Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Original Child Character(s), Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Svetlana Vetrova, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Irina Rozanova, Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov, Grigori Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, POV Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Anxious Shane Hollander, Soft Shane Hollander, sex as intimacy, Accidental Child Acquisition, Ilya Rozanov is Loved, Shane Hollander is Loved, Texting, Childhood Memories, Ilya Rozanov Family Dynamics, Parenthood, Suicidal Ideation, Idiots in Love, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Ilya Rozanov Has PTSD, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Past Child Abuse, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Protective Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Mental Health Issues, Tender Sex, Shane Hollander Calls Ilya Rozanov "Baby", Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Ilya Rozanov, Top Shane Hollander, Bottom Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of The Devil in His Veins

Collections:

Anonymous

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-06 Completed: 2026-10-22 Words: 56,891 Chapters: 12/12

the devil in his veins longing for tenderness

Summary

Ilya wakes up in the early afternoon, in his underwear, with a dry mouth, a crick in his neck, and loud, incessant banging. It takes him longer than he is proud to admit to realize that it’s coming from his front door. He gets up and immediately regrets it. His living room is a mess and the light coming in from the window makes him wince. He does not want to clean today. What he had wanted was a rare, quiet night. Maybe text Hollander to rile him up after his loss the day before. Instead, Marly insisted on coming home with him after his girlfriend dumped him, so he could drown his sorrows. He remembers making some questionable choices after that, and if the state of the house is any indication, he is right.

Oh, that fucker. What did he forget here?

“Marly, you fucking asshole, I swear if you don’t stop—” Fuck. His head. How much did he drink last night? “Couldn’t you wait until practice tomorrow to get—” He opens the door. A small child is looking up at him.

Or: The day before the Tuna Melt Ilya Rozanov finds a child at his door.

Notes

Dialogue written in italics is being spoken in Russian.

Please check the end notes for additional information.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Ilya wakes up in the early afternoon, in his underwear, with a dry mouth, a crick in his neck, and loud, incessant banging. It takes him longer than he is proud to admit to realize that it’s coming from his front door. He gets up and immediately regrets it. His living room is a mess and the light coming in from the window makes him wince. He does not want to clean today. What he had wanted was a rare, quiet night. Maybe text Hollander to rile him up after his loss the day before. Instead, Marly insisted on coming home with him after his girlfriend dumped him, so he could drown his sorrows. He remembers making some questionable choices after that, and if the state of the house is any indication, he is right.

Oh, that fucker. What did he forget here?

“Marly, you fucking asshole, I swear if you don’t stop—” Fuck. His head. How much did he drink last night? “Couldn’t you wait until practice tomorrow to get—” He opens the door. A small child is looking up at him.

She is small, three maybe, and has a cute little unicorn backpack on her shoulders that she is grabbing with both hands, a book sticking out. Her jeans have flowers and butterflies embroidered on them, and her shoes are glittery pink. What she clearly does not have is an adult with her. This better be someone’s idea of a weird joke.

He lowers himself so he’s at her eye level and gentles his voice as much as he can, trying not to scare her.

“Hello, what is your name?” No answer.

“Where are your parents? Who brought you here?” She blinks. There’s still no answer.

She has been standing eerily still since he opened the door. He drags a hand down his face. Okay, he’s keeping things simple. He desperately needs a coffee if there’s any chance of dealing with whatever this is. So, slapping his hands on his thighs, he gets up, gestures for her to come in, and thankfully she does, one tiny step at a time. Her face doesn’t change much, so he shouldn’t be able to see her judging him as she takes in all the beer cans, empty vodka bottle, and cigarette butts lying around.

Wait, are those Marly pants behind the sofa? How did that idiot go home last night?

Her eyes keep moving from one thing to another and then landing on his face. He winces. She has no right having eyes this expressive without moving a single muscle. It’s just not fair.

“Look, I know this is a mess, but to be fair I wasn’t expecting visits, little princess.” He smiles.

“I promise the house is usually tidier. I just need to make coffee and then I’ll clean, deal?” The tiniest frown.

Ah, she’s still judging him. It looks strangely cute on her. He gestures for her to sit on the couch and she gingerly makes her way there. She sits slowly after deciding that the couch won’t contaminate her with its messiness. She hugs the backpack tight against her. Cute.

“I’ll go get my coffee now and bring you a diet coke, do you like that?”

No answer.

Should he be giving a child this small a diet coke? She’ll be fine. Probably. Special circumstances and all that. They don’t have to tell anyone.

He opens the fridge, grabs the coke, and starts making coffee. After pouring it into a mug, with everything in his hands, he makes his way to the living room.

Only, he doesn’t notice the chair isn’t quite in its usual place and stubs his toe.

Hard.

“Blyat”, that shit hurt. He’s hopping his way now, loses his balance, and spills some coffee on his arm. Hot, scalding coffee. “Blyat. Blyat!” He runs to the kitchen sink and puts his arm under the cold water. It hurts a little less now.

Fuck, today is really not going his way.

As he enters the living room he can hear giggling.

“Oh, the little princess thinks it’s funny to see me hurting, is that it?”, he feigns annoyance. “I see, I see, you’re right. The court jester should hurt himself to entertain the little princess after all.”

He sits on the floor, arm covering his eyes, and peeks behind his hand to take a look at her. She’s thrown herself on the couch now, legs in the air, arms around her belly with how much she’s laughing. Again, cute.

“Alright, alright.” He moves to tickle her, “you’re right, it’s a little funny.” She composes herself, clearly trying hard not to laugh anymore. Is there anything this girl does that isn’t adorable?

“That was a bad word.” She eyes him critically.

Except, she doesn’t say it in English. No, that’s clearly Russian.

He can feel his heart speeding up, his hands start to sweat. He’s cold now, and he can bet that if he looked in a mirror, he’d be pale. His breaths must be coming a little fast too. This must be his brother’s doing somehow. His father’s? Is she family? She is not his niece and he thinks there are no other children in the family. Are they making him go back to Moscow?

No. Stop. He has to keep it together.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. That’s it. He touches his necklace. He can do this.

He switches to Russian. “Are you Russian then?” A tiny nod. Good, they are getting somewhere now. “What’s your name?”

“Sofiya.”

“Oh, I didn’t know I had the highly esteemed princess Sofiya at my door.” She giggles. He kneels before her. “Will you forgive this lowly jester for not realizing before?” They are both smiling now. She pauses, clearly assessing him. He tries to right his posture. She gives one sharp, very decisive nod.

“Thank you, thank you. Princess Sofiya is clearly very kind.” More giggles. He must be doing something right if he can make her this happy.

“May I sit on the couch with princess Sofiya?” She takes her time looking at him again. Clearly, this is a question that deserves her full consideration.

“Yes,” she finally decides. He moves to her side and sits slowly, careful not to scare her.

“Do you know where your parents are?”

A shrug. “Don’t know.” Okay. He closes his eyes. Breathes. Opens them.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Ilya?” She sounds unsure, her voice wavering for the first time since she got here.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m Ilya.” She’s smiling again. Good. “Do you know who brought you here?”

Instead of answering, she takes a folded paper out of the side pocket of her backpack and gives it to him. He holds it, glances at her, and opens it slowly.

Ilyusha,

This is Sonya. Can you take care of her for a few days? Call Lyosha if you have any questions.

He turns the paper over. There’s nothing else.

Who leaves a small child with a stranger with only a small piece of paper that offers no explanation?

His stomach sinks. Of course his brother had to be involved somehow. Typical of him to expect Ilya to clean up his mess. He will not be calling Alexei. Is she his illegitimate child?

Ilya is brought back from his thoughts by Sofiya moving on the couch. She is moving away from him, hunching on herself, somehow managing to appear smaller.

“Hey sweetheart, it’s okay. Were you with Lyosha before?”

She nods. “And then with Rita. She brought me here.”

He doesn’t know who Rita is, but doesn’t ask. He doesn’t like her already.

This is clearly difficult for Sofiya and he’ll figure it out somehow.

He thinks.

He’ll have to.

“So you’re staying with me for a few days. Is that okay?” She nods. “We’ll have so much fun, Princess Sofiya! Can you show me your backpack?”

She hands him the backpack, more comfortable now.

“This is Zayka; she has magic powers.”

“You named your unicorn backpack, bunny?” She looks at him, daring him to say something about the name. “It’s perfect.” She’s perfect. He’s delighted. “And what did you bring in your little bunny?”

He opens the backpack and…oh.

There’s not much in there. Only two books, a drawing, three crayons, and a change of t-shirt.

Who packed this for her? Is this everything she has?

When he takes the things out, he notices there’s also her passport at the bottom.

A passport.

Well, then. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. Everything’s fine now.  It’s not like a child needs anything else. These fucking assholes.

“Sonya, honey, I’m going to take a shower and I’ll be right back to clean. Can you stay here and watch TV for a few minutes?”

He searches for children’s cartoons and selects Masha and the Bear. Judging by the way her eyes light up, she clearly approves.

“I’ll be right back, shout if you need me.”

She ignores him, too focused on the show.

He leaves the bathroom door open, wanting to hear her. He showers in under two minutes, puts on his sweatpants and tank top.

He feels steadier.

As he runs his hands through his hair, he enters the living room and notices she is still absorbed in her show. Good. He can think then. He starts picking up the empty cans and cigarette butts. He needs a plan now. He should make a list.

She didn’t bring much with her so they’ll have to go shopping. He needs food too, his fridge is mostly empty, with only ginger ale and a few diet cokes. He was planning on going grocery shopping today anyway. There were ingredients he needed to pick up for a meal he wanted to make tomorrow, he’ll just have to adjust the recipe now to fit what a toddler might actually eat. Toys, he should buy her toys too. What kind of toys do three-year-olds even like? He vaguely remembers plastic things with too many pieces that somehow ended up everywhere. Books? She has two, maybe she likes reading. And painting. Coloring books then, and more crayons.

He needs to figure out the legal parts too, even if he can already tell it’s going to give him a headache. He can’t just keep a random child with him; he suspects that useless note wouldn’t hold in court. He’ll have to work out who she actually is, what she’s doing with him, and if she can get back to her parents. This is if they are safe. Who lets a small girl alone with a strange man with basically nothing? He’s going to have to call Alexei, isn’t he? Fuck. That can wait until later. Now he needs food, clothes, and toys. Investigative work can wait a few hours.

When the living room and kitchen are mostly clean, he notices a tug at his leg. “Ah, is the show over, Sonya?”

“Yeah.” She keeps blinking slowly and yawns. Right, she’s tired. Children nap and today was likely a big day for her with lots of changes.

“Is it time for your nap, Sonechka?”

“’m not tired.” She’s frowning and even stomps her little foot. Again, cute. He can already tell she’ll be able to do whatever she wants with him.

“Of course not.”

He yawns exaggeratedly.

“Wow, I am very, very tired. Will Princess Sofiya sleep with me? I don’t like sleeping alone.”

He moves to the couch and lies down.

She eyes him suspiciously but relents. She lies down on top of him and he starts rubbing small circles on her back. Not even five seconds later she is already fast asleep. He can’t help but notice the contrast between his hand and her tiny frame. The weight of her settles somewhere deeper than his chest. He starts carding her hair with his fingers.

He takes a picture and opens his messages to send it to Sveta. His thumb pauses briefly when he passes Hollander’s name.

Ilya: [Image attached: Ilya with a small girl on top. Her curly, blonde hair is visible, as well as her open mouth. There is a small circle of drool on his front.]

Say hello to your new niece, Sveta!

He hits send. Immediately his phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. He extricates himself slowly from under Sonya, making sure she’s still asleep and goes down the hall to answer the call. Here he can still see her but she won’t hear him if he keeps his voice low.

“What the hell did you do, idiot?”

“Good morning to you too, my darling Sveta. I’m fine, how are you?” He enunciates each word with a calm he is not currently feeling, teasing smile on his face.

“It’s the afternoon, moron. What did you do?” She sighs.

“Why do you always assume I did something, huh? This is very unfair, I did nothing wrong. An exemplary citizen right here.”

She sighs. She really has too much patience for his antics. He bets that even through the phone she can tell he is pouting.

“Who is the girl, Ilya?”

“Okay, okay, but I swear none of this is my fault.”

A pause. Right. He needs to do this, she’ll help him.

“She’s Sonya, she showed up at my door today with a note asking if I can take care of her for a few days. I’m still not sure who she is.”

He explains what he knows so far, which admittedly isn’t much and probably creates at least as many questions as it answers.

“So now you’re taking care of a little girl? You can’t do that, Ilyusha. Did you forget your job? Your life doesn’t exactly scream best babysitter in the world.”

“You think I don’t know that, Sveta? What do you expect me to do? Send her on her way with a few bills on her backpack and a sandwich on her hands? Or should I put her on a plane back to Moscow?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, you’re right.” She always knows how to placate him. Now he feels bad for whisper screaming at her. “You know you’ll have to call Alexei. He might actually be able to help.” He snorts. “Well, at least maybe he might know a little bit more than we do.”

“Okay. Maybe.”

He can tell she’s hesitating on the next part. “And she has her passport, it might not be just a few days.”

“I know!” He sighs. “I know,” softer now. “I don’t think she has anyone right now.” He chooses to pretend his voice didn’t break saying that, and appreciates that Sveta does the same, as he rubs his eyes, a little wet now.

“She has you, and that’s a lot Ilyusha. And she has me now too. I’ll see what I can find out about her. I’ll let you know as soon as I have more information. Focus on calling your brother. Oh, and try to get her a babysitter or daycare. You can’t stay with her all day, you’ll have to find a solution.”

“Thank you, Svetik.”

He should say more.

“You’re doing good. You have a big heart, Ilyusha. Sonya is lucky to have you.”

Then she hangs up.

He stares at his phone for what he feels is an eternity, rubbing his hand. He can hear soft snores coming from the living room. He closes his eyes. Breathes. Holds the cross hanging on his neck.

He can do this. He’ll have to.

Chapter End Notes

This work will be updated every thursday.

Throughout the work, some characters are referred to by multiple names or diminutives:
- Ilya: Ilyusha, Ilyushka
- Sofiya: Sonya, Sonechka, Sonyushka, Sonyenka
- Svetlana: Sveta, Svetik
- Alexei: Lyosha

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated.

Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

Ilya's first day with Sofiya.

Chapter Notes

Content warning: slurs, homophobic language

An hour later, Sonya stirs behind him, pulling Ilya from his thoughts. When he ended the call, he had made his way to the living room and sat on the floor, back to the couch, not wanting to be far from her. He checked twice that she was still asleep, despite knowing she hadn't moved, feeling more settled each time he saw the small rise and fall of her back.

He’s been going over his talk with Sveta in the last hour.

He has already decided Alexei will be dealt with later, when things don’t feel so fresh, and he can actually have a conversation with him. Or at least as close to one as possible.

He took the time to go over a few preschools on his phone, favoring the ones that seemed most promising. He will have to find some time to check them out. But that is not a solution for tomorrow, he can’t just drop Sonya in a new school. He doesn’t think that’s how it works. In truth, he has no idea how it works, but surely it has to be a little more involved than just dropping the kid and assuring them he will be back to pick her up later. There are probably more steps to it. Paperwork at minimum. And he does want to make sure it’s a place she will like, not just the only one available.

That still leaves him with the problem of what he will do with her tomorrow. He considers asking one of the WAGs, but he doesn’t want to have to explain her yet. He looks for babysitters online and emails a few that seem good and also speak Russian. One has already replied, saying she is available for tomorrow, early, which is perfect. He texts Sveta her details and gets a thumbs up back. He would feel better if he could meet her first, but this will have to do. Sveta’s text does reassure him a bit, which sounds ridiculous, since she only sent a single emoji. He knows she would say something if she thought it was a poor choice, though. So that’s one less thing to worry about right now. Look at him, making progress.

Next step: shopping.

“Hey Sonechka.”

She seems confused at first, tiny fists rubbing at her eyes as she sits up, gaze finally landing on him, recognition clear on her face. Good.

“Did you sleep well?”

A nod. Not very talkative after waking up. Noted.

“Do you want some water?”

He’s already getting up to fetch her a glass. He hands it to her, and she holds it carefully with both hands, small frown on her face and eyes not leaving the glass, clearly focusing hard not to drop it. She manages to drink it, and only spills a few drops.

“Do you want to go shopping? We need to buy you clothes and get you some food.”

“Food! Food!” Well, that answers it.

“Food, food,” he joins her. They are doing a little dance now. Maybe that’s stretching it, but there’s definitely a little shoulder shimmy and jumping around involved. He walks with her to the bathroom. “First pee, and then we leave.” He gets his car keys and baseball cap, and she joins him. “Let’s go.”

“No! Zayka comes too. She will be lonely.”

“Of course. How could I separate this loyal subject from her princess? I bet she’s hungry too, right?”

More nods. He holds out his hand and she takes it. He can feel the moment her tiny fingers grab his with surprising strength, eyes already on his face and a toothy smile on her mouth. He has trouble swallowing all of a sudden, like he forgot how. Right. Here they go.

Fuck. Fuck, there’s no car seat. Of course there’s no fucking car seat, he’s never had to drive a kid anywhere, why the fuck would he have a car seat? How the fuck did it take him reaching the actual garage and opening the door to one of his cars to remember the car seat. Even idiots know that children need car seats. He’s already screwing this up monumentally. He can’t just drive her without a seat, it’s not safe.

What alternative does he have? He guesses he can order things online, that will work. But no, he wants Sonya to choose the things she’s getting and looking through a phone is probably not the best way for a three-year-old to do that. And there are things she needs right now, they can’t wait for the delivery. Okay, he’ll have to go and she can’t stay at home alone so they’ll have to go. Both of them. Together. With no car seat. Fuck. He’ll have to be extra careful now. No going above the speed limit and he’s definitely signaling every turn.

He turns back to her. “Your carriage awaits, your highness,” and signals for her to get into the back seat.

She looks at him but doesn’t move. Maybe she needs help getting into the car? He gets down and picks her up, sitting her without difficulty. Still no reaction.

He buckles her seatbelt, “I have to make sure the little princess is safe.”

Nothing. Did he scare her with his freak out? He smiles as gently as he can at her and tries to close the door. Only, he notices that she is grabbing his tank top, hard.

“I need to close the door for us to go, Sonya.”

She just holds harder.

“Sonechka, I have to drive. You have to let me go so I can close the door. I promise I’ll be right back, sitting right there.”

He points at his seat. She doesn’t look. He’s not sure if she’s even listening to him.

“Sonyenka,” he grabs her hand and tries to open her fingers. “It will be just a second.” She finally lets go, not sparing him a single glance.

He runs to the other side of the car and gets in.

“I’m right back to keep Princess Sofiya company.”

Still nothing. He thought she liked when he’s being silly with her.

He starts the car and starts fiddling on the radio, trying to find a song that will lighten the mood. Oh. Ke$ha. Perfect. He loves her. He turns up the volume and starts singing, trying to make exaggerated faces and dance around a little. He checks on her through the rearview mirror but she won’t even look at him, just staring at her hands or out the window. Even though he suspects she can’t see much, with how she barely reaches it.

What is he doing wrong?

Oh, right. Ke$ha is probably not the best choice for a three-year-old. She might not know her songs. At the next red light, he pulls out his phone and goes through Spotify. He doesn’t want to risk looking at it while driving with her in the car. He snorts. Who would believe he could be this careful while driving? He looks for playlists of children’s songs and finds one for Masha and the Bear. Perfect. He knows she likes that. He presses play. He’s looking at her every few seconds now. He knows he’s being insane but he can’t help it. She’s starting to worry him, sitting too still with no visible reaction. So Masha was a bust too. Fuck. He’s really screwing this up. Is this still because she saw him freaking out earlier? He doesn’t think he was that obvious.

He's suddenly jerked from his thoughts when a car honks at him, and then swerves dangerously close to his own car before speeding away.

“Learn to drive, fucke—”

Oh, he probably shouldn’t say that in front of Sonya. Good thing she doesn’t understand English.

He really can’t do anything right. At least he’s driving boringly slowly. So slowly that even Hollander would make fun of him. Is my boring rubbing off on you, Rozanov? He can imagine his teasing smile as he says it. Big brown eyes staring at him all shiny, dancing all over his face, cute freckles made more evident with his flushed face. There are better things you can rub on me, kotenok. And his angry kitten face as he says, Asshole.

Who is he kidding? Hollander would see the mess he’s making and be disgusted at him. Perfect Hollander would know what to do. He’d be already teaching her English, and probably perfect French too. His hand tightens on the steering wheel. He wouldn’t forget car seats and he wouldn’t ruin things this badly in less than a day. She wouldn’t be angry or sad at Hollander. Everyone loves him, with his perfect, effortless smile, and with how he always knows just what to say. No, he would be Mr. Perfect, as always, even if he had never met a child before, he would still be perfect, first try. What? Like it’s hard?

But no. She is stuck with him, so he has to try.

“Is Zayka sad?”

Nothing.

“Do you think singing would make her feel better?”

No answer.

“I bet she will like the mall when we get there.”

At least he hopes so. He doesn’t know what else he can do. She deserves better. She should be with someone better.

Getting Sonya out of the car is harder than anything else he’s had to do today. Not because she’s being difficult, quite the opposite, she’s exceptionally well behaved. But she won’t take her eyes off the floor and has a resigned look to her. The look on her face is so defeated it makes his chest tighten. And Ilya can’t understand what went wrong. He goes over the car ride again and again, searching for the moment he missed.

She’d been excited. She’d asked if Zayka could come. She seemed perfectly happy about coming to the mall before they left the house. If they didn’t need to go shopping this badly, he would take her back home right now. He doesn’t ever want to see her like this again.

He hands her Zayka and watches as Sonya puts her on her back. He grabs his cap, his sunglasses, then hunches into himself a little. It probably won’t make a difference but he can try. He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers and she holds it. Good. She’s looking at him more as well, which feels like progress.

As they enter the mall, she’s immediately taken by all the people around her, it’s as if she can’t focus on any one thing. She looks back at him, a question clear on her face, but Ilya can’t figure out what it is. It’s like he’s two steps behind. He sees her eyes light up as they pass each store, and once she sees a toy store with a giant bear at the entrance she lights up and starts talking animatedly.

“There, Zayka wants to go there.”

He laughs, he can’t control it, he’s so relieved. He’s sure he looks manic with a giant smile on his face.

“Okay, okay. We’ll go there. We just need to get some food in you first.” 

Her behavior earlier seems odd. Had she never been to a mall before? Is that why she was scared? Either way, he’s glad to see her like this again.

Keeping a low profile becomes a lost cause the moment they reach the food court. Sonya points excitedly at every storefront, every balloon, every stranger who catches her eye. He just hopes people won’t think it’s him. But then again, they might not. The last thing anyone would expect is Ilya Rozanov with a child.

“Hello, what can I get you?” The teenager working at Dunks asks with a monotonous voice, interrupting their conversation.

“What do you want, malysh?”

“Chocolate chip cookie.”

“And milk maybe?”

“No. Only the cookie.”

“Okay.” Turning to the teenager he says, “One chocolate chip cookie and a coffee with cream please.”

She grabs his leg.

“Two cookies. Zayka is hungry too.”

Oh, he’s sure she is.

“Two cookies then.”

He gives the teenager his practiced smile. “Make it two cookies.”

She doesn’t even look at him. Uh, no recognition. It bruises his ego a little, but he can admit it’s for the better.

Crumbs are already collecting around her by the time he takes his first sip of coffee. When he notices her reaching for the second one, he brings a hand to his chest and does his best impression of shock.

“Are you stealing Zayka’s cookie?”

He could probably be an actor if he wanted. Maybe after he retires.

“No, silly.” And he is met with his new favorite sound: her giggles. “She said she’s not hungry an’more and gave me.”

“Ah, very well then. You’re very lucky to have such a kind friend. Thank you, Zayka, for being so good to Princess Sofiya.”

More giggles.

Five minutes later, he’s standing in front of a rack of tiny dresses, hopelessly out of his depth. Thankfully Sonya has strong opinions. She has already handed him four dresses to hold, while she runs around the store looking for more. Every suggestion from Ilya has been met with a shake of her head and a frown. Except for one ugly dress that he showed her to rile her up, only for her to insist they had to take it.

Clearly, he’s not up to date on what’s popular with three-year-olds.

“Maybe we have enough dresses for today, no?”

“Okay, no more dresses.”

But as he’s getting ready to pay, she pulls him to a rack with sweatpants and tank tops. Black.

“Take this? Please?”

He looks down at his own clothes.

Black sweatpants and black tank top. They look the same.

“You want those?”

His voice barely above a whisper. He will not start crying in the middle of a store over clothes.

“Of course we can,” he chokes, voice only catching at the end.

Toys, books, and crayons quickly follow the clothes. She was especially taken with a book about unicorns and another about cars.

The running finally slows. Now she wanders instead, stopping every few steps to ask about something new. Her new tiara is crooked and the wand he bought her keeps falling out of her hand, but she refuses to let him fix either. Apparently, princesses have standards.

“And then Zayka jumped so big and spit fire at them.”

“Wow, Zayka can breathe fire?”

“Uh-uh. And snow, and wind. And, and… rain?”

“Of course she can. She’s very powerful.”

“And big.”

His coffee feels like a lifetime ago. Every question deserves an answer, every story deserves a reaction, and somehow, he finds enough energy for both.

“How big?”

He forces himself not to smile when she thinks about it so seriously.

“Ten houses big,” she finally decides.

“Wow. That is big.”

She looks proud.

He has been avoiding thinking about going back to the car all afternoon. He bought the car seat, Sonya mostly uninterested but keeping herself entertained with her new wand. Now he’s standing in front of the car. He goes through the motions, putting the bags in the trunk, never taking his eyes off her. He waits for her face to change. For her to go quiet again. She doesn’t. She just looks at the car and then at him. Good.

The car seat should be easy. It is just a car seat. He has faced worse. He spends his life getting slammed into boards by men larger than him. And yet. The instructions look simple. They are not simple. There are too many straps. Too many clips. Too many ways to apparently do something wrong and accidentally put a child in danger. He knows when to admit defeat.

“Hello again. I just bought a car seat a few minutes ago. It’s the first time I’ve bought one and I can’t seem to attach it right. Could you show me how to do it?”

The woman working in the store seems too happy to help, already walking out the door before he even finished the question.

“Of course, Mr. Rozanov. I’d be happy to help.”

Oh, that is why. She is perfectly cordial and goes over everything twice. But she keeps looking at him and touching him as well. Had she been flirting with him earlier too? A few months ago, he would have noticed. Now, apparently, he just... didn't.

Sonya is happy in her new car seat. For one thing, she can see out of the window now and keeps pointing at everything they drive by.

“Just one last stop before going home.”

“No, I want to go now.”

“We need to buy food. Just groceries and then home.”

She pouts and crosses her arms.

“Do you want to sing with Masha?”

That seems to do it. The rest of the car ride goes smoothly.

By the time they reach the grocery store, even the princess wand has lost some of its magic. Her feet are dragging so in the cart she goes.

The cart is a battle. He puts things in; she takes them out. She giggles every time he catches her, like this is a game they've agreed to play.

Now, in the cookies and cereal aisle, she wants the colorful cereal. The cookies. The candy sitting conveniently at her eye level. He says no. She’s already grabbing a package. They continue like this, five cereal boxes, three different cookie brands, and four chocolate bars stare at him from the cart. The next time she reaches for something, he catches her hand before she can put it in the cart.

“Sonya, enough.”

The words aren’t loud. They aren’t even particularly harsh. But the second they leave his mouth, his stomach drops. Her playfulness is gone, her lower lip wobbles, she won’t meet his eyes. He knows that look. Not from her. From his own face. Many years ago. He remembers learning not to ask twice. How quickly a small mistake could become something bigger. From years ago, standing too still, waiting to find out how bad things would get.

His hands are shaking badly now, and he can feel the tears pooling at his eyes. Some things he will never escape.

He picks her up before he even thinks about it.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Her arms go around his neck. His hand settles against her back. For a while, neither of them says anything else. The words feel too small.

The car back home is silent. Sonya falls asleep before they leave the parking lot. He checks the mirror more times than necessary.

Jostling for the keys and opening the door with a sleeping child on his arms is harder than Ilya expected. He throws the keys as soon as they are inside, wincing a little at the clinking sound they make as they hit the table. Okay, maybe that was not his best idea. He toes off his sneakers and gently lowers Sonya to the couch. He watches her peaceful frame as he takes off her shoes, stopping abruptly when he sees her move.

Okay. Slower. Gentler. He can do that. Her slow breaths return and with them, his own breathing restarts.

He should take this time to call Alexei. She will likely wake up soon, wanting to eat, so he might not have another opportunity to talk uninterrupted with his brother without her hearing him. He reaches for his phone. He looks for the contact. Presses call. Voicemail. Right away. Of course. He only wants to talk when he’s the one needing something. He makes to touch his necklace and realizes his fist was closed too tight, little half moons forming on his palm. He can’t let himself spiral like this. He changes to his messages and types.

Ilya: Why did a little girl show up at my door today?

Hits send. Now all he can do is wait.

Putting away the groceries calms him. Gives him time to gather his thoughts. Now, in the kitchen, preparing dinner, chicken noodles with pasta in the shape of dinos, something simple that he thinks Sonya will easily eat, he feels calmer. He’s always enjoyed cooking for other people, just doesn’t seem to find a reason to really try for himself.

He opens the fridge and looks at the ginger ale cans. Right. He was looking forward to cooking for Hollander tomorrow. Hoping he would have the chance, even. He had a whole plan.

Shower, put on his Rick Owens sweats that make his ass look even better, no shirt. Casual. He would show Hollander his house. Give him some great orgasms, and then he would ask him to stay. Less likely to panic when he is sated. Maybe convince him to eat. Nothing too involved, tuna melts. He wouldn’t want to scare him. He just wanted Hollander to feel good in his house. He wants him to associate Ilya with comfort. Safety. And that would be more likely after sex.

