focus on stroking Ilya’s cock and keeping his tongue at a matching rhythm.

When Ilya finally came apart, Shane stroked and licked him through it as his body tightened and spasmed and pushed against his mouth and then went still, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Shane crawled up to kiss him, and Ilya’s hands came up to gently thread through his hair. His eyes were closed when Shane pulled back, mouth relaxed into a slight smile. 

“Come here,” Ilya said, reaching for Shane’s cock. 

Shane shook his head. “I can do that.” He rolled to Ilya’s side, propping himself up on one elbow.

Ilya nodded, letting his arm fall heavily back on the bed. “My favorite show.”

It didn’t take long. Shane was already on the edge after having his hands all over Ilya’s body and watching him come just from that. He watched Ilya’s face while he stroked himself, while his body tensed and loosened with his own orgasm, while his release mingled with Ilya’s on his stomach. His greenish eyes dark with desire, lips perfect and waiting. Shane leaned over again, letting his chest rest on Ilya’s so he could kiss him, slowly, both of them relaxed and boneless now.

“I’ll be right back,” Shane said. He went into the bathroom to clean up and decided to fill the tub. He figured Ilya could do with even more relaxing tonight. 

A minute later, Ilya walked in. “I heard the water.”

“Thought you could use it,” Shane said, stepping into the tub and tugging on Ilya’s hand. Ilya slipped in after him, leaning back against Shane’s chest with a long sigh.

“Yes. Thank you,” he said.

“How are you feeling?” Shane asked.

“Very relaxed.”

“Good. And about the game?”

Ilya shrugged against him. “Disappointed. Not in the team.”

“It’s still 2-1,” Shane said, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not even close to being out yet.”

“I know. I feel like I let them down. I’m worried we’ve lost our momentum.”

“I don't think so. But whatever happens, you guys have played incredibly well this season.”

Ilya snorted. “Yes, no one expected this. Everyone thought we’d be terrible.”

“And you proved them wrong,” Shane said. “You and the whole team.”

“I’m really proud of them,” Ilya said, his voice tight. “When I got here…it was a mess. And then Barrett showed up, and I was not sure if we could all get on the same page. Hard to believe how far we’ve come.”

Shane nodded against him. “You’re a great captain.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I ask you something?” Shane rubbed one hand across Ilya’s chest in what he hoped was a comforting motion.

“Of course.”

“Why did you really come to Ottawa? You told me you needed a change, but…Boston was a solid team. And like you said, Ottawa was a mess. You had better options.”

Ilya took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I thought Ottawa would be a good place to…” he trailed off. He took a deep breath, like he was preparing for something big. Finally he said, “I was worried I was getting like my mother. Depressed. Empty. Everything was starting to feel pointless.”

Shane wrapped both arms around Ilya, holding him close. 

“I liked Wiebe when I met him, and a few of the guys. I thought maybe having good people and a team who needed me might be good for me. Give me something to…I don’t know. It was a reason to get up in the morning.”

Shane nodded against him. “It seems like coming here was the right decision. They love you, and you love them.”

“Yes. It was definitely the right decision,” Ilya said, his hands coming up to rest on Shane’s arms. “For the team, but mostly because of you.”

Shane pressed his lips to the side of Ilya’s neck, acknowledging but not interrupting. He had a feeling he wasn’t quite done.

“I still think…maybe I am like my mother in some ways. Even though I am happy now, the happiest I’ve ever been, sometimes I still feel it. The emptiness. Not as bad, but I worry it could be.”

Shane nodded against him. “Some things can’t be fixed by being happy. Or even by love.”

“I thought about seeing someone,” Ilya said. “But I kept putting it off, trying other things. And now I feel good most of the time.”

“I think seeing someone is a good idea even when you’re feeling good. I’ve been to therapy on and off since my parents died. Even when I was in a quote-unquote good period. Sometimes it’s just helpful for putting a name to things before they become a bigger issue.”

Ilya let out a long breath. “I also don’t want you to think you aren’t enough for me.”

Shane let his eyes close, his heart aching for Ilya, who was so good at giving all of himself and expecting nothing in return. He recalled what Svetlana said about Ilya’s family. How long had he been holding himself up to impossible expectations? Trying to be strong for everyone else? Pushing his own needs and wants aside.

“Ilya, I would never think that. It doesn’t work that way. Love…it can’t fix everything. I love you. So much. And I’ll be there to support you always, however you need me. If that means getting help, I’ll be there to hold your hand. Before, during, or after. Whatever you need.”

“I know,” Ilya said. He shifted in the water, turning slightly so he was chest to chest against Shane, arms wrapped around his back, head tucked under his chin. “I love you too. You make me happier than I’ve ever been.” He paused for a moment. “I will think about it some more. Seeing someone. Before it gets worse.”

Shane nodded. He ran his fingers through Ilya’s hair. “You can talk to me about anything too. Anytime. Even if it’s the middle of the night from a hotel room on the road. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ilya nuzzled his face against Shane’s chest. “Thank you, moya lyubov.”

“You don’t have to do anything alone anymore,” Shane said.

Ilya pushed himself up enough to look at Shane. “Neither do you.”

Shane smiled at him and nodded softly. “I know.”

-

Ottawa won the fourth game, tying them at 2-2 with Toronto in round 1. But the bigger news was that Dallas Kent, the asshole who was accused of sexual assault by multiple women, was finally arrested. It felt like vindication for Troy, since denouncing his former friend had been the reason Toronto traded him. To Ilya, it felt like justice, though still too little too late after the league protected him for months. Either way, the Centaurs headed back to Toronto for game 5 in good spirits after their win and that news, and Ilya was pretty sure that was a big part of why they won game 5. 

Game 6 was back in Ottawa, and if they won, they were heading to round 2 of the playoffs. If they lost, they’d play game 7 and hope for a win there, or else they’d be out. Ilya was not ready to be out. They needed this…needed to at least get to round 2. The team deserved to see their hard work pay off. 

They were tied at the end of the third period, and Ilya was facing off with Toronto’s center. He knew if he could do this, they were in. Before the puck dropped, he took a deep breath, let his eyes briefly scan the seats until they landed on Shane, who he could find even in a sold-out arena. Seeing him there, having him there, did something to him that nothing had in a long time. Something he hadn’t felt any of the times he made it to the playoffs with Boston, not when he won the cup, maybe not at all since the last time his mother had been in the stands of a game fifteen years ago.

Ilya won the faceoff. He sent it to Troy, who immediately pushed forward, Ilya pulling Toronto’s defense just enough to let Luca slip in unnoticed on the right. Troy passed it to him and Ilya watched, as if in slow motion, Luca snap the puck right past the goalie’s glove. The horn blared, and Ilya grabbed Luca around the waist and lifted him up, cheering while the rest of the team piled onto them. Luca looked like he was having an out of body experience while the crowd roared around them.

When they finally lined up for the handshake line, Ilya was both grateful and disappointed that Kent wasn’t there…he didn’t want to touch that asshole, but fuck would it have felt good to rub it in that he got beat by a couple of, and likely more, queer men. 

It took forever to leave the arena after. Ilya had briefly celebrated with the team in the locker room and then had to talk to various media outlets. But eventually he escaped, changed out of his suit, and headed to the bar to celebrate. And much like what he’d felt on the ice earlier, he was hit by something overwhelming…at the fact that Shane was already there when he walked inside. He was sitting at a table, leaning forward with a beer in front of him, a huge smile on his face while he talked to Harris and Troy and Bood and Cassie, Wyatt and Lisa were there, Haas was just coming back from the bar with a pitcher, his other teammates strewn about the bar. Ilya stood there for a moment, just taking it all in. His team, his friends, his boyfriend, his new life. Maybe he didn’t have a word for it, but he recognized it by the warmth in his chest, the swell of his heart, the loosening of something tight inside of him.

“Hi,” he said when he walked up and leaned down to put an arm around Shane in a quick hug.

“Hey, congrats,” Shane said with a grin. Everyone held up their drink and toasted him, cheers and whistles rippling around the table, and Ilya felt his eyes burn.

“Is someone going to get me a fucking drink or what?” he said, pushing it down. He grabbed a chair and slid it in next to Shane. Before he knew it, a pint was slid in front of him. “Where is Haasy? Get over here!” Luca was standing behind Bood, and Ilya grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the center of the table. “To Haasy! For scoring the winning goal."

More cheers went around, and Luca was smiling, red-faced and a little sweaty, still looking like he couldn’t believe he was here. Before the night was over, there were cheers for everyone, and Ilya was pleasantly buzzed and ready to take Shane home.

“I’ll drive,” Shane said.

“How did you get here?” Ilya asked, handing the Porsche keys over and not at all missing the fact that Shane was going to willingly drive it. 

“Harris. And I stopped drinking a while ago,” he said with a smile, pocketing the keys.

Ilya said goodbye to everyone who was still at the bar, giving each of his teammates a clap on the back. He slid into the passenger seat of the Porsche, still grinning. Shane was in the driver’s seat, staring at the steering wheel.

“It is just a car,” Ilya said. “Not going to bite.”

Shane laughed. “I know. I never thought I’d be driving a Porsche.”

Ilya leaned his head back against the seat. “You are still not driving it. Are we going home to fuck or not?”

“Shut up,” Shane said, finally turning the engine on. Ilya put a hand on his thigh as he pulled out of the parking lot, letting it slip further and further down between his legs.

Shane smacked his hand playfully. “Don’t distract me while I’m driving a fucking Porsche,” he said, laughing. 

“Fine,” he said, dragging the word out into a whine. “Do you want to go to the cottage tomorrow?” Perhaps he shouldn’t have blurted it out quite like that.

“What?” Shane asked, glancing over at him.

“Day off. We can go look at everything, see how it is coming along,” Ilya said, settling his hand back on Shane’s thigh in a Porsche-driving appropriate position. “I was hoping you might want to spend part of the summer there. After playoffs and awards. While your center kids are off for summer break maybe?”

Shane was quiet for a few moments, and Ilya wondered if he’d put his foot in his mouth again. Maybe he’d misread Shane’s willingness to make the cottage a part of their life together.