Sex was the one thing he knew how to do. The rest, the staying, the convincing someone he was worth choosing, was where he always failed. It’s a moot point now. Things just became a lot more complicated.

Two cookies were clearly not enough food for the afternoon, judging by all the food Sonya is shoving into her little mouth, cute chipmunk cheeks standing out. She makes little voices with the dinos and he can’t help but join in. Half the food ends up on the floor and she’s now eating with her fingers, after struggling with the fork. Would a spoon have been easier?

He doesn’t remember being this happy having a meal in a long time.

His phone buzzes. Alexei.

“I’ll be right back, Sonechka.” He gets up, not wanting her to see if things don’t go well.

Alexei: Did you manage to get some poor whore pregnant, you little faggot?

Ilya: I’m not the one spending my little brother’s money on coke and whores. Deletes it.

Ilya: Do I have to send you money for you to be helpful once in your life? How much? 20k enough? Deletes it.

Ilya: No. Sonya. Came with a note to call you. Do you know anything about that?

Alexei: Make sure you take good care of her, Ilyusha.

His thumb freezes over the message.

Ilyusha.

‘Mom is sleeping now, Ilyusha, I’ll play with you.’ ‘That looks beautiful, Ilyusha.’ ‘We can make her breakfast, Ilyusha. Do you want to help?’ ‘Leave him alone, you assholes or I’ll break your legs! Are you alright, Ilyusha?’ ‘Shh, I know, Ilyusha. You can stay with me if you want.’ Screams. Doors slamming. Glass shattering. Bruising fingerprints. ‘Grow up, you can’t be a sissy forever.’ ‘Fucking faggot.’ ‘She’s not here to protect you anymore.’ ‘Leave, it’s all you’ve always done. It’s all you little faggots do.’

Fuck. Fuck him. He can’t breathe. He can’t see. He opens his eyes but it’s all blurry. He’s shaking, he’s sure of it.

And there’s a pressure at his leg, pulling him down.

“Ilya?”

Big, blue eyes staring up at him. His knees hit the floor.

For a moment, he can only look at her. He waits for it. The hesitation. The fear. The way children learn to step back before they even know why. Sonya only reaches for him.

“You’re sad?”

The question lands somewhere he doesn’t know how to protect. He wipes his face quickly, embarrassed even though he has no reason to be.

“Your face is wet,” she says after a moment. And somehow, impossibly, he laughs.

“I’m a little sad but I will be okay, Sonechka.”

She watches him carefully, not moving away.

“Dinner. The dinos are happy.”

“Ah, I see. So if I eat the dinos I’ll be happy too?”

“Yes.” She is very sure, almost nodding with her whole body as she says it.

“Then we’ll have to make sure to eat many, many dinos.”

He picks her up, and she shrieks while he pretends to fly her to the kitchen with a swooshing sound. Dinner is filled with laughter.

Clean-up is easy. Sonya is sitting on the counter, little socked feet swaying, while she orders Ilya around. She has already decided this is his job and hers is supervising. She gives the commands and Ilya obeys. She’s good at it. Like this, they’ve already cleaned the floor, rinsed the plates and glasses, and placed them in the dishwasher.

 “Apple juice now.”

She points at the juice, making sure Ilya doesn’t get distracted by the simple orders. Clever instincts.

“Yes, my captain. Juice going in the fridge now.”

He salutes and walks to the juice like a soldier, grabbing it and placing it in the fridge.

Wiping the counter is next.

“All done,” Sonya declares with finality.

Ilya looks around the kitchen. The floor is clean. The dishes are stacked. The juice is back in the fridge. Somehow, under the supervision of a three-year-old, they have completed their tasks.

“Excellent work, Captain.”

She nods, accepting the praise.

Her feet are swinging slower now. Her blinks too. Her eyes are closed for longer too. It is probably already too late for a three-year-old. She should be in bed.

“Alright, Captain. Next mission.”

Her eyes light up, refocusing again.

“What?”

“Teeth,” he says grinning.

“My unicorn toothbrush is new.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It has sparkles.”

Her new unicorn toothbrush is apparently very important. She explains this twice while he squeezes strawberry toothpaste onto it, just in case he somehow misunderstands the seriousness of the situation.

They brush their teeth side by side, Sonya watching herself in the mirror while Ilya tries not to laugh at the amount of foam she has managed to create. They rinse the toothbrushes, and Sonya insists on putting hers back exactly where it belongs. The unicorn has to face forward.

After that, he presents Sonya with the two pajamas she has.

“Which ones does Princess Sofiya prefer?”

“These.”

“Excellent choice, Captain.”

He helps her change into her new pajamas and takes her to the guest bedroom. It looks different with her things scattered around. The tiara and wand at the foot of the bed. Her books on the nightstand. Zayka sitting on the chair. He pulls the sheets, motions for her to get in, and pulls the blanket up to her shoulders.

“Goodnight, Sonechka.”

“G’night.”

He hesitates for a second, then leans down. He has to think about it before he does it. That feels ridiculous. It is just a goodnight kiss. Children probably get them all the time. He kisses her forehead.

“Sleep well, Sonechka.”

She closes her eyes.

He goes to his room and quickly changes into an old t-shirt and comfortable sweats. He makes it all the way to the hallway before allowing himself to relax. He did it. He managed to take care of her. Five seconds later, the door opens.

“Sonechka?”

“Story.”

Of course. How could he forget? Children need bedtime stories. He walks with her to her room.

“Do you know which one you want?”

She points to one of the books she had brought with her. He reads it to her, sitting on her bed, careful not to rip it. It is clearly well-loved, with a few pages attached more by hope than by any remaining structural integrity. When he finishes, her eyes are closed.

He reaches the living room when he hears footsteps again. He looks at her.

“’m thirsty?”

He grabs her a glass of water.

“There you go.”

She drinks it slowly and hands it back to him. He puts it on the sink. He walks back with her to her room. Tucks her in again. Closes the door.

Not even a minute later, he hears it being open again.

“What’s wrong, malysh?”

“It’s too dark.”

“I’m sorry. Here. We’ll leave this on.”

He turns on the bathroom light and leaves the door ajar. He walks her back to her room. The soft light of the bathroom gets in.

“Better now?”

“Yeah.”

“Sleep well, Sonechka.”

He doesn’t even have time to reach the living room and she’s up again. She’s looking down, shuffling from one foot to another.

“Anything wrong, Sonechka?”

“’m not tired.”

What is he doing wrong? The teeth brushing went well. He thought he did a good job tucking her in, even if he forgot the story first. She is sleepy, he’s sure. How can he help her?

He remembers the nap earlier in the day. Could that be it?

“Sonechka, can I share a secret?”

She nods, intrigued.

“It’s very important. Top secret. You promise not to tell anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Pinky promise?”

He shows her how to stick out her pinky and interlace it with his.

“I’m a little scared to sleep alone tonight. Will you sleep in my room so I won’t be scared?”

He surprises himself with how true this feels.

“Together?”

“Yes, together.” He smiles.

“Okay.”

She holds his hand. He takes her to his bed and tucks her in. Kisses her forehead and gets on the other side of the bed. She immediately reaches for him, snuggling closer. Her arm is over his chest, her fingers almost brushing the cross on his necklace. She falls asleep quickly after that.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated.

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary

We find out a little more about Sonya and we have the first hockey practice.

Chapter Notes

Ilya is woken up by his phone vibrating. A text. It’s 6am, who is texting him at this hour? He unlocks his phone. Sveta.

Sveta: How did the first day with Sonya go?

Ilya: Well.

He looks at her lying on the other side of the bed and can’t help but smile.

Ilya: It would’ve been better if a madwoman didn’t wake me up at this ungodly hour.

Sveta: I know who she is.

A beat. Two.

Sveta: Her parents died 3 months ago.

His hand reaches his necklace before he realizes he’s done it.

Ilya: How?

Sveta: Car accident. Both of them.

Ilya looks at the little lump under his blanket. Three months. She has spent the last three months without her mama.

Sveta: Her mother was Polina’s younger sister.

Ilya: Polina? Father’s wife?

Sveta: Yes.

Sveta: After the accident she stayed with Polina and your father for a few weeks.

Ilya reads the message twice. He can’t think about this little girl staying in that house. He can’t imagine his father wanting her there. He’s hard enough on the people he does want around.

Ilya: And father?

Sveta: You know how confused he is now. I’m not sure he realized she was even there.

That might be better, but only marginally.

Sveta: Polina decided someone else should take her instead.

Ilya: Who?

Sveta: Alexei.

His brother? Alexei had agreed to take care of her?

Sveta: He already has Zoya. They thought having another little girl around the same age would be good for her.

Ilya: And they thought Alexei would be a good choice?

Sveta: It worked for a while.

Sveta: Then the girls fought. I don’t know over what.

Sveta: There was some kind of conflict with Zoya.

He can’t stay here. He needs to get up.

Ilya: A conflict?

Sveta: I’m not sure what it was. Nothing serious, I don’t think. All I know is Zoya fell and had to go to the hospital.

His thumb hovers over the keyboard. His pulse won’t slow.

Sveta: But she was fine. Nothing broken.

He’s pacing now but he can’t stop.

Sveta: Then they decided it would be best if someone else took her instead.

Again. Of course. Let her be someone else’s responsibility. How convenient.

Sveta: Rita was visiting from the US. Alexei asked her to take Sonya for a while.

Ilya: Who?

Sveta: Polina’s cousin.

Sveta: Then the rest you know. She brought Sonya to you yesterday.

Brought is doing a lot of heavy lifting here. She dropped her at his door, not even checking if she would be safe with a complete stranger before.

Ilya: Why me?

Sveta: I don’t know. Rita isn’t answering her phone. No one’s been able to contact her from what I could get.

Ilya: Thank you.

Sveta: Ilyusha are you okay?

He looks at his phone for a few seconds and locks it. How can they treat someone like this? Treating her like a piece of furniture or an unwanted heirloom. Shoving responsibility to the next person. She is three. And already went through so much.

He goes back to the bedroom and stares at her sleeping form. Curled beneath his blanket, she looks impossibly small. That’s why she had so much trouble getting in the car the day before. She thought he was leaving her. He can’t let her down now. No more being pushed around. He goes into the bathroom and splashes cold water into his face until the tears are gone.

He prepares breakfast. Cereal for her and eggs and coffee for him. He has to wake her up now. He thinks it will be easier if they have breakfast together before the babysitter arrives.

The bedroom is still dim when he opens the door. Sonya is exactly where he left her, sprawled across his side of the bed, one arm wrapped around his pillow. He wonders briefly how someone so small can take up so much space.

“Good morning, Sonechka.”

She answers with something that might be words, might just be sleepy noises, and buries her face deeper into the blanket.

He smiles.

“Breakfast first. Then we have to get ready.” She looks at him with a frown, her bottom lip pouting a little. Like a little angry kitten. Cute.

She is much quieter than yesterday, blinking slowly into her cereal while Ilya attempts to convince himself that coffee will make him a functioning human being again.

By the time breakfast is over, they're both more awake.

Getting dressed takes longer than expected because Sonya is determined to put on her socks herself. He watches her wrestle with them for nearly a minute before she thrusts one foot toward him with an impatient sigh.

“Help.”

He hides his smile. “I thought you had it.”

“Help.” He’s already kneeling and grabbing the offending sock.

He grabs her t-shirt next. “Arms up.” She lets him help her with the rest of her clothes.

While she gets Zayka and sits her next to her on the couch, Ilya packs his hockey bag and brings it to the living room.

The doorbell rings. He opens the door. A young woman is on the other side. Maria.

Sonya gets up, but once she sees Maria, she hides behind Ilya’s legs.

“Who is she?” she whispers. Or well, attempts to whisper.

Maria crouches to Sonya’s height before introducing herself. “Hello. I am Maria. Are you Sonya?”

Sonya looks at Ilya. He gives her what he hopes is an encouraging smile. She looks back at Maria. “Yes.”

“Maria will stay here today.”

“I brought crayons.” She winks.

“That’s great! Do you want to show her your coloring books?”

“Yes, I’d love to see them.” He appreciates that she’s trying to show enthusiasm. Sonya deserves that.

Sonya runs to the living room, already grabbing her coloring books. She can’t possibly hold them all, and some are already falling to the ground. She sits on the floor, and starts pointing.

“Ilya bought me this one, and this one, and this one.”

He starts getting the rest of his things. He keeps checking on her, and can hear fragments of what she says, “paint with these”, “so many?”, “a tree, and a fairy”, “the blue one, no, the yellow.” Good. She likes Maria. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they didn’t get along. Something in his chest loosens.

“I’ll be back after practice, Sonechka.”

Sonya barely looks up, busy drawing and making up stories with Maria. Better than expected. Perfect.

He grabs his keys, checks if his phone is in his pocket, grabs the hockey bag. Opens the door.

“Ilya?”

He turns. She is no longer drawing. She is looking at the bag in his hand. He goes to her.

“Practice.” He crouches down. “Remember, Sonechka? Hockey practice. I’ll be back later.”

“I come.”

“No, Sonechka. You stay here with Maria. You can tell me about your drawings when I come back.” The words are barely out before he sees it. Her face falls.

“No.”

“Sonechka—”

“No.” The crayon falls from her hand.

“I’m coming back,” he says immediately. “It’s just a few hours.”

“Don’t go.” Her breaths are coming quicker now. Lip wobbling.

He touches her arm. “Malysh, I have to go to practice.” She grabs his t-shirt. There are tears now.

“Sonya, he’s coming back. We can draw more pictures while he’s away.”

“No.” Her voice breaks.

“We’ll do a special drawing just for Ilya when he comes back.”

“Sonechka. It’s a few hours. You can draw Zayka for me. Or the dinos from last night. I’ll be back before you know it.”

She’s quiet now. The only sounds are her ragged breaths. Tears pool at her eyes before falling, seemingly against her will. But there’s no screaming. There’s no more begging. He doesn’t think she’s listening anymore. Doesn’t think she can. He can’t do this to her.

“No, no, Sonechka. Look at me.” He touches her neck. Her eyes find his. Good. She’s here. He’s already late for practice. He’ll have to take her with him.

“Okay. This is what we’ll do. You’ll come with me. I’ll show you around. I’m sure the guys will love to meet you. And I can show you the rink. And the locker rooms.”

She’s breathing better now. “No leaving?” She asks in a small voice.

“No leaving.”

He gets up, grabs his things. Looks back.

“Maria, do you like hockey?”

Ilya arrives at the locker room late, despite waking up earlier than usual. Maria is standing outside, waiting to take Sonya with her to the stands. Sonya wasn’t ready to let Ilya out of her eyesight yet, glued to him since they left the car. Marly’s the first to notice his arrival.

“Still hangover, Roz? Is old age getting to you?”

“Marly, how many times do I have to tell you this?” He throws an arm around his shoulders. “Russians don’t get hangovers.”

Marly laughs. “That would be more believable if I hadn’t seen you a thousand times the day after a—” It seems Marly finally noticed Sonya. “Do you know you have a little girl behind you?”

“Really? Where?” He pretends to look around.

The rest of the team has finally noticed them too.

“Did you get a girl pregnant, Cap?” The room fills with laughs.

“Is she gonna make an honest man out of you?” Carmichael joins. Connors wolf whistles.

“She’s family. She’s going to stay with me for a while. And all you fuckers are scaring her right now, acting this stupid. Have you never seen a girl before?” He’s trying to keep it light. “Let’s just get ready to start practice.”

“Someone thought you could take care of her? Does her mother know she’s here?”

“Are you sure you didn’t kidnap her, Cap?” Hammersmith is laughing. Ilya is not laughing anymore.

“Drop. It.”

“Okay, you fuckers. Let’s hurry.” Marly looks back at Ilya and smiles. He claps his hands. “Let’s go. We have practice. How do you expect to beat Montreal tomorrow if you’re like this?” Ilya really loves Marly sometimes. He could kiss him right now.

Marly drops to the floor and talks to Sonya. “Hi little girl. What’s your name?” Sonya looks at him but doesn’t answer. She doesn’t look scared by this giant man talking to her though. “Is she deaf?” Marly asks him. Ilya drags a hand down his face. Right, he’s an idiot. Ilya gives him a look.

“What? I’m asking.”

“No, idiot. Maybe she just doesn’t like you.”

Marly pokes his tongue out at her. She sticks out her tongue too. “Nah man, little miss loves me. I can tell.” Lovable idiot.

“She’s Sonya. Doesn’t speak English.”

He shakes her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, little Sonya. ‘m Marly.” She’s smiling. Ilya guesses she doesn’t need to understand him to find him funny.

Ilya looks at Sonya again. “Sonechka, I have to get dressed now. You have to let me go.” Marly is grabbing his phone and opening his photos folder, ready to show her. “Look, Marly has something he wants to show you.” She sees pictures of puppies and is already convinced. She lets him go and he hurries to get ready. When he looks back, Sonya has already climbed on top of Marly, sitting on his shoulders now.

“Oh, what’s this? Sonya isn’t Princess Sofiya after all. Maybe she’s a little monkey?” He tickles and grabs her. “Is that right, obezyanka moya?” She shrieks with laughter.

The guys are pretending not to stare when Coach LeClaire walks in. “What is taking you so long? Let’s go.” He notices Sonya and raises an eyebrow at Ilya, but doesn’t ask. “C’mon. Go. Leave.”

All the guys start leaving the locker room and heading to the rink. Marly holds his face. “You’re a good man, Rozy. A real good one.” He drops down. “Nice to meet you, Sonya.” He holds out his hand. She hugs him. Marly leaves.

Once outside, Ilya brings Sonya to Maria and shows them where they can sit to watch. “You can see me the whole time, obezyanka moya. You can look at how fast I go.” She seems satisfied by that.

He tries to listen to the coach. They are doing laps. Sonya looks okay. Happy. She’s talking animatedly with Maria. They are passing the puck now. Ilya misses one.

Shooting at the goalies. He misses two. Sonya seems to be doing a dance now?

Skating drills are next. Sonya is laughing. His turns aren’t good and his edges are sloppy.

Snapshots. Sonya is in Maria’s lap looking at him.

Power play practice. Sonya waves at him. He waves back.

A scrimmage. St-Simon slams him into the boards.

“Head in the game, Rozanov,” the coach yells. Ilya looks back at Sonya, wondering if she’s scared. She doesn’t seem to have noticed. “Rozanov!” The scrimmage continues.

He’s playing better now. He can focus. He looks back for one second and sees Sonya’s smile. He smiles back. He skates into Marly. “Are you okay, man?” Marly looks worried.

“Rozanov, come here.”

Ilya skates to his coach.

“Go home and rest, Rozanov. Take the girl with you.”

“Coach, no. I can—"

“Go home, Rozanov. Your head’s not in here. This isn’t a punishment. Just get yourself sorted.” He claps him on the back. “Make sure you’re here for the game tomorrow.”

He wants to argue. Wants to prove he can do both. But Coach is right. “Yes, coach.”

“Really here. Not like today.”

“Yes, coach.”

He showers quickly and meets Maria and Sonya outside. He thanks her and confirms the time for tomorrow.

“Bye Maria!” Sonya waves.

“Bye sweetheart.” She leaves.

“Did you have fun, Sonechka?”

“Yes, you go very fast.”

He chuckles. They leave the stadium. “Yes. You need to skate very fast to be a hockey player.”

“Maria said she thinks I can be more fast.”

“I’m sure you’ll be faster than me in no time, Sonechka.” He should take this opportunity. “So you liked being with Maria?”

Sonya looks back at where she was before.

“Yeah, she’s the best.”

Good. “Tomorrow you’ll be staying with her for a few hours, then?”

She hesitates. “Here?”

“No, Sonechka. At home.” They get into the car.

“No, here.”

He’ll have to work on this then.

The rest of the morning goes by well. Sonya is drawing and keeps explaining the stories behind each one. He likes seeing her like this.

“Do you want to help me make lunch, obezyanka moya?”

She’s already running up to him. He grabs her and sits her on the counter like yesterday. They work well as a team.

As he opens the tomato sauce jar, Sonya hits it by waving her arm. It lands on his tank top. She immediately stops and stares at him.

“It’s okay, malysh. It happens.” He takes off his top. “See, problem solved.”

She’s quickly laughing again. He thinks she likes being here.

Chapter End Notes

This was a shorter chapter. Next week will make up for it with a new POV from a character you've probably been missing 👀

As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. Let me know what you think about this week's chapter and your thoughts about what will happen next week. I've been loving reading your comments 💖

Chapter 4

Chapter Summary

We meet Shane.

Chapter Notes

Shane is in the locker room getting ready for practice. He picks up his phone and scrolls to his text thread with Rozanov. He can’t stop looking at the last texts since he got them last night. Rozanov’s Boston address and a time. Before the game. The day before. Nothing else. No explanation.

They never do that. They don’t meet before games, only after. Never at Rozanov’s house. And definitely not in the middle of the day. He had typed a reply yesterday, telling him to fuck off. He can just imagine Rozanov’s face getting that message, his smirk. But then he didn’t send it. He doesn’t know what to reply. He knows what he should say, but can’t make himself say no. He’s obviously not going, but he still can’t stop wondering what it would be like.

“How’s Lily?”

“What?” He turns so fast he almost drops the phone.

“Boston Lily. The girl you keep texting. How is she?” Hayden smiles. “Are you meeting her after the game?”

“I’m not texting anyone.” Is he being obvious?

“Sure you’re not. You can’t fool me, bud. I know you too well. You’ve got your Boston Lily face on.”

“My what?”

“Your face just relaxes and you go all gooey-eyed.” He does something with his face like he’s trying to show Shane what his own face allegedly does. He gives up and waves his arm. “I don’t know, man.”

“Are you seeing things now, Hayd?” He smiles and places his hand on Hayden’s forehead. “This might be serious. Maybe I should talk to Jackie about it.”

Hayden laughs. “Whatever, man.”

One last look at his phone and he tosses it into his locker. “C’mon Hayd. Let’s go. We have to beat Boston in two days.”

“Let’s go, Cap!” He likes Hayden. Easy to redirect.

Shane gets home feeling the good kind of sore, the kind he gets after a great practice or an exceptionally good game. The kind of sore he only gets when Rozanov is involved: on or off the ice. He’s feeling good about the game. Playing Boston always gets him like this. Hockey is something he excels at and he loves it. The routine of it. Getting ready. Face-offs. Scoring goals. He knows exactly what to do to get the result he wants. The thrill of knowing he can best his opponent. That makes up for everything else. And then there’s Rozanov. Getting to play with someone at his level is exhilarating. Something he’s learned to crave. He’s going to beat him; he’ll make sure of it.

He toes off his shoes and heads to his bedroom. He needs to finish packing to leave for Boston tomorrow morning, then cook dinner, salmon and brown rice, and only then can he allow himself to relax by watching some game tape.

Packing is finished quickly; he’d taken care of almost everything before practice. He flushes when he sees the condoms and lube he’d packed earlier but doesn’t take them out. He’s not going to Rozanov’s house before the game, he’s really not, but he always carries them when he plays Boston, and he doesn’t want to jinx it by changing that now.

After dinner, he settles in bed wearing a t-shirt and sweats. He grabs his glasses from the nightstand and reaches for his iPad. He opens Boston’s last game and presses play.

Rozanov wins the first face-off. Of course he does. Shane can tell he’s grinning, probably after chirping, even if he’s never needed that to win. He never wastes an opportunity to get a rise out of someone, though. It’s one of the most difficult things Shane does on the ice. Pretending he’s immune to him. Making Rozanov have to try harder to get his attention, and still manage to get the upper hand. Shane likes how that seems to rile Rozanov up, makes him show off more. He can admit their best games are against each other. His favorite goal was last season. Rozanov won the face-off, but then Shane got the puck from him and scored, Rozanov chasing close behind.

Rozanov’s up again now, eyes focused, in complete control. He’s free, fluid when he skates. There’s force but there’s also a gracefulness to it. Speed and precision. The rhythm of his skates, the sway of his hips, the intentionality in his movements. All that focus in someone so seemingly careless. Fuck, how Shane has it sometimes too. All that turned towards him. To make him feel good. His cock twitches. His hand is reaching dangerously close to the waistband of his sweats, under his t-shirt. He doesn’t let himself do more. He has a game to focus on.

Some other player has the puck, he can’t tell who right now. Rozanov chases him and slams him against the boards. Hard. His cock twitches again. He cups it, already half-hard. That will bruise. He likes it when it does, enjoys pressing on them, wishes they would last for weeks. Can’t stop staring at the little marks, fingertip-shaped on his hips and ass. He cups his balls, once, light. Then again harder. Fuck. Someone shoots the puck, but misses. Right. He should be focusing on that. He has tape to review. He has to study. He should be paying attention. He moves his hand away but it catches on his dick, and it stirs. This isn’t going to work. He pauses the game. Maybe if he gets his orgasm out of the way first, then he’ll be able to focus.

He searches for Rozanov, wanting to find one of his many shirtless interviews. What an asshole. Can’t he even be bothered to put on a shirt? Instead, he’s surprised to find dozens of news articles.

Spotted: Rozanov and mystery girl found shopping

Learn all about Rozanov’s secret family

Girl Daddy? Rozanov: the new DILF of hockey

Is Rozanov engaged? A close source tells all!

Hockey’s new hottest father

Rozanov just gave you a new reason to call him daddy

Shane presses that link. He isn’t proud, but he needs to see. Photos of Rozanov with a little girl, face thankfully blurred, fill the page. Rozanov getting out of the car, tank top accentuating the curve of his shoulders, and sweats barely containing his ass. Fuck, he looks good. Another one of him, with a baseball cap and sunglasses now, entering the mall. The two of them sitting down, the girl eating a cookie and Rozanov smiling at her. The girl dragging him, wand in hand. Rozanov holding an alarmingly large number of dresses. Rozanov at a toy store. Photo after photo after photo, all showing the same thing. He zooms in on one where only Rozanov is visible, crouching down and talking to someone. His face looks soft, relaxed. The care is evident in his eyes, the gentle upward tick of his lips. He clicks out of that website and chooses another link. Then another. They all agree on one thing: that is his daughter. They don’t outright say it, but the speculation is clear.

He switches to Twitter. Less agreement there. Some say that’s his daughter, others argue it must be a PR move, someone trying to clean his image. He’s not sure how a surprise daughter would clean anyone’s image.

Someone posted a video. The girl is in a shopping cart, throwing things inside. Rozanov keeps pulling them out. Shane can tell he’s getting tired and trying not to show it. When did he become able to read him like that? Then, something seems to happen, he can’t tell what. The video is too shaky, and the quality’s not good. The girl seems scared, maybe? He’s not sure. Then Rozanov picks her up and holds her. He’s sweet with her. Gentle. Shane pauses on his face.

He keeps scrolling Twitter. More photos appear, these ones not bothering to blur the girl’s face. He takes a closer look, zooms in. She has blonde, curly hair, and blue eyes. But he doesn’t know how anyone can think that’s his daughter. Her hair is blonde, but it doesn’t curl the same way as his. Her blue eyes are not the right shade. And the shape’s all wrong. Her nose curves differently and her mouth’s too small. Her upper lip doesn’t have his cupid’s bow.

Shane’s being stupid. She might look after her mother. It’s not like he is a carbon copy of his own parents. And if that’s the case, the mother must be beautiful. He can admit she is a cute kid. And Rozanov has a lot of hot women throwing themselves at him, and it’s not like he’s refusing them. So, it’s possible. Rozanov has always been careful with him, and he imagines he is the same with the hundreds of girls he sleeps with. But accidents happen. Maybe the condom broke. Or maybe she was so good, she made him forget he even needed one.

He can see it. Rozanov going out to a club. Tight pants. Maybe the black ones that make his ass look mouthwateringly good. Shirt left mostly unbuttoned, with only the bottom two buttons fastened. His nipples visible. Ordering a drink at the bar, looking around lazily, smirk in place. A girl coming up to him. He doesn’t even have to try, she’s already leaning in. Shane’s erection had flagged but he can tell it’s starting to show interest again now. The girl gets closer to his ear and asks him to buy her a drink. Rozanov turns back to the bar, ready to order, when another girl, hotter, comes up to him. Rozanov forgets all about the first girl. Or maybe he doesn’t, and gets with both of them at the same time. Shane bets they would do it if it meant getting to sleep with Rozanov. Shane’s fully hard now.

Rozanov is on the dance floor with them. One in front of him, the other behind. Hips swaying, grinding. The girl in front rubbing her ass on his now hard cock. Rozanov’s strong hands on her hips. The girl behind him teasing his nipples. Fuck. She asks him to take them home. Rozanov does. They suck him off in turns. Or maybe at the same time. Do they do that? Do you want me to show you how I fucked them, Hollander? They can’t take all of him, though. They suck on his tip. Shane takes two fingers and places them in his mouth. Sucks. It’s not enough. Rozanov lays them on the bed. Takes off their clothes. Shane picks up his t-shirt and drags the hem up to his collarbones. Rozanov kisses them, his tongue bullying its way inside their mouths. One girl under him. He kisses her neck, makes his way down until he reaches her nipple, and sucks. Hard. Shane touches his own nipples and twists, just as hard. His fingers are still wet. Good. Rozanov’s hand reaches lower and lower, until it gets to her pussy. She is already wet. Are you wet too, Hollander? Shane is leaking. Shane grabs his cock and squeezes the base. He shouldn’t do this. He has to stop.

Rozanov looks up at him. Do you want to call me daddy too, Hollander? Fuck off. He’s stroking his cock now. He’s so wet. The noises are filthy. He can feel his heart in his ears, in rhythm with his own hand. Or maybe you want me to fuck you good, like I did with them, come inside you so deep it takes. Should I call you mommy, Hollander?

No. He cannot let himself get off to this. He switches. He presses play again and the game resumes. Shane slows down. His hand is dragging up and down his cock, red and hard. He teases his slit, catches the precome gathering at the head and spreads it around his shaft, making the slide easier. Rozanov’s fast on the screen. Strong thighs pushing against the ice, feet sliding, speeding past everyone else. He looks good. Sweat rolling down his face, gathering at his neck. Broad shoulders encasing him, sure thrusts, one after the other. Making him feel safe, protected. It’s the only place he doesn’t have to think for once. Feeling made easy. He can tell he’s getting close. No, too fast. He should slow down. Rozanov would want him to last and he can be good for him.