“That sounds good,” Shane said finally. “I’d like to go back during the summer. To see it looking like a home again.” His voice was quiet, but it didn’t hold the same weight of sadness it used to when he spoke about the cottage.

“We can order some furniture. And bring back whatever you have at the house. Whatever you want,” Ilya said, and he couldn’t suppress his smile, thinking about relaxing days out by the lake with Shane. Something to look forward to.

-

The next day, they took their time getting out of bed, making breakfast together, enjoying the morning. Shane went into the spare room to pull some things from the boxes of stuff from the cottage. Mostly a few framed photos of him and his parents that belonged there, in the last place he had where he could hold onto them. 

“Do you have any photos of your family you want to bring?” he asked Ilya when he came back out.

Ilya’s eyes looked sad, and Shane regretted it immediately. Ilya shrugged. “I have only a few pictures with my mother. I could bring one of them.”

“Only if you want to. But it’s our house now. I want you to feel at home there too.”

Ilya pulled him into a hug. “I’m home wherever you are.”

Shane sighed happily and leaned into it. “Don’t make me cry this early in the morning.”

Ilya laughed. “Okay. Let’s get going.”

The drive to the cottage was much more pleasant with Ilya. And Shane didn’t feel the heavy dread like he usually did. He mostly felt grateful that he was even making this drive again, having thought he’d done it for the last time.

When they pulled up, Shane’s heart stuttered. It looked exactly how he remembered it. Not the snow-covered gray version of winter that he’d pulled up to the last time. The green trees, the blue sparkling lake, the stone steps inviting instead of foreboding. Ilya got out of the driver’s side and walked around, taking his hand when he stepped out. They walked up to the front door together. 

Ilya handed him the key, and Shane unlocked it and stepped inside. He kicked his shoes off, Ilya following his lead, and then walked into the living room. 

The white and stone accent walls, slate floors, huge picture window…it looked exactly the same except clean and fresh. The warped floor in the kitchen was smooth and seamlessly replaced. The water-damaged wall new and gleaming. Shane spun around to see Ilya still standing in the entryway, watching him, an apprehensive look on his face, like he was waiting for Shane to scold him.

Shane walked up to him and grabbed his hands gently. “Thank you.”

Ilya let out a shaky breath and pulled him into a hug. “You’re welcome. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Shane said.

Whatever coldness and loneliness had been haunting the lifeless rooms of this house for the past fifteen years had fled, leaving only the warmth and love his parents had infused into every moment, every laugh, every word uttered between its walls. And now he and Ilya would add their own, filling it up so there was no room for anything else. He kissed Ilya, hoping he knew there was no lingering reproach for buying the cottage. 

Shane walked down the hallway, looking into each room.

“I don’t want this to be our bedroom,” he said, stopping in the doorway of his parents’ old room. “Is that weird?”

Ilya stepped up next to him. “No. We can use your old bedroom. We already christened it anyway,” he said, bumping Shane’s hip. “Not weird.”

“Maybe this room can be…” he trailed off. He had a flash of colors on canvas, an easel, the big window letting in the perfect light for painting. He wondered if this room in particular might make him feel closer to them while he did the thing he had used as a way to learn to live in this world without them. He reached up and wiped at his eyes. Ilya noticed and took his hand, bringing it up to his mouth to press a soft kiss against it. “Maybe I can paint here,” he said finally.

“That would be perfect,” Ilya said. Shane leaned his head on Ilya’s shoulder for a minute, needing the solidness of him. 

They eventually took a walk down to the lake. Like most properties around the area, the cottage had its own private dock and a small boathouse. Both were in pretty bad shape.

“This was my favorite place during the summers,” Shane said. They were standing in the grass in front of the dock, looking out at the lake. “I’d swim and then lay out on the dock for hours, reading or playing. My mom made me bring a whole bottle of sunscreen out with me every day.”

“We will get the dock fixed,” Ilya said, snaking an arm around his waist. “The boathouse too.” He paused for a second and then looked over at Shane with an expression that was much too excited. “Can we get jet skis?”

Shane laughed. “I guess so. We had one when I was a kid, but I was only allowed to ride it with my dad.” 

“Well, you are adult now. We can race,” Ilya said, and his grin was infectious. “I’m going to google jet skis, come on.”

They went back up to the house, which was already equipped with wifi so Ilya really was googling jet skis. Shane did another lap around the house, thinking about what furniture they’d need when they came back to stay. He was in his old bedroom, mapping out whether a king-sized bed would fit easily into the space.

“What are you doing?” Ilya asked, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Shane’s waist.

“Trying to decide what size bed we can fit in here.”

“It’s big enough room…whatever size you want. Queen?”

“I was thinking king,” Shane said. They were both broad and tall. And they tended to put beds to good use.

“You don’t want to sleep close to me?” Ilya pouted.

Shane laughed. “I was thinking more about other activities.”

“Mm, which ones?” Ilya asked, letting one hand drift down to Shane’s cock, palming it through his jeans while he rocked his own against Shane’s ass.

“Those ones,” Shane said, pushing back against him. 

“Might need you to remind me what they are.”

Shane laughed. “There is literally no furniture here.”

“I don’t need furniture,” Ilya said. “I just need you to lean against that wall.”

Shane half turned, looking at Ilya to see if he was serious.

Ilya gave him a half shrug. “Or not,” he said and turned to walk out of the room.

“Wait,” Shane said, and Ilya looked back, anticipation written all over his face. “You’re such a bad influence.” 

“But you love me,” he said, pushing Shane up against the wall and unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down to his knees. “Now turn around.”

Shane did. He put his hands on the wall in front of him, half stuck on the fact that they were freshly painted and he didn't want to put handprints on them. But then he felt a slick finger against his hole, and the thought was knocked into oblivion. 

“You brought lube?” Shane asked, a laugh turning to a gasp as Ilya curled his finger. 

“I am like boy scout. What’s that saying? Always prepared?”

“Be prepared. Somehow I don’t think this is what they meant.”

Then Shane felt Ilya’s cock pushing at him. “Okay?” he asked. 

Shane didn’t answer, he just pushed back until Ilya slipped inside, and then he leaned his forehead against his forearm and let Ilya fuck him against the wall of their bedroom, in their cottage.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I’m glad you bought the cottage.”

Ilya pressed his lips to Shane’s neck. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that.”

Shane moaned as Ilya kept thrusting into him. “I can’t wait to come back for the summer,” he said, even though his voice was strained. He knew that despite their previous conversations, Ilya was still carrying around some guilt. It was there in the way he tensed up every time the cottage was mentioned, his face pinching a little, the way he’d looked remorseful when they’d first walked in earlier. Shane hoped that was put to rest now.

“Maybe I will fuck you on that dock next time,” Ilya said, and a shiver ran through Shane. Ilya laughed quietly. “I knew you’d like that.”

“Bad influence,” Shane repeated.

“Yes.” Ilya nipped at the curve of his shoulder, and Shane groaned and reached down to stroke himself, every thrust by Ilya pushing his cock more forcefully into his fist until he was coming against the wall. Ilya pulled out and stroked himself a few times until he was coming in his fist while Shane turned in surprise to watch.

Ilya looked up at him. “Didn’t think you’d want to ride home like that,” he said, holding up his hand. 

Shane snorted. “Thanks. I made a mess on the new paint,” he said, glancing down at it.

“I think it will survive,” Ilya said, leaning in to kiss him. “Come on. Let’s go clean up. Then we can drive into town and look at furniture before we go home.”

Shane smiled. They were going to look at furniture for their cottage and then go back home to their house in Ottawa. He sighed happily, thinking about how much his life had changed in a matter of months.

-

Ottawa played Florida in the second round of the playoffs. They won game 1, lost game 2, then won two games in a row, lost game 5, and once again, clinched it in game 6, advancing to the conference final. 

Shane was beyond proud of Ilya and the team. He happily attended the home games, and he’d even watched one of the away games with Harris and some of his friends at a local gay bar. He wasn’t always the best at making friends or small talk, but Harris was probably the very best person you could ask for in that situation. He’d made Shane feel like part of the group right away, and they’d had fun watching their respective boyfriends kick Florida’s ass on the big TV hanging above the bar.

He also still taught art classes every Monday at the youth center, though they were winding down for the summer.

“We do have kids here during the summer,” Jacob told him. “It’s kind of like camp, where they come in for set hours, usually half day or full day. If you want to keep coming in, even just once a week, we’d be happy to have you.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, of course. Though I was hoping to take a few weeks off,” he said, thinking of the cottage and Ilya’s break after the MLH awards. 

“Absolutely. We don’t start right away after school ends, and we end a few weeks before school is back in session. It gives everyone a breather. There will still be people here during those breaks, but not regularly scheduled activities or classes.”

“Okay. I’m sure I can make it work. I’m excited to keep working with them. I think after the playoffs end, Ilya is planning to come by as well. He thinks a few of his teammates might be interested, too.”

“That would be beyond amazing. I wish we had a rink here…they’d love a few hockey lessons from some pros,” Jacob said wistfully. “But we’ll take what we can get around here.”

Shane had spent the ride home thinking about what Jacob said. When he got inside, he found Ilya lying on the couch, watching game film. He closed his laptop and put it on the coffee table when Shane came in.

“Hey,” Shane said. Ilya lifted his legs so Shane could sit, then he settled them over Shane’s lap. “How’s your day been?”

“Fine. Better now. How was the center?”

“Great,” Shane said happily. “But I was thinking…do you guys ever do like camps or clinics? You know, where kids can learn from pro hockey players.”

Ilya looked up at him thoughtfully. “I guess we did some volunteer things like that in Boston. Stuff for charity. Why? What are you thinking?”

Shane shrugged. “I don’t really know. But Jacob mentioned that he wished they had a rink so the kids could learn some stuff from actual hockey players. I think a lot of them don’t get the opportunity to do things like that. And Joseph…he’s the kid I told about you, who wants to play hockey but can’t afford it…I wish there was more we could do.”