Rozanov scores. The camera cuts to his face, his blue eyes staring right back at him. His breath catches. The hand on his cock is speeding up again, tighter at the head. The other circling his hole, thumb catching at his rim. He presses in. Fuck, he should’ve gotten the lube. Are you going to come for me, Hollander? Rozanov winks at the camera. Shane comes. Long and hard, the hand at his cock seemingly unable to stop before it milks every last drop out of him.

He's sprawled out on the bed now, chest heaving. He laughs. Takes off his glasses and notices there’s come there. He can’t believe it got that high. There’s come on his sweats, all over his abs, and on his t-shirt. He really should’ve taken it off. He wipes himself with the sheets. They’re ruined anyway. He throws an arm over his eyes. Fuck. He’ll really have to win the game now. If Rozanov knew what he’s just done, he’d never hear the end of it. He can’t help but smile, though.

Shane gets up, showers and changes the bed.

Shane boards the plane with a coffee in one hand and his iPad in the other. He has tape to review and a game to prepare for. He takes his seat and Hayden sits by his side. He likes Hayden but he prefers when he lets him fly alone. He should know by now that Shane is not the best company before games. Someone has to focus and be prepared for the game after all. It’s not like he has time to make conversation. He has to be the best if he wants any chance of winning. Although, Hayden is usually very understanding of his moods. And he actually helps him get out of his head when he’s overthinking things, which he knows he has a tendency to do. He smiles at Hayden and gets his earbuds, signaling clearly that he won’t be paying attention to him. Hayden nods and smiles back. Good.

Shane unlocks his iPad and it’s already on Boston footage because he never closed it. Not after what happened. He flushes immediately remembering what he did. He locks the screen. Closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He hopes no one noticed his reaction. He opens his eyes. Hayden is already looking at him. He takes one of his earbuds out.

“You okay?” Hayden asks.

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Long night?” He tilts his head towards the iPad.

“Shut up.” Shane shoves him lightly.

Hayden shrugs and goes back to whatever he usually does during flights. Shane is already unlocking the iPad.

He spends the rest of the flight reviewing tape and taking notes.

He enters their hotel room, toes off his shoes and starts unpacking. Hayden is already lying on the bed with his plane clothes on. Shane doesn’t know how he does that. He needs to unpack everything and then immediately go shower to wash the plane off him. He can’t fully relax before he does that, too aware of his own clothes and how they cling to him.

The shower is quick. He doesn’t let his mind wander. He knows better than to give himself that much space. He puts on his white socks, his jeans, and a blue shirt. He styles his hair, careful to make it stay how he likes it. He looks at himself in the mirror. The shirt looks wrong, like he’s trying too hard. He changes to a white t-shirt. Looks again. Better. Could be tighter though.

“You going out?”

“What? No.”

Hayden points to him. “You got all dressed up.”

“No. I just changed, Hayd. You know how I hate keeping airport clothes on.”

“Sure.” Hayden’s smirking now.

Shane gets his phone and unlocks it. Goes back to his text thread with Rozanov. His address is staring at him. And the time. Five minutes from now. No. He can’t go. He never answered. It’s not like Rozanov would be expecting Shane. That’s from two days ago and he didn’t even ask again.

“Go see her.”

“What? Who?”

Hayden snorts. “Lily! You clearly want to.”

He looks back at the texts. Maybe Rozanov is expecting him. It’s not like they ever needed a formal invitation. A room number is usually enough.

Right. “I’ll just go. I don’t know when I’ll be back, so—”

“Okay, I won’t wait up.”

“No, that’s not what I meant, I’m not seeing anyone—”

“Go get laid, you weirdo.” Hayden laughs.

Shane flushes and texts Rozanov.

Shane: On my way.

Breathes. He pockets his phone, grabs his blazer and leaves.

Shane doesn’t remember much of the drive, unable to get his mind to focus. He leaves the car, looks around to make sure no one’s watching him, and heads to the house. Maybe he should have replied earlier or asked if the invitation was still open. But they don’t do that. If he sent the text, he’s expecting him. Probably.

He knocks on the door. On what he thinks is the door? Maybe it’s on the other side. He’s going to knock there when Rozanov opens it. For a second, relief washes through him. Of course. Of course Rozanov is expecting him. He looks good. He’s shirtless, sweats hanging low on his hips. His eyes keep staring at that tantalizing V, at the trail of hair in the middle. His pecs. And his hair looks good too. It always does. And his face. That mouth rounded in a small “o”, those blue eyes, questioning, the small furrow at his brow. Except. Except, Rozanov doesn’t really look smug like he expected. He looks confused, almost.

“Hollander?”

Shit. “Uh. Hi. Hello…” Did he not expect him after all? “Can I come in?”

Rozanov doesn’t answer but he opens the door farther and gets out of the way. Shane goes in.

“What are you doing here, Hollander?”

What? “What do you mean what am I doing here? You invited me.”

“What do you mean I invited you?”

Shane can see clearly the moment Rozanov remembers. He cringes slightly, his hand going to his neck.

“Yeah, right. You’re right. That was before. Now is really not good time.”

Not a good time? Does he have someone else here with him? Did he invite Shane only to find someone else and not even care to say anything?

“Right. Before,” Shane says, clipped. “Not anymore.”

“Yeah, Hollander. Like I said. Not good time.”

Rozanov’s answers sound harsher now. Clipped. Is he really upset with Shane for showing up? He’s the one who invited him and then decided he had better company and didn’t even bother to let him know.

“Fuck you, asshole. I sent you a text.”

“What, what text?”

“I texted you before coming here, letting you know. You could’ve at least answered.”

“I’m sorry, Hollander, if I didn’t see your boring text. Not everything is about you, you know?” Rozanov’s being loud now.

“Not about me? What is it about then? You texted me asking me to come over. It’s not my fault now you decided it’s not a good time and didn’t bother to inform me.”

“’s really not, Hollander.”

“What? Do you have a girl here you’re fu—”

“Ilya?” The little girl from the pictures is looking at them, confusion clear on her face.

Rozanov kneels down and starts talking to her in what Shane assumes is Russian. He looks so different like this. The fight leaves him so suddenly. His whole expression changes. Face calm, gentle. Touches teasing and light. Soft. Sweet, almost. He thinks he hears Rozanov say his own name, “Shane”, so foreign on his tongue, but he must have heard wrong. When he finishes talking to her, he gets up and looks back at him. Smiles. His heart does something funny.

“Hollander, this is Sonya. She’s family.”

Family. Does that mean she’s really his daughter? He didn’t say that exactly. He crouches down and extends his hand, careful not to step further.

“Hi Sonya. I’m Shane.” He tries to keep his voice soft like he did around Hayden’s kids when they were still shy around him.

“She doesn’t speak English.”

“You could translate the—” But before he can finish, Sonya is already holding his hand.

“Shane,” she repeats slowly, trying out the word.

“Of course, Hollander is perfect even in this. Can speak with kids even when they don’t understand him.” He sounds more teasing than upset.

“Fuck off,” Shane answers, but he’s grinning.

Rozanov looks down again at Sonya and speaks to her in Russian. He grabs her hand and heads off into the house. He looks back at Shane, who starts following him, he’s not sure why. He clearly shouldn’t be here.

Rozanov sits her at the couch and turns on the TV. He tells her something again and gestures for Shane to follow him. He does.

He doesn't know what to do with this version of Rozanov, so he reaches for something he understands.

“You shouldn’t let a child this young watch a lot of TV.”

“I know how to take care of her, Hollander.”

“Yeah, sure.” Shane can see that. Rozanov’s great with her. “But you really shouldn’t let kids in front of screens, it’s bad for the—”

“What do you want, Hollander?” He can tell Rozanov would be shouting if it weren’t for Sonya.

“What do you mean, what do I want?”

“What. Do. You. Want?” He steps closer with each word.

Shane remembers how much he wanted. He remembers last night.

“Is she your daughter, then?”

That seems to make Rozanov pause.

“What?”

Shane flushes. He didn’t mean to ask that.

“Is what everyone’s saying online.”

“Oh, you went searching for me online, is that it? Were you lonely? Is that what you wanted? Did you need my big, hard, di—” His lip’s turned up, almost a sneer.

“Fuck off, asshole.” He pushes him. “Is she your daughter or not? Where’s her mother? Is she with you?”

“Why do you care, Hollander?” Rozanov seems angry. “No, she’s not my daughter. Changes nothing. Are you so desperate to suck my dick, you can’t see there’s a little girl in the house? Do you need me to fuck you so bad you can’t think of anyone else?” He just sounds tired now. “What do you want from me?” He’s not looking at Shane anymore.

“Fuck you.”

Shane turns and leaves his house. He doesn’t slam the door, but it’s close. He’s shaking. He stays pressed to the door for what feels like a long time before he’s able to leave.

Arriving back at the hotel later and seeing Hayden looking back at him from his bed is humiliating.

Shane showers and gets ready for bed. Hayden looks like he wants to say something but always stops himself. Good. He can’t talk right now. He’s not sure he’ll survive that.

“So,” Hayden starts.

Fuck.

Shane doesn’t look up.

“So what?”

“Boston Lily.”

Silence.

“I gather it maybe didn’t go well?”

Shane hates that he’s being gentle. He turns his back to him.

Hayden sighs. Turns off the light.

“Goodnight Shane.”

An hour later, Shane is on his phone, reading and rereading their texts. He’s so angry, he’s got tears in his eyes. Of course, Rozanov didn’t want him to go. Of course he didn’t. He’s so stupid. He knew about the girl, and chose to ignore it. Shane’s the one who chose to show up even though Rozanov didn’t give any indication he was still interested. Stupid. Stupid. Fucking idiot. Rozanov has bigger concerns than him. Of course he didn’t want to see him. And of course he didn’t send a text cancelling. He probably didn’t even remember inviting Shane. They are casual. It doesn’t mean anything other than a good time. And Rozanov can find that elsewhere if he wants. Someone less complicated. Someone he can even build a family with, if that’s what he needs. His eyes sting. Stupid. Fucking stupid.

He opens Google and types “how to talk to toddlers who don’t speak your language”. Opens a few links and reads. Goes back again. “Childhood developmental milestones” and then “how to raise a child”.

Why’s he doing this? He should sleep. He has a game to win tomorrow. He spends the next two hours reading on his phone.

They both play terribly the next game. Well, not really, but terrible for them. The game blurs into shifts and whistles. He kept looking at Rozanov during the face-off, looking for his usual smugness, but nothing. Just him, with a serious face, looking almost past him. He’s going through the motions but there’s no fire. From either of them. But there are some moments he can swear Rozanov keeps looking at him, even when he’s not playing. He doesn’t understand what that means. Can’t read his face when he catches him. Montreal scores late in the third. A lucky shot, even Shane can admit. Boston can't answer before the game ends.

The locker room is filled with the usual after game banter. The guys are chirping, someone is already singing, but Shane can’t pay attention to any of that. He’s going over how badly they played. Rozanov almost absent from the ice. Shane not doing much better. His attention is suddenly pulled when he hears JJ scream.

“Putain! Is that a little girl?”

“Is that Rozanov’s girl?” Drapeau. Shane looks around. Of course everyone had seen the same pictures he had.

“Did she want to see what a winner’s locker room looks like?” Comeau.

“How did she get in here?” Hayden is the only one who looks worried.

“So, it’s true? Rozanov has a daughter?” Miitka, More laughter.

Shane tries to find her, but it’s Sonya who finds him, clearly overwhelmed. She’s looking at everyone, eyes too big and having trouble focusing on any one thing.

“Shane?” She looks so small. He thinks she looks like she’s about to cry.

“Shane? How does she know who you are, Cap?” Drapeau asks.

Everyone’s looking at him now. Shit. He has a girl, clearly scared, holding on to him and no idea how to explain why she would know him.

“Everyone knows who the best player in the league is, right Cap?”

Thank God for Hayden. He claps him on the back and gives him a reassuring nod.

“Yeah, right. That must be it.” Shane confirms. Everyone seems to accept that.

Most guys seem to back off once they realize Sonya is actually scared.

Shane grabs his phone and takes her outside the locker room. She’s holding his hand way too tight and her breathing has changed. He doesn’t speak Russian. He’s not sure how he can help.

He unlocks his phone and writes a quick text.

Shane: Sonya is with me. Outside my locker room.

Hits send. Refocuses on Sonya. Right. He has to do this.

He sits on the floor next to her. He can’t really talk to her in a way she’ll understand but he assumes if he talks and uses a soft voice, she might feel reassured.

“Hi Sonya. I just texted Ilya.” The name sits strangely in his mouth. He thinks it should feel wrong but he’s not sure it does. “He’ll be right here in a moment.” He tries to slow his breathing, hoping she will copy him. “You’re doing so well. And you did great looking for me. That was so smart.” He can see her looking at him now. Good. “There you go. In and out. You know, this happens to me sometimes too. You’ll be alright.”

Shane sees her eyes light up before he sees him. Rozanov, looking disheveled, running towards them. Sonya gets up and runs to him. Rozanov looks terrified. He hugs her close, like maybe he will never let go again. Not after this. He talks to her in a low voice. He can’t really understand what he’s saying, only hearing the rhythm of the words. It sounds comforting.

Rozanov walks up to Shane. This close he can see there are tears at his eyes. He swallows thickly before speaking. “Thank you.” His voice breaks a little at the end.

“Yeah, of course.”

They leave. Sonya looks back at him and waves. He waves back.

“Bye, Sonya.”

He stays there until they disappear from view.

Shane goes back to the locker room. Most of the guys are already ready and leaving. They don’t ask him anything. Hayden is at his locker. Waiting for him.

“So, do you want to tell me why she knows you?”

Fuck. Of course he wouldn’t leave that alone.

“I don’t know. Probably what you said.” Shane shrugs.

Hayden stares at him but doesn’t say anything. By the time Shane leaves the shower, there’s no one there.

He gets dressed and is ready to leave, when he notices it. A kid’s backpack, in the shape of a unicorn. Sonya’s.

Shane finds himself at Rozanov’s door. Again. When he first saw the backpack, he didn’t hesitate. He knew he had to get it to Sonya as soon as possible. Now, though, he’s wondering if that was the right choice. He could have texted Rozanov, letting him know the backpack was at the stadium. That would probably have made more sense. He’s not sure what it says about him that he rushed here. Rozanov might not want to see him. He can hear voices inside. A child screaming, seeming agitated. Right. He has to do this.

He knocks. Waits. And waits. And waits some more. The screaming inside continues. Is she crying? He knocks again.

Rozanov opens the door but barely looks at him. Shane follows him inside.

“Hollander? Why did you come here?”

The house is a mess. There’s no other way to describe it. It looks so different from what he’d seen just the day before, like a hurricane went through it. There are toys scattered everywhere, furniture pushed around. The couch cushions are on the floor. Sonya is taking big, heaving sobs. Rozanov is torn between frantically looking for something and trying to comfort Sonya.

Rozanov interrupts his thoughts. “I know Hollander. Not really up to the standards of Mr. Real Estate.” Right. He must have been staring.

“Is everything alright?”

Rozanov levels him with a look, but doesn’t stop his search. Yeah, he can see why that is a stupid question.

“No. Of course not. I meant, can I help with something?”

Rozanov stops. Sighs. Still not looking at him.

“I’m sorry, Hollander. Not the best time. Sonya lost her backpack.” He returns to his search. “I can’t find it.”

“Oh. I can help with that. That’s actually why I came. I think I found it at the locker room. Is this it?” He shows the backpack.

Rozanov stares at him like he’s a revelation. His mouth keeps moving but no words come out. His eyes are stuck on Shane.

Shane can’t move, pinned in place by that stare. He looks good.

“Zayka!” He feels a thump at his legs. Sonya is trying to climb him, stretching to reach her backpack. He lowers it to her and she grabs it immediately. Shane chuckles and then Sonya is grabbing him and he lets himself be pulled to the floor. She wraps her arms around his neck. She’s saying something over and over again.

“She’s thanking you, Hollander.”

“Oh, no problem. I figured she was probably missing it.” He wraps his arms around her back and holds her gently.

Rozanov snorts.

“Yeah. Something like that.” He tells her something and she gives Shane one last squeeze before letting him go. She turns away and runs somewhere inside.

Rozanov starts picking up things, trying to organize the chaos.

“Thank you, Hollander. Really. You didn’t have to come.”

“I… I wanted to.”

This might be more truthful than he intended to be. Rozanov keeps cleaning. Shane is just standing there, hands in his pockets. Should he leave? Should he help? He starts grabbing things. He doesn’t really know where anything goes, but there are some things that are easy. There are not a lot of places where the couch cushions should be.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I can help.”

They work in silence after that, together.

Sonya eventually comes in, talking to Shane a mile a minute. He panics. He can’t really understand anything other than his own name. Rozanov answers her, then turns to him.

“She wants to show you her things. But you don’t have to stay. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

He looks at Rozanov. Then at her face.

“No. I don’t. I can stay.”

They are sitting at the couch. She’s already shown him two books, her wand and tiara, which sits at his own head right now, and is showing him her drawing now. She keeps talking, gesturing with her arms and he answers with what he hopes are encouraging noises. Sometimes he talks. He knows she can’t understand the words, but maybe the sentiment comes across.

Rozanov interrupts. Tells her something. She rushes to him and he picks her up. He looks at Shane now.

“Do you want to eat with us? Might not be your usual food, but I can try making something else.”

He hesitates, but then, “I’ll eat whatever you have.” One day breaking his diet won’t kill him. And his next game is two days away. Plenty of time to compensate.

“Well, I hope you like dinos pasta then.”

Rozanov smiles.

Rozanov sits her at the table and takes the seat next to her. There is a ginger ale can at the only seat still available. Sonya is drinking what he thinks is apple juice and Rozanov is drinking Diet Coke. He sits down and opens his can.

“Is it cold enough?”

He blinks up at Rozanov.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s perfect.”

He has a plate prepared. Chicken, pasta in the shape of dinos as promised, and a salad. It’s good. He can’t believe he’s eating something Rozanov cooked for him. Well, not for him. But still. It feels significant, like he’s being taken care of in a different way than usual.

The rest of dinner goes by in companionable silence. It’s pleasant. Sonya, at one point, reaches for his salad, trying to get some of it. He tries giving it to her, but Rozanov gets up and prepares some specifically for her.

“You made an impression. She never wants vegetables.”

“Reminds me of someone.”

Rozanov smiles at him, big and unrestrained. It softens his whole face.

After cleaning up, Rozanov looks at him. “I’m getting her to bed. Stay?”

So now Shane is waiting on his couch. He thinks he might like to have this one day. Maybe if he manages to find the right woman. He can see the appeal.

Rozanov comes back and sits next to him.

“Thank you for coming today, Hollander.”

He looks sincere. Shane’s heart jumps. He hadn’t noticed but he thinks it might have been beating faster since Rozanov came back. He allows himself to look. Rozanov looks good, he always does. Shane doesn’t think he’s ever been this attracted to anyone else. But it’s different now. He looks relaxed, open, softer around the edges. Shane leans in and hides his face in the crook of his neck. Rozanov pets his hair, lets his hand slide to the back of Shane’s neck and holds him. He thinks he can feel a kiss at his hair, feather light, but he’s not sure. He inhales. Fuck, he smells good. He wants to bury his face in his neck. He wants to carve him open and burrow inside. Contained. Protected. Safe.

He keeps getting lower, head in his lap. Rozanov is half hard. He can feel himself filling up too. He inhales. Fuck. He loves this. Rozanov grabs him and pulls him into his lap. He’s fully sitting on him now. He kisses him, hard and rough, just the way he likes. Rozanov’s tongue reaches inside his mouth. Shane moans. Fuck. Rozanov takes his own shirt and then Shane’s. He keeps touching him. His pecs, his abs, his hips. Shane can feel his hands everywhere. He has Rozanov’s full attention. He’s looking at Shane like he’s worth something, like he’s a god. Being looked at by Rozanov like that, it’s… it’s… It’s heady. There’s nothing like it. Shane starts moving in earnest now, grinding on him. He takes both their cocks out and starts stroking them together. He’s wet and leaking, and Shane uses that, gathers the slick, but it’s still too dry. Rozanov grabs his hand and spits. Fuck. He’s close. He grabs their cocks again, the slide much better now. Rozanov grabs his face and kisses him, hard, noses scrunching against each other.

“Are you gonna come?”

“Fuck… fucking make me,” Rozanov answers.

Shane’s going faster now. Rozanov looks wrecked. He thinks he probably looks the same. They keep moaning, no longer kissing, just panting at each other’s mouths.

“Shane.” Rozanov comes.

Shane opens his eyes. They are looking at each other. He looks beautiful.

“Ilya.” Shane’s coming too.

He’s floating. Boneless. Weightless. Free.

Shane.

Ilya.

His stomach sinks. He can’t do this. He can’t want this. He starts getting away, reaches for his t-shirt. He needs to leave. He has to get out. Now. He’s not like this. This is casual. It’s supposed to be. It has to be. He’ll find something else.

“I have to go. I have a flight.” He gestures towards the door. “I have… I have to pack.” He’s turning away.

“Hollander.”

Ilya is still sitting down, arm extended, hand outstretched. Shaking. Reaching. His eyes are shiny, his lips trembling slightly. He looks… he looks… Shane has to look away.

He’s out the door before he can hear what else Ilya has to say. He’s not allowed to have this. He’s not allowed to want it.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed getting into Shane's head.

As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. Let me know what you think about this week's chapter and your thoughts about what will happen next week. I've been loving reading your comments and will answer soon 💖

Chapter 5

Chapter Summary

Ilya spirals.

Chapter Notes

Content warnings for this chapter: suicidal ideation, reference to sex between a minor and an adult, blood, vomiting

Monday.

The alarm goes off at six. He turns it off. Lays still. Looks at the other side of the bed. Sees Sonya. Still asleep. She had started the night in her own bed. Moved to his in the middle of the night. Progress. Small steps. He looks up. Counts to sixty. Gets up. Leaves the bedroom. Goes into the bathroom. Pees. Gets in the shower. Turns on the water. Closes his eyes. Breathes. One minute. Two. Three. Opens his eyes. There are goosebumps on his skin. The water’s freezing. Turns up the heat. Gets the shampoo. Showers. Gets out of the shower. Picks up a t-shirt and sweatpants. Gets dressed. Grabs his hockey bag and places it by the door. Makes coffee. Drinks it. Eggs. Protein powder. Chugs it down. Goes to Sonya’s room. Opens the closet. Takes out a yellow shirt with birds and the light blue jeans. Paw patrol underwear. Monkey socks. Gets her backpack. Picks her favorite book and places it inside. Puts the backpack by the door. Grabs her tiara. She wants to take it sometimes. Grabs the clothes. Goes into his own room. Sonya. Still asleep. He goes to her.

“Good morning, obezyanka moya.” Smiles.

Sonya opens one eye. Closes it again.

“I see, I see. My little monkey doesn’t want to wake up today. I don’t know who will eat her monkey breakfast then.” Milk. Cereal. A banana. She likes that.

She opens one eye again. “Chocolate ones?”

“Yeah.” She jumps out of bed.

Gets her dressed. Takes her to the kitchen. Her breakfast is on the table. Cuts the banana. Pours the milk and cereal. Watches her eat. Washes her face. Brushes her hair. Braids it. One on each side. She chooses to take the tiara today. He opens her coloring book and gets her crayons. Leaves them in the living room. She runs there.

He brushes his teeth. Stares at himself in the mirror. Ten seconds. Twenty. Turns off the water. Goes to the kitchen. Washes the dishes.

The bell rings. He opens the door. Maria. Ilya smiles. Invites her in. She goes to Sonya. Sonya tells her about her breakfast. Maria will take her to her preschool. A Russian-English bilingual one. Ilya was lucky enough to find it. Lucky enough that Sonya likes it.   

“Goodbye, Sonechka.”

Sonya waves goodbye. Her backpack and shoes are ready by the door. Phone. Keys. Hockey bag. Ilya leaves. Drives to practice.

Greets his teammates. Chirps them. Marly’s new girl already left him. Carmichael is having problems with his.

Skating. Practicing drills. Practicing passes. Practicing shots. Showers. Chirping. Gets dressed. Gets in the car. Picks up Sonya. She shows him her drawings. He can’t tell what they are.

“There was a painter today at school? Who did these?”

Sonya laughs. “I did.” She’s proud. “It’s a princess, and a flower, and a house, and a boy, and a tree.”

She shows him the last one. There’s a circle with a line, some rectangular shape under it. Are those legs? It might be vaguely human-shaped. With a cane, maybe?

“And a hockey player,” she adds. Ilya swallows, vision momentarily blurry.

They get home. Ilya makes dinner. They eat. Dishes in the dishwasher. Helps her brush her teeth. Gets her pajamas. Tucks her in her bed. Goodnight story. She wants two tonight. Kisses her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, obezyanka moya.”

She’s sleeping.

He goes to his room. Changes clothes. Brushes his teeth. Gets into bed. Stares at the ceiling. One hour. Two. Small steps make their way to him. Sonya climbs in his bed. Reaches for him. He holds her. Rubs her back. She’s sleeping.

Tuesday.

The alarm goes off at six. He turns it off. Counts to sixty. Gets up. Showers. Gets dressed. Grabs his hockey bag and places it by the door. Makes coffee. Drinks it. Goes to Sonya’s room. Chooses her clothes. Gets her backpack. Puts the backpack by the door. Goes to his own room.

“Good morning, obezyanka moya.” Smiles.

“Let’s go, up. You have to get dressed, Sonechka.” Picks her up. Kisses her.

Gets her dressed. Makes breakfast. Watches her eat. Washes her face. Brushes her hair.

He brushes his teeth. Stares at himself in the mirror.

The bell rings. He opens the door. Maria. Ilya smiles. Invites her in. She goes to Sonya. 

“Goodbye, Sonechka.”

Drives to practice.

Greets his teammates.

Skating. Practicing drills. Practicing passes. Misses one. Practicing shots. Misses another. Showers. Chirping. Gets dressed. Picks up Sonya. She falls asleep in the car.

They get home. Ilya makes dinner. They eat. Dishes in the dishwasher. Helps her brush her teeth. Gets her pajamas. Tucks her in her bed. Goodnight story. Kisses her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, obezyanka moya.”

She’s sleeping.

He goes to his room. Gets into bed. Stares at the ceiling. Small steps make their way to him. Sonya climbs in his bed.

Wednesday.

The alarm goes off at six. He turns it off. Counts to sixty. Showers. Gets dressed. Packs. Makes coffee. Goes to his own room.

“Good morning, obezyanka moya.” Smiles. Picks her up. Kisses her.

Gets her dressed. Makes breakfast. Stares at himself in the mirror.

The bell rings. He opens the door. Maria.

“Goodbye, Sonechka.”

Catches the team’s flight.

Makes pre-game speech.

Game. Scores. Misses a pass. Boston loses.

Gets home. Sonya’s sleeping.

“Sweet dreams, obezyanka moya.”

He goes to his room. Gets into bed. Stares at the ceiling.

Thursday.

The alarm goes off at six.

He turns it off.

Counts to sixty.

Showers.

Makes coffee.

Wakes up Sonya. “Good morning, obezyanka moya.”

Makes breakfast.

The bell rings. Maria.

“Goodbye, Sonechka.”

Greets his teammates.

Practice.

Picks up Sonya.

Dinner.

“Sweet dreams, obezyanka moya.”

He goes to his room.

Gets into bed.

Stares at the ceiling.

Monday. Again.

The alarm goes off at six.

Showers.

Makes coffee.

Stares at himself in the mirror.

Maria.

“Goodbye, Sonechka.”

Practice.

Picks up Sonya.

Dinner.

“Sweet dreams, obezyanka moya.”

He goes to his room.

Gets into bed.

Stares at the ceiling.

Some other day.

The alarm goes off at six.

Coffee.

Mirror.

“Goodbye, Sonechka.”

Practice.

Dinner.

“Sweet dreams, obezyanka moya.”

Bed.

Stares at the ceiling.

Another day.

The alarm goes off at six.

Coffee.

“Goodbye, Sonechka.”

Practice.

“Sweet dreams, obezyanka moya.”

Bed.

Ceiling.

Monday. Again.

The alarm goes off at six.

“Goodbye, Sonechka.”

Practice.

Bed.

Ceiling.

Tuesday.

“Goodbye, Sonechka.”

Practice.

Bed.

Wednesday.

Thursday.

Friday.

A routine settles. The days blend together. He goes through the motions. He tries. He smiles at Sonya. Jokes with her. Asks questions. The mask is slipping. He goes to practice. Jokes. Chirps. The mask is slipping. He plays games. Makes the pass. Scores a winning goal. Gives an interview. The mask is slipping.

Sonya asks about Shane. When they’ll see him again. He deflects. She asks again. He distracts. She asks again. The mask is slipping. Over and over and over. Again. From the beginning. It’s all the same. Just. Slightly. Crooked. He eats. He plays. He sleeps. The air goes in. The air goes out.

In. Out.

In.

Out.

In.

O…u…t.

I…

n…

He’s suffocating.

The plane lands in Montreal. Ilya preferred not to interact much with the guys during the flight, besides the usual greetings. He had just gotten on board, pulled out his earbuds, and pretended to sleep.

“Wanna come to a club after we win tonight, Cap?” Carmichael asks.

The other guys are looking. Ilya knows they probably feel neglected. He hasn’t hung out much with them lately. At home he can’t because of Sonya. And away he just. Doesn’t. It’s not fair to them.

“I know you miss your Captain very much, yes? That will be your prize. If we win, I’ll go out with everyone, yes? I’ll buy a round for every goal you score.”

It’s met with a few cheers. Carmichael claps him on the back. The rookies look excited to go out with their captain. The older guys are already turning away before he finishes. They already know he won’t go.