Ilya nodded. “Maybe we can organize some kind of clinic one day with the Centaurs. I think they do this kind of thing already, but if we can turn it into fundraiser, we can teach some kids and give the money to the center.”

“That would probably require a lot of legal expertise,” Shane said, his head spinning just trying to work out what was involved in something like that.

Ilya waved his hand. “There are people for that. I will talk to them.”

“Thank you,” Shane said, leaning down to kiss him. “They still want you to come by the center, though. After the playoffs?”

“Of course. You know I will.”

“And I told Jacob I’d teach some classes over the summer. But after we go to the cottage.”

“Good,” Ilya said, smiling. “I’m glad you are happy there.”

“I really am,” Shane said. “I just want to do more.”

“We will figure something out,” Ilya said. “But first I need to beat Carolina.” 

“How are you feeling about that?”

Ilya rocked his head back and forth in a so-so gesture. “Good, but I am realistic about our chances. Carolina is solid team, very good defense, very good goalie. But we are also good, and we have Wyatt Hayes.”

Shane nodded. “Must feel good that Boston is already out.”

“Yes…maybe I feel a little bad for Marly and Connors and some of the others, but…”

“But it shuts up the people who doubted your decision?” Shane asked.

Ilya huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes. Exactly.” Ilya moved one of his legs behind Shane and then pulled him down until he was sprawled across his chest. “Not that I care what anyone has to say since it was the best decision of my life.”

Shane leaned down and kissed him. “Of mine too.”

“Speaking of decisions…” Ilya said, looking up at him with an expression that made Shane sigh.

“What?” Shane asked suspiciously.

“Always so distrustful.”

“Just tell me.”

“Okay, so you know how Chiron was being trained as a therapy dog?” Shane nodded. “Well, he failed his training. Which is very stupid because he’s the best dog and anyone would be lucky to have him as a therapy dog,” Ilya continued, talking too fast, which Shane knew meant something he wasn’t going to like was coming soon. “But it’s okay because Harris and Troy are adopting him. He will get to be team dog still…good news.”

“That’s great news. Now what’s the other part?”

Ilya laughed. “Fine.” He reached down to pull his phone out of his pocket and pressed some things on the screen before turning it for Shane to look at. It was a picture of a dog with long brown and white and gray fur, looking up happily at the camera, floppy ears perked up. 

“Whose dog is this?” Shane asked because surely Ilya was not doing what Shane thought he was doing.

“No one’s. Someone abandoned her at Harris’s parents’ farmhouse.”

Shane sighed. “That’s unfortunate. Are Harris’s parents going to keep her?” He was looking at Ilya, and he knew there was already a smile curving the corners of his lips even though he was pretty sure he knew what was happening here.

“Mm, no. They have too many dogs. And now Harris and Troy have Chiron.”

“Is that so?”

“Shane,” he said, already dragging it into a whine. “She needs a home.”

“Ilya, you do not need a dog. You’re on the road for nearly two months out of the year.”

“Which means I am not on the road for ten months. And she would not be my dog, she would be ours.”

Shane let his forehead drop to Ilya’s chest. Because he knew, with too much certainty, that he was about to have another whole responsibility to worry about.

“Just think about it, okay?” Ilya ran a hand through his hair, and Shane couldn’t help but nuzzle into it. “Let’s meet her and see how it goes, yes?”

“Fine.”

“Good, because Harris is bringing her here tomorrow.”

“Ilya,” Shane’s head snapped up. “What happened to making decisions together?”

“Well…we need to meet her before we can make a decision. I was just being efficient.”

Shane laughed. “You’re the worst. You’re lucky I love you.”

Ilya pulled him down for another kiss. “I know I am.”

Chapter End Notes

The last chapter is coming soon! It’s got some of my favorite things in it 😌

Chapter 16: Hallelujah

Chapter Notes

The next day, Harris and Troy arrived early in the afternoon with the dog in tow. Shane was sitting in the living room while Ilya went to answer the door, and immediately he heard Ilya cooing and laughing and sounding so beyond happy that Shane couldn’t help but smile even while he was rolling his eyes. Because it was done. He knew he had just become the co-parent of a dog.

The four of them walked into the living room, three humans followed by the dog. 

“Shane,” Ilya said, his voice sounding as childlike as Shane had ever heard it. “Isn’t she the most precious thing ever?”

Shane laughed and sighed. “Hi, sweet girl,” he said when she walked up to sniff his hand. She was pretty cute, he could admit that. She sidled up closer to him, apparently deciding he was okay. He gave her some proper pets. “You are very pretty.”

Shane glanced up, and Ilya was watching him with one of the softest looks he’d ever seen on his face. 

“Her name is Anya,” Ilya said.

Harris gave him a sideways look, one eyebrow going up.

“Oh? And who gave her that name?” Shane asked.

“Me,” Ilya said. “Just now. Perfect, yes?”

Shane flopped back against the sofa. Troy was looking between them with amusement. 

“Shane,” Ilya whined. “You already love her, I can tell.”

Ilya sat on the floor, and the dog—Anya—immediately climbed into his lap. And Ilya was giggling and cooing again, and Shane was melting against his will. How could he take that joy away from Ilya.

“Don’t think I don’t know who to blame here,” Shane said, pointing a finger at Harris.

“Who me?” Harris said, feigning innocence. “I didn’t do anything but mention that a sweet dog got dumped.”

Shane squinted at him. “You knew what you were doing. You saw an easy mark,” Shane said, looking over at Ilya again, who was rolling around on the floor playing with Anya. He shook his head. 

Harris laughed and shrugged. “I mean…how can you be mad?” he said, looking down at them fondly.

Shane sighed. “You can make it up to me by helping me get my instagram page going again."

“Um hello…yes.” Harris looked like he just won a prize. “What are your short-term and long-term goals?”

“Uh…” Shane tried to think about that, but he was being distracted by Ilya lying on the floor with Anya stretched out next to him on her back while he scratched her tummy. He had to physically reach up and rub his chest because it was too warm and fluttery, and he knew the stupid smile on his face must be something truly pathetic to witness. “I just want to start getting my name out there again,” he said finally. “Here in Ottawa. I have a few paintings right now, but it’ll take time before I have a real inventory.”

“Perfect,” Harris said. “That’s easy. Why don’t we take a few pictures of what you have, and I’ll help you do some intro posts?”

Shane nodded. “Thanks, that would be great. I really do appreciate it…I’m worthless when it comes to social media.”

“We can do that now while this guy is otherwise occupied,” Harris said, gesturing at Ilya still on the floor. 

“Sure.” Shane stood up and led the way to the glass-walled room, a place he was beginning to think of as his studio. 

“Oh god,” he said immediately when they walked in. The painting of him and Ilya nude was still sitting against one wall. He’d put the finishing touches on it recently but hadn’t had time to hang it in their bedroom. “Please forget you saw that,” he said, hurrying over to face it against the wall.

Harris’s face was a comical mask of shock and appreciation, and probably second-hand embarrassment because Shane certainly had enough to go around.

“Wow,” Harris said. “I will certainly never doubt your talent.” He fanned himself teasingly. “Thank god I have one of those at home already, so I don’t need to be jealous.”

“Have what at home?” Troy asked, stepping into the room, Ilya and Anya on his heels.

“A big, hot athletic man with a huge…” Harris trailed off, clearly thinking better of it and laughing at Troy’s expression.

“What are you talking about?” Troy's mouth was hanging open.

Ilya was looking questioningly between Shane and Harris.

Shane nodded at the painting that was now facing the wall. “I forgot that was in here.”

Ilya laughed. “Turn it back around if you like. Nothing they haven’t seen before.”

Shane gave him a look. “I don’t think so. That one isn’t going on instagram.”

“Are you sure?” Harris asked. “Because I think that would get you a lot of followers. Like…immediately.”

“Am I the only one who has no idea what is happening?” Troy asked.

Shane groaned. 

“I am taking Anya to see her new backyard,” Ilya said, glancing at Shane with a knowing smirk. 

“I haven’t said yes,” Shane reminded him as he walked out. He turned back to Harris. “I’ll show you the ones that can actually go on instagram.”

“Which one can’t go on instagram?” Troy asked.

“Oh just a beautiful nude painting of Shane and Ilya that could hang in the Louvre,” Harris said in a singsong voice. 

“Can I see it?”

“Troy!” Shane gave him an et tu, Brute? look.

“What? I’m only human.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Fine. These are the three I have right now that can be posted.” He gestured at three canvases sitting on a shelf by the door. “I’m going to check on Ilya. If you happen to look at the other painting while I’m gone…please don’t tell me.”

He was already smiling when he got to the back door, but seeing Ilya play with Anya stretched it wider. He was tossing a ball to her, and she was bringing it back. Such a simple joy, but Ilya had never looked so carefree, his mouth open in a laugh that Shane could hear without needing the sound to reach him. He stepped outside and sat on the steps of the wooden deck and watched for a while. Eventually Ilya came and sat beside him.

“I will not force you to say yes,” he said. “If this isn’t what you want…you can tell me. I will find her a home, even if I have to get CIA to background check everyone. Does Canada have CIA?” He waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I will make sure she goes to the best family.”

Shane leaned his head on Ilya’s shoulder and sighed. “I think maybe we’re the best family for her.”

Ilya inhaled loudly, a shaky breath full of so much emotion. He snaked his arms around Shane and squeezed him tight. “Thank you.”

Anya came up the steps and stopped in front of Shane, ball still in her mouth. He held a hand out, and she gently dropped the ball into it. He tossed it out into the yard and watched her happily bound toward it before coming back and sitting on a lower step by their feet.

“Did Harris bring food for her? We’ll have to go out and get some things,” Shane said.

“He did. But I also ordered a bed, toys, treats, and food that should arrive later today,” Ilya said sheepishly.

“Ilya.”

“What? I was pretty sure you would say yes. And if not, I would have sent them with her.”

Shane shook his head, laughing. “Come on. Let’s go back inside before Harris posts us nude on instagram.”

-

Shane could admit that Anya was a good dog. She was easy. All she wanted was affection and to play, and she was excellent company. It was nice to have a running buddy when Ilya wasn’t available, and she sat next to him on the couch while they watched the Centaurs play the first two games against Carolina. They lost the first but won the second, and then they won the next two games in Ottawa, putting them in the position to win the conference final if they won game 5 in Carolina. 

Anya was sitting on the couch next to him while he watched game 5. He was on the edge of the cushion, elbows on his knees, chanting “Please” every time Ottawa had the puck. Troy had scored, Ilya had scored twice, Wyatt had made some truly incredible saves…the game was going well. Too well. He watched as one of Carolina’s defensemen hit Ilya hard on his right side, watched as he went down, watched as he didn’t get up right away. And then he couldn’t watch, had to turn away for a second while his whole body went cold with dread. 

“Is he okay?” he whispered to Anya before turning back to the screen. 

He let out a long, loud exhale as he watched Ilya move, take the hand of one of his teammates, while a medic stood beside him. He got up and turned at the waist in both directions, like he was checking himself. He skated off to the bench without assistance, and Shane sagged against the couch, one arm going around Anya. 

“I’m not going to survive this,” he said out loud. Anya crawled closer and lay her head in his lap, and he sighed and felt some of the tension go out of him. 

The next time Shane jumped off the couch, it was to cheer when Ilya scored the game-winning goal, clinching the Conference win and sending his team to the cup finals. Shane had happy tears welling in his eyes.

“Your dad is going to win a cup,” he told Anya, who was up and jumping around with him, thinking it was playtime. “But even if he doesn’t…we’re proud of him. Holy shit.”

Shane waited up until Ilya called, even though it was late. 

“Congrats,” he said by way of greeting. “How are you?”

Ilya sighed, but it sounded happy. “Relieved. But I wish I was home with you to celebrate.”

“Me too. But how are your ribs? That hit almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Bruised. Knocked the wind out of me, but I am fine. Sorry to worry you. Didn't have Harris there to text for me.”

“It's okay. I’m really fucking proud of you. I hope you aren’t tired of hearing me say that,” Shane said.

He heard a soft intake of breath. “Never.”

They talked more about the game, but he could tell Ilya was fading fast. “You should get some sleep. What time do you get in tomorrow?”

“Early. Our flight is in a few hours.”

“Go get some sleep,” Shane said. “I’ll see you when you get home. Love you.”

“Love you too. Pet Anya for me.”

Shane hung up, gave Anya some extra pets and treats, and got her settled in her bed on the floor next to him, and then went to sleep, still smiling.

-

Ilya’s flight got in mid-morning, and when he got home, Shane and Anya were nowhere to be found. He went upstairs to freshen up and change clothes. A few minutes later he heard the door downstairs and hurried down to meet them. Shane was standing in the living room wearing a white t-shirt with cutoff sleeves, the holes dipping low, giving Ilya a too tempting glimpse of his sides and chest, along with very short blue shorts. He had a light sheen of sweat on his skin, his hair windblown, and a huge smile on his face.

Ilya bent to greet Anya quickly, because he knew once he greeted Shane, he wasn’t going to have time. 

“Did you have a good run, my perfect Anya?” he cooed while Anya pushed up against him, doing happy full-body wiggles.

“Did you have a good run, my perfect Shane?” he asked teasingly when he stood up, drawing Shane into a kiss. He pulled him in closer, until their bodies were flush.

“Stop,” Shane said, pushing back and smiling. “I’m gross and sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” Ilya said. He leaned in and licked a stripe up Shane’s neck, tasting the saltiness of his skin. He buried his face in Shane’s chest, the damp material of his shirt clinging to him. “You smell good. And I like this,” he said, licking at his exposed skin again. 

Ilya kept kissing him, his tongue reaching every salty stretch of skin it could, until Shane was moaning and grinding against him. 

“I was going to take a shower,” Shane said weakly, clearly having given up on that.

“I will lick you clean.” Ilya nipped at the curve of his neck.

“Gross.”

“Fine, but I need you. Missed you,” Ilya said, still pressing his lips against Shane’s neck, working his way up to suck the spot behind his ear.

“Me too.” Shane was already breathless, maybe partly from his run, but Ilya was pretty sure it was also because he was running his tongue up his ear.

Ilya started to push Shane’s shirt up when he put his hands around Ilya’s wrists to stop him. “Anya is watching.”

“What?” Ilya asked. He looked over at where Anya had sat down next to the coffee table. She was looking at them, but… “So?”

“Ilya…I can’t…not while she’s looking.”

Ilya laughed. “She’s a dog. She doesn’t care.”

Shane gave him a look. Ilya sighed. “Okay, upstairs.”

They went up to the bedroom while Anya stayed downstairs. She already had beds in several rooms of the house, and she wasn’t overly clingy so it wasn’t a problem most of the time.

“Might as well shower now,” Shane said, stripping off his clothes. “You can join me.”

“Oh, can I?” Ilya said playfully. “How nice of you to invite me.” He quickly shed his clothes and followed Shane into the shower.

“You’re needy today, Mr. Eastern Conference Champion.”

“Mm, yes. That is true,” Ilya said, slipping his arms around Shane from behind and pulling him close under the water. “So…can I have you?”

“Obviously.”

“On your knees?”

Shane didn’t even say anything, he just turned and dropped to his knees in front of Ilya and took his half hard cock into his mouth, making Ilya groan and slip his hands into Shane’s wet hair. It didn’t take long. Shane knew exactly how to work him, wasting no time at all. His hands grasped at Ilya's ass, pulling him in closer as he sucked and licked and moaned, letting the vibrations and the warm, wet heat of him take him over the edge until he was coming down Shane’s throat.

He pulled Shane up for a kiss, tongue pushing past his lips, tasting himself there while Shane pushed his hardness against his thigh. When he pulled back from the kiss, he dropped to his knees to return the favor, taking Shane into his mouth, already salty with precome. Shane moaned and slightly rocked his hips, and Ilya encouraged him, pulling and pushing with his hands around Shane’s thighs until Shane was fucking his mouth and coming with a loud moan and a hand tight in Ilya’s hair.

“Fuck,” Shane murmured when Ilya stood back up to wrap his arms around him.

“We will do that too,” Ilya said, smiling against his neck. “Don’t worry.”

Ilya squeezed Shane tighter and then winced, his bruised ribs protesting.

“Fuck,” Shane said again, this time with worry. “You distracted me, almost forgot about your ribs.” He ran a hand over them, feather light. “Are you okay?”

“Just sore. I’ve had worse.”

“I think no more sex until you’re healed,” Shane said, face going mock serious.

“You want to be responsible for the Centaurs losing the cup? Because I am not a no sex during playoffs kind of player. Opposite. I need it. For luck.”

Shane laughed. “Mhm. I’ve noticed.” He hugged Ilya again briefly and gently, his arm carefully placed below his right ribs. “I’m glad you’re home for a few days. We can watch the Dallas-Colorado game together tomorrow. Who are you hoping for?”

Ilya started lathering shampoo into his hair. “I think our chances are better against Dallas. But I think Colorado will win the conference. Their goalie is too fucking good.”

Shane nodded and reached for the soap. “Not as good as Wyatt.”

“Fucking right. I know we can do it.” Ilya washed the shampoo out of his hair and remembered what he’d wanted to tell Shane before he got distracted by his indecent running outfit. “I forgot to tell you, I talked to my lawyer.”

Shane’s head snapped up, a worried look on his face.

“Relax. About starting a charity. A foundation. I was thinking…if we did that, we could choose where we donate our time and money.”

“What do you mean?” Shane asked. “Is this about what I said? About the center?”

“Yes, but I have thought about this before, just without a good idea behind it.” Ilya massaged conditioner into his hair while he thought about how to explain it. “Like maybe we could have hockey camps or clinics where kids can learn from MLH players. And we could have some scholarship spots so kids like your Joseph can still attend. The money from that can go to places like the center. And maybe other good causes, like mental health and resources for queer youth.”

Shane was staring at him, water dripping down his face. “You really thought about this.”

Ilya nodded. “I ran it by some of my teammates. They all would volunteer their time for camps.”

Ilya couldn’t tell because of the water, but he thought Shane’s eyes might be teary. “That’s…” Shane trailed off, still looking at him.

“You and I would run it, of course. We would be main coaches, and my teammates and maybe some other league players could come in for a few days each.”

Shane’s jaw dropped. “I can’t coach hockey.”

“Why not? You know how to play. You notice things I miss.”

“Yeah, but…no one will want to learn from me when there are MLH players there.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly. Plus…I was also thinking…if that goes well, maybe one day we can start our own program, like um…partner with the youth center, to have a proper team. For kids who can’t afford other leagues. They would need coaches who aren’t traveling all the time.”

Shane was shaking his head, little drops of water flinging onto Ilya. “I can’t…I’m not…qualified.” 

“Hey,” Ilya said, cradling Shane’s jaw. “It’s just an idea, okay?”

Shane was still blinking at him, and Ilya could see thoughts rapidly flickering across his face. He turned the water off and grabbed towels for them. 

“For now, we can just talk about the charity. Make decisions together, yes? My lawyer will draw up paperwork if we decide to do it.”

Shane nodded at him, a look of apprehension still on his face. When they left the bathroom, Ilya slipped on a pair of shorts and tossed a pair to Shane, then he climbed on the bed and patted the spot next to him. Shane settled in at his side, both of them leaning against the headboard.

Ilya took Shane’s hand in his and said softly, “Shane…is there more to your parents’ accident than you’ve told me? That makes hockey hard for you?” Ilya knew they had died in a car accident, and obviously he knew that they’d been heavily involved in hockey, but sometimes the way Shane talked about it, the way he reacted to things…

Shane squeezed his hand. “They were on their way to my first scrimmage of the season when they were hit,” he said quietly. “I blamed myself for a long time.”

Ilya put an arm around his shoulder, and Shane leaned into him. “I’m sorry. That’s…I know that must have been really hard. If you don’t want to be involved in hockey anymore than you already are, that’s okay. I understand.”