He goes to his hotel room, drops his bag, and gets on the bed. He only moves when he has to leave for the game.

When he gets into the locker room, most of the guys don’t look at him.

“Hey, Cap!”

It’s one of the rooks. He grins back. Ilya goes to his locker. Marly is already looking at him.

“Ready to win tonight, Roz?”

“You know it, Marly!”

“Hey, Marly!” Hammersmith. “Did you manage to score that blonde one last night?”

“’course he did, with the way she was practically begging.”

“Begging? No. No. You are wrong. She was begging for me.” Ilya is grinning now. “Did she ask you for my number?”

His joke doesn’t quite land. A few people chuckle politely. Marly tilts his head. His hand lands on his shoulder and he squeezes. The conversation continues. No wolf-whistling, no joking back like he had expected.

Ilya gets dressed and ready for the game.

“Okay everyone. Listen.” All eyes on him. “I know we haven’t been playing well.” A few protests. “Not your fault. Your sexy captain missed a few plays. But that ends tonight. Last time Montreal got lucky. They won on a lucky shot. Tonight, we will show them how Boston plays. Tonight, there will be no room for doubts. We know we're better than this. Go out there and make them hate playing us." A few cheers and claps. Their head isn’t really in it.

The face-off. It’s the first time he’s been face to face with Shane since he was at his house. Since he left. Shane keeps looking at him, not as focused as he usually is.

Ilya grins. “See something you like, Hollander?” Shane frowns.

Ilya wins the face-off but Shane quickly gets the puck from him and scores. Ilya likes the game. Enjoys the strain on his muscles. Enjoys the speed. Enjoys getting a reaction. Tonight, Montreal is being especially fun to rile up. First Pike who answered with a simple “Fuck off.” Now he sees JJ coming and chirps him. He doesn’t bite. Pity. Ilya is in the penalty box now, rearing to go back. He wants more. He needs to move. Too much energy. He’s antsy. All motion, no part of him quiet. It’s his turn again. Center ice. Face-off against Shane again. Ilya’s laughing. Shane keeps looking at him, with that same frown on his face. Makes him look angry almost, but not quite. Doesn’t make him look any less pretty. Ilya wins the face-off, but just like before, soon Shane gets the puck. Good. Ilya gets to chase him now. Fast. Faster. Ilya slams him into the boards. Hard. He thinks his side is already starting to bruise. He’s laughing again. His blood is flowing and he feels alive.

Next thing, he’s face to face with Drapeau.

“You gonna touch the puck today?” Ilya asks.

“What did you say, asshole?”

“What? Too busy looking at me to hear?”

Drapeau punches him. Ilya tastes blood. He grins. Drops the gloves and punches back. Comeau is on him too before the ref manages to separate them.

Ilya spits and a bloody tooth comes out. Good. He’s grinning again.

Boston loses.

The locker room is quiet when he goes in after the medical check. No one looks at him. Ilya can hear them making plans to go out. Some new club. Some time must have passed because most of the team has already left. Only Marly and him are still there. Marly has already changed. Ilya still in his hockey gear.

“Do you wanna come tonight, Roz?”

“Have fun without me.”

Marly puts a hand on his shoulder and then leaves.

Ilya heads for the showers but doesn’t turn on the water. Just stands there. Looking at the tile. Someone walks in. He doesn’t look up.

“Rozanov?” Ilya doesn’t answer. “Rozanov?”

Shane. Ilya doesn’t move. Shane still finds him.

“What are you doing here, Hollander?”

Ilya goes to him, unable to stop himself. One step. Two. Three. Shane is against the wall.

“What’s wr—”

Ilya kisses him. Hard. Grabs his face and presses him against the wall. At the first touch of their tongues Shane melts. If this is what Shane wants, all he’ll ever want from him, then he’ll give him this. Ilya places his thigh against his crotch. He’s hard. Ilya presses. Shane shoves him away.

“What the hell, Rozanov. You can’t do that.”

“No?” His lips turn up. “Is not what you want?” He steps closer to him again. “Don’t want my dick?”

The energy from the game is coming back. He’s shaking with it.

“Stop that.”

Ilya grabs his hips. Squeezes where he knows Shane must be bruising. Matching his own bruises.

“Not here asshole.”

Ilya lets him go. He isn’t even good for this anymore, it seems.

“Oh, Hollander. Don’t want everyone to see how much you’re begging for my cock? How hard you get? How you become a desperate little slut for the chance to suck my dick?”

Shane pushes him. “Fuck you.” He leaves.

“Leave then.” It’s all he seems to know how to do anyway.

Silence.

Ilya’s alone again.

He can’t stop shaking. He needs to move. He needs… he needs...

He punches the wall. Again and again. There’s blood on the tile. It takes a moment for him to see it’s coming from his hand. Fuck. Fuck. This is what he does. It’s what he was taught to do. He takes beautiful things and ruins them.

He watches as the blood is washed away. It’s all he knows how to do.

Ilya’s in front of the club, not sure how he got here. He finishes his cigarette and goes in. The music is loud. It makes his head hurt. It’s hard to think. Good. He goes to the bar and orders. Vodka. Drinks. Another one. Drinks. Another. Another. Loses count.

Some girl comes up to him. She’s smiling. Maybe that’s what he needs. He goes with her. They’re dancing. Well, barely. They are grinding. She keeps moving her ass against his dick, still soft. Her hands come under his shirt. She palms at his tits. He grabs her hips. Grinds. Still soft. She gets closer. Her mouth on his neck. Sucks. He kisses her. He knows this. He knows what to do. He grabs her ass. Squeezes. She moans. Her lips at his ear. She licks. Still soft. She asks if he wants to get away. He takes her to the bathroom.

“Faster,” he says.

She doesn’t seem to care. She lifts her top. He sucks her tits. Moans. Good. He can do this. She goes down. Eyes staring up at him. Asking.

Ilya sees different eyes now. Brown. Shiny. Perfect.

No. Focus. He has to focus. He nods. Her hands go to his waistband. She’s opening the button, hands delicate. Ilya touches her face. He needs her to hurry. He holds her hair. Turns her head down. He doesn’t want to see her. Looks at his hand in her hair. Sees his own hands grabbing Shane’s face, slamming him against the wall.

Fuck, this is taking too long. He tries to grab the zipper, misses it, tries again. Unzips his pants, shoves them down.

His hands, holding Shane’s hips, shaking.

He grabs his boxer briefs and pulls them down. She touches his dick, soft.

He sees his hands punching the wall over and over again. The blood on the tiles. The blood running down his knuckles. The blood being washed down the drain. He can’t breathe. He can’t do this. He pulls his pants up. The girl looks at him, confusion written on her face.

“Leave.” She doesn’t move. “Now.”

She leaves.

Ilya sees Shane leaving.

Fuck. Of course. He keeps pushing everyone away. It’s what he knows. Anger. Violence. It’s what he does. He looks at himself in the mirror. He’s disgusting. He can’t look but can’t manage to look away. Sickly pale. Sweaty. Bruises blooming. Eye half shut, red-rimmed. He’s heaving. There’s no air. His stomach hurts. His chest hurts. There’s something at his throat. He throws up. Fuck. He slaps the sink. Turns on the water. Cold. Splashes his face.

He’s outside the club now. Pacing. He finishes one cigarette and grabs another one. He hears someone approaching.

Great. Maybe they’ll fight him. Knock him unconscious.

“You okay, Roz?” Marly. “Hey, what happened to your hand? Do you need help?”

Marly touches his shoulder. Ilya reacts, shoves him away.

Hard. He’s shaking again.

“’s okay, Roz. ‘s me, Marly.”

Ilya knows who he is.

“Fuck off.”

Marly doesn’t leave. He takes a step closer.

“Stop. Stop.”

Marly stays there, looking at him. Ilya can’t have that. He needs him to leave.

“What? Can’t do anything without me? Can’t score without me. You need me for this too? Need me to teach you how to fuck?”

Marly touches his hand. Ilya punches him in the face. Blood. There’s always blood.

“Fuck you.”

Marly grabs his arms and locks him in. Doesn’t let him move. Stays there. Standing. Holding him.

“Fuck you, Roz.” He’s screaming now. “You can be a big asshole sometimes, you know that?” Yeah, he knows. It’s what he does best. “A fucking jerk.” He knows. He knows.

He can’t hold himself up anymore. The only thing stopping him from falling is Marly’s arms. Ilya cries.

Marly takes him to his room. Makes him drink water. Cleans his face. Lays him on his side on the bed. Says something and leaves.

One hour later, his phone buzzes. He ignores it. It keeps buzzing. He looks at it. Maria. He takes the call.

“I’m sorry to call at this time, but Sonya insisted.”

“No, ‘s okay. What happened?”

“She had a nightmare.”

“Pass her the phone.”

“Ilya?”

“Hey Sonechka. I hear you had a bad dream. Do you want to tell me about it?”

She does. And then she talks about her day. And talks, and talks, until all Ilya can hear is her quiet breathing. She must have fallen asleep.

He wakes up the next day, the phone under his pillow. He must have fallen asleep too.

Ilya dreams. Every night, it’s the same dream. Well, that isn’t true. Not exactly the same. But very similar. All about his mama. They are always at a beach, the one they went to when he was little. He can’t see her face, but he knows it’s her. Her hair, flowing beautifully. The way she moves. The way she holds him. Her voice singing sweetly to him. Her golden necklace, the cross dangling from her neck, reflecting the sunlight.

They are building sandcastles. Or picking up shells. Or she’s burying him in the sand. Laughing. There’s always laughter. Then his mama stands up, goes to the shore line. The water is lapping at her feet. For some reason, Ilya doesn’t want her to go. He knows something will happen. He begs her. He tries to hold her back. ‘Ilyusha, don’t be silly,’ she says. ‘I just want to check the water. I’ll be right back. Don’t be scared.” She pinches his cheek. Pets his hair. And walks into the water. ‘Come, Ilyusha. The water’s so nice. You’ll love it.” He gets up and walks into the sea. She keeps getting farther and farther away. ‘Ilyusha, come. I’m right here. Just one more step.’ He keeps going but she’s out of reach. The waves take her. He’s all alone on the shoreline.

Some nights, Sonya is in his dream. She’s making sandcastles with them. Mama shows her how to make bigger ones. Sonya laughs. The ending is the same, though. His mama, getting up, walking into the sea. Ilya trying to stop her. His mama asking him to come. Ilya never reaching her. His mama disappearing. Then, Ilya and Sonya on the shore. Sometimes, Ilya almost reaches his mama, he can feel their fingers brushing, her hand holding his wrist one time. The ending doesn’t change. The waves take her.

Tonight, it’s the same dream. Ilya on the sand with mama and Sonya. They are building sandcastles. Mama is decorating them with shells. Then mama, in the water, the same as ever. ‘Come, Ilyusha.’ He does. He picks up Sonya and walks them to the sea. Sonya is restless, trying to wiggle out of his arms. Ilya holds tighter. She says she doesn’t want them to go. She wants them to stand on the sand. He keeps holding her. Another step towards his mama. Sonya starts crying, she’s begging. ‘Shh, Sonechka. You’ll like the sea, trust me.” Ilya keeps walking. He’s almost there. Sonya is fighting harder. It’s getting more and more difficult to hold her. He’s almost there. He can feel his mama’s fingers on his. He keeps going. She’s holding his hand now. Sonya struggles. She gets free. His mama holds him. They are hugging. She’s laughing. Ilya looks up and sees his mama’s face. Smiling at him. He smiles back. They’re both under water now. They’re drowning. He swallows. Water gets in. Drowning. He swallows again. More water. He breathes in. No air. Only water. There’s so much light. His mama’s face looking at him the whole time. Her hand cradling him.

He can’t breathe.

He wakes up.

The alarm goes off at six. Ilya gets up and washes his face. He looks at himself in the mirror. Breathes. He recognizes he’s felt like this twice before.

The first time he was fourteen. The days following each other, blending together. Routine. School. Hockey. Ilya getting smaller and smaller, until he disappeared. Nothing there. Just silence. Then, despair.

He needed. First, to numb the numbness. He hungered. Immediately after, a fury too big to be contained by his body. He craved. While he was shrinking, he could feel the anger growing and growing. Reaching in. Planting roots in his body. Branching out. He can still feel those roots sometimes. Sleeping, but flourishing, needing nothing more than a little spark. That’s when he started going out, Sveta and Sasha in tow. Sneaking into clubs. Smoking. Drinking. Dancing. The warmth of other bodies close to his. Laughter again. He found he could distract the numbness. The fury would fizzle out. Then, the sex. He had a girlfriend at the time. He liked her. He enjoyed going to her house. Her mom was sweet. She asked about Ilya. She cared. She saw him. She taught him how to please a woman. He kept going out. He kept dancing. He kept the same girlfriend for two months.

The other time was a couple of years ago. The same days following each other. Again. Getting up becoming hard. Eating becoming hard. Sleeping becoming hard. Hockey remained simple. The game. The movements. The freedom. Being with other people was hard. Being alone was impossible. Locker rooms became battle fields. Finding the right teasing tone was out of his reach, the balancing act between friendly chumminess and getting your teeth knocked in. He’s never spent as much time in penalty boxes as in those months. Never been in police custody so often, however briefly, or wiping blood from his face.

The sameness bothers him. It seems to mock him. He never knows what will trigger these episodes. He just knows this is what happens to him sometimes. He knows what he has to do, and eventually, he’ll be on the other side of it.

This time, he can guess what triggered it. Maybe that’s why, this feels a little different. More acute. Sharper. This time, he can’t drink, he can’t do coke, he can’t fuck, he can’t fight, he can’t drive fast and free, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. He has no control over it. He doesn’t know what to do to get to the other side of it anymore, doesn’t know how to ride the waves like this, without them swallowing him whole.

His phone rings.

“Papa?”

“Ilya, where are you?”

“I’m in Boston, Papa.”

A pause. “Get here then. When will you be here?”

“I can’t, Papa. I’m working.”

“You should be here by now.”

“Papa. Where’s Polina?”

“Who?”

“Your wife, Papa.”

“Yes. I know that.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s not here.”

“And Alexei? He should be with you.”

Another pause. “Ilya? Are you coming home? Bring bread.”

“Yes, Papa. I will.”

His father hangs up.

Ilya texts Alexei.

Ilya’s in the living room painting with Sonya. There’s pink in his arm, and green on his fingers. He has her tiara on his head, at her insistence.

The doorbell rings. Marly’s already stepping in.

“Hi Roz! Hi little miss.” He waves at Sonya. “Brought pizza.”

Sonya looks up at him. “Hello.”

“Oh! She just spoke, dude! She just spoke English.” He’s pointing at her.

Ilya lowers his arm. “She always spoke, idiot. And she’s learning English now.”

“Right on.” He holds up his hand. Sonya high fives him.

They eat pizza together.

Marly keeps coming back. Every other day he shows up at his door. They never talk about what happened in Montreal.

A hockey game tonight. Ilya feels confident. Practice went well. He was fully in it. His edges were sharp. His feet were fast. His shooting was strong. He’s ready. The face-off goes well. He gets the puck. He’s flying. He scores. He’s smiling. The chirping feels natural. Connors hugs him. He finds he enjoyed himself.

The alarm goes off at six. He can’t get up again today. He does anyway.

Ilya and Sonya are out today. They went to the park. They are sitting in the sun eating ice cream. He keeps trying to steal hers. She laughs every time.

Sveta calls him every day now. Ilya can tell she’s worried but she won’t say it. She talks instead. About work. About the guys she’s seeing. How she had to stop seeing one of them because he wanted to be exclusive. It’s nice.

Marly’s at his living room, sitting on the floor. Sonya is sitting across from him. They’re playing a game she invented, Ilya can’t follow the rules.

“I won, I won!” Sonya is jumping.

Marly laughs. “’Course you did!” They high-five.

“Hey, Roz, can you turn on the game? I want to watch while I play with her.”

Ilya puts the game on. Montreal.

Marly and Sonya restart their game.

“Shane! Look, it’s Shane!”

Sonya gets excited every time she sees him on the TV. She still asks when he’s coming back.

Marly is staring at Ilya, mouth open.

“Roz, why does little miss love Hollander?”

Ilya drags a hand down his face.

“When Montreal played here, she lost her backpack and Hollander returned it. She’s his number one fan now.”

Sure enough, Sonya’s glued to the TV, waiting for Shane to show up again.

Marly laughs.

“That must be rough, buddy.”

Boston loses.

Alexei calls Ilya.

“When are you sending the money I asked?”

No hello, nothing.

“I already sent you 10k last week. It’s not my fault you’ve already spent it.”

“Things cost money. Papa’s treatments. He needs more support now.”

Right, like that’s where he’s spending the money.

“What I sent you last week should be enough for that.”

“You know, people are starting to comment. They wonder if you’re really that good.” His heart is beating faster. “They think maybe they were wrong. They haven’t seen the Ilya Rozanov lately.” He’s breathing a little harder. “You know how people love to talk. Losing three games in a row doesn’t look good. And you know what happens then.” Ilya swallows. “You left. Least you can do is win the fucking games and send money when I ask.”

“Fuck you, Alexei.”

“Don’t you want father taken care of?”

“I’ll send it tomorrow.”

Ilya hangs up. He throws his phone on the couch.

Marly’s staying later tonight. Sonya’s already in bed. They are playing Chell.

“How are things with Nicole?”

“I think I fucked it up, Roz.”

“What happened?”

Marly tells him. They spend the next hour workshopping the text Marly is going to send. Nicole answers.

Hockey felt good today. He helped Connors perfect a pass. Gave some tape to a rookie and showed him how to improve his shot. He chirped. The guys answered back. He’s delightfully sore now.

Papa calls again.

“Hello Papa.”

“Ilya, where is my watch.”

“I don’t know, Papa.”

“You don’t know? Did you take it again?”

“No, Papa.”

“Are you coming soon?”

Ilya sighs.

“Yes, Papa. See you soon.”

His father hangs up.

Ilya just helped Sonya brush her teeth. They are lying in her bed now. She’s wearing her pajamas with unicorns. He’s finishing her bedtime story. He can tell she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. He closes the book. He brushes her hair away from her face. Kisses her forehead.

“Sleep well, obezyanka moya.”

He gets up. As he reaches the door he hears her.

“G’night, papa.”

He stops. Blinks. Breathes. Holds the doorframe for support. Looks back at her. Her small frame, rising and falling beneath the blankets. Blinks again.

Papa.

Sveta is with him today. They are in his bedroom. Sonya’s still at school. Yesterday was hard. Today he’s lying in bed with Sveta. They are watching hockey. She keeps critiquing the players. He loves hearing her talk. There’s no one he knows who knows as much about hockey as she. Maybe Shane. Sveta would probably love to meet him.

“You are playing with Shane Hollander this year, right? In the All-Star game?”

“Yes. Is he also terrible?”

“No! No, Hollander is amazing. I love Shane Hollander. You can tell him that.”

“Traitor.”

“He’s a beautiful skater. Such talented hands. And he’s gorgeous.”

“If you say so.”

He tries to act indifferent. She levels him with a look.

He feels six again. They are teasing each other. Pulling at each other’s metaphorical pigtails and then running away.

Sveta looks back at the TV.

“I would love to see you on a line with him.”

“Not sure he can play wing.”

“But you can.”

What?

“You would have him center me? Me?”

She’s laughing.

“The people would love it.”

“The people are wrong.”

He grabs her legs and pulls her down on the bed. He jumps over her, play-wrestling. They are both laughing.

He feels eight again. They are wrestling on her garden.

He lays his head on her lap. She starts carding her fingers through his hair. It feels nice. He smiles.

He feels twelve again. Sveta holds him, and holds him, and holds him.

Ilya calls his lawyer. He applies for citizenship and to become Sonya’s legal guardian.

The alarm goes off at six. He counts to sixty. He gets up. He smiles.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much to everyone following the story. I love reading all your comments and I hope you're excited for next week 💖

Chapter 6

Chapter Summary

Shane has a plan.

Chapter Notes

Shane was nervous. Not the everything-feels-wrong, no-one-touch-me, tummy-hurts kind of nervous he’s been used to since childhood. But not the buzzing and electricity he feels before a game either. It’s a different kind of nervous. More of a swoop in his stomach, an ache in his chest, a slow thrumming of anticipation in his bones reminding him that this matters too much to screw up. It’s the kind of nervous he’s come to associate with Rozanov. Ilya.

He's been trying not to think about it since he, he can now admit, panicked and left his house, not looking back. But Ilya’s always been a hard man to ignore. He’d been difficult to ignore when he found him smoking in Saskatchewan, lush lips curved around the cigarette in a tantalizing smile. He’d been impossible to ignore in the showers in Toronto, water dripping from his hair into his muscled back, finally falling from his full ass. And he’s unavoidable now.

Shane remembers being confused as a teen when his teammates talked about crushes. He never understood why they would make such fools of themselves over some girl when they could just… not do that. How they could so easily lose focus over something like that. It made him feel superior. He could be professional. He could have girlfriends but he would never let them distract him. He was better than that. He was better than them. Turns out, it’s easy not to get distracted by something he never really wanted.

He never gave himself the space to wonder at how his eyes sometimes lingered at a certain boy’s smile, or his eyes, or his hands. His focus was on hockey. His only goal.

Until Ilya. Until Shane looked at him, the first flint of desire coursing through him. And then, the dam broke. There was no going back. It was impossible to shut it down. The want kept growing and growing. He now worries he might be worse than all of them put together with how much he hungers. It’s like he’s making up for lost time, a starving animal turning ravenous at the first taste of a meal. He wonders if it would’ve been better if Ilya had had the decency to leave him alone, if he had let him remain half-awake, never knowing that a part of himself was missing. He knows now it wouldn’t have been better. The thought of never having had the chance of being with Ilya fills him with an emptiness he’s not quite ready to look at head on. Yet. What he can admit is he’s been wide awake since he met him. And it’s time to do something about it. He needs to lock in.

He's been pacing in his room trying to pack for the All-Star Game. The last few months have been enlightening. After trying to get with different girls at Hayden and JJ’s insistence he could now acknowledge that a perfect woman who will make him suddenly want her will never show up. And the thought of going back to fucking Ilya no strings attached leaves him nauseated. It hasn’t been like that for him for a long time. He’s not sure if it ever fully was. And he thinks it might not be like that for Ilya either. Not after that day, the look of hurt on his face.

He meant to talk to him about it after the game in Montreal. Throughout the game he kept looking at Ilya, noticing something off about him. He was not quite himself. Shane had waited outside his locker room until he was certain every other player had already left and then he went in. His heart broke when he found him. Ilya looked wrecked, breaking apart. All the little pieces that made him, scattered around. Shane wanted to hold him together. To gather every small piece and keep them from falling again. He was briefly distracted by the kissing; he can’t help wanting him. But then Ilya took that and tried to make it into something ugly. Shane had to leave. Leave then. He still wonders if that was the right choice.

But he didn’t know how to hold Ilya the way he needed him back then. He hopes he does now. Ever since that day he’s been planning. And it’s time to put that plan in action.

Shane arrived in Tampa Bay about an hour ago. He showered and is now standing in front of his bed, wearing only his boxer briefs. He has all his clothes scattered around on the bed, which is making him a little uneasy. He doesn’t like seeing them all laid out like this, but after his third failed attempt at an outfit, he gave up. He has to see all his options. He reaches for a patterned shirt, hesitates, and drops it again. Too much. He should keep it simple. Not get distracted. He ends up choosing a tight black t-shirt and a white blazer.

He thinks most of the players will be at the hotel bar. Ilya will probably be there too. So, he will just go in there and… Right, okay. He can do this. He will go in there and see if he can find him.

The elevator doors open. He’s walking into the bar now. He looks up and his eyes immediately find Ilya through the crowded room. His heart, cliché as it’s always been when it comes to Ilya, skips a beat.

Fuck. He looks good. Of course he does. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and Shane thinks he should look at least a little ridiculous. It would only be fair. Except… he doesn’t. He looks radiant. Bold. Hot. He looks like himself. He looks like Ilya.

Shane keeps walking towards him and sits next to him at the bar. His palms are sweating and he tries to dry them on his pants before placing them on the counter.

The waiter interrupts him. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“I’ll have the same as my teammate, please.”

Ilya is drinking beer. Shane keeps staring at the way he brings the bottle to his lips, sealing perfectly on the top, tipping it slightly. How his throat looks as he swallows. He has to look away.

Ilya clears his throat. “So, are they out of ginger ale, Captain?”

Ilya’s joking with him again. Good.

“I’m feeling a bit wild.” Ilya smiles. “So, this should be fun, huh? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to play for the same team.”

“Have you?”

“Yeah. I have.”

He smiles. He tries to catch Ilya’s eyes but it’s like he’s going out of his way not to look at him. Shane drinks.

“Did you, did you bring anyone with you?”

“No, my parents couldn’t make it this year. And you? Did you bring Sonya?”

“No, she’s at home with Maria.”

Maria? Who the hell is Maria?

Ilya looks at him, smiles a little.

“The babysitter.”

Oh, thank God.

Ilya licks his lips, wets them, and then drinks again. He can’t look away.

“Nice shirt.”

Ilya looks down.

“Thanks, I wanted to get into the spirit.”

“Well, you’re pulling it off.”

Shane looks away. When he looks back, he thinks he catches Ilya staring at him.

“You are looking very pretty today,” Ilya says. “Did someone take you shopping?”

“If I… If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone or make fun of me?”

“Well, it depends.” Ilya shrugs.

“Seriously.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I hired a stylist.”

A beat. Two. Ilya’s eyes won’t leave his. And then. The most beautiful grin takes over his face. He’s beaming, not able to hide it. He laughs, hand covering his mouth. He has the sudden urge to pull that hand away. He wants to see. He should always look like this. Shane wants to make it happen over and over again.

“Sorry. Wow. Of course you did.”

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, no. I love it. You got, what? Tired of looking like shit?”

“I didn’t look like shit. I just wore like, athletic stuff.”

“I know what you wore.”

And it’s true. Ilya knows him better than probably anyone else.

They stay at the bar for a little longer. Shane keeps staring at his mouth. He can feel Ilya’s eyes on him too. Their hands keep almost touching, pinkies less than an inch apart.

He keeps running into him.

At the beach, where they sit side by side, their thumbs touching feeling maybe more electrifying than anything else they’ve ever done.

At the pool, where Ilya looks so much in his element, having fun surrounded by kids.

And afterwards, getting out of the pool, all that golden skin exposed, right in front of him. Flirting. It made Shane forget he probably should not be this obvious in public. But fuck. He had to use all his self-restraint not to get on his knees in front of all those people, so he thinks he can be excused if his eyes linger for a beat too long.

They need to talk though. He will not let them fall back on old patterns. They need to address what’s been growing between them. That’s what he tells himself, standing in front of Ilya’s room, the place where he’s been for the last ten minutes. It’s getting ridiculous.

Shane knocks. Ilya opens the door. His breath catches. Will he ever be able to look at this man without it stopping his world for a few seconds?

He’s glad he chose this outfit now: the white socks, black boxer briefs, and the patterned shirt he dismissed as too much before.

Shane sits down on the bed. Ilya’s staying on the other side of the room. Now that he’s here, Shane’s not sure what to say. Doesn’t know how to start.

“This looks serious.”

“It’s not.” Shane shakes his head. “Yeah. It is. Can you just sit down or something?”

Ilya moves and leans on the room desk.

“It’s not just me, right?”

“Not just you, what?”

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

“Feel what?”

“When we were at your house, it was different.”

Ilya shrugs. “What was different, that you ran away?”

Ilya rubs his nose like he does when he’s nervous. Or maybe trying to deflect. Shane doesn’t know if he’s aware he does it.

“Look. I’m sorry I freaked out, okay?”

“Freaked out over nothing.” Ilya shrugs.

“It wasn’t nothing. Don’t… This is hard enough without you being an asshole.”

Ilya sits next to him on the bed. He keeps looking down.

“At your house, and for the record I am sorry about last time, I am sorry about how I reacted. And I am sorry about the locker room.”

Ilya’s breath catches.

“That wasn’t your fault, Hollander. That was me.”

“I think it was at least a little bit my fault. But before that… it was nice.”

Ilya nods, still looking away.

“It was.”

“And it felt like we were something.”

Ilya shakes his head.

“We can’t be something, Hollander.”

He knows that.

“Would you want to be? If we could?”

“We can’t.”

“That’s not what I asked.” That’s not what I want to know.

Ilya finally looks at him.

“What does it fucking matter?”

“I don’t think I can keep pretending I don’t like you anymore.”

“You don’t like me.”

“Yeah, I do. I think I like you maybe a little too much.”

“Don’t. Don’t fucking do this, Hollander. I’m not…” Not what? Perfect? Shane already knows that. Everything he thinks about? He is. “I wouldn’t be able to go home again. Ever. And now I have Sonya. I have to think about her too.” Shit. “I wouldn’t be able to take her to her home country. Do you get that?”

Shane thinks he does.

“Because of your family?”

“Because Russia! I would not be able to go back to Russia.”

“What would happen to you?”

“I don’t want to find out,” Ilya says, voice thick.

“What would your parents—”

“My father is police. My brother is police.”

“And your mother?”

“Dead.”

“’m sorry.”

“I was young. My father is very old-fashioned. And sick.”

“Sick like… crazy?”

“That too; a little. But no, sick more like—”

“Oh… like cancer?”

“No. Like—”

“Oh, a heart condition?”

“Dementia.”

“That’s awful.”

Ilya turns away. There are tears running down his face.

He needs to comfort him.

“Hey.”

“’m sorry.”

Shane gets up. Sits on his lap. Looks at him, grabs his face, and kisses him. When they break, Shane doesn’t let Ilya get away. He guides his head to his shoulder. And holds him. He wants to envelop him. To make a safe space for him. He wants to show him that he can unravel and Shane will be there to catch him. To protect him.

They sway. Ilya cries. And Shane keeps holding him.

Ilya’s breathing calms. The tears stop coming. Shane pets his hair. Kisses the top of his head. Pulls back just enough to look at his face. Brushes the tears from his eyes. Kisses just below his left eye. Feather light. Then the right one. Ilya swallows. His eyes never leave Shane’s now. They kiss again. Soft. Sweet.

“Ilya.”

Ilya closes his eyes as he hears it. Opens them again.

“Shane.”

Ilya kisses him again. More desperate now. Tries to deepen it. Shane slows it down again. They have time. He will show him. He takes off his shirt. Ilya runs his hands down his arms. Starts taking off his top. Shane stops him.

“Let me.”

Ilya does. Shane pushes him lightly and lays him on the bed. He takes off Ilya’s clothes slowly. With reverence. His hands gentle but sure. He leaves a kiss at every new inch of skin that is revealed.

Ilya is completely naked now. Shane lets himself look. He wants to worship this wonderful, maddening man. He takes off his own trousers and boxer briefs. Lays on top of him. There are fresh tears at the corners of his eyes. He swipes them away with his thumbs. Kisses Ilya again. A light brush of lips at first. His tongue follows. He kisses his forehead. His cheeks. His ears.

Ilya touches his face. Shane holds his hands and turns them. Brushes his thumbs over his knuckles. Brings them to his lips and kisses each one of them. Ilya’s breath stutters. He swallows.

“Let me,” Shane repeats.

Ilya does. Again. Shane touches his wrists. Kisses his pulse point, rabbiting fast. Kisses up his arm, his eyes going back to Ilya’s face. His mouth slightly open. His eyes already looking at Shane, pupils dilated. He keeps kissing his way up, reaches the crook of his elbow and licks. His bicep next. His triceps. He reaches his armpit. Inhales. Kisses it. His neck. Just under his jaw. His collarbones. Goes to his other arm. The same treatment.

Ilya’s making small noises now, every time Shane’s lips touch his skin. Every time his fingertips brush that same place afterwards. Not quite whimpers yet.

Shane looks up at him. Smiles. Pecks his lips. Keeps making his way down, kissing every place he passes. First his sternum, while his hands palm at his pecs, fingers over his nipples.

The room is silent. The only sound is Ilya’s breathing. His lips replace his hands. He licks one nipple. Blows softly on it. Watches as it hardens and peaks. Places it in his mouth, swirls his tongue around. Sucks. Ilya keens. Shane bites. Soft. Just a hint of teeth.

“Shane. Please,” Ilya begs.  

Shane smiles. Pets his hair. Time. They have time right now. He is going to make good use of it. Goes to his other nipple.

Ilya can’t keep silent anymore. Shane keeps hearing the most beautiful sounds coming from him. Not quite words. He whimpers. He whines. He’s shaking a little. Shane rests his head on his chest. Hears his heart thumping. Beautiful. He goes back to his mouth before continuing on his journey. Kisses him. Ilya’s eyes are shiny. He’s looking at him with so much adoration. Awe. He knows he’s never been the most expressive, but he hopes for once, that his eyes show exactly what he feels. That they reflect all that devotion back at him.

He keeps going down. His tongue swirls on his belly button and Ilya moves his hips. Shane holds them down. Stay. He kisses his abdomen. Nuzzles at all that beautiful hair leading down. Keeps his hands on his hips. Kisses just above his leg. Rests his head there. Inhales. Ilya’s hard now. Red and starting to leak a little. Shane wants to bury his nose in the hair there. Wants to feel the weight of his cock on his tongue. But he wants even more to show Ilya what he means to him.

“Beautiful.”

Ilya trembles as Shane says it.

Shane kisses his thigh. “Strong.” Kisses his knee, a small scar there. “Dedicated.” His calf. “Hard-working.” His ankle. “Precious.” His foot. “Reliable.”

He moves to his other leg. Does the same, making his way up this time. A kiss. A compliment. Another kiss. Another compliment. He wants to let them sink in. He wants to ink every single one of them on his skin. And then to lick over them to push them deeper. To melt them into his bones, so he can never forget. So each word mingles into his DNA, rearranging it. So there could be no more doubt.

Ilya’s desperate now. He keeps moving his hips in small increments. Keeps opening and closing his hands. Grabbing the sheets. He’s sweating. He looks gorgeous. His hands are still right where Shane left them. He kisses them.

“Good. So good to me.”

Shane hears as Ilya’s breath catches. As his cock twitches. Shane’s own cock fully hard too. But that doesn’t matter right now.

He kisses the tip of Ilya’s cock. His lips barely making contact. It twitches again. More precome. Shane laughs.

“Mean,” Ilya protests, but there’s no heat behind it.

Shane bites at his hip. Light. Just to tease. He holds Ilya’s legs up. Looks at him. Ilya nods, his thighs next to his ears.

“Hold them.” Ilya’s hands hurry to comply. “So good.”

Fuck. His ass is fully exposed now. He bends down. Licks up his perineum. His balls. Sucks one into his mouth. Rolls it. Then the other one. Ilya pants. Shane palms at each cheek. Kisses them. Bites. Licks his hole. One swipe of his tongue. Looks up again. Ilya nods.

“Beautiful.” Ilya flushes.

He gets to work now. Kisses his hole. Tries to remember what Ilya’s done to him before. Tries to replicate. Please, let me use what you taught me. I want to be good for you too. He hopes the meaning comes across. He sucks at his hole. Ilya curses. He licks again. A moan. He bullies his tongue inside. The most beautiful whine.

He loves every reaction. Ilya, who is usually so composed, seems lost to his own sensations. All his small movements. All his sounds. Fuck. Shane is getting close just from watching. From hearing him. He doesn’t think Ilya can keep quiet anymore. He grabs the lube. Opens it and spreads it on his fingers. Gets it warm for him. One finger joins his tongue. Just pressure at first. Then he breaches him, and slides the tip inside. Just to the first knuckle. Keeps swirling his tongue. The sounds he makes are addictive. His taste too. He never wants to leave. The whole finger is inside now. In and out. He crooks it and tries to look for his prostate. Finds it. Rubs delicately past. Ilya jumps. Shane holds his hips with his other hand. He looks up.

Fuck. Ilya looks a mess. Debauched. Glorious. Hair curling with the warmth and the sweat. He gets a second finger in. He’s working them properly now. Each time he goes inside, he brushes his prostate. Ilya’s screaming. His cock won’t stop leaking. He’s fucking himself on Shane’s fingers now. Shane keeps going until Ilya’s an incoherent mess. Until he thinks he can’t take anymore.

Then, slowly, he takes his fingers out. Kisses his hole. It flutters. Kisses his thigh. Brings down his legs.

Shane grabs a condom and rolls it slowly down Ilya’s cock. He had fingered himself in the shower before heading to Ilya’s room but he still takes two fingers and uses them to quickly open himself up. Adds a third. He straddles Ilya, one thigh on each side of him. Shane grabs Ilya’s cock, lines it up, and sinks. Slowly. An inch at a time. Once he’s fully seated, he bends down and kisses him. Filthier now. He rolls his hips. Once. Twice. Excruciatingly slowly. He keeps the rhythm. Ilya tries to fuck up into him but Shane stops him. No. Let me take care of you. Shane doesn’t say it, but Ilya hears him anyway.

Shane starts riding him in earnest now. He brings his hand to his own cock and squeezes. He starts jerking himself off.

Ilya moans.

“Shane,” he screams. He’s coming. Shane follows him right behind, painting Ilya’s chest white with his come.

Shane lies right next to him, moves Ilya’s head to his chest. Ilya’s shivering. Shane pets his hair. Holds him until Ilya quiets again.

Then, Shane gets up, goes to the bathroom and cleans himself. He gets a towel, wets it in warm water and comes back. He cleans Ilya with care.

“Thank you,” Shane says. “Thank you.”

Later, Shane gets up and dresses. He’s preparing to leave. Ilya stops him.

“I… I have to call Sonya. Wish her goodnight.” Ilya looks up at him. “Do you maybe want to talk to her?”

Shane hesitates. He wants this thing with Ilya, this wonderful, beautiful thing, to be something. But this is important. He can’t go back after.

“She keeps asking about you. When she’ll see you again.”

Fuck. “She does?”

Ilya laughs. “Yeah. You’re a hard guy to forget, Shane.”

Shane smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll talk to her.”

They talk. She shows him her new books. Talks about her school. About a boy who was mean to her. Ilya translates.

Shane stays the night.

The All-Star game is everything hockey’s supposed to be. This is the sport Shane fell in love with. He can’t quite believe he gets to participate in a game this beautiful, that he gets to witness it first-hand. Playing on the same line as Ilya is a revelation. Shane doesn’t have to look to know that his passes will connect. And Ilya… Ilya already knows where Shane is going to be before Shane even gets there. Shane has just scored off an assist from Ilya. He can see him skating towards him. Ilya grabs him and kisses his cheek. Shane can’t help the smile that breaks on his face. He’s sure he’s blushing, tomato red. He’s never been happier.

Chapter End Notes

We're halfway there!

Thank you so much to everyone who keeps reading and commenting, I appreciate every single one of you. And I saw someone recced my fic, thank you so much for talking about it. It makes me happy that the story is resonating with people 💖

As always, let me know what you think and I'll see you next week!

Chapter 7

Chapter Summary

A new routine.

Chapter Notes

Content warnings for this chapter: medical emergency, vomiting

Shane is back in Montreal. Which means they are back to not seeing each other for long periods of time. But it’s different than before. They text all the time now. Critiquing each other’s games. Commenting on other teams. It’s good.

Shane: Nice goal tonight, Rozanov.

Shane: Tough that you still lost.

Ilya: I will score hat trick next time and dedicate it to you 😘

Shane: Not a chance 😉

Ilya: I can’t believe they let that dinosaur play.

Shane: He was not so bad tonight though.

Ilya: It’s elder abuse, Shane.

Ilya: Someone should call police.

Shane: [Image attached: a Montreal child jersey]

What’s her size?

Ilya: That monstrosity will not come into this house.

Ilya: I will burn it if you buy her that Shane.

Shane: Fine. I will just buy every size then.

Shane: One of them will fit 👿

Ilya: 3T 😞

Shane: 😇

Ilya: Send selfie with glasses.

Shane: You’re ridiculous Ilya.

Shane: [Image attached: Shane in bed with a white t-shirt and his reading glasses]

Ilya: 🥵

They also call almost every day. And videocall. Those are Shane’s favorites.

Shane just got into bed after a game, got his glasses on, and he’s picking up his book when his phone vibrates. Ilya.

Shane answers the videocall. Ilya immediately drops the phone with a shout. He picks it up again and holds it close to his face.

“Shane. Shane, you cannot do this to my poor heart. I am fragile.”

“You’re a hockey player, Ilya.”

“A man has his limits, Shane.”

Shane can see Ilya holding his chest, where his heart is.

“What are you talking about?”

“You cannot answer phone looking like that. You have to warn me first.” Shane snorts. “There are children here.” He turns the phone so the camera also shows Sonya. She waves. Shane waves back. They are in her bed. She’s wearing the Montreal jersey he gifted her. He can see the children’s hockey book he gave her in her lap too. “It’s indecent!”

Oh, this ridiculous man.

“The camera’s only showing my face, Ilya.” He tilts the phone down. “And I’m wearing a t-shirt. Nothing indecent.”

“Face with beautiful freckles and glasses. It’s too sexy!”

Shane laughs again and rolls his eyes.

“Hi Sonya. I love your clothes. You should teach Ilya who the best hockey team is.” Sonya’s English is getting much better. She can understand almost everything, and Ilya helps translate every time she wants to say something.

Ilya falls back on the bed. Sonya giggles at his theatrics.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. She has terrible taste. I try to show her better things to wear to bed. But she says ‘no, no. I want Shane’s shirt.” Ilya shrugs in a what can you do gesture. It warms his heart to see her wear it. Ilya only lets her wear it to bed, it’s too risky if someone sees it. But Shane likes that she has something that represents him.

“You should have bought her a Boston jersey then. Maybe there would be some competition.”

“You think I haven’t tried? It’s still all Shane, Shane, Shane. All the time.” Ilya pouts. “At least it’s not Pike.”

“Pike,” Sonya repeats. But then she does a “blegh” sound and sticks out her tongue.

Ilya cackles, delighted.

“You taught her that?”

There are tears in Ilya’s eyes. “No, no. She just has perfect taste.”

“You just said her taste is terrible. You can’t teach her that, Ilya. It’s rude.” Shane frowns, not actually upset.

“But not untrue?”

“Ilya. Be nice, he’s my friend.” Shane thinks it’s a little funny. He will never admit it, though.

“Oh, kotenok, don’t be mad.”

“Kotenok! Kotenok!”

“Ilya, what is that? What did you just teach her?”

“Don’t be angry, is nothing bad.”

“What does it mean, Ilya?”

“Kitten.” What? “Because you look like angry little kitten. Is cute.”

Sonya giggles. “Oh, you like that, Sonya?” Ilya tickles her. “My little monkey,” he says, then looks back at the camera, at Shane “and my little kitten.”

Shane blushes. “I will make it up to you, kotenok.” Shane can’t believe he’s getting flustered by this. And the worst thing is Ilya can tell, judging by his stupid smirk.

They are saved by Sonya interrupting.

“Book!”

“Later, kotenok.”

Ilya turns back to her. “Okay, okay.” Shane loves how Ilya says it. He doesn’t have a strong accent anymore, and it seems to keep getting better, but Shane hopes he never stops pronouncing okay like this. Oke. “We will read book that Shane was kind to give you. You will know more about hockey than him one day with how much you read this book.” The book is only pictures. No text. But every time Ilya comes up with a different story to tell Sonya. Shane doesn’t know how he does it. But he’s come to love these bedtime stories almost as much as her.

After Sonya falls asleep, Ilya goes back to his bedroom and makes it up to Shane, just as he promised.

Shane is at Ilya’s doorstep. They will have a game later but Ilya will have to catch a flight to Nashville with his team after. Sonya is at preschool. Shane is actually a little sad about that. He’d like to see her and give her the present he bought her himself. But considering he won’t get to be with Ilya after the game, it might be better that Sonya isn’t there right now.

Ilya opens the door. He’s wearing a sweater and he just looks so cute and Shane misses him so much that he has to kiss him about it. Immediately. He closes the door and grabs Ilya’s face, and kisses him, crashing them together with the force. Fuck, he missed this. He’s already getting half hard just from that. Ilya kisses like no one he’s ever kissed before. He doubts there is anyone who is better at it. Ilya’s got his thigh between Shane’s legs, applying just the right pressure. And…fuck. Shane really has to slow things down. He shoves lightly at Ilya to get some distance between them

“I brought a gift.” Shane shows the little bag he’s carrying.

“For me?” Ilya’s eyes are dancing.

“No.” He touches his neck. “For Sonya actually.” Shane looks down. He doesn’t know why he’s embarrassed. He’s bought her things before.

“Oh.” But he’s smiling. Not the teasing smile from before, but a softer, smaller one. He takes the bag from Shane and peeks inside. He snorts. “Shane, what are these?”

“They are motivational stickers. I read that children respond well to positive reinforcement. You could use them to tell her she’s doing well.”

“You read that?” Ilya’s teasing him now. “You’ve been studying? Will there be a test later?”

“Oh, fuck off.” Shane’s grinning.

“No. No. It’s good.” He drops the bag on the couch and takes Shane’s hand. “I should reward such a good student, no?”

Ilya kisses him again and they make their way to the bedroom like that. Glued to each other. Trying not to trip.

Ilya grabs his jaw and tilts Shane’s head, making him look at him. “Will you be good for me, Shane?”

Shane nods.

“Words, kotenok.”

Shane’s blushing. “Ye-yeah.”

Ilya brushes his cheek. “On your knees.”

Shane drops to his knees right away. Fuck. He loves when Ilya gets like this. Loves when he takes control.

Shane is right in front of Ilya’s crotch. He can see his cock, already hard, through his sweats. He leans in, tries to nuzzle at it. He opens his mouth, wants a taste, even if through the fabric.

Ilya grabs his hair and pulls back. “So eager today, kotenok.” Ilya licks his lips. He pets Shane’s hair, sickeningly sweet. “What happened? I thought you could be good?”

“Missed you,” answers Shane. Honest.

Ilya’s breath catches. He quickly recomposes himself.

“Patience, Shane. You’ll have to be patient.”

Ilya takes a step back. Shane whines and lifts his hand, reaching. Ilya raises an eyebrow and Shane immediately drops it. Ilya’s smile turns wolfish.

He starts undressing. Slowly. First, he touches the hem of his sweater, lifts it above his head. Teasing. Shane can see the way his muscles move. The hair leading down. His mouth waters. Patience. He’ll have to be patient.

Ilya turns his back to him. What? No! Come back.

Ilya laughs. Shane must have said that out loud. Ilya starts folding his sweater. Carefully. He lays it on the bed. Folds one sleeve. Then the other. Folds it in half. Picks it up and places it on a chair next to the bed. He smooths out the wrinkles. Then he touches the waistband of his sweatpants and pulls them down. No underwear. Fuck. He steps out of each leg and picks them up. Places them on the bed. He manages to fold them even slower than the sweater. Shane can’t handle it anymore. He protests.

“What. I thought you would be pleased. I’m taking good care of my clothes,” Ilya says. He has the nerve to act sincere, pretending he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to Shane.

“Fuck you.”

“Hmm, that is not very nice Shane. I don’t think that’s what you wanted to say.” He walks up to Shane again, dick bobbing right in front of Shane’s mouth. He leans in a little before he catches himself and stops. Ilya grins. “Do you want to try again?”

He can play this game too. “Fuck. You.”

“I think I’ll do some laundry, then. What do you think, Shane? Do you want to help?”

And he turns his back to Shane and leaves the bedroom. Naked. Is Ilya really going to leave him like this? Shane wants to be good. He wants Ilya to make him be good.

“Ilya?” He tries again louder. “Ilya? Please.”

Ilya comes back. Smiles at Shane. He leans down and pecks him. Kisses his nose. Shane’s eyelashes flutter. Ilya’s so good.

“Of course, Shane. What do you want?”

“You.”

“Hmm, I’m right here Shane. You’ll have to be more specific. I’ll give you whatever you want, kotenok, but you have to ask.”

“Your cock.” Ilya waits. “Please let me suck your cock.” Ilya touches his thumb to Shane’s bottom lip. “Please.”

Ilya kisses him. His tongue fucking Shane’s mouth. “Of course,” he says with a soft voice. Ilya takes off Shane’s sweater. Places it next to his own clothes and comes back. “Show me how much you want it, Shane.” He places two fingers on his lips. Taps twice. Shane opens and sucks his fingers. Swirls his tongue, he coats them in his saliva. Licks between them and sucks again. ”Fuck,” he can hear. He’s being good. He wants to be good. Ilya starts fucking him with his fingers, and Shane opens. Lets him. He swallows around them.

“Fuck. You’re perfect.” Perfect. Ilya thinks Shane’s perfect. Everything is becoming fuzzy. Shane feels so good. Ilya takes his fingers out and Shane tries to chase them. Ilya chuckles. “So good.”

Ilya grabs his cock, jerks it lazily, and feeds it to Shane. Shane can hear the whine that rips out of his throat. He takes it. Shane sucks at the head, licks the slit and is rewarded with a drop of precome. Licks the shaft, from base to top, takes the head again and starts bobbing. He gets lost in the rhythm of it. He loves this. Loves the weight of it on his tongue. Sometimes he thinks he might have been made for this. To take Ilya’s cock. He feels his own twitching. Ilya starts thrusting. Slowly.

“You can touch me if you want, kotenok.” Oh, Shane had been opening and closing his fists. Shaking a little with the effort not to touch. He hadn’t realized. He touches now. He grabs Ilya’s ass, pulls him toward himself. More. Ilya listens. He starts thrusting in earnest now. Shane moans. He swallows him whole. Feels the hair touching his nose, and stays there.

Ilya grabs his head suddenly and pulls Shane away. “Fuck. So good.” Shane looks at him. Ilya looks wrecked. He looks mesmerized by him. Shane’s good. He’s happy.

Ilya picks him up and throws him on the bed. And fuck, that’s heady. Shane is not a small man. He’s made of muscle. He’s heavy. And Ilya just… he manhandles him. Makes Shane feel taken care of.

Ilya takes off Shane’s jeans and underwear. Leaves his socks on. He knows Shane prefers it that way. He knows him. His heart beats faster.

He swallows Shane in one movement. Shane gasps. He bobs his head a few times and sucks. Fuck. He’s close.

He folds Shane, sucks one of his balls and licks his hole. He’s so good at this. He always makes Shane lose his mind and now’s not different. He rubs at his hole. Gets one finger in. When did he get the lube? Starts opening him up. His movements are sure. A second finger joins. He keeps fucking him. Shane is fucking himself on Ilya’s fingers now too. Ilya scissors his fingers, creating space for himself. Then he licks again and sucks. Fuck. He’s being loud now. He can’t stop it. He’s whining. He can hear it. Ilya crooks his finger. There are tears at Shane’s eyes. He can feel them. Ilya crooks his fingers again and presses. He’s gonna come. He can’t stop it.

“It’s okay, solnyshko. You can come.” Shane tries to hold out. He wants it to last. But he can’t help it, he comes. Ilya kisses him. “So perfect, kotenok.”

“I wanted to come on your dick,” he whines. Shane’s being ridiculous, he knows. But he wants.

Ilya smiles. Kisses him again. “You will, malysh. But it looked like you needed this.”

He did. The worst thing about Ilya is that he notices. Shane has spent years making sure nobody notices when he is tired, scared, overwhelmed. He built himself carefully. Perfectly. And then Ilya comes along and looks at him for five seconds and somehow knows.

He starts moving his fingers again. Shane can feel the heat building back. He’s too sensitive. Ilya’s fingers almost on the other side of too good, but not quite. He tucks a third finger in and presses it inside along the other two. He strokes his prostate again, touching it on every other pass. His cock is filling up again. Ilya licks it and sucks. He keeps sucking his cock in rhythm with his fingers. When Shane is close again, he stops. Takes his fingers out. Shane feels empty without them.

Ilya puts on a condom. Lines himself and presses in. Pulls Shane’s legs over his shoulders and kisses one. He starts a brutal pace. He’s fucking him hard and fast, nailing his prostate each time. Little sounds keep leaving Shane’s mouth. Ilya leans down and kisses these sounds out of his mouth. His necklace hanging between the two of them, moving each time Ilya thrusts. Ilya kisses his shoulder, brushes the hair out of Shane’s face.

Shane can’t tear his eyes away from his face. His brain is a litany of Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. There is no other thought. They are panting into each other’s mouths.

“Please, Ilya. Right there. ‘m close.”

Ilya squeezes the base of his cock. “Just a little longer, malysh. Please. For me. Can you be good for me?”

And right now, Shane could do anything Ilya asked of him. Ilya’s thrusts, impossibly, get faster. A few moments later, he starts jerking Shane’s cock. “Now, malysh. You can come.” And for the second time that day, Shane does. At the same time he can feel Ilya is coming too.

“Shane.” Ilya can’t stop saying his name. He falls next to Shane, grabs him and holds him close. Kisses his face. “So perfect, kotenok.” He is tracing patterns on Shane’s skin.

When they’ve both recovered their breaths, Ilya pulls out, ties the condom and throws it away. He kisses Shane again, gets up, wets a towel and brings it back to Shane. He cleans him carefully, like Shane is something that should be cherished. Kisses his hole. He can feel himself flush.

“Ilya,” Shane complains, embarrassed.

“Is pretty. Like you.”

Shane wrinkles his nose.

“What? Is true. Pretty Shane with a pretty hole.”

Shane must be completely red now, from head to toe. But he can’t help but smile.

Ilya leaves the room again and returns a few seconds later with his hands behind his back. A teasing smile on his mouth.

“What do you have there?”

“Close your eyes, Shane.”

“Why? What are you going to do?” Shane gets up on his elbows.

“Close your eyes.”

Shane hesitates but then closes them. He can feel Ilya touching his forehead. And then he feels him sticking something on it.

Shane opens his eyes again and tries to see what Ilya placed there. He touches his forehead and unsticks whatever it is. When he sees it, he can’t help but laugh.

A crocodile sticker saying Good Job! in pink letters.

“You’re such an ass.”

Ilya cackles. “I have two more to give you after you lose the game. I haven’t decided yet. What do you think?” And he shows him two stickers.

A panda saying Great Effort! and a koala saying You’re being very brave today!

Oh, Shane is going to kill him. He gets up from the bed and starts running after him.

“Ah, what would people say if they knew Shane Hollander treats me like this?” He cups his hands around his mouth. “Attention everyone. Shane Hollander is asshole. He is very mean ma—” Shane tackles him to the ground.

Shane gets out of the shower and heads to his locker. He opens his texts with Ilya and starts typing.

Shane: I already miss yo

He’s interrupted by JJ speaking to his teammates. “Did you hear? They’re saying Rozanov didn’t get on the flight with his team.”

Shane freezes. What?

“Did they say why?” Shane asks, trying not to sound too eager.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s sick,” Miitka says.

“Or injured,” Hayden adds.

“No, he’s not.” The words are out before Shane can stop them. Everyone looks at him. Shit. He shouldn’t have said that. “He didn’t look sick at the game.” He tries to act nonchalant. He reaches for his underwear. Is this how he normally gets dressed? Where is he supposed to be looking? Does he seem tense?

“Has, uh… has anyone said anything?”

“Nah. Nothing so far. He’s probably throwing a hissy fit about the loss today,” Hayden says, looking to Shane for agreement.

When has he ever done anything like that? Shane has to stop himself from defending Ilya. “Yeah, uh. Right.”

He picks up his phone again and texts Ilya.

Shane: What happened? Are you okay?

Shane: Is Sonya okay?

No answer.

The locker room has moved on, conversations flowing.

“Are you feeling okay, Capitaine?” JJ asks quietly, in the way he usually does when he wants to talk to Shane without the others noticing.

“Yeah. Of course.” Shane tries to smile.

“You know I’ve got your back, right?” Fuck. How obvious is he being? He needs to be more careful.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

It’s dark outside and silent, the only sounds the ones Shane is making as he does his meal prep for the week. He weighs his ingredients, places them in different containers, counts calories. He checks his phone. Again. Still no answer. He goes back to meal prepping. Once that’s done, he starts on the dishes. He could put them in the dishwasher but it’s never quite the same. He prefers washing them by hand tonight. This way he knows he can do them right.

He soaps them, and scrubs, and scrubs, and scrubs. His fingers ache from the detergent but he keeps scrubbing. When there are no more dishes, he turns off the hot water and notices how his hands have turned red. He checks his phone, maybe he missed the familiar buzz of a text. Still nothing. He cleans the counter. Would Ilya go back to not texting him? Shane doesn’t think so. Something must have happened.

He has clothes to fold now. He folds one, smooths out the wrinkles and places it on the other pile. He goes for the next one and does the same. And the next. And the next. Checks his phone. One message from the team’s group chat. Nothing else. Maybe Ilya’s phone died and he doesn’t have a charger with him? He starts laundry, sorting through his clothes. Did he leave the stove on? He goes check. No, it’s off. Back to laundry. He checks his phone. No answer. He changes into his pajamas. Brushes his teeth and washes his face. He goes through his entire skincare routine tonight. He should be meticulous. He’s been skipping a few steps lately and he needs to do it right.

Shane picks up his phone and calls Ilya for the third time tonight. ‘Hi, this is Ilya. I will never listen to your voicemail.’ He never thought he could get tired of hearing his voice but he can’t hear him saying those words again.

Shane: Can I help?

He hits send.

He goes to bed and lies down. Wait. Did he turn off the kitchen light? He gets up to check. Yes, it’s off. And is all the food in the fridge? He’s not sure. It’s better to check. He turns on the light to check. Yes, all the food is in the fridge. And the dishes are stacked. And the clothes have been put away. Shane goes back to bed. Checks his phone. No texts. He lies down and closes his eyes. Did he turn off the light this time? He remembers turning it on, but he’s not sure if he turned it off after. He should check. Yeah, okay. He did. He goes back to bed. He doesn’t think he sleeps.

Shane’s exhausted when he arrives at practice. This is why he has a routine. Deviations from the routine mess up his schedule, and then he’s not as well rested, and that’s how mistakes happen. He doesn’t want to make mistakes. He has to keep to his routine.

The guys greet him with smiles on their faces and Shane greets them back.

He closes his locker before practice. And immediately has to open it again. Picks up his phone, unlocks it. Still nothing. Fuck.

Shane: Please let me help, Ilya.

He puts the phone away and closes his locker.

“Is everything okay, Shane?”

Hayden looks worried. Fuck. Shane is being obvious. He has to be better at this.

“Of, course, Hayd. Let’s go.”

Hayden is still looking at him. Shane’s not doing a good job then.

“Let’s go, Cap!” Miitka claps him on the back.

Practice starts with tape review. They are going over their last game against Boston. Montreal won but Coach Theriault wants to show them every time they could have done better. Shane understands, they have to be flawless.

Coach pauses the tape. Points at Drapeau’s stick. “See? Right here. You should have been faster. You almost lost the puck here. If it weren’t for Hollander, they would’ve stolen the puck.” Everyone stares at him. Drapeau is frowning. “Let’s watch it again. I want you to see how you fucked it up.” He shows it again.

He pauses the tape again. “Pike, you missed this pass. You don’t know how to get a simple pass anymore. Maybe you need a refresher?” Coach forwards the tape and stops on Shane. “Here. See? This is how you get a simple pass. I should not have to teach you this.” The other players are muttering under their breath. Shane catches fragments. Not words, just frustration. When Shane looks at them, they stop.

The next hour goes on like this. Coach pointing out every little flaw, every missed chance or almost missed. Calling them out. Using Shane as an example.

They are practicing drills now. They go over the power play. Other players don’t seem to want to pass to Shane. Coach yells from the sidelines. They pass.

They are scrimmaging now. Shane has gotten slammed into the boards twice already. It’s his own fault. He knows he’s tired and isn’t playing as well as he should. They just lost the puck. They could’ve passed to Shane, he would’ve caught it, but they didn’t. Shane gets the puck back, skates, and shoots. He misses. Coach whistles.