He didn't want Shane to have to rehash whatever lingering feelings he had about it. Ilya knew what it was like to blame yourself. He'd spent half his life blaming himself for not noticing how bad his mother had gotten, for not helping. 

Shane took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. That’s the thing. I do still want it. I feel so…alive and…I don’t know, just like I’m where I belong when I’m on the ice. It’s a strange feeling. Almost like I’m mad at myself for denying it for so long, but also like I couldn’t feel this way now if I hadn’t. Does that make sense?”

Ilya nodded. “Yes. You needed time.”

“Yeah. And I needed you.”

Ilya suspected they both had tears in their eyes now. “I didn’t do anything. That was all you.”

“I never would have done it. Never would have gotten back out there at all, if not for you.”

Ilya ran his hand up and down Shane’s arm. “Think about what I said. About coaching. If you think it’s something you want to do…and can do while you paint and keep teaching at the center… If not, we will run the charity together anyway. If you want to.”

Shane nodded. “The charity is a great idea. I would love to be involved.” 

“I um…I also know you wanted to go back to school. Is that something you’re still planning to do?” He hadn’t wanted to bring it up. Hadn’t wanted to think about Shane leaving. But now that they were living together, had the cottage and Anya together, he needed to know.

Shane shrugged. “If I do, it’ll be online. Maybe a class here and there. I’m doing what I love already, even without the degree.”

Ilya let out a breath. “I will support you no matter what you decide,” he said. Which was true. But he was still relieved.

Shane climbed into his lap, straddling him. “Thank you. For trying to find a way to help the center. For everything.”

He wrapped his arms around Shane and leaned up to kiss him. “I’m happy to. Is important. Good cause.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, smiling. “But I meant everything else too. Helping me find my way back to hockey. I don’t want to get too mushy, but…thank you.”

“I like when you are mushy, Shane Hollander. But I like when you play hockey just as much,” Ilya said, dragging Shane closer against him. “And after I win the Stanley Cup, we will play more hockey together.”

Shane laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.”

-

The next evening, Ilya was reclining on the couch next to Shane, watching the Colorado-Dallas game. The Western Conference Finals had made it all the way to game 7. This one would decide who Ottawa faced for the cup. Some of his teammates had gotten together to watch it at a local sports bar, but Ilya had declined, preferring to spend the evening alone with Shane while he could. 

They had beer and Shane had made some kind of semi-healthy buffalo chicken dip—for the sake of Ilya’s non-existent playoffs diet, which was still incredibly thoughtful of him—and Ilya was as relaxed as he could be while watching his opponent be decided. Shane seemed more nervous, leaning forward with his hands on the back of his head every time the puck was in play. Ilya was watching him with a smile on his face and found himself, not for the first time, wondering what Shane would have been like as his equal on the ice. He wondered if some of Shane’s more anxiety-fueled impulses might have gotten in his way, and whether his ability to be intensely focused on things that were important to him would have made him absolutely lethal. But mostly he was just grateful that Shane was here, with him.

Shane glanced over at him. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

Ilay shrugged, his lips pulled into a pursed smile. “Can’t help it.”

“Don’t you care who you’ll be playing against?” Shane asked, but he was smiling too.

“Not really.” He did, but whether he watched or not, it wouldn’t change anything. “I’d rather watch you.”

Shane rolled his eyes and then leaned over until he could reach Ilya’s mouth. Ilya grabbed him and pulled him into his lap, swinging his legs up onto the couch so Shane was cradled between them. 

“Ilya,” Shane laughed. “The game’s almost over.”

“Yes, and Colorado will win. Now kiss me.”

Shane did, and Ilya kissed him back because this was easy. This was good. And in a few days, he’d be heading to Colorado without Shane. But that part could wait.

“I was thinking we can spend all of July at the cottage. Maybe part of August,” Ilya said between kisses. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah." Shane pulled back to look at him. “That should work well with the center’s schedule. Plus, I can always drive back to town for a day if I need to.”

Ilya nodded. “I was thinking maybe we could invite Troy and Harris to visit for a few days.”

“Of course. We need to furnish the guest room though.” Shane leaned in to kiss him again and then pulled back, smiling. “I forgot to tell you. Harris helped me with a few posts on instagram and I already have like 200 new followers. And a gallery owner here in Ottawa messaged me.”

“That’s because you are amazing. But I don’t want you to sell your paintings,” Ilya said, pouting. “Can’t we just keep them all?”

Shane laughed. “No. I don’t need to see that much of my own work. And it kind of defeats the purpose.”

Ilya sighed dramatically. “Fine. But promise me you’ll paint something else for me one day.”

“I will. I promise.” 

“Okay,” Ilya said, pulling Shane back into a kiss. It was slow and sweet, and Ilya wanted to live here in this place forever, where he didn’t have the weight of a whole team and a whole city’s cup expectations on his shoulders. Just the soft press of Shane’s lips, and the warm weight of his body, and the safety that comes from knowing your person will still love you even if you fail. It was a place Ilya had never been allowed before, and now that he was, he just wanted to stay. 

-

Colorado did win the Western Conference championship, and Ottawa met them in Colorado for the first two games of the cup final. In dramatic fashion, they won one, lost one in Colorado, then lost one, won one in Ottawa, then lost in Colorado and won in Ottawa, leaving them tied at 3-3, taking them all the way to game 7. They were playing in Colorado, and Shane was there. Everyone was there. He was in the stands, seated near all the Centaurs’ loved ones. Svetlana had even flown in for the game. He knew that she hadn’t been there when Ilya led Boston to the cup, being out of the country at the time for something out of her control. She clearly wanted to make it up to him.

Shane was sitting next to her, both of them dead silent while Ottawa had the puck in the second period. When Ilya scored, they both cheered, and Svetlana pulled him into a hug. 

“He’s really going to do it, isn’t he?” she said, disbelief mixed with delight. 

Shane sighed. “I hope so. I’m not going to make it through the rest of this game.” He was so tense that he was vibrating like a violin string.

Svetlana grabbed his hand and squeezed, and Shane was happy to have her there. He knew Ilya was too. He was also pretty sure no one had been in the stands for Ilya when he won a cup with Boston. Shane had gone back and watched the footage of that game, the celebrations after, Ilya shouting in Russian, tears in his eyes, a fierce kind of joy that sounded a lot like a fuck you to someone and an I did it to someone else. It was the kind of joy that was finite. It burned white hot until it flared out, leaving behind the things that were seared there permanently…anger and regret and loneliness. Shane recognized it, knew it intimately. And he was going to do his best to make sure Ilya never felt that way again. 

By the middle of the third period, the game was tied. Colorado was too good. They weren’t letting Ottawa get through, and Shane could tell Ilya was getting frustrated. He could see it in the set of his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw, the way he scrubbed his hand down the side of his face. He was standing by the bench, his sweaty hair plastered to his forehead and his mouth pulled into a scowl. Shane watched as Troy stepped up next to him, could see his lips moving, and he watched Ilya’s mouth relax, his shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. He turned to Troy and said something back, bumped shoulders, and when he hopped the boards and skated back onto the ice, Shane could see his strides were a little looser, probably only noticeable to him.

“What do you think that was about?” Svetlana asked. 

Shane shook his head. “They read each other really well. I don’t think either of them even notices it.”

“Leave it to Ilya to find all the misfits and make them into a team,” she said with a sigh. “He really can’t help himself. He talks a big game, but…deep down he’s too soft for his own good.”

Shane smiled. “Just soft enough, I think.”

They both jumped up then, because Troy scored and maybe, maybe, just won them a Stanley Cup. It was up to Wyatt now, to keep Colorado out for the next 38 seconds. Svetlana had his hand again, both of them sitting forward in their seats. Shane was bouncing his knee hard enough to shake the whole row. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Shane murmured, his eyes glued to Ilya. Because not only had Wyatt blocked Colorado, but Luca stole the puck on rebound and cleared the zone, driving it back down the ice, passing to Troy, Troy to Ilya, and… 

The arena erupted around them, the Ottawa fans in attendance roaring as Ilya sank the puck, the clock ticked down to zero, and the Centaurs won the Stanley fucking Cup. Before Shane even knew what was happening, Svetlana was in his arms, cheering, all of the Centaurs’ family members around them were cheering and hugging, and a few were crying, and Shane was pretty sure he was one of them. 

Svetlana was laughing. “I can’t believe he really did it. That idiot left Boston to go to the worst team in the league, and he won a fucking cup.”

They watched as the rest of the team hopped the boards and skated out. Ilya was lost in a pile of red and black, helmets, gloves, and sticks everywhere. He got the briefest glimpse of him amongst the mass of sweaty men, and his face was pure joy. Not the kind that was temporary or covering something else…pure, unbridled joy and love as he hugged and lifted his teammates and yelled and cheered with them. He went under again, but the next time he surfaced, his eyes found Shane’s, and he pointed, then made a loose fist and brought it to his heart. Svetlana looked over at him, fondness and something else on her face, like even she was relieved that this one was different for Ilya. 

They settled back in their seats to watch the handshake line, then cheered when Ilya was awarded the Conn Smythe Trophy, no surprise to anyone considering the feat he’d achieved with Ottawa. If anyone had ever deserved to be named MVP, it was Ilya Rozanov, captain of the Ottawa fucking Centaurs.

“I was secretly hoping Ottawa was going to be temporary,” Svetlana said while Ilya was being interviewed down on the ice. “Before I went there and met you, of course. But I thought if Ilya really wanted to stay in Canada, he might go to Montreal. Much better team.” She shook her head. “I guess I’m going to be spending a lot more time there.”

Shane smiled. “It’s not all bad there. And even with Ilya, Montreal couldn’t have pulled this off. Hayden Pike is no Troy Barrett.”

She snorted. “They’re both cute idiots, but Barrett has an edge that Pike couldn’t find if it danced naked at center ice. Barrett is what Ilya needs out there.”