“Okay, everyone. Since Hollander decided not to bother today, we will all stay here later doing bag skates. You can thank your captain for this opportunity.”

They all throw him murderous looks. Shane tries to nod in apology. They are being punished because of him. Shane fucked up his routine last night and now they are all being punished. Maybe Theriault can tell that Shane’s been acting weird. He has to be better.  

Shane can’t feel his legs anymore. He keeps pushing. Everyone else has already been allowed to stop. Some of them after throwing up, others after falling down on the ice. They are all sitting on the bench, watching while Shane goes on skating. But this was Shane’s fault so he needs to keep going if he wants to be better. His ears are ringing. The air doesn’t seem to be enough. His legs wobble. Coach whistles. Shane can stop. He falls on the ice.

Hayden and JJ help pick him up and guide him to the locker room. The other guys are already inside and won’t look at him. 

“Coach was rough with you today, Shane. Are you alright?” Hayden asks. Why does he keep asking him this? It’s always been the same. Shane gets it. He’s the best, he can’t make mistakes. He has to be made an example for the others.

“Coach was rough with everyone, Hayd. He doesn’t like mistakes.”

JJ helps him open his locker and get his things out.

Shane is in bed. He just ended his call with Ilya. His father died. Shane can’t imagine how he would be if his own dad had died. He doesn’t think he would be able to function. But it might be different for Ilya. From what he’s been able to gather, they didn’t have the best relationship.

Shane could see Sonya sleeping in the background when he picked up, before Ilya changed rooms so they could talk more freely. He could tell this is weighing on Ilya. He looked as beautiful as always, but also smaller. Rawer. Ilya didn’t want to dwell on things. He asked Shane to keep his glasses. This wonderful, ridiculous man. Shane hopes he helped.

Still, Ilya must be grieving. And being back in Russia can’t be easy. Seeing his brother again.

Shane wants to help. He wants to do better, but he’s lost. And he can’t exactly ask anyone for help on this. He wouldn’t have an explanation. He opens Google and types how to support a grieving partner and how to support a partner after their dad died when they didn’t have a good relationship. He thinks typing man you used to fuck but now might have something more with, but you’re still not sure wouldn’t turn up many answers.

Ilya: Are you alone?

Shane: Yeah.

Shane leaves the hotel room. “Have fun,” Shane hears Hayden say after him.

Ilya: Can I call you?

Shane: Yes.

Shane goes to the stairwell and goes down a few floors. He picks up the phone. He can hear street noises, cars passing by. Ilya must be outside. Shane can tell Ilya is hurting. His voice is thick with emotion, like he’s trying not to cry. And his family is making it worse. Shane wishes he were there. He wants to hold him. He needs to help.

“I wish I spoke Russian.”

“You could probably learn it in a week. No accent. Bonjour.”

“That’s French, Ilya.”

“Yeah, I know, Shane.”

Shane wants to do more. He should be with Ilya.

“Where are you?”

“I’m just walking. I needed to get out,” Ilya sniffles.

He has to do something.

“Hey, I have an idea. How about you tell me everything that’s on your mind, but in Russian? I won’t understand but maybe it will help?”

“Okay.” And Ilya does. It’s heartbreaking listening to him like this. His voice is beautiful but he can feel the suffering behind the words. He can see how much he’s been hurt. How hard this is for Ilya. How his voice keeps breaking. How much Shane wants to reach out and take all that pain away. How he would transfer it to himself, if only he knew how. He wants to go to Russia and hurt everyone who’s ever hurt him. It’s an uncharitable thought, he knows. Especially because one of those people just died. But it doesn’t matter. Shane wants to protect him.

“Okay. I’m done.”

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes,” Ilya answers and Shane smiles. He blinks back tears. “Thank you.”

Shane swallows. He should do more. He should be able to do more. They sit in silence for a moment.

“Maybe you could teach me Russian someday.”

“Yeah, okay. Only useful phrases.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like ‘harder, please’ and ‘yes sir.’”

“Fuck you.”

“No. More like ‘fuck me, please.’”

They stay on the phone a little while longer, just breathing. Shane hopes he was able to lessen his pain a little, even if only for a moment.

Shane is back in Montreal after their game away. Ilya will be back in Boston tonight. He can’t stop smiling. It feels ridiculous being this happy about Ilya coming back. It’s not like they’ll see each other. And they will still be far away. But it settles something inside Shane to know Ilya will be closer. Easier to reach.

He keeps staring at their text thread.

Shane: Call me when you arrive.

Ilya: It will be late. You need your beauty sleep 😘

Shane: Call me, Ilya. I’m serious.

Ilya: Okay 😘

Shane: 😘

It’s late. Ilya should have said something by now. He should be in Boston, back in his own home. Why hasn’t he called? Did something happen?

Shane can’t think like that. Maybe his flight got delayed. Flights get delayed all the time. Yeah, that must be it. Shane will just check the flights from Moscow to Boston to see when it’s new arrival time is. If it’s still a long time from now.

Shane’s heart stops. Flight rerouted to Montreal due to medical emergency. Ilya? It must have been him. Or Sonya. It could have been another passenger. But if that were true... wouldn't Ilya have sent one quick text?

Shane calls him. That stupid voicemail again.

Shane: What happened?

Shane: Are you okay?

Shane: Is it Sonya?

He’s already grabbing his jacket and keys. He goes back to his phone. Still no answers. He tries to check the news to see if there’s something. Nothing. Only a news report about the landing and where the passengers were taken. No mention of Ilya.

Shane is out the door and in his car. He’s halfway there when he gets a message.

Ilya: I’m at the hospital with Sonya in Montreal. Will explain later.

Shane: I’m already on my way, Ilya.

Shane: 10 minutes.

He sees the three dots for a long time.

Ilya: Come through the back door. I will tell security. We are in private room.

Shane runs to them the moment he sees them. Sonya is lying in a hospital bed, with an IV in her hand. It looks like they are giving her fluids. Ilya is by her side, holding her hand, looking about to collapse, with his hair sticking up in every direction, like he’s been running his hands through it.

Shane hugs him the moment he reaches him and Sonya opens her eyes.

“Shane?”

“Yeah, Sonya, it’s me.”

Ilya pets her hair and tells her something in Russian. She falls back asleep.

“What happened? How is she?”

“She kept throwing up, Shane.” Ilya is crying. Shane can see the tears at his lash line, how they fall. “She would just throw up more and more. Her head started hurting. She was screaming and then throwing up.” Ilya’s sobs interrupt his sentences. Shane keeps holding him, rubbing at his back. “She fell asleep and wouldn’t wake up.” Fuck. Shane looks back at Sonya. She looks pale. And so small. “Then the medics gave her some fluids when we landed. She started waking up after that.” Ilya’s breathing is getting ragged. “She was fine before, Shane. She just sneezed a little, nothing more. I swear she was fine.”

“Shh, Ilya, I know. I know. It’s not your fault.” A sob. Shane holds him tighter. “She will be fine. They will take good care of her. She will be fine, sweetheart.”

“They are taking her for an MRI. They told me I could go with her. She’ll be calmer with me, I think.”

Shane tightens his arms around him.

A nurse comes back a few minutes later and tells them they will take Sonya for the MRI now.

“Which one of you will be coming with her?”

“I am,” Ilya answers.

“Okay, sir. You will need to take off all metallic objects. Do you have any metallic implants that are not MRI compatible?”

“I… I don’t think so.”

“Okay. The technicians will check again before you go in.”

Ilya nods. He starts emptying his pockets, giving Shane his wallet, keys, and phone. He removes his necklace, holds it for a moment, and hands it to Shane.

“Keep it?”

“Yeah, Ilya. Don’t worry.”

Ilya and Sonya are taken to the MRI. Shane is left alone in the room. He takes the necklace and clasps it around his neck for safekeeping. He looks down and holds the cross. He’s never seen Ilya without it before.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for everyone for following this story and taking the time to comment! I love going through each one 💖 Let me know what you think of this chapter and what are your predictions for next week!

If anyone is worried, remember: this fic has a happy ending.

Chapter 8

Chapter Summary

Life after a medical scare.

Chapter Notes

They are wheeling Sonya back to her room, Ilya keeping pace by her side, holding her hand. He hasn’t been able to stop touching her, the need to feel her alive as strong as the need to comfort her. She looks more like herself now. Cheeks rosier. She is a little drowsy but the doctors said that is to be expected after the medications they gave her to perform a spinal tap. Still, she was giggling at something Ilya said just a few minutes ago. Giggling. The sound still rings in his ears, battling the images of her listless body on his lap, curly, blonde hair surrounding her. He can’t get rid of those images. They are burned behind his eyelids, waiting for him every time he blinks. Ilya breathes in. Steady pulse. Rosy cheeks. Giggles. Steady pulse. Rosy cheeks. Giggles. He breathes out.

Shane is pacing when they enter the room. He takes one look at them, stops, and smiles. One of his rare, true smiles that he has only ever seen directed at him and that he, in his most selfish moments, wishes Shane had never shared with anyone else. Relaxed eyes, loose limbs, and a smile that lights up his whole face. They never cease to dazzle him, like Ilya is some heroine in the movies Shane won’t admit he likes to watch.

Shane sits on the other side of Sonya, his gaze divided between her and Ilya. Keeping watch. Shane gives him time, clearly wanting to ask something. Ilya looks at him in silent invitation. Go ahead.

“Are there… news? Any news?”

“The doctors said they’ll be back later.” Shane nods. “But they are… uh… expecting good things?”

“Optimistic?”

“Yeah. Optimistic,” Ilya tries out the word. “The doctors are optimistic. She looks better already.”

Shane smiles again. “Yeah, Ilya. She does.”

“We will be here all night. I will text you if there are any updates, Shane.”

Shane furrows his brows. Tilts his head slightly to the side. Is Ilya not being clear?

“You can go rest, malysh. I will tell you if something happens.” It is already too late. Shane should be home, sleeping. He already did too much coming here. And comforting Ilya because he couldn’t be steady when Sonya needed him the most. He’s been too good.

Shane’s frown only deepens. He moves closer to Sonya and takes her hand. Strokes it. He doesn’t stop looking at Ilya. Ah, his stubborn Shane. Always too good. His heart skips a bit. Those movie heroines again.

“Shane?” Sonya’s sleepy voice asks.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m here.”

She keeps her eyes closed but pulls his hand closer. Yanks it almost. “Here.”

“Yeah, I’m right here, Sonya.”

“No.” Another pull. “Here. Bed.”

“I… I don’t know if I’ll fit, sweetheart.” But Shane’s already getting up and trying to lie down without jostling her too much.

“Papa too. Here.”

Ilya chuckles and tries to find a way to fit. He’s not sure a hospital bed is meant to hold two hockey players and a child, but somehow, they make it work. Shane on one side, Sonya in the middle with her head resting on his chest. And Ilya on her other side, rubbing her back. They stay silent. Shane falls asleep a few minutes later. Ilya stays awake all night. Looking at how Sonya’s back moves with her breathing. How she shifts in her sleep. Only the tiniest movements — there isn’t room for anything more. And again and again, his eyes drift to Shane's neck. At his mother’s necklace dangling there, the cross rising and falling every time he breathes. Ilya’s heart can’t decide what to do with that.

Going back to Moscow is never something Ilya looks forward to. This time it was no different. He shrinks in Moscow, as if he can’t shake the little boy who grew up there. So small and shouldering so much responsibility. Everyone’s eyes on him and needing to remain invisible. Every movement and thought controlled and yet no one seemed to care what happened to him. His city of contradictions.

It remains the same now. He never wants to set foot there again but it’s also where a part of him will always stay. He tried to sever all ties and yet he doesn’t know if he will ever be ready for the last time he says goodbye. And now there is also Sonya. Russia had been her home once too. Will she ever want to go back? He looks at her again now. Had Ilya been so trapped in his own head that he missed the first signs of illness? She seemed fine when they boarded the plane but maybe he hadn’t been paying attention.

Shane stirs next to him. The first rays of light are reaching the room and shining on his skin. The sun is starting to rise. As Shane starts to wake up, Ilya pretends to be asleep. He wants to hold this moment for as long as possible. He is not ready to leave this small bubble they’ve created. But the world insists on intruding. So Ilya closes his eyes, slows his breaths and pretends to sleep.

He feels Shane move and peeks. He puts on his shoes, takes off Ilya’s necklace and places it carefully on the table next to his other things. He holds it for a moment longer, caresses it and turns back. Shane kisses Sonya’s temple and comes to Ilya’s side. His heart races. Slow, steady breaths. Remember, slow, steady breaths. He can feel Shane move closer now, he must have leaned in. He feels a soft kiss on his hair and his heart somersaults. It is with great effort that Ilya remains still. Every part of his body is begging him to grab Shane. To kick his feet and twirl his hair. His eyes want to flutter. He needs to touch where Shane’s lips have just been. But he will not give himself away.

He is twelve again. Pretending to be asleep when Mama slips into his room. She kisses his forehead and strokes his hair. It is the last time.

He is eight again. Too frightened to sleep alone after his father's fury. Alexei carries him back before dawn and kisses his temple because he only ever does it when Ilya is pretending to sleep. He never did it again.

Ilya is in a hospital room. He hears footsteps. Opens his eyes. Shane is leaving.

The doctor comes by to examine Sonya. She is a nice, kind lady, who is patient with Sonya and Ilya likes her immediately for that. He likes her even more when she confirms that Sonya is indeed better. They have some of the results back, and she says Sonya has viral meningitis. They will keep her at the hospital for a few more hours, but if she can eat and hold down her food, she will be discharged at the end of the day.

“Do you hear that, Sonechka?” Ilya can hear the smile in his own voice. “We’ll be going today.”

“Home?”

“No. Not yet.” Ilya is afraid to fly with her so soon. Waiting one or two days seems safer. “But we will go to a hotel, with a nice, comfy bed. And then home.”

Sonya looks excited. It’s good to see her with some of her energy back.

Ilya picks up his phone to book a hotel in Montreal and sees a text from Shane.

Shane: Sorry. I had to leave early for practice. You both looked so cute I didn’t have the courage to wake you up. Tell me as soon as you have news.

Cute.

Shane thinks he looked cute.

Ilya: Sonya is better. The doctor said viral meningitis. Will probably be discharged today.

Shane: I will be there right after practice.

Ilya and Sonya stay with Shane. Shane picked them up at the hospital. Sonya talked Shane’s ear off, asking Ilya to translate every time she couldn’t say something. Ilya fought to stay awake, but sleep finally caught up to him after the adrenaline wore off. But Shane wore that big, relaxed, smile, that reached his eyes, always so patient with Sonya. And Ilya didn’t want to miss a moment.

As soon as they entered Shane’s home, Sonya tried to run off, only Ilya’s hand on her shoulder stopping her. He took off her shoes while she vibrated in place. He doesn’t want to make a mess of Shane’s home though. He doesn’t want them to overstay their welcome.

“You can let her run. It’s okay. There’s a room to the left where you can put her things.”

“Thank you.” Sonya darts off. Ilya goes after her.

When Ilya opens the bedroom door, Sonya shrieks. Ilya understands. He is not sure if he’s still breathing. The bedroom is filled with toys. There is a monkey plushie sitting on the bed. The bed that is made with unicorn sheets. A pink vanity desk at the corner with a brush and a tiara. At the other corner, a pile of pillows and a small bookcase filled with books. Ilya is fighting back tears. He… how… how did Shane do all of this? When?

He leaves Sonya playing inside and goes back to Shane, who is currently in the kitchen, a lot of ingredients in front of him, while he focuses on the phone on the counter.

“Shane… why did you do all that?”

“I thought she would like it.” He turns back to Ilya. His brow is furrowed. “Did she not?”

Ilya laughs, incredulous. “Of course she did. How could she not?” He is rewarded with a shy smile. “When did you have time to do all that?”

Shane touches the back of his neck. Is he embarrassed? “I picked up a few things after practice. It’s not much, but I didn’t have a lot of time.”

“Not much, he says.” Ilya steps closer. “It’s wonderful, Shane.”

He’s flushing. “I wanted her to be comfortable.”

Oh, this impossible, infuriating man.

“Thank you.” And Ilya wraps his hands around his waist and kisses his neck. Places his chin on Shane’s shoulder.

That’s when he notices everything on the counter. The pasta Sonya likes, the juice she is always asking for. The diet coke. His eyes are burning. He swallows the knot in his throat.

There is a recipe on his phone. “What are you making?”

There. That flush again. Ilya could lick it. Shane clears his throat. “Something I found online. I wanted something simple that would be easier for her to eat.”

Ilya kisses him again. He doesn’t think he could speak right now.

When Sonya comes back, Shane shoos him to the living room to play with her. They are drawing, while Ilya makes silly voices that make her laugh.

His eyes keep drifting toward Shane. He’s fully focused on the cooking. But his jaw seems clenched too tight. His shoulders held too high. “Do you want help?”

That startles him. “No. It will only be a minute.”

“I can help.”

He doesn’t want to burden Shane. He’s been kind enough to lend them his house. Ilya can cook.

“No. It’s fine, Ilya.”

Ilya remains by Sonya’s side.

Dinner is amazing. Sonya eats everything with gusto, even if her food looks a little bland. Probably better that way. Shane cooked something different for him. The same pasta but with a cheesy sauce. But Ilya is still thinking of Shane. How he refused to eat when Ilya offered some of his food. How he seemed to have trouble eating his own food. How his smile felt a little forced at times, not quite reaching his eyes.

Ilya offers to wash the dishes, but Shane refuses again. So Ilya helps Sonya get into her pajamas and brush her teeth.

After, Ilya is back in the kitchen. Shane is rewashing the dishes he already saw him wash before. Scrubbing hard. He is wound too tight.

“Can I help?”

Shane jumps, almost dropping the dish, but recovering fast. “No. Almost done.” He looks back at Ilya and smiles.

Sonya calls him. Ah, yes, he needs to go.

“Ah, I think I will stay with Sonya tonight.” Ilya is shuffling his weight from foot to foot, looking down. “I don’t think I can be away from her right now.”

Shane’s smile turns soft, more real.

“Yeah, of course. I will bring you another pillow. Tell me if either of you needs anything.”

“Thank you.”

Words were not enough. Ilya kisses him and feels Shane melt a little. Good. Ilya wants him less rigid. He knows exactly what would help but they can’t do that right now. Not with Sonya calling for him. He lets him go.

When Ilya wakes up, Shane is already gone. There is a note on the bedside table. Shane must have been in the bedroom, then. Ilya wishes he had been awake for that.

Ilya,

I had to go to practice. I will be home as soon as it’s over. Please call if you need anything.

In the kitchen there is already coffee and eggs. This little glimpse of domesticity is making him hope for things he can’t have. Ilya has never felt so well taken care of.

The day goes by quickly. Ilya and Sonya watching cartoons and napping.

Ilya texts his coach and the team letting them know he will go back to Boston tomorrow and will be ready for practice the next day. He books their flights.

Shane arrived an hour ago. He kissed both of them and went to do laundry.

“You’ve folded that towel three times.”

“The edges didn’t line up.”

“I can help you,” Ilya says getting up from the couch.

“No, I can do it.”

“Yeah, but I can help.” Why is Shane being so hard about this?

“I said I can do it, Ilya.”

Maybe being with Ilya for so long is making him stressed. They have never been together for so long. And never without fucking. Shane must be tired of having Ilya in his space. Ilya knows he likes to do things his way.

“Sonya is doing better. We will be going back tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Shane doesn’t look happier or relieved. If anything, he looks disappointed but schools his features too quickly. “It’s good that she’s feeling better.”

“She will miss you. And the room you got her here.”

Shane chuckles. “I will miss her too.”

Only her? Ilya doesn’t dare ask.

“Can I start dinner?”

“I’ll do it.”

“I can help, Shane.”

“You don’t have to. My diet is difficult to cook for.”

Bedtime is easier. They both go with Sonya to her room. They lie in her bed and take turns reading her story.

“Goodnight, obezyanka moya.”

“Goodnight, Sonya.” Shane kisses her.

“G’night.”

Ilya hesitates before following Shane to his room. But then Shane looks back, confused when he notices Ilya is not coming.

“You want to stay with her again?”

“I…” How can he say it? “I’m not sure if you wanted me with you.”

“Where else would I want you?”

Shane still looks too tense when they get to bed. Ilya kisses him. He wants to take it further, but Ilya can still hear Sonya in her room and he has to admit he might be too tired. He pulls Shane to him and he lays his head on his chest. He wraps his arms around him. And they fall asleep, holding each other.

Ilya is woken up by Shane’s small gasps in his ear. He can feel his weight on his arm. His warmth. He nuzzles into his hair. Breathes him in. He can’t believe he gets this. Waking up by his side, watching his face, the tiny movement behind his eyelids as he dreams.

Then he feels it. Shane is moving his hips, his hard cock rubbing Ilya’s leg. Soft gasps and moans leaving his mouth. Shane is still asleep. Soft, hazy light spills through the window, lighting his features. He looks beautiful like this, chasing his pleasure. Ilya brushes the hair from his face, kisses his sweaty brow. The arm that is holding him urges Shane to come closer, so he can hump his leg in earnest. Shane whines and keeps thrusting. Ilya leaves soft kisses on his cheeks, on his eyelids, and Shane blinks awake.

“Good morning, solnyshko.”

Shane stops moving. His face a deep red now, freckles clear against the new color. Ilya kisses him.

“Please don’t stop, kotenok.” He moves Shane closer, urges him to rut against his leg again. “You look so beautiful like this.”

Shane turns an impossibly deeper shade of red. But starts moving again. Ilya kisses him as a reward.

“So good, kotenok. You’re so good.”

Ilya sits up. He moves Shane so he is straddling Ilya’s leg, Shane’s back to Ilya’s chest. Ilya kisses his neck. He takes off both their underwear. Gets the lube and warms it on his hand. He spreads it on Shane’s cock making it slicker. His cock jerks. God, he looks stunning.

“Come on. Keep going, get yourself off for me.”

“Fuck.” Shane is moving again, faster now. He grabs his own cock, starts to jerk it. Ilya stops him.

“Not like that. Rut on my leg like you were doing before.”

Shane whines. Ilya can feel his balls on his leg, the way they drag against him. He can feel each time Shane’s ass moves against his hard cock; every time he moves. Fuck, he feels so good. Ilya wants to be in him. But this is about Shane. It’s about making him feel good. And he clearly needs this. Ilya is holding him up with one arm around his waist, the other hand rubbing his nipples. Squeezing his chest. Shane keeps making sweet noises against Ilya’s neck, mouth open. He’s going faster and faster.

Ilya gets the lube again and finds his hole. His index finger rubbing it until it finally breaches him. Shane throws his head back and moans. He has gone boneless in Ilya’s arms. He looks so pretty like this. Completely relaxed. Happy. Ilya wishes he were more artistic so he could paint him. Something so precious should be immortalized. It should be shown and adored by millions. And yet, it is Ilya Shane trusts to see him like this. To get him like this.

He keeps fingering him slowly with only one finger. He crooks it, stroking his prostate. The rhythm Shane is using is driving Ilya mad. He needs to be in him, his own cock starting to leak. He stops himself. He can be good for Shane. He gets to have this. He gets to let himself go.

Shane is going fast now, humping Ilya’s leg and fucking himself on Ilya’s finger at the same time.

“So beautiful, malysh.” Ilya kisses him again, sucks on his tongue and Shane comes, moaning into his mouth. Ilya grabs his cock and strokes him through it.

Shane lets himself fall against Ilya’s chest, blinking up at him. He looks sleepy still. A smile spreading through his face. He has to kiss him. Shane starts moving, rubbing his ass against Ilya’s dick again.

“You looked so good humping my leg, kotenok. Do you want more?”

Shane nods.

“Words, malysh.”

“Please, Ilya.”

Ilya fingers him, opening him up. He has three fingers in him now. Shane is already fully hard again. Ilya kisses his shoulder and removes his fingers. Shane whines and Ilya chuckles. He never likes being empty.

Ilya gets a condom, rolls it on his cock and lines himself. He pushes into Shane slowly. He’s so tight. And warm. He always feels too good. Ilya breathes. Resettles. Kisses him again. Shane is so pliant right now. Ilya fucks into him slowly, aiming for his prostate each time. They come like this, with Ilya fucking him sweet and slow.

Shane wakes up fully now. He reaches up and kisses Ilya.

“We should shower.”

They shower together. Ilya gets on his knees and sucks him off. Shane returns the favor.

The tension has finally left Shane’s shoulders. Good. Ilya always wants to make him feel good. He wants to show him how much he matters to Ilya.  

Being back in Boston is bittersweet. Ilya likes it here. It has been his home for the last few years. He missed his friends. He missed hockey. And Sonya really missed school judging by the way she practically threw herself out of the car when Ilya parked. But, for the first time, Ilya has a place he wants to go back to. A person he wants to go back to. And it is not in Boston. He is not in Boston.

Shane: How is Sonya?

Ilya: Misses you. She had to take the plushie you gave her to school.

Shane: Oh, god. That’s embarrassing.

Ilya: Yes, very embarrassing. She has terrible taste. You’re all she talks about.

Shane: I miss her too 😘

Ilya: 😘

Practice was good. Being back on the ice, the movement, the repetition, getting back into it. He can tell he is a little rusty in the beginning, but by the end he is back playing like himself.

The guys, though, they keep staring at him. Waiting for the moment he will break. He will not break. He is not weak. And he doesn’t like being coddled.

He doesn’t want them looking too closely either. He’s afraid of what they might find. Especially now, when things have felt closer to the surface than ever. No longer buried deep under layers of performance and misdirection. Shane has been peeling them back one by one with every look, every touch. Every time he insists on taking care of Ilya. Every time he doesn’t let him hide. Ilya is not sure Shane will like what he finds in the end. What he does know is he doesn’t need any of these guys to go look. He prefers having them accept the version he feeds them. It is better to remain invisible. Preferable to be alone in the middle of a crowd than alone in the middle of his own misery. That way he has noise to distract him.

“Okay, everyone. Is true. Your sexy captain is back.” Cheers. Marly whistles. “I know, I know, you missed me very much. That is why next game, we will beat Montreal. Okay? Montreal ends the game crying. For your captain, yes?” More cheers.

Yes, he is good at this. Being Ilya Rozanov.

Ilya: Can’t wait to beat your ass in two days 😘

Shane: It’s your ass you should be worried about.

Ilya: Is it? 😏

Shane: Shut up, asshole.

Ilya: Don’t be mad. I promise I’ll make it up to you 🍑💦

Shane: Not happening.

Ilya: Oh, so you don’t want me to make you come hands free? 😈

Shane: It can be your consolation prize 😇

Marly shows up balancing two paper bags of take-out in one hand and a carton of drinks in the other.

"I come bearing food," he announces dramatically.

"Marly!" Sonya squeals before Ilya can even open the door properly.

She throws herself at Marly's legs, nearly making him lose his balance.

"Whoa, easy there, kiddo." He laughs, setting the food safely on the counter before scooping her up. "You're stronger than you look."

"Yes," Sonya says solemnly.

"I don't doubt it."

"See my room. Please?"

"I thought I came for dinner."

"No."

"Oh."

"You have to see."

"Well, I guess I don't have a choice."

"No."

Marly looks over her shoulder at Ilya.

"I think I'm being kidnapped."

"You are," Ilya says. "Better do what she says."

Sonya grabs Marly's hand the second he sets her down and drags him toward her bedroom.

"Careful," Marly calls over his shoulder. "These old knees aren't what they used to be."

"You old?"

"Very old."

"Papa, Marly very old?"

"Like dinosaur."

"I heard that."

Ilya grins.

A few moments later, Ilya hears an exaggerated gasp from the bedroom.

"Okay," Marly says. "This room is awesome."

"I know!"

"Is this your monkey?"

She hugs the plush tightly. "Misha."

"Misha?" Marly nods gravely. "He looks like trouble."

Sonya giggles.

By the time they come back out, Marly is wearing a plastic tiara slightly crooked on his head.

Ilya raises an eyebrow. "You've been here five minutes." But he knows how persuasive she can be.

"I have no authority in this house."

"I told him princess," Sonya explains.

"Ah. He is very pretty princess."

"I look good, don't I?" Marly does a turn.

Ilya snorts. "You look like hockey player."

"Those are not mutually exclusive."

Dinner is loud.

Sonya tells Marly about Russia, about the hospital, about school, about the monkey, and that’s when Ilya has to intervene, afraid she’ll mention Shane. Marly somehow keeps up with all of it, asking questions as though each new revelation is the most important thing he's heard all day.

When they're finished eating, Sonya jumps off her chair.

"Dance!"

"Oh no," Marly says immediately.

"Oh yes," Ilya replies.

Sonya disappears into the living room and returns carrying a small speaker.

She presses a button, and upbeat pop music fills the apartment.

"You watch," she tells Ilya.

She demonstrates the routine with complete seriousness—arms, spins, tiny hops and dramatic finger points. Marly watches with exaggerated concentration.

"Got it," he says.

"You definitely don't got it," Ilya mutters.

"I absolutely got it."

He absolutely does not.

On the very first step he turns the wrong way.

"No!" Sonya cries, laughing so hard she has to stop dancing. "Wrong!"

"I was testing you."

"No!"

"I wanted to make sure you were paying attention."

Again they start.

Again he gets it wrong.

"Other side!" Sonya shouts.

"My other left?"

"That one!”

“God, I have no coordination.”

"I've been saying that for years," Ilya says.

"Traitor."

By the fourth attempt, Marly finally manages the routine well enough to earn enthusiastic applause from his very demanding instructor.

"Good job!" Sonya cheers.

"I'd like to thank my coach."

Sonya giggles.

They perform it together from beginning to end, both singing along despite neither of them knowing most of the words. Marly commits completely, adding dramatic flourishes that aren't part of the choreography and making Sonya laugh so hard she nearly falls over.

Ilya has been recording the entire thing on his phone. Without thinking, he sends it to Shane.