When it was time for Crowell to present the Stanley Cup, Shane watched closely as Ilya skated over and said something to Crowell that made his face briefly twist before his slimey smile slipped back onto his face and Ilya was lifting the cup, kissing it, and grinning while flashes went off, the team cheered, there was confetti, the arena was going from a dull roar to an enthusiastic rush of noise again. 

After he made a lap with the cup, slowing down to grin and wink at their section, he passed the cup to one of his teammates, and they each got a turn. When they finally opened the ice to family and friends, Shane got up, joining the other Centaurs’ family members to go down and congratulate their guys. Svetlana stayed in her seat until Shane stopped and said, “Come on, you’re family.”

They walked down together, Ilya already waiting, still grinning, biting his bottom lip, like it was too much to contain. As soon as Shane stepped onto the ice, before he could say anything, Ilya grabbed him around the waist and pulled him in for a sweaty, disgusting, perfect kiss. He was a little taller than Shane with his skates on, and he reared back, briefly lifting Shane off his feet.

“I told you I would kiss you on TV like Scott Hunter,” Ilya said, still grinning like a fool. 

Shane laughed. “Not very scandalous anymore.” He nodded his head to where Troy was kissing Harris like he was trying to suck all the oxygen out of him.

Shane stepped back, and Ilya grabbed Svetlana in a huge hug and kissed her on the cheek.

“Go on,” she said playfully. “Give me all your ‘I told you so’s and rub it in.”

“No,” he said. “But at least you were here to witness how wrong you were.” Then he pulled her in again. “I’m happy you’re here.”

Shane figured it must be a comfort to have someone here, someone always in his corner, who knew him in a way Shane never could. One last piece of the home he was forced to leave behind.

Ilya pulled Shane in close again. “I have to go do more interviews and pictures, but I’ll see you in the locker room.” 

“Go,” Shane said, giving him a light shove. “I love you. You were amazing. I’ll see you when you’re done.”

The rest of the night was wet chaos. They ended up in the locker room, where champagne was being sprayed, water bottles emptied, sweaty hockey players hugging everyone. Shane was no exception…all of Ilya’s teammates happily hugged him with no hesitation. Even Svetlana couldn’t escape them. By the time Ilya joined them again, the locker room was so loud and packed with players and family members that Shane could barely hear him, so he just clung to his side, letting Ilya drag him around the room while he congratulated each of his teammates again, talked to their loved ones, made everyone feel like the most important person in the room. 

When everyone who wasn't a Centaur was being ushered out of the locker room, Shane gave Ilya one last hug. 

“I will see you as soon as I can escape,” Ilya said in his ear.

“Take your time, enjoy your night.” Shane stepped back while he gave Svetlana another quick hug, then they left together to head back to the hotel. 

-

By the time Ilya was finally able to leave, after hours of interviews and celebrations, it was 3am. He was still a little buzzed from all the champagne, but mostly exhausted and happy and eager to get to Shane. He pushed open the door of their hotel room quietly to find Shane asleep in the bed. Ilya’s heart gave a little squeeze at the sight, the dim light from the big window revealing him curled up on his side, sheet pooled around his waist, his lips just slightly parted, one arm outstretched like he was waiting for him. 

Ilya stripped down to his boxers and climbed into the bed behind him. Shane stirred, turning his head, his eyes fluttering but still closed when he said, “Hi baby.”

Ilya thought the term of endearment probably only slipped out in the fog of sleep, but it made his insides turn into warm, fluffy clouds anyway.

“Hi,” he said, snaking an arm around his waist and pulling Shane’s back flush against his chest. “Sorry to wake you.”

“No, I wanted you to.” He turned his head so he could look back at Ilya. “Congratulations. Two time Stanley Cup winner. How does it feel?”

“Good,” Ilya said honestly. “Really fucking good.” 

He didn’t really have the words for how it felt. Like he had proved something to himself this time. His father’s expectations, the knowledge that nothing he did would ever be enough, while not entirely dead and gone with the man himself, had been quieted by the unconditional way Shane loved him, was proud of him. Him..not what he did, not what he could give, not how it reflected on anyone else. Shane just loved him. And Ilya maybe did too. He’d loved himself enough to not give up and stay in Boston and let his life trickle away until there was nothing left to hold onto. He could have let the beliefs he’d had beaten into him most of his life keep him there, let him slip away until it was too late. But he hadn’t. Then he’d let Shane take his hand, and he’d held on. That was worth more than a Stanley Cup. But he’d take the cup too.

“I can’t wait to see all those idiots try to spin their think pieces now,” Ilya continued, not letting himself get lost in what ifs and could have beens. He’d been the subject of far too much pretentious dribble from sports writers and podcasters and people with too much time on their hands on social media since the day the news broke that he’d signed with Ottawa. “Maybe I will respond to some of their interview requests now. Let them say it to my face.”

Shane laughed, then said, “I forgot to ask earlier. What did you say to Crowell out there when he handed you the cup?”

Ilya snorted. “I might have asked how it felt for him to have to hand the cup over to another queer player. And maybe something about hoping Kent was having fun watching from his jail cell.” He shrugged. “Fucking Crowell. I hate that asshole. Wiebe told me he’s been making noise about how the Centaurs are being…ah, what is the word. Performative? We are focusing on queer players too much just to make a statement.”

“He is an asshole. Imagine being more upset about queer players than the ones sexually assaulting people. Your team is going to change the league.”

“Fuck, I hope so.”

Shane turned over so he was facing Ilya. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I know.” Ilya leaned forward and kissed him. Shane moved in closer until their bodies were touching. “Do you want to go back to sleep?” Ilya asked.

“No.”

Ilya pulled him in again, and this time the kiss kept going, tongues and hips pushing, hands grasping. 

“Tell me what you want tonight,” Shane said when he came up for air. “It’s your night.”

“Maybe I just want you,” Ilya said, pushing the waistband of Shane’s shorts down until his cock was free. He scooted down on the bed and pushed at Shane’s hip until he was lying flat on his back. Then he took him into his mouth, humming at the slickness already gathered at the tip, letting the vibrations of his mouth go on longer than strictly necessary, enjoying the way Shane was straining against him.

“Wait, wait,” Shane said. Ilya pulled off, watching as Shane sat up and then shifted until he stretched out in the other direction, so his cock was still in front of Ilya, but his head was now in front of Ilya’s cock. 

“You don’t have to do that right now,” Ilya said, as Shane reached for him. 

“Maybe I want to. I’ve never sucked a two-time Stanley Cup winner’s cock before.”

“Jesus,” Ilya laughed quietly, hearing those words come out of Shane’s mouth was like an electric shock to the appendage in question. “I like when you ask for what you want.”

“Good, now stop distracting me.”

Ilya smiled and took Shane’s cock back into his mouth, but his focus was demolished by the way Shane was sucking him. The head of his cock was bumping against the back of Shane’s throat on almost every bob of his head, and he had one hand between Ilya’s legs, resting against his ass to pull him in even more each time.

“Fuck,” Ilya whispered against the tip of Shane’s cock, trying to put his mouth to better use and failing. Shane’s hips were rocking, probably involuntarily, and Ilya encouraged it. He used one hand to pull Shane in harder each time, letting his own head stay mostly where it was while he lost himself to the feeling of Shane’s warm, wet tongue sliding against him, his hollowed cheeks pulling at him. He felt like he was being worshipped. The last time Ilya had won a cup, he’d spent the night with someone. He couldn’t remember her face or her name, he vaguely remembered what they did. And at the time, he had felt worshipped. For his body, for being a cup winner, for being a rich, semi-famous pro athlete. And at the time, it felt good. He’d felt powerful and accomplished. But it was nothing, nothing, compared to this. Shane did appreciate him for his body and his accomplishments, but he loved him in spite of all that. Ilya knew it would have been so much easier for Shane to walk away from someone who brought back all the memories he’d tried so hard to move on from. Had maybe been waiting for it to happen. But he didn’t. 

Ilya Rozanov, two time Stanley Cup winner, was not going to cry while his boyfriend’s cock was down his throat. He could do that later. He let himself sink back into the heat of Shane’s mouth around him, the way his hand was so gently caressing the back of his thigh, the way he was pushing into Ilya’s mouth with the same rhythm he was moving his own.

Ilya got there first. He barely had time to let Shane’s cock slip from his mouth before he whispered his name in warning and reverence and spilled himself down his throat, curling his fingers into Shane’s thigh and crying out as his body spasmed. Shane took his time pulling off, brushing his tongue along the underside as he moved, making Ilya shudder. 

When his body started feeling more like flesh and bones and less like jelly, he turned around and covered Shane’s body, bringing their mouths together.

“I love you,” he whispered against Shane’s lips, and then he moved lower so he could take Shane into his mouth again, this time singularly focused on his task.

He moved slowly at first, lingering at the head of his cock, using his tongue to torture him slowly, until Shane was moaning and pushing up against him. He reached up with one hand to twine his fingers with Shane’s, holding on to him while he took him apart with his mouth, until Shane was coming down his throat, Ilya’s name breaking into a breathy moan on his tongue.

He crawled back up Shane’s body until he was lying half on top of him. Shane’s eyes were still closed, head tipped back into the pillows, his lips still slightly parted on the moan he’d let out before. Ilya pressed his lips there, and Shane kissed him back, one arm coming up to rest comfortingly on Ilya’s back.

“Why do I feel like I just won something?” Shane asked, voice sleepy.

Ilya laughed quietly. “Let me check on Anya, and then we can get some sleep.”

He rolled over and grabbed his phone off the nightstand. They’d found a luxury dog hotel for Anya to stay at while they were gone. It was like a full spa for dogs. She had her own condo, scheduled playtime outside by herself and with other dogs, and she’d get a bath and be fully groomed. But the best part was the live camera in her condo so they could check on her anytime. 

She was curled up in her fluffy little dog bed, asleep. He turned the phone so Shane could see. Shane wasn’t as soft as he was with her, at least not outwardly. He claimed Ilya was too lenient. But Ilya knew he really was too, especially when he thought Ilya wasn’t looking and he slipped her an extra bite of something, or the time he came home and found them curled up together in the bed, even though Shane pretended to be stern about not letting her in their bed at all.