Ilya: Marly is here tonight. Will have to call you later.

Shane: Why are you not in the video?

Ilya: I will send you video later 😏

Ilya: Don’t start without me.

Shane: You better hurry then 😇

"Evidence," he says to Marly.

Marly points accusingly.

"You delete that immediately."

"I think the internet deserves to see this."

"You wouldn't."

"I absolutely would."

"You monster."

Sonya runs over and tugs on Ilya's sleeve.

"Papa. Dance."

"I am cameraman."

"No."

Marly grins far too widely.

"Come on, Captain Sexy."

"You are enjoying this too much."

"I've earned this."

"You have not."

Sonya folds her arms.

"Papa."

Ilya sighs dramatically.

"You never had a chance," Marly says.

Ilya hands him the phone.

"If this ends up anywhere, I know where you live."

"That's fair."

The music starts again.

Ilya knows the dance after watching it half a dozen times. Sonya positions herself carefully between them like a tiny choreographer making sure neither adult ruins her masterpiece.

"Ready?" she asks.

"No," both men answer.

"Go!"

They dance anyway.

Marly exaggerates every movement. Ilya rolls his eyes and matches him step for step until they're both being deliberately ridiculous.

Sonya laughs so hard she can barely keep dancing herself.

When the song ends, she throws both arms around them.

"Best dance ever."

Ilya can only call Shane very late but he makes sure to make it up to him.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you to everyone who is following the story and talking about it! I cherish each comment and kudo, they always make my day 💖

As always, let me know what you think, I love reading your theories and which parts worked best (or which din't work so well) for you!

Chapter 9

Chapter Summary

Life together while far away.

Chapter Notes

Content warning for this chapter: mentions of child abuse and domestic violence, panic attack during sex

Ilya is getting ready for the game. The energy in the room is high. Everyone wants to beat Montreal tonight. Ilya does too. There is nothing better than playing against Shane, pushing each other to their limit, watching him play the best hockey of his career against Ilya. Well, almost nothing.

Ilya: How hard do you want me to slam you tonight? 😈

“Roz, you coming?” Marly asks.

Ilya can see Shane typing and stopping several times. He needs to go but he wants to see his reply first.

Shane: You’d have to catch me first 😇

Oh, he will.

“We’re still on for tonight? After?”

Ilya nods. “I said I’d make it up to you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Later.”

Shane goes back to Hayden. Ilya pretends not to look.

Shane keeps looking at him during the face-off. He’s smiling. Ilya can’t help but smile too. He loves playing with Shane. Against him. It pushes him to be better. He loves seeing Shane lock in. Loves knowing he’s the reason he has to focus so much, has to try so hard. And after all they’ve been through, this game feels different. There’s the same intensity and fun as always, but also. It’s lighter. All the stolen glances and smiles. He can’t stop looking at Shane and that feeling seems mutual. Ilya gets to watch him, gets to push him and challenge him, gets to be a little rough with him. He’s giddy. It feels like a dream.

Shane’s got the puck, and he’s skating away. Skating circles around everyone else, in a league of his own. With Ilya, who is chasing after him, always. He’s mesmerized by his footwork, the way he controls the puck. Shane turns back, smiles at him. He wants to be chased, he’s enjoying it. And suddenly, Marly slams into Shane. He was looking at Ilya and now he’s on the ice. Unmoving.

Someone’s talking to him, but Ilya can’t listen. Has Shane moved at all? He wants to go to him but his legs won’t cooperate. He’s not sure he’s even breathing anymore. All he can see is Shane on the ice, his body contorted.

Is Shane still breathing? He has to be. He has to. Ilya needs him to.

Please, mama, bring him back.

The medics get to Shane and that seems to slap him out of this. He skates to him. Except, there’s something at his chest stopping him. The ref’s arm is holding him back. He’s telling him to get back. How long has he been speaking to him? Had he been there the whole time?

It doesn’t matter. Ilya has to go to Shane. He needs to explain. They’ll have to let him go to him. But no words come out.

Shane, on the gurney now, with a neck brace, still not moving. All that white surrounding him on the ice.

His mama, on her bed, her blonde hair surrounding her like a halo.

Shane smiled at him and now he’s hurt.

He does this. He can’t help it.

His love is a slow undoing. Everything his heart holds turns to ash.

The rest of the game goes on in a blur. The whistle blows. Someone says something about a penalty. Someone else pats his shoulder. The scoreboard changes. None of it reaches him.

Shane is somewhere behind the glass doors, somewhere he cannot reach, and Ilya’s body has decided that is the only important fact in the world. He has no idea what else happened or even who won. He can only think of one thing: Shane.

He tried to ask, but no one would tell him anything. He even asked Pike. Pike answered by trying to punch him. Ilya wanted to let him. Maybe that would have helped.

No. That would only make Shane feel worse. If he still… if he can still…

“Hey, Rozy? You alright man?”

It’s Marly. Ilya can’t even look at him. It’s stupid. He knows Marly didn’t mean to hurt him. It was a clean hit. But still.

“Do you think Hollander will be okay?” Marly keeps going even when Ilya doesn’t answer. “I didn’t mean to hit him that hard. Maybe I should go visit or something. Apologize.”

Ilya needs to get out of here. He needs to go to Shane.

“I shouldn’t take you so literally next time, huh?” Marly claps his back. Is he trying to joke? What is he talking about? “Make them cry? Probably not what you meant.”

Ilya. He had said that. He said that and now Shane’s in the hospital. Will he even play again? Did Ilya take that away from him?

It’s not what he meant. Of course not. But does it matter? He’s hurt now. And isn’t this what Ilya has been doing anyway? They are risking too much. If anyone finds out, Shane might never play again. He’s risking too much staying with Ilya. They’ve been playing house, but Ilya knew he could never have this. It’s not for someone like him.

“He’ll be okay, right? Playing in no time?”

“Yeah.” He’ll have to be.

Maria had sent Ilya a photo of a drawing Sonya did earlier. It’s three stick figures – two bigger ones, and a smaller. She said it was Shane, Ilya, and her. He hopes she didn’t watch the game. She’s usually asleep at that time, but she likes watching Shane.

Ilya visits Shane at the hospital. Shane looks hurt. A nasty bruise already on his face. A brace on his arm. But yet, better than what could have happened.

Shane is clearly high and he’s adorable like this. No filter. The way he said Ilya’s name. So sweet. He keeps asking for Ilya to be closer. So Ilya holds him.

He asks him to spend the summer with him at his cottage. Two whole weeks. And Ilya wants to so much.

There is nothing Shane could ever ask him, that Ilya would say no to. The time when Ilya could ever deny him anything is long gone.

But he knows he is being selfish. He knows what happens when he wants things. How easily they can slip away from his fingers in the worst way. He should end this. Shane is risking too much to be with him. He is not worth that. So he answers maybe. Shane might not even remember asking tomorrow.

He will get tired of Ilya eventually. And then, Ilya will leave. No matter how much it costs him, the moment Shane stops asking for him, Ilya will stop coming. But until then, he will collect all the precious moments he can with Shane. He has always been greedy.

After Shane falls asleep, Ilya leaves. But before, he kisses his temple and leaves Sonya’s drawing by his bedside table. Everyone else will probably assume it was one of Pike’s thousand kids. But Shane will know.

Shane is staying with his parents while he recovers. He’s been texting and calling Ilya every day.

Shane: [Image attached: blue pajamas with little kittens on it placed on top of a bed].

Shane: Ilya, what is this?

Ilya: Isn’t it obvious, kotenok? Maybe you need to go get your glasses.

Shane: Why would you give me this?

Ilya: Cute little kitten pajamas for cute little kitten 😻

Shane: Fuck you, asshole.

Ilya: You must look very pretty in them.

Shane: I’m not wearing them, Ilya.

Ilya: Sonya will be sad. She picked them for you.

Shane: She did not. Stop using her for getting what you want.

Ilya: She did. Saw cute little kitten pajamas and started screaming your name.

Ilya: I had to buy them for you after that.

Shane: 🖕

Ilya: She has a matching one with little monkeys. And she made me buy one too.

Shane: What is yours?

Ilya: Are you trying to get me to send a picture? 😏

No answer.

Ilya: Mine has bears on it. Because she thinks I am very strong and manly.

Shane: Fuck. You.

Ilya: 😘

Later that day, Sonya is in her bed, Ilya by her side. They are each wearing their pajamas, Sonya with the monkeys and Ilya with the bears.

Ilya picks up Sonya’s book for her bedtime story. She chose the one about a little girl astronaut tonight.

Ilya gets his phone and calls Shane. Now that he’s resting, Shane has been a nightly presence at bedtime.

He picks up. He’s already in bed, pillows behind his head. He has his glasses on. Ilya will never not love seeing him with them.

“Shane!”

“Hi, Sonya.” Shane smiles.

He places his phone on his bed support and now Ilya can see what he’s wearing. He has the kitten pajamas on. He’s actually wearing them. He looks… stunning. Comfortable. Relaxed. Ilya loves seeing him like this. He’s not sure how it’s possible to look so cute and hot at the same time. Ilya might have a problem.

He wants this every day, and not just through a phone screen. He wants to see Shane like this all the time. In his glasses and pajamas. With terrible bed head and morning breath. Reading a book or screaming at the TV. Greedy.

“Thank you for the pajamas, sweetheart. I love them,” Shane says to Sonya.

Ilya is grinning. He knows he is, he can’t help it.

Shane looks at him and frowns. He’s trying to look angry but his flush gives him away.

“Look, Shane! I have monkeys.”

Shane looks back at her again.

“Yes, Sonya. I can see that. Very cute.”

“You look very cute too, kotenok.”

Shane flushes a deeper shade of red.

“Stop it, Ilya.”

“’s true. Prettiest little kitten.”

Shane ignores him. “What are we reading tonight?”

Ilya starts reading the story. Shane closes his eyes. He can’t look at screens for too long with his concussion.

When Ilya finishes the story, Sonya is already asleep. Ilya kisses her, wishes her goodnight, and leaves the bedroom.

On his screen, Shane is also asleep, his soft snores audible through his phone speakers. Ilya stays on the call for a few minutes, looking at Shane. He likes having him with Ilya, keeping him company.

When he decides it’s time to sleep he wishes Shane goodnight, kisses his fingers and then the screen. He dreams of Shane.

Shane: [Image attached: Shane shirtless on his bed].

Ilya fumbles his phone. It hits the bench and then the floor. Loudly. He’s sure everyone is staring at him.

Ilya: 🥵

Ilya: Sexting in the middle of the day? What have you done to my Shane?

Ilya: You have to warn me before sending this, Shanya. I almost dropped my phone. Marly is laughing at me.

Shane: What do you mean?

Shane: I just meant to show you I’m finally done with the brace.

Ilya looks at the picture again. Shane is indeed without the brace.

Ilya: Shane! My wonderful beautiful Shane! That is amazing 🎉

Ilya: We will celebrate tonight 🍆

Ilya: You can finally jerk off properly 😏

Ilya: (And you know what you did).

Shane: I have no idea what you’re talking about 😇

Ilya: I don’t believe you, kotenok.

Ilya: Maybe I will have to punish you tonight.

Incoming call from Shane. Ilya declines.

Ilya: I have practice now.

Ilya: Later.

Shane: Later 😘

When Ilya finishes practice, he is greeted with the best news.

Shane: Forgot to say, I’ll be in Boston in two days. Rolex wants me to shoot an ad now I don’t need a brace.

Ilya: New Shane ad 🥵

Shane: I’ll be wearing a boring suit, Ilya.

Ilya: 🥵🔥

Shane: 🙄

Ilya: How long will you be staying?

Shane: Two days.

Ilya: 🎉🍆🍑💦🥵🔥

Ilya has been pacing for the last half hour. Sonya is still at school. Shane will be in his house any minute now. He offered to pick him up from the shooting, but Shane refused. Too many people there.

He can’t believe he will be seeing him again. Touching him.

Shane rings the doorbell. Ilya rushes to the door then stops in front of it. Fixes his hair. Breathes. Then, he opens it.

Shane looks as beautiful as ever. He’s wearing tight, dark jeans, a white t-shirt and a jacket. It should be illegal to look this good while wearing something so boring. He makes everything look good.

As soon as Ilya closes the door, Shane is on him. He missed Ilya too. They are kissing, bodies crashing. He missed the taste of Shane, his tongue, his lips. Shane leads him to the couch, his lips never leaving Ilya’s. They lie there, Shane on top of him. Shane takes off his jacket. They keep making out on the couch like teenagers.

Shane is driving him wild. Seeing him take charge, sucking on his tongue, grabbing Ilya and moving him wherever he wants him. Ilya is hard. He might be about to come if he isn’t careful. Shane grinds his hips. He’s hard too. He keeps a slow rhythm, their cocks rubbing together through too many layers.

Shane takes Ilya’s top off and then his own. Ilya grabs him immediately, cups his chest. Shane moans. Fuck, those sounds. Ilya can’t believe he gets to have this. Shane kisses him again, and Ilya lets him. He would let him do anything to him. Shane keeps grinding on him and it’s too much. Ilya missed him too much. It’s been too long. Ilya is lost to it. He’s drowning. Every thought is Shane. Shane. Shane. There is nothing else.

Shane’s lips leave his. Ilya follows. Shane stops him with a hand on his chest. He gives Ilya a sly smile.

“Do you want to fuck me, Rozanov?”

Ilya chokes. He loves seeing Shane like this. Taking control. Confident.

Ilya is out of the couch in an instant. He tries saying yes and nodding at the same time. He doesn’t think he manages either. He almost hits the table in his rush to get to the bedroom. Condoms. Lube. Why doesn’t he have them in the living room? In every room. This has been a clear oversight. He’ll have to fix it later.

Ah, here they are. He grabs them, and runs back to the living room. He trips and almost falls. Why is walking so hard right now? He’s a professional athlete. Walking should not be this difficult.

Shane is laughing when Ilya gets back to him. Beautiful. Ilya kisses the sound out of his mouth. He wants to hold it in him forever. Wants to make him laugh all the time.

Shane grabs the lube and the condoms and places them by his side. “Thank you, Bambi.”

Ilya’s heart does something funny. He blinks. He feels heat rising to his cheeks. Bambi. Ilya is fucked. He’s not sure his heart will ever recover. Bambi.

Ilya kisses him. Bambi. Fuck. Why does he like that so much? He feels cherished. Warm all over. It feels nice.

“Like a little baby deer.” Shane snickers. “’s cute.”

What?

“What?”

“You looked cute. Like a little baby deer learning to walk. Fumbling around.”

He can’t allow that. He has a reputation. “Not baby deer. Very big deer. Strong deer.” He gets on top of Shane. Kisses him. “A sexy deer.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Oh, I’ll show you, kotenok.”

He kisses him again. Hard. Grabs Shane jaw. Turns him to him.

Shane melts instantly. He starts blinking slowly. Oh, Shane wants him to take charge, then. Ilya can do that.

Ilya takes off his own pants and underwear. Grabs Shane’s.

“Off.”

Shane hurries to comply. He looks gorgeous, like this. Naked. For Ilya’s taking.

“On your knees.”

There’s a thud when his knees hit the ground. He’s eager.

Shane looks up at him, waiting direction. His brown eyes looking at him, trusting him to take care of him. So Ilya gives him what he wants.

“You look so good, malysh.” Ilya pets his hair, brushes it away from his face. “So desperate for me.”

Shane whines. Ilya keeps holding the back of his head, leads him to his cock.

“Come on. You know what to do.”

He rubs his dick on his lips. Paints them with his precome.

Shane looks obscene. Lips red and shiny. He kisses the tip. Runs his tongue along the slit. Sucks the head. Ilya’s breathing hard now. Shane swirls his tongue, runs it along Ilya’s frenulum. And then, he swallows him in one movement. Fuck. He sucks hard. Shane bobs his head a few times, licks the shaft and then buries himself in Ilya. His nose on his hair. His eyes still looking up.

Shane has his hands on the back of Ilya’s thighs, urging him impossibly closer. His nails are digging into the meat of them. He hopes they will leave a mark. Shane moves one of his hands. He’s cupping Ilya’s balls now, rolling them on his palm. His mouth never stops moving. Sucking. He presses harder on Ilya’s thigh. Ilya gets the message. He starts thrusting. Slowly at first, and then harder. Quicker.

There are tears at the corner of Shane’s eyes. Ilya brushes them away with his thumb. Licks them. Shane keeps looking at Ilya. Ilya can’t look away either. This will be over too soon. He has to hold on. He grabs Shane and pulls him away. Bends down and kisses him again. Picks him up and throws him on the couch. Shane gasps, his cock bobbing with the movement.

“Turn around.” Shane does. His face buried on the couch cushions, his back arching. His ass in the air. He wishes he could take a picture.

Ilya goes to him. Runs his hand along the curve of his back. Reaches his ass and squeezes. Spreads his cheeks and looks. Shane shivers. He looks beautiful like this. His trust in Ilya something Ilya reveres. Always. Something Ilya finds holy and precious. He will take care of him. Shane trusts him and Ilya will honor that. Shane wants him and so he gives.

He kisses his hole. Sloppy. He swirls his tongue. Breaches him with it. Shane whines. He can get so loud. His beautiful, impossible Shane. Ilya could get lost in this. The taste of Shane. His reactions. But he has a job to do. He grabs the lube, warms it on his fingers. Rubs one against his hole. Watches how it twitches.

“Gorgeous.”

Shane shivers. He looks back at him over his shoulder. Tears gathering at his lash line.

Ilya keeps rubbing his slick finger over his hole. Keeps eating him out with his tongue. His finger slips in. Ilya fucks Shane with it. Slow, but sure. Crooks it and find his prostate. Strokes it. Shane jumps.

“Shh, malysh. So sensitive.” He rubs a hand over his back. Soothing.

“Ilya,” Shane whines.

“Yes?”

“More.”

So Ilya gives him more. One finger turns to two and then three. Shane is shaking every time Ilya’s fingers touch his prostate. He is fucking himself on Ilya’s fingers. Eager for more.

“Please.”

Ilya hears him. He rolls on a condom, lines his cock and buries himself in his ass. So tight. Warm. He starts fucking him. Ilya lies on Shane’s back, forcing him down. He kisses his shoulder. The freckles on his nape. Shane’s hair tickles Ilya’s nose. He kisses him more.

Ilya starts fucking him in earnest, Shane gasping with every thrust. Shane’s cock is trapped between his body and the couch. He whines every time it rubs on it. Ilya angles his body, trying to reach his prostate every time.

“Still okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, Ilya. More.”

Ilya’s hips turn faster. There’s sweat dripping out of him and falling on Shane. Ilya licks his neck. He grabs his hips, places one foot on the floor and gets up. He can go faster like this. Deeper.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, harder,” Shane pants.

Ilya doesn’t know how but he’ll have to try. He goes harder.

“Spank me, Ilya.”

Ilya spanks his ass.

“Yeah, like that. Harder.”

Ilya spanks his ass again. Harder. He can see the red handprint on his left cheek. He loves seeing his mark on him. Shane should always have Ilya’s mark on him. He keeps thrusting harder and harder. Shane’s screaming.

“Ilya, Ilya, please.”

Ilya pulls out and turns him on his back. They are face to face now. Shane looks perfect. Tears in his eyes, some tracking down to his temples. Mouth slack and lips puffy. A little drool line on the corner of his mouth Tiny gasps coming from him. Ilya bends down and sucks his nipple. Ilya is so close.

“Slap me.”

Ilya slaps his ass again. Catches a bit of his thigh from this angle.

“Face, Ilya. Slap me in the face.”

Ilya does. A small slap.

“Harder. Please.” Shane asks him, eyes pleading. So Ilya does. He slaps him. Shane cries, his head turning with the impact. Ilya can see the red blooming on his face. The tears that were gathered at his lashes falling freely now.

Ilya’s stomach drops. He feels queasy.

The worst part is he can’t even lie to himself.

He liked it.

There was something beautiful about seeing Shane like this. Trusting him. Choosing him. About seeing his mark on his face. Seeing him cry. Knowing he caused it. Knowing Shane asked him to. He gave him something fragile and asked Ilya to hold it carefully.

He liked it. He likes being trusted this way. He feels a thrill. A satisfaction. The thought arrives cold and sharp. Ilya cannot breathe.

His father’s face, fury written on it.

His mother looking at him, eyes terrified. His father liked that she trusted him too. He enjoyed it.

He’s shaking. He looks at his hands, still on Shane’s face. Are his lips moving? There’s a ringing in his ears.

Shane on the ice, unmoving. Shane with a bruise on his face. Shane, in the bathroom, shoving Ilya away. Ilya’s knuckles bloody. The tiles painted in red. The water washing away the evidence.

Ilya is going to throw up. He needs to leave. He’s sobbing. The sounds being torn away from his chest. He can’t move.

Shane trusted him. He wanted Ilya to give him something beautiful and he turned it into something ugly. He trusted him, and Ilya ruined it.

He has to fix this. He has to… He starts moving again. He tries to. Shane was close. He knows he was. Maybe Ilya can get him there again. He can try to be gentler now.

There are arms around him. Shane trusted him and he has to do it. He wants to give him everything he wants. If this is what he wants, he’ll find a way to do it.

“Ilya, stop. Please.”

Ilya freezes. Is he hurting him again? Did he not want Ilya? He dry heaves. He swallows. He can’t breathe. Everything is blurry.

And then arms, squeezing him tighter. Someone on top of him, holding him down. Shane. His beautiful, perfect Shane. Ilya sobs.

“It’s okay, Ilya, I’m here. Breathe with me.” Shane smiles. Ilya tries to copy him. “There you go. You’re doing so well.”

Ilya cries. Shane holds him through it.

They breathe together.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

In.

Out.

“What happened?”

Ilya opens his eyes. Looks at him. Shane’s eyes look soft. Worried. But he’s being so gentle.

“Was it because of what I asked?”

“I… I hurt you.”

“I asked you to. I wanted it.”

How can he explain?

“Not just now. Before too. In the… in the bathroom. You were scared. I kept seeing that.”

Shane pets his hair. Rubs his back. He’s still holding him.

“I wasn’t scared. Not of you. I’m never scared of you. Maybe angry. Definitely worried.” Shane pauses. “You remembered that now?”

Ilya nods.

“Did you not want to… to do that now?” Ilya looks up at him. “The…” Shane breathes. His sweet, brave Shane. “The slap?”

More tears. God, years without crying and with Shane he can’t seem to stop.

“Wanted. Maybe too much.”

“Not too much. I wanted you to. I asked.”

“Seeing you like… like that… I—” He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. “I kept seeing you on the ice. And in the bathroom.” Ilya looks away. He can’t do this.

But Shane keeps asking.

“Why did you keep going?”

And so he gives.

“You asked me and I… I… wanted to make it good. Wanted to give what you asked. I’m sorry.”

Shane kisses his temple, brushes his knuckles softly on his cheek.

“You have to tell me. If that happens again. If you don’t… if you feel like this you have to tell me.”

Ilya can’t do that. But Shane asks. So Ilya has to give.

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” Shane kisses him.

Shane takes Ilya to the bathroom. They get in the shower. Shane washes his hair, his body. He keeps touching him. Kissing him. He is careful in his touch. Reverent. No one has ever done that to him.

The next morning, Shane makes them pancakes. He even takes a bite of one. No syrup. Ilya does not deserve him.

They keep talking every day after that.

Ilya played with bruised ribs tonight. He was able to push through and scored. But Boston still lost the game. They are out of the playoffs now.

Shane: How are your ribs?

Of course he was watching. And of course he noticed. He sees too much.

Ilya: Killing me. How’s your head?

Shane: Better.

Ilya smiles. Part of him was hoping Shane would take the bait. But he’s glad he answered honestly. He did want to know.

Ilya: Good.

Shane: Are you bummed?

Ilya: About the cup?

Shane: Yeah.

Ilya: What do you think?

Shane: My mom thinks the Admirals are going to win.

It must be nice. Talking hockey with his mom. Ilya blinks away tears.

Ilya: No way. Scott Hunter is 100 000 years old.

Shane: He’s not that old.

What?

Ilya: And he’s almost as boring as you.

Shane: At least you have a type.

Ilya laughs fully.

Ilya: 😈

He’s at his house with Sonya and Sveta. Sveta will be leaving for Moscow later. This will be the first summer Ilya is not going. He is still not sure what he will do in the future. Now that his father’s dead and he cut relations with his brother. He’s not sure if he’s ready to never go there again. He’s not ready to have the last time he visited his mother’s grave be the last time.

Sonya interrupts him.

“This one?”

They are packing a suitcase for Sveta to take with her to give to his niece. Ilya went shopping with Sonya earlier in the week. She helped him pick out the toys and clothes. He bought two of each so Sonya wouldn’t feel left out.

“Yeah, Sonechka. Thank you. You can put that there.” She places the t-shirt carefully next to the dresses. The other side of the bag is filled with toys and books.

“This one’s pretty. She will like.” She places one of her own dresses inside. Not one Ilya bought for Zoya.

“Are you sure you want to give Zoya that dress? You like wearing it so much.”

“Yes. She will like.”

Ilya’s eyes are burning. She is so good. She might want to visit Russia again in the future. Will Ilya be taking that away from her over something that is doomed anyway?

“Ilyusha! The game is starting,” Sveta calls him from the living room. He grabs Sonya and goes there.

He’s not as excited about watching the final as usual. He wishes he could be playing. Or at least that Shane would be so he could watch him. It’s not as fun when neither of them plays.

At least he can have him over text. He’s gotten used to commenting games with him.

The game starts. Ilya and Shane keep texting. Sonya doesn’t care about this game. Apparently, she agrees with Ilya, and is not interested in watching if neither he or Shane are playing.

Sveta is focused as always.

The Admirals are dominating. Maybe Shane’s mom was right and this will be their year.

Shane: My mom was right.

Ilya smiles. Of course she was. That’s where Shane gets it from.

Ilya: I’m so irritated.

Shane: Come on, he’s a nice guy.

Ilya: He’s hot, so…

Shane: 😠

Ilya wishes he could be next to Shane. Watching his reaction in real time. Not having things filtered through the phone.

The Admirals win the cup. They are celebrating. Sonya is excited too, not sure who won but happy that there are celebrations.

On the screen, Hunter seems to be talking to someone on the stands. What is he doing? Is he… He can’t be… No. He wouldn’t do that.

Ilya: What is he doing?

Shane: I don’t know…?

Oh god. They are kissing. Scott Hunter just won the Stanley Cup, and he’s kissing a man. In front of everyone. The cameras don’t cut away. Nobody stops him. Nobody drags him out of the ice.

Ilya forgets to breathe. He can’t be here. He wants Shane. He needs Shane. Maybe they can… maybe Shane is allowed… Maybe Shane can have a future he’s never allowed himself to imagine.

He calls Shane. He needs to hear his voice.

Shane picks up right away.

“What the—"

“I’m coming to the cottage.” The words are out of Ilya’s mouth before he’s even realized he said them.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you to everyone who has been taking the time to follow this story, leave kudos or a comment. I cherish each one of them. I always love reading your thoughts 💖
Let me know what you think of this chapter and if you have predictions or wishes for next week!

Chapter 10

Chapter Summary

The cottage, at last.

Chapter Notes

Shane is outside checking the fence he had installed last week around the well. The gate opens and closes right. The padlock is secure. He had the water tested as well and the results came in that morning. It’s good.

He closes the gate and walks near the lake. It looks beautiful. He can’t wait to see Ilya’s reaction. What he’ll notice. Shane always thinks better here. More clearly. It slows him down when his thoughts rush one after the other. Forces him to breathe. To stop.

He walks to the dock and checks the planks. No loose ones. He walks along the dock, jumps a few times. There’s no swaying or wobbling. It’s sturdy. The structure looks fine too. No rust or corrosion. He walks slower now. Pays closer attention, trying to see if there are any nails sticking out or any tripping hazards. Nothing. He grabs a screwdriver and presses it to a few wood boards. No rot. He checks and tightens all the bolts and corner brackets.

Once inside he gets the clean sheets he bought for Sonya’s bed and goes to the room she’ll be staying in. He bought three different kinds. He hopes she likes them. He chooses the soft yellow ones with flower motifs and makes her bed. He gets the matching pillows. He places some of the books he bought her on her bedside table. The rest stay on the small bookshelf he installed. Reorders them. Maybe she’d like the frog one better than the one about spaceships? She would definitely like the dragon one more. He reorders them again. Yes, it looks better like this.

The blinds close completely. No light gets through. Good. Then he stops. Good for what? What if Sonya is afraid of the dark? What if she wakes up somewhere unfamiliar and calls for Ilya? What if she thinks she’s alone? Fuck, will that be a problem? Is Sonya scared of the dark? He should have a soft lamp around here. Something she can turn on herself. Something that makes the room feel less unfamiliar. Maybe that will help? He should have thought about that. Or he can get a night light. Children use those. He finds a lamp that might work. Turns it on. The room is bathed in a soft, warm light. Yeah, that might work. He’ll buy a night light anyway. He opens the blinds again.

The small table in the corner looks good. It’s clean. The crayons are organized by color in a little tin. The washable markers next to them. Play dough with little cutters. There’s paper and he has more in storage if she needs it. Child-safe scissors. Four coloring books. Would she want more? He thought that would be enough when he bought them, but now he’s not sure. Maybe buying one or two more wouldn’t hurt.

He walks to the next guest room that he transformed into a playroom for her. There’s the little play kitchen with play food, dishes and cups. A small oven that beeps and a stove. Everything seems to be working. Next to it a tool set and a toy workbench that Shane hopes she’ll like. A bright colored cash register and pretend money. In the other corner, by a small table, there are two puzzles he chose for her. Wood blocks and magnetic tiles. They are all in order.

He also got her a small keyboard, maracas, and a little drum. Shane has a feeling Ilya might appreciate those even more than Sonya. He can already picture it. Ilya with the drum, intentionally playing it badly just to make Sonya laugh. Sonya following him around the house, demanding a concert. Shane pretending to be annoyed, asking them both to stop, knowing he doesn’t actually want them to. He hopes they will be loud here. He wants them to.

Toy cars and train sets. A road mat on the floor. Some soft balls. A tunnel for her to crawl in. A foot-powered ride-on car, a small replica of his own Land Rover. He hopes he can annoy Ilya a little with that choice. That he might find it funny. A tricycle with a helmet for outside. And a life jacket.

He goes to his room next. Their room. He makes the bed with clean sheets. Smooths out all the wrinkles. Fluffs the pillows and places them on the bed. They don’t look quite right. Changes their place. Maybe if he switches the blue one with the grey? He tries that. It does look better but still not great. He takes them all out and places them on the bed again. Better.

Back in the living room, he grabs his phone and checks the tab he kept open. How to safety proof house for a 3-year-old? He goes through the list again. Secure heavy furniture. Check. Keep floors clear of small objects. Check. Install door stoppers to prevent pinched fingers. Check. Cover unused electrical outlets. Check. Keep cords—

Ilya’s text interrupts him.

Ilya: [Attached: flight information]

Ilya: Less than 24 hours to go.

Shane’s heart jumps. He can’t help but smile.

Shane: I’ll pick you up from the airport.

Diet coke, apple juice, Doritos, Cheetos, the dinosaur pasta Sonya likes, hot dogs, buns, meat. Shane’s cart is full. Is there anything else he needs? Marshmallows, they might like them. He adds them to the cart. Goes over everything again.

At the checkout counter the woman definitely recognizes him. She is looking at him weird while she checks out each item. The woman scans the Cheetos. Then the Doritos. Then the dinosaur pasta. Shane resists the urge to explain. He doesn’t know what he would say anyway. Hello, yes, I’m Shane Hollander. I normally measure my meals to the gram, but the man I like and his daughter are coming to my cottage, so I bought enough snacks to feed a small kindergarten class. He smiles at her instead. Please don’t ask anything, he thinks.

The flight just landed. Shane is waiting in his car, car seat in the back. He sends a quick text to Ilya telling him where he is and switches to his group chat with his parents. It’s probably better to remind them again to not show up.

Shane: I will start my silent retreat now. Please don’t show up in the meantime. I need to focus before next season.

Dad: Of course, kid. Tell us if you need anything.

Mom: Are you sure you don’t want me to come by sometimes? I can bring you food. I promise I won’t distract you.

He can’t have them showing up.

Shane: No, mom. I’ll be fine. I’m an adult. I think I really need this time to recenter for next season.

Mom: Okay, honey.

Shane locks his phone. His hands are sweating. He wipes them on his shorts. He’s tapping the steering wheel. He looks in the rearview mirror and there they are. His pulse speeds up a little. Ilya looks hot. He’s wheeling two suitcases, a small backpack on his back, Sonya holding his right hand as they make their way to Shane’s car. He has imagined this so many times that it doesn’t seem real.

Ilya puts the luggage in the trunk, sits Sonya in the back seat, and takes the place next to him. Like this is normal. Like this is something they do.

Is this awkward? This feels a little awkward. Sonya is asleep in the back, probably tired from the plane. And Ilya looks anxious. Fidgety. He should make him more comfortable. People usually talk during car rides.

“Are you hungry? It’s about a two-hour drive, but we can stop for something if you want.”

“No. I’m okay.”

“I think you’re gonna like the cottage. It’s relaxing.”

“Ah, is that what we’re going to do?” Ilya asks with a teasing smile. More like himself. “Relax?”

Ilya looks at him. He’s gorgeous. Shane wants to do everything with him. He wants Ilya to know that.

“I hope so.” He grips the steering wheel. “I would like to relax with you.” He wants to give him that. The words feel bigger than they should. “For once.”

Ilya stays silent.

“I bought, uh, groceries. So we don’t need to leave. Or not leave much. If we don’t want to.”

“Thank you for inviting us.” Ilya looks serious.

He knows Shane wants them there, right? Shane swallows.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too. But also… terrified, yes?”

Thank God, it’s not just him. Shane laughs, relieved. Looks back at Ilya. He’s smiling.

“The cottage is super private. So we won’t need to worry about anything.”

“Not even your parents?”

“No. I told them I was on a silent retreat. Like a meditation thing.”

Ilya laughs, head thrown back. He loves his laugh. Loves causing it.

“What? Does that sound fake?”

“Yes,” Ilya manages to say through his laughter. “It would if it was anyone but you.”

Shane laughs too. Ilya grabs his hand, brushes his thumb along Shane’s knuckles, and holds it. The rest of the drive goes like this. Holding hands, mostly silent, beaming smiles that neither one of them seems to be able to wipe from their mouths. Safe.

Shane parks the car and takes their bags.

“I can carry our bags.”

“How are your ribs?”

“Fine. I can carry our bags.”

“So can I.”

Shane opens the door, lets Sonya in. Ilya is close behind. Shane is looking at them, waiting for their reaction.

“Wow. Your real estate fetish really paid off.”

They are looking outside. Shane wishes he could see their faces. He steps closer.

“I didn’t buy this. I had it built.”

“Oh, I know.”

He does? How? Does he like it?

Shane’s having difficulty reading him. Ilya looks serious, like he’s trying to school his face into not showing much. Shane wishes he wouldn’t. He wants to see.

“I can give you a tour if you’d like. Or I can make us some lunch. There’s plenty of food.” He should shut up. “Also, I bought you cokes, though the water here is really good.” Why is he still talking? “I have my own well. You can see it. In case you’re… thirsty.”

He looks back at Ilya. He’s walking to him, a soft smile on his face. He swallows.

Shane looks at Sonya. “Do you want to go check your room?”

She runs off, exploring the house.

Ilya steps in front of him. Grabs his face with one hand, then the other, pets his cheek. They are breathing each other’s air. Ilya kisses him. Sweet but sure. His hand goes to the back of his neck, then his shoulders. It’s like they can’t stop roaming. Shane missed him. He missed him so much. He can’t let go, he can’t stop touching.

They head to the couch, still kissing. They almost knock over a lamp. Shane giggles. He feels giddy.

They lie on the couch. Shane is already hard, he’s missed him too much. He can feel Ilya, still touching him all over, as feverish as Shane feels. He can feel his hard cock through his shorts. Fuck. He has to slow things down. He’ll come if they keep kissing like this.

“Wait, um, it’s been a while so I might not last long.” Shane clears his throat. “We should stop before I do that here, where she might show up.”

“Same.” Ilya sits up a little. “But we have two weeks.”

“Yeah,” Shane agrees. “Wait. Same?”

Ilya nods.

“You said same. You haven’t… been with anyone lately?”

Ilya looks down. “No.”

“Not since… last time?”

“No. Uh, before that.”

Really? Has Ilya not been with anyone else for that long? Shane is beaming, he can feel it. The muscles pulling on his face. He’s helpless to stop them. Suddenly he needs to know how long it’s been for Ilya.

“The All-Star game?” Ilya won’t look at him. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks. He shifts a little, tries to hide his face. Can it be longer? “Since Sonya?” That might be why he stopped hooking up with other people.

“No, before that.”

What? Before? Why would he… Has it really been that long for him?

Ilya is looking at him, fidgeting his hands a little. “It’s no big deal.” But it is. Shane can’t believe it’s been that long for Ilya. They’ve been so stupid. And Ilya has been giving him so much. What else hasn’t Shane noticed?

Shane kisses him again.

“I haven’t either.”

They kiss, softer now. Gentle.

“I have an idea,” Shane says. He cradles Ilya’s face. “For the next two weeks, let’s just be honest with each other. About what we actually think and maybe how we really feel?”

Ilya smiles. Breathtaking.

“I will try.”

Shane goes to kiss him again and—

“Papa!” Sonya screams from one of the rooms. “Come see. Come see.”

They laugh. Shane gets up from the couch and offers a hand to Ilya. Ilya takes it.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Ilya’s expression already changed to talk to Sonya.

“What do you want me to s—"

Shane looks at them. Sonya is in the playroom he prepared, jumping from one toy to another. Ilya is frozen on the spot. Eyes huge, some water pooling in the corner. Shane notices him swallowing. He watches him look around. Not at the toys. Not really. At the room itself. Like he’s trying to understand something in a language he doesn’t speak.

“Shane,” his voice cracks. He tries again. “Shane, what is this?”

Shane’s stomach drops. Did he do too much? Did he cross some invisible line?

“I tried to make a room for her. That she would like. We can get different things if you want. Her bedroom’s right next door.”

But then Ilya looks at him. He looks like he wants to say something, his lips moving as though he’s trying to form the words, but none come out. There is so much feeling in his face that Shane has to look away.

Ilya kisses him. “Thank you.”

Shane hears Ilya and Sonya in the living room, playfully teasing each other while they decide on what to watch on TV. Shane can tell Ilya will let her watch whatever she wants, but he likes pretending. He can picture the pout on his face, the fake defeated look he will give her, only to receive her wonderful giggles in return. Shane can’t really blame him.

As he makes his way to them, Shane notices a coin on the floor. He had been so careful. How did that get in here? If Sonya had found it, she could have swallowed it. It could be dangerous. He picks it up and puts it on the table near the entrance, tall enough that Sonya won’t reach it. Safe again.

The arguing from the living room gets louder. They are speaking in Russian. Shane can’t make out the words, but what he can understand is the warmth beneath them. The love. Their laughter reaches him, contagious, already making him smile. He wants to join them, but… should he interrupt? He doesn’t want them to stop.

The coin makes him pause again. He remembers something he learned years ago, nothing fancy. He never cared about performing, but he enjoyed the movements of it, mastering a skill, understanding how it works. Maybe he can… He gets the coin, hides it in his hand.

“Sonya,” Shane calls for her.

She looks at him, waiting. Shane can feel the weight of the coin on his hand, moves it through his fingers, almost drops it. He’s sweating. Why is he nervous? It’s just a small trick.

He leans closer.

“I think…” His face turns serious. “Is there something behind your ear?”

“What?”

She looks around, touches her ears trying to find what could be there.

Shane reaches. Produces the coin and shows it to her.

Sonya’s eyes become enormous. And she gasps. She actually gasps.

She touches behind her ear again.

“No!”

Shane can’t hide his smile anymore.

“Yes, it was right there.”

“Noooo!”

He makes it disappear now. Holds up both hands for her to examine.

She stands on the couch and grabs him. Checks both hands. Nothing. Checks behind her ears. Nothing again. Reaches behind Shane’s ears and he’s laughing now.

Then—

“Wait, wait, Sonya. I think I know where it is.”

He reaches behind her other ear. Shows her the coin.

She shrieks, falls on the couch, laughing.

“Ilya, did you know Sonya has been hiding money all this time?”

That’s when Shane finally looks at him. And freezes.

Ilya is watching him. Not Sonya. Him. There’s something strange about his expression. Soft. Almost awed. Like Shane just did something incredible instead of a silly trick. His eyes are as big as Sonya’s were and his mouth is slightly open.

He watches as Ilya blinks and seems to realize he’s been asked something. He shakes his head and smiles at Sonya.

“You had money all this time? Where’s my coin?”

Sonya laughs. “No.”

“No? What’s this then?”

Shane reaches behind her ear and shows her the coin again. His eyes drift to Ilya again, and he’s still staring at him. Ilya ducks his head like he’s been caught.

“Again!”

And so Shane does it. Again, and again, and again. Each time, Sonya looks more delighted.

This time, Shane searches behind Sonya’s ears. Shows her his hands.

Nothing.

She looks disappointed.

“Hum, do you think Ilya is hiding the coin?”

“Yes!”

She jumps on him and starts checking behind Ilya’s ears.

“No, I don’t have anyth—”

Shane shows them the coin he took from behind Ilya’s ear.

Sonya screams.

“Ilya!”

Ilya plays along. “What?”

“You took her coin.”

“I did?”

He pats his pockets dramatically.

“I wondered where it went.”

They laugh. Sonya climbs into Shane’s lap.

“Again!”

Shane sighs dramatically and pretends to whisper to Ilya.

“I think I’ve created a monster.”

Ilya laughs. The kind of laugh Shane thinks he could listen to forever.

“No, again.”

And Shane does it, but this time he lets her hold the coin.

“You want to try?”

Sonya beams and grabs the coin. She keeps trying to make the coin appear and disappear again. Shane adjusts her grip, tries to show her how to do it.

“How do you do that?” Ilya asks.

Shane grins. “A magician never reveals his secrets, Ilya, you know that.”

“You are showing her.” Ilya points at Sonya accusingly.

“She can be my assistant. What do you say, Sonya?”

“Yes!”

Ilya pouts and crosses his arms. “I could be your assistant too. I’d be a great assistant.”

And Shane is forced to kiss the pout from his lips. What else could he do?

Shane is making burgers when he feels Ilya’s arms surround him. He puts his chin on Shane’s shoulder.

“Why are you making so many burgers?”

“The recipe was for ten, so…”

Ilya lifts his head.

“So you cut it in half. What, you can’t do math?”

“Leave me alone.” But he’s already smiling, the words come out too fond.

“No. Never.”

Ilya kisses his neck, holds him again. Shane closes his eyes for a few seconds and lets his weight fall on Ilya a little. Never.

He cooks the rest of the burgers like that.

The food is good. They are eating and talking. It’s nice. But there are too many burgers. Dammit.

“Okay, fine. I should’ve cut it in half.”

Ilya huffs a laugh.

“I’d give the rest to my parents but that would probably ruin my whole silent retreat lie, I guess.”

“Daddy, help me cut this.”

Ilya reaches for Sonya’s plate and helps her with her food.

“No, Papa. Not you. Daddy.”

Shane looks up. She’s staring at him. Does she mean him? Holy shit. He… he… he’s not sure what to do. He looks at Ilya and he seems just as lost as he feels.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Let me see.”

Shane has to do something, so he helps her cut her food, his fingers shaking.

When he’s done, Sonya beams at him. Only then does he risk looking at Ilya again. Would he be annoyed?

 Ilya is already looking at him. His eyes locked on Shane, shiny, and… are those tears? Is he crying?

Was he not supposed to help? He didn’t want to leave her like that. He wasn’t trying to—

Ilya grabs his hand, squeezes it and smiles.

Oh.

Shane smiles back.

It’s a little past five. Shane can see the sun starting to rise, the morning colors illuminating his path. It’s silent out here. The only sounds he can hear are the birds singing as they rise and the thud each time his feet hit the ground.

The only thoughts in his head since he left the warmth of Ilya’s embrace being Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. He wants to go back to him. Every place he passes by, he imagines showing to Ilya. The trees around the lake, where the sun rises, reflecting sunlight off its surface. The quieter spot right in the corner where he thinks Sonya would like to run. Maybe he can build a swing set there.

His muscles are sore, he’s sweating, Shane decides he’s done enough. He’s cutting his run short this morning.

Shane enters the cottage, goes to the fridge and gets some water. He figures he’ll shower and join Ilya in bed, hoping he didn’t wake him up by leaving.

But as Shane closes the fridge door, there he is, already up, with ruffled hair.

He looks cute like this. Sleepy. Shane wants him.

But maybe… he wants to try something too.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I was running and got tired. I saw an open door and thought I could maybe get some water.”

Ilya is looking at him, head tilted slightly, a little scrunch between his eyebrows. Shane wants to lick him there.

“I’ll leave now.”

“’s not right entering someone’s home.”

Ilya is playing along. He’s following Shane. He has to school his face, hide his smile. He has to get back into character.

“You’re right, sir. I’m so sorry. Please don’t call the police.”

He looks up at him imploringly.

Ilya grins. “And why wouldn’t I? What can you do for me?”

Ilya searches his face. Is he looking for confirmation? Shane nods and Ilya’s face changes. Turns wolfish.

“Please, Mr. Rozanov. I’ll do anything.”

“Mr. Rozanov? So you know who I am.”

Oh, shit. Right. Shane got distracted. But he can work with this.

Ilya takes a step closer. “I don’t think you came here by accident. I think you wanted me to catch you.”

“No, Mr. Rozanov. I’m sorry. I... I just... I wanted to see you.”

Shane looks down.

Ilya grabs his chin, makes him look up.

“Wanted to see me? Hoping I’d still be in bed?” Shane nods a little. “Hoping I’d be naked. Hoping I’d see you and want to take you apart.”

“What?” Shane shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t… I didn’t,” Shane stutters.

Ilya holds his jaw. Firm.

“Mm, I think you were. I think you were hoping for exactly that.”

A zing goes through Shane’s spine.

Ilya opens Shane’s mouth with his thumb. Shane has to fight the urge to suck it.

“Answer me.”

What was the question? Oh, right.

“Ye-yeah.” Shane swallows.

Ilya picks him up and takes him to the bedroom.

Fuck. He loves how strong Ilya is. Shane is not a small man, and yet Ilya always manages to lift him.

“Wait. Mr. Rozanov. Put me down.” Shane pretends to struggle. Ilya almost drops him, before tightening his hold. “You can’t treat me like this.”

Ilya throws Shane on the bed. Gets on top of him, one leg on each side of Shane, straddling him. Holds him down. They are both laughing.

“I think I know how my little stalker likes to be treated.” And Ilya kisses him.

Shane gets lost in it.

“Sir, I… I’ve never done this before.”

Shane looks away.

Ilya kisses his neck. “Never done what?” He makes Shane look at him again. “Invade someone’s home?” Shane flushes. Why is he blushing?

There’s a glint in Ilya’s eyes now. “Or been with a man?”

Shane’s cheeks turn warmer.

“Ah… “ Ilya teases. “But you want this. You were hoping for it.”

It’s not really a question but Shane nods anyway.

Ilya grabs Shane’s t-shirt, tugs at it. Impatient.

“Off, off, take this off.”

Shane takes off his cap and starts removing his t-shirt.

Ilya makes a wounded noise, making Shane look at him.

“No. No. Cap back on. Take everything off, but leave the cap and socks on.”

Really? He wants that? Shane manages to stop his snort. Well, mostly manages.

Ilya gets up, gives Shane room to get off his clothes. Shane stands. Takes off his shorts and underwear, leaves the white socks on as asked. The left one is a little crooked so he bends to pull it back up. Puts the cap back on, backwards.

He’s standing in front of Ilya, feeling oddly nervous all of a sudden. Ilya’s eyes never leave his body, tracing every inch of his skin. He starts at his feet, wearing the socks he apparently likes so much. His gaze roams up, Shane can feel it on his legs, then his thighs. It’s like a physical presence. A little higher. Ilya stops at Shane’s cock. He’s already hard and they haven’t even touched. He can see Ilya swallowing before resuming his course. His abs, his pecs, his neck. Until Ilya’s eyes reach his face. He smiles at him, genuine and tender, right before he hardens his expression again.

“On your knees.”

Shane falls immediately. Gets right in front of Ilya’s dick. He’s happy to see he is already hard too. Good. He likes that he seems as affected as Shane.

It makes him want to play with him a little more.

Shane looks up at Ilya, tries to go for an innocent expression. Licks his lips.

“You’ll have to teach me, Mr. Rozanov.” Shane looks down just in time to notice the twitch in Ilya’s cock. Perfect. Looks up again. “Please.” He bites his lip.

A strangled sound escapes Ilya’s throat.

He holds his cock in front of Shane’s face, rubs the head on Shane’s lips.

“Open.”

Shane opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out a bit and Ilya feeds him his cock.

He loves this too much to pretend he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He swallows him, bobs his head. He buries his nose in Ilya’s hair. He could be here forever. Ilya wipes a tear from his eye.

Shane looks up.

“So good. You’re a natural.”

Ilya is still playing, talking to the innocent character Shane made up, but it still makes him preen. He licks his shaft, from base to tip, gathers the precome on his tongue. He missed this taste. He closes his eyes again, sucks Ilya’s head. Softer at first, then hard. Ilya is panting above him. Shane keeps sucking him, bobs his head. Feels the familiar weight of Ilya’s cock on his tongue, filling his mouth. He wants to be full of him. To always have a part of Ilya inside him. His own cock jumps at that thought. Fuck. What he would give to make that possible.

Ilya grabs him by the hair and gets him off his cock. Shane can’t stop the whine that leaves him. He misses him already.

Ilya takes off the rest of his clothes, gets on the bed and reaches for the bedside drawer. Shane sees as Ilya crawls, his ass wiggling with the movement, toned muscles shifting as he grabs the lube and sits down again.

“Come here.”

Ilya holds out a hand for Shane. Shane takes it and sits down on Ilya’s lap. Straddles him.

Ilya runs his hands down Shane’s spine, grabs his hips, squeezes. Shane moves a little.

“Fuck,” Ilya says and he looks wrecked already.

Ilya reaches for Shane’s face and brings him down to his mouth. He kisses him, licks inside his mouth and sucks on his tongue.

When they separate, Shane can see a string of saliva connecting them until it breaks. It makes Shane want to lick him again, so he does.

He hears Ilya opening the lube bottle, and feels him reaching for his hole. Just rubbing at first, and then breaching him, slowly. Shane moans. Ilya kisses his neck, sucks hard on his tendon, and calms it with his tongue after. Fuck, he’s close already. This feels too good.

Shane throws his head back, gives Ilya more space to work with, and he immediately starts trailing kisses up his neck.

His hand keeps working him, his entire finger inside him now. He takes it out a little bit and then in again. Shane rolls his hips and a hiss leaves Ilya’s mouth as their cocks touch.

Shane looks down. They are both leaking. He traces his finger through Ilya’s head, presses it on his slit and brings it to his mouth. Sucks.

Ilya’s eyes track the movement. The hand on Shane’s hole fumbles its rhythm but he quickly recovers. A second finger joins the first as Ilya fucks him. Ilya sucks Shane’s nipple and he must crook his fingers, finding his prostate. Shane’s toes curl.

His hips stutter, little aborted movements he can’t stop.

“Fuck, Shane.”

Shane, yes. They are them again.

Ilya is fucking him relentlessly with two fingers, scissoring them open. He keeps stroking his prostate each time.

It’s driving Shane crazy. He needs more. As if reading his mind, Ilya pushes a third finger in. It’s still not enough. More, he needs more. He’s ready.

“More, Ilya. Please.”

Ilya kisses him and takes his fingers out. Shane hates the feeling of being empty. Ilya pets him, comforting. He twists away from Shane.

“What’re you doing?”

Ilya looks back. “Condoms.”

“We could…” Shane stops. Will Ilya want that? Shane can feel his whole face heating up. “We could do without. This time. Maybe?”

Ilya freezes. Looks up at Shane.

“Are you sure?”

Shane nods.

Ilya grabs his face, kisses him like he couldn’t help it.

Shane gets up a little on his knees, giving Ilya space to line himself. When he feels Ilya’s cock at his hole, he slowly sinks down.

He loves being full of Ilya again. He never gets tired of this.

He keeps his knees on the mattress, wraps his arms behind Ilya’s neck, and starts rolling his hips.

Fuck, this feels so good. He goes faster, fully riding him now. Ilya is panting, hands holding his hips, steadying him while Shane bounces on his cock.

“Hold onto something, Ilya.”

He’s so close now, he can feel it. He chases his orgasm, working himself on Ilya’s cock.

“Fuck, fuck, Shane.”

Ilya holds him and flips them on the bed. Grabs Shane’s legs, hooks them on his waist. Holds both hands beside Shane’s head and bends down. Their mouths are almost touching, small huffs of breath leaving Ilya’s mouth with each thrust of his hips.

He gets up again and starts fucking Shane faster. Impossibly deeper and he’s… fuck, he’s right there. He closes his eyes, grabs the sheets, twisting them.

“More, Ilya, please. Right there.” Shane is sobbing. He needs Ilya. He opens his eyes. Ilya is looking at his own cock, watching as it disappears inside Shane. Fuck, that’s hot.

And that’s when he remembers that he’s bare. Ilya is fucking him without a condom. Shane needs him to come. Now.

“Come for me, Ilya. Please. Need to feel you.”

Ilya moans and he does. Fuck, Shane can feel him inside. Can feel Ilya filling him up and—

Shane comes. With Ilya still inside him. Nothing between them.

As he’s reaching the end of his orgasm, Ilya leans down and sucks the head of his cock. It jerks in his mouth, the last trickle of come leaving it.

“I wanted you to come in my mouth,” Ilya pouts. He actually pouts, bottom lip jutting out. Shane snorts. He’s ridiculous. Ilya traces the come on Shane’s abdomen and chest and takes it to his mouth. Moans.

Shane’s cock twitches. Ilya smiles.

Ilya looks down to where his cock is still buried in Shane’s ass and plays with the come that manages to leak. He looks mesmerized. Slowly he pulls his cock out and Shane wants to beg him to stay. To never leave his body. But he knows he’s being absurd.

He can feel Ilya’s come leaving his body. He tries squeezing to keep it inside longer, but it doesn’t work. Ilya pushes two fingers inside, plugging him with his come. Shane’s back arches. Ilya kisses his cock, then his thigh. He pulls his fingers away.

Shane whines. Ilya kisses his belly button, making Shane giggle.

Ilya collapses on top of Shane, Ilya’s head on Shane’s chest. Ilya’s come leaking from his ass, making a mess. Shane still with his cap on, a goofy grin on his face he can’t suppress.

He feels sore. Beautifully and amazingly sore. And light. And so, so good.

Shane had spent years learning what his body wanted. What he could do with it.

That first time, with Ilya, it had seemed almost miraculous: after wondering for years what other people found in sex, what he could never find being with women, suddenly everything had fallen into place. Of course. That was what they meant.

And with him, sex has been everything he had imagined it could be: intense and pleasurable, gloriously messy, clumsy and a little awkward while learning another person’s body. He had barely dared to hope for beauty, and yet there it had been too, appearing in unexpected moments, when he finally allowed himself to admit it.

Even in his wildest imaginings, what Shane had never anticipated was the ease of it. The sudden, breathless delight that made him want to laugh. Joy had never entered the calculation. Fun. Yet, somehow, it had been there all along, spilling through the cracks of Shane’s carefully constructed defenses.

Now, with Ilya lying on his chest, carding his fingers through his wild curls, Shane is almost startled by the laughter that is ripped from his lungs. He didn’t know there would be laughter.

Ilya looks up at him, one eyebrow raised.

“What?”

And he looks beautiful. Ethereal, almost, with the morning sun illuminating his features, light reflecting off his golden chain.

“Just happy,” Shane manages to say through his giggles, grabbing Ilya’s face and pecking his nose.

Ilya closes his eyes, his eyelids fluttering at the contact, a small smile breaking across his mouth, his nose scrunching slightly beneath the touch of Shane’s lips.

And Shane loves him.

The thought comes with such startling simplicity that he laughs again.

He wonders if this is what happens to other people: people who fall in love and have relationships. Was it always like this?

“Did I manage to break Shane Hollander?”

More laughter.

“Yeah,” Shane says, pleased, barely able to get the words out, “I think maybe you did.”

He kisses him as best as he can, but his mouth is beaming, refusing to hold any other shape.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you to everyone who has been taking the time to follow this story, leave kudos or a comment. I cherish each one of them. I always love reading your thoughts, so feel free to chat 💖

Let me know what you think of this chapter, what you think worked and what could have been better!

Thank you to everyone who recommended or talked about this fic, I would love to know how you found it! Until next week (only 2 chapters left)!

Chapter 11

Chapter Summary

Competitions and story time.

Chapter Notes

Shane is sitting on the floor, his back to Sonya and Ilya. They are trying to see who can paint the best unicorn in two minutes. Sonya will be the judge. Thirty seconds have already gone by and Shane desperately wants to win.

Unfortunately, all his coordination doesn’t translate well to painting.

His unicorn looks… questionable. He’s not sure if anyone would be able to call it a unicorn without context. Even with context, it would need some imagination.

He glances over his shoulder. Ilya is already looking back trying to take a peek at his drawing. Shane scrambles to cover it before Ilya can see anything.

“You’re cheating.” Shane points to Ilya accusingly.

“How am I cheating?” Ilya is trying to hide his smile. He was definitely cheating.

“You were trying to take a look at my painting.”

“I was checking your progress, Hollander. You seemed to be struggling.” Ilya shrugs. “Thought you could need a hand.”

“You were trying to copy me.”

Ilya opens his mouth in mock offense and places one hand over his chest.

“Why would I want to copy that?” Ilya makes a disgusted face. “It looks like diseased animal.”

What? That fucking asshole. It doesn’t look that bad. Shane looks at it again. Okay. Maybe it does. But it’s not finished, that’s why. No one should have seen it yet.

“Ah! You were looking at my painting. You were cheating!”

“Was not!”

“One minute,” Sonya interrupts.

Shane is sure more time has passed, but he’s not going to say anything. He actually needs the extra time.

He gets back to his unicorn. He glances over his shoulder.

Ilya is hunched over his paper, tongue poking slightly out between his lips as he concentrates. There is paint on his cheek.

His unicorn looks worse than Shane’s.

Much worse. Shane smiles. He’s got this.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m focused. You should do the same.”

“Um… focused… You were checking the competition.”

Shane looks at Ilya’s paper again. There is no way he will win.

“Trust me, there is no competition.”

Ilya gasps. “What’s wrong with my unicorn?”

Shane looks at it again. “Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“No. I am being polite.”

“You are being asshole. Mocking my poor, perfect unicorn.” They are both laughing.

“Almost done,” Sonya interrupts again.

Should they be helping her track time? He’s sure it’s been a lot longer than two minutes by now.

Shane turns back to his own painting. His unicorn has one enormous mouth, a crooked horn, and legs that don’t quite seem to agree on where the ground is.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so confident.

Fuck.

Shane adds more pink to the mane. He needs something impressive. Maybe flowers. Flowers are good. Unicorns like flowers.

He draws one.

It looks like a weird insect. He quickly colors it in. Somehow, it looks worse. Fuck.

“Ten seconds!” Ilya shouts.

Is he the one counting the time now? This shouldn’t be allowed. It seems like an infraction.

“Nine.” Sonya joins in. They are both counting down now.

Ilya is scribbling furiously.

Shane adds another flower. Clearly a mistake.

“Five!”

He gives the unicorn a tail.

“Three