“I told her that you were going to win a cup,” Shane said, his eyes already closed again. “After you won the conference.”

Ilya curled around him and kissed his temple. “You did, huh?”

“Of course. Knew you would.”

Shane’s breathing was already slowing down and evening out, his body going loose against Ilya.

“Thank you,” Ilya whispered. He pressed his face to the back of Shane’s neck and drifted off feeling on top of the world.

-

“Don’t forget Anya’s bowls,” Shane said, pacing around the kitchen, listing off a million things they needed to bring to the cottage. He’d already packed a day ago, but Ilya waited until the last second. 

“Relax. I have everything Anya needs. I need you to sit down,” Ilya said, opening the fridge and pulling out everything they needed to take so it wouldn’t spoil.

Shane sat at the island and watched him, bouncing his knee. He’d been waiting for today, with excitement instead of dread. They’d had a busy few weeks since the cup final. Ilya had gone to Vegas for the awards, and Shane met him there. They’d stayed an extra day to relax and walk around the strip. Shane had come back and taught the last couple of classes at the center before his break. And now they were going to the cottage for the summer. Something he hadn’t done in fifteen years. Maybe his nerves were a little bit in overdrive today.

“Okay.” Ilya closed the lid of the small ice chest. “Ready.”

They loaded the car, got Anya hooked into her very expensive, crash-tested car harness that Ilya had personally researched for at least two entire days, and then set out for the cottage. The drive there felt more like it had as a kid…the anticipation and headiness of knowing they had the whole summer in front of them, no obligations or away games or distractions, just quiet mornings on the deck, sunny afternoons on the lake, and warm evenings around the fire. 

It was already early afternoon when they arrived. Shane walked inside, kicked his shoes off, and went straight to the living room to see how it looked with the new furniture. How it felt. Shane had decided to bring only a couple of pieces of his parents’ furniture back to the cottage. He wanted it to feel like it belonged to him and Ilya, not a relic of the past. Just enough of them here to keep their memories alive and still leave room for new ones.

He let out a long breath of relief as he turned, taking it all in. It was perfect, really. The new brown leather couch, the same bookshelf against one wall, some of the same pictures—Shane with his parents by the lake, one of him after a pee wee hockey game, wearing his number 24. Then the new ones—him and Ilya grinning, leaning in close, taken at one of Bood’s more recent barbecues, another of the two of them but with Anya sitting between them, a family of three again. And beside those, one of Ilya when he was ten, wearing a hockey uniform, a smile stretched wide on his face, his arms around the waist of a beautiful woman with dark blonde hair who was looking down at him adoringly. Shane had spent a lot of time looking at the picture of Ilya and his mother. The innocence of childhood still untouched on Ilya’s face...the way his mother was looking at him like he was her whole world. 

Ilya came up behind him, arms snaking around his waist. “You okay?”

“Yeah…just taking it all in. It’s different but good.”

Ilya nodded against him. “We can always bring more stuff back from the house.”

“I know. But I want this space to be ours. I think it’s perfect.”

They unloaded the rest of the car and then took Anya for a walk around the property and down to the lake. It was sunny and beautiful, a perfect welcome for his first summer here after so many away. The dock had been entirely replaced, and the boathouse had been rebuilt. Ilya had even acquired two jet skis, wasting no time at all.

“Tomorrow I am riding one,” Ilya said as they passed the boathouse on the way back to the cottage. “We will race.”

“Have you ever been on one of those before?” Shane asked.

“No. How hard can it be? Like a motorcycle for water.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me that you own one of those too.”

Shane did not have hangups about cars, despite how his parents had died. He had spent a lot of time with the statistical likelihoods of dying in accidents of all kinds. Contextualizing it in that way had helped him move past it. But it also meant he knew the odds about motorcycles, too, and he was definitely not okay with Ilya being in the same sentence with any of those numbers. 

“I told you I would sell it. I would not lie to you about that.”

“I know. Sorry.” Shane sighed. He felt a little bad, but he hadn’t actually asked Ilya to do it…he had volunteered before Shane had ever brought it up.

Ilya took his hand and kissed it. “Is fine. I don’t need it anymore.”

For dinner that evening, Shane grilled burgers while Ilya cut up onions and tomatoes. While Shane was flipping the meat, Ilya stepped up behind him.

“Why are you making so many burgers?”

“Because we have to eat tomorrow too. Leftovers are just as good.”

Ilya laughed softly and pressed a kiss to his neck. “Okay. But one of those is for Anya.”

Shane rolled his eyes playfully.

“What do you want to drink?” Ilya asked on his way back inside.

“Beer is fine.”

Ilya came back out with beers, chips, buns, and condiments, and Shane took the burgers off the grill and piled them on a plate. They sat at the little table on the back deck, eating and talking and enjoying the view of the sun starting to set over the lake. Anya sat at their feet, patiently waiting. After Ilya took his last bite, he looked down at her.

“Don’t worry, good girl, you can have your own.”

He started to reach for one, and Shane stopped him. “That one,” he said, pointing to the one on the other side of the plate. “I left the seasoning out of it.”

The smile that spread across Ilya’s face was so perfect it made Shane’s teeth hurt.

“I’m too soft with her, huh?” Ilya said teasingly as he tore off a couple of pieces to feed her.

Shane shrugged. “I can be soft and still have rules.”

Ilya just laughed and put an arm around his shoulders. They stayed outside for a while, enjoying the sunset and the cooler night air. Once the sun was fully down, Ilya suggested they light the little round outdoor fireplace so they could stay outside. 

“I will take Anya for a quick walk, and then we can roast marshmallows. Okay?” Ilya asked. He was already hooking her to the leash. Then he patted his pockets and looked around. “Can you look inside for my phone? I must have set it down while I was in the kitchen.”

“Sure,” Shane said. “I’ll grab that and the marshmallows and meet you back out here.”

He went into the kitchen and didn’t see the phone anywhere, even going so far as to look in the refrigerator and freezer. Nothing. He pulled his phone out to call Ilya’s, thinking he’d hear it ring somewhere in the house. Nothing. He shrugged. Maybe it was in the car. He dipped into their bedroom quickly, rummaging around in his own bag for a moment. Before he’d even finished, his phone buzzed.

Ilya: found my phone
Ilya: come down by the dock
Ilya: we found something else

Shane cocked his head, wondering what they could have found by the dock. He zipped his bag back up and headed out. He walked onto the back deck and down the stairs, not really paying attention because he was thinking about something else entirely. 

He was about halfway to the dock when he looked up to see a bunch of little flickering flames in the darkness. The closer he got, the more he could make out Ilya standing there, in the middle of the dock, surrounded by lit candles, awash in the soft silvery moonlight and the warm glow of the candlelight. Anya was sitting patiently in the grass watching. Shane’s hand came up to curl around his mouth, his eyes already burning because there was only one thing he could think of that Ilya could be doing.

Ilya held out a hand when he stepped onto the wooden planks, and Shane reached out and took it, letting Ilya pull him in close. His face was so uncharacteristically insecure. Not even obviously so, but Shane could see it in the way he was blinking too fast, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, swallowing hard before he dropped to one knee and pulled a small box from his pocket. He flipped it open to reveal a ring.

“Shane,” he said, his voice almost hoarse with nerves. “I’m not good at this part. I know we have only known each other for eight months. But…” he cleared his throat. “I love you. So much. More than there are words for in any language. And I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, like every moment was just another step toward this.” He paused for a second, blinking and looking down. Shane watched him, not wanting to interrupt, even though he already had tears streaming down his face. Already had an answer ready and waiting. Ilya huffed a quiet laugh. “Fuck. All these English words.” He looked up again. “I think maybe I had more to say. About not wanting to do anything without you ever again. But…Shane Hollander, will you marry me?”

Shane let out a shaky laugh. “Yes, of course.” And before Ilya could stand up, Shane knelt in front of him, mirroring his position. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a similar box.

Ilya looked at him, his watery eyes darting from the box to Shane’s face, lips parting in surprise. Shane flipped his open to reveal another ring. 

“Looks like we had the same idea,” Shane said, wiping at his eyes. “But I didn’t have much of a plan, so I’m glad you got to it first.” He glanced around at the little candles, each set a couple of feet apart, surrounding the whole dock. It was romantic and perfect.

Ilya leaned in to kiss him. “Well,” he said when he pulled back, “are you going to ask me or not?” He was smiling now, the nerves gone, the tears still there, shining in the glow of the candles.

“Ilya Rozanov, I love you more than I thought I could ever let myself love anyone. You’ve made my life better in every way, and I never, ever want to do anything without you again either. Will you marry me?”

Ilya laughed and pulled him for a hug again. “Yes, yes, yes. Now let me see my ring.”

Shane took it out of the box, while Ilya did the same. “I know men don’t always wear engagement rings, but I didn’t want to do this empty-handed. We might have to get it resized. And if you don’t like it, we can always get something different.” Shane was talking too much. He knew it. But there was too much bubbling up inside of him. Good things, all good things.

“No,” Ilya said immediately. “I want whatever you picked out for me. I want to wear your ring.”

Ilya held his hand out first. His right one. Shane looked at him questioningly. “Right hand?”

Ilya shrugged. “That is how we wear them in Russia.”

Shane slipped it on his finger, the fit perfect. It was made of dark gray metal with a very thin ring of gold around the middle. “It’s tantalum. Supposed to be durable, and I liked the darker color with the vein of gold, to match…” he reached up to run his fingers along the gold cross hanging from Ilya’s neck. 

Ilya’s eyes were still shining, tears gathering in his eyelashes. He took a shaky breath. “It’s perfect.” 

He took Shane’s left hand, but Shane pulled it back and held out his right instead. “So we match.” 

Ilya slipped the ring onto his finger, letting out a little sigh of relief when it fit. It was almost the same dark gray color, but instead of a gold line through the middle, there were gold lines bordering the top and bottom, thin and extending to the interior. “We did a very good job of picking matching rings.”

Shane nodded and leaned in, laying his head on Ilya’s shoulder. 

“I would like to make good on my promise to fuck you on this dock, but I think maybe we should go inside,” Ilya said eventually. “Probably shouldn’t scandalize our neighbors on our first day here.”

Shane laughed. “I’d also like to avoid splinters in places where splinters shouldn’t be.” He stood up, looking back to see Anya still lying in the grass.

“First I need to blow these out before our new dock burns down,” Ilya said. “Then we can christen our brand new bed.” 

Shane helped him blow out the candles, but they left them there, eager to get inside. 

Once in their bedroom, they closed the door, Anya already settled in her bed in the living room. Shane watched as Ilya pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a body that he knew every inch of, had kissed every inch of, and somehow still made his heart stutter. He might have felt a hint of embarrassment, but as always, Ilya was looking at him the same way. 

They ended up sprawled in the bed together, Shane cradled between Ilya’s legs, chest to chest, kissing lazily. The heat between them, still there, was tamed by the softness of the occasion, the ring on Shane’s finger a warm, comforting weight anchoring him in Ilya’s arms, the only place he wanted to be. One of Ilya’s arms was around his lower back, hand curled into his waist, the other resting on his upper back, hand loosely gripping the back of his neck.

As usually happened between them, things went from soft and sweet to hard and hungry, the kiss getting deeper, the movement between their bodies going from a gentle slide to a firm press of hard cocks against each other, already slippery with precome. Shane moaned into Ilya’s mouth, and he gasped enough to pull back when he felt a slick finger pushing at him. He hadn’t even noticed Ilya pick up the lube, entirely consumed by his mouth, which he promptly found again. 

By the time Ilya added another finger, kissing was getting hard. He had his forehead pressed against Ilya’s, had shifted so he was straddling him, one knee on either side of Ilya’s thighs, giving him more access to stretch him with his fingers. He did that for longer than was necessary, but Shane loved this part, and if Ilya wanted to take his time, he would never complain. Not when he was still basking in the afterglow of the proposal, wanting nothing more than to be here in this bed, in this place, with his soon to be husband. 

“What?” Ilya asked, and Shane realized he’d sighed out loud, against Ilya’s lips.

“Thinking about how you’re going to be my husband soon,” Shane said, his voice breathy while he moved against Ilya’s fingers. 

“I like the sound of that. Might as well already be true.” Ilya removed his fingers from Shane’s hole, making him groan. He held his hand up, showing off the ring again. “Only a legal thing right? We are already together that way. Now we have rings. Just paperwork left.”

Shane laughed, both because it was true and he was happy, and also because two of Ilya’s fingers were slick with lube next to his finger with the ring on it.

“Put those back,” he said, smiling down at him. “But yes…just a formality.” 

Instead of putting his fingers back, he rolled them until Shane was on his back, Ilya hovering over him. He heard the click of the bottle cap this time, then felt Ilya’s cock pushing at his hole. As he pushed inside, he leaned down to kiss Shane again, just as soft and sweet as it had been earlier. 

Shane felt so full…between the perfect slide of Ilya’s cock inside of him, the love that was so palpable where their lips touched, where their bodies slid together, where Ilya’s fingers were threaded through his, pushing his hand into the pillows. He felt it everywhere. It couldn’t be contained, so it slipped out in a single hot tear from one eye, a soft gasp that Ilya kissed away, an “I love you” whispered just a moment before his body shattered into a million pieces of pleasure and heat, held together by the warm weight of Ilya on top of him, whispering his name and pulsing inside of him, then wrapping him up tight while their bodies stayed connected. In that moment, Shane had few coherent thoughts, but the one that stuck was that he hoped neither of them ever felt empty again, and if they did, at least they’d have each other to hold onto until it passed.

Ilya eventually lifted his head, eyes still a little unfocused and fluttery. He kissed Shane’s forehead and then his lips before he got up with a whispered, “Stay.”

Shane flung an arm over his eyes, smiling to himself. As he often did these days, he found himself thinking about how much his life had changed in so short a time. He thought about his parents and wondered if they’d be happy for him. He was sure they would be. That they would like Ilya, love him even. How could they not, when he made Shane this happy. 

Ilya was back soon after, cleaning him up with gentle hands, a small smile on his face, so soft as to be unrecognizable if you only knew him as Ilya Rozanov, #81 star center and legendary chirper. The way Shane had only eight months ago.

When he was done, Shane sat up before he could climb back into bed. “Wait. I um…I want to show you something real quick.”

“Okay.”

“Here,” Shane said, handing him a pair of shorts. “Put those on.”

He pulled on a pair too, and Ilya was looking at him in slight confusion.

“Trust me.” 

He took Ilya’s hand and led him down the hall to his parents’ bedroom, which was now home to some of his painting supplies. He opened the door and stepped inside, pulling Ilya in next to him. Then he flipped the light switch and stepped back. 

Ilya’s eyes went immediately to the two paintings hanging on one wall. One of them he’d seen before, in its early stages. A slightly abstract background of trees and a field of grass and flowers, Shane’s mom in the middle, mid-stride, holding out a hand like she was waiting for someone to catch up with her, like she was calling out to Shane where he’d stopped to look at a bumble bee hovering over a purple flower.

But the painting next to it was newer. He’d worked on it every time Ilya was out of the house for the past several weeks. Ilya had shown him a few pictures he had from his childhood. So few of them, but most were of his mother, a couple that contained his father and brother too, but those he’d set aside. Shane had memorized them all. Especially the one of Irina Rozanova standing in the middle of a rose garden full of white and red roses, a smile made of sunlight that Shane recognized because he was lucky enough to see it almost every day on the face that was currently fighting tears next to him.

Ilya's eyes were scanning the painting, taking in Irina in a light yellow dress, standing amongst the roses, her golden hair catching the sun. Shane had not painted this without hours of considering whether it was something he was welcome to, whether it would be something Ilya wanted to be captured this way, or something that should be left in photographs that were only taken out in moments of grief or joy, when he needed that reminder.

Shane reached up to brush away the tears that were tracking down Ilya’s cheek. “Is this okay?” he asked. “If not, I’ll take it down. I didn’t know if you’d want—”

Ilya pulled him into a tight hug. Tight enough to cut off his words and push the air from his lungs in a surprised little gasp.

“I love it,” he said, voice thick with tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t think I have words for…” he trailed off, then he murmured something soft in Russian. Shane didn’t ask him to translate, figured the tone was enough for now. 

“I’m glad you like it.”

He stood there, holding Ilya a while longer, letting him look his fill. Eventually he led him back down the hall to their bedroom and into the bed, where he curled against his side and rubbed a hand gently up and down his chest. 

“I was thinking maybe we could get married here,” Shane said. “Unless you want something bigger? But I thought maybe just our close friends.”

Ilya nodded against him.

“I know this place is…my parents are…I don’t know. There’s a lot of them here. But I want you to feel like you have what you need here too.” Shane felt clumsy with his words. He didn’t want Ilya to dwell on the fact that he couldn’t be in the place where his memories lingered, but he wanted him to know they were welcome here too, if that was something he wanted.

“Thank you. I have everything I need.” Ilya pulled him in tighter and pressed a kiss to his hair. “Everything.”

Shane let out a long breath, relaxing into Ilya’s side. 

“We should do it now,” Ilya said. “Not now. But this summer, before we leave. I don’t want to wait.”

Shane turned his head so he could look at him. “Yeah? Do you think everyone will be available? Troy, Harris, and Svetlana? Your other teammates?”

Ilya shrugged. “I think we can work around schedules with only a few people to worry about. You can invite your friends from Vancouver. Maybe Jen? Jacob?”

“That would be nice.” He smiled, thinking about Jen at his wedding. He’d finally managed to drag Ilya to the cafe while she was working one morning. The reaction had been worth the effort. She had been unaffected, smooth and polite, and as soon as Ilya had stepped away to sit down, she mouthed “oh my god” and fanned herself. Then he’d gotten about 16 texts in a row about how Shane was living the dream. All he could do was agree.

“Maybe end of summer, before we go back home for the season. I want to start fresh. As your husband,” Ilya said, grinning again at that word. “We will start the charity together.”

“And I’m going to have my first art show. Did I tell you?”

“No. When?”

“In a few months. That gallery owner who messaged me on instagram really wants me to show my stuff. I agreed to do it, but not until after the summer. Hopefully I’ll have more to show by the time we leave here.”

“You will. I promise I will not distract you all summer,” Ilya said, leaning down to kiss him. “Just most of it.”

“Good, because I don’t think I’ll have as much time during the season. I’ll probably have to fit in some time on the ice…if I want to help you coach at the camps.”

Ilya rolled over until he was lying on top of Shane, knocking a startled laugh out of him. “You’re going to do it?” he asked, eyes bright and excited.

“Just helping out for now,” Shane said. “But yeah…I want to. Even though I’m going to feel inadequate, surrounded by a bunch of Stanley Cup winners.”

“No. We will need you to keep us in line.”

“I guess I can do that.”

If it meant keeping that look of joy on Ilya’s face, he’d do just about anything. 

Ilya moved his hips against him, already half hard again. “Thinking about you coaching beside me is going to make our earlier cleanup pointless.”

Shane laughed. “That’s okay. We have all night.”

“All summer,” Ilya said, leaning down to kiss him.

Forever, Shane thought. We have forever.

Chapter End Notes

Hi hi hi!

Thank you for reading and joining me to watch our favorites fall in love again. I hadn't planned to post this, or even finish writing it. I wrote the first couple of chapters on March 5 and then didn't post any of it on here until April 14. I thought it was too soft and plotless. I'm glad I posted it anyway. It is imperfect, but it was written with so much love.

That line in The Long Game ("We are very good at pretending not to be in love. Maybe we are bad at showing it when we are allowed.") wrecks me every time. So yeah, maybeee I created a whole AU where that didn't have to be true and they could just love each other out loud (of course...other sacrifices were made in the process. Sorry, Yuna and David, I do love you so).

Anyway...with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah, farewell for now.

Oh, and I’m on threads @ shadow_lilies1 (for now, anyway)

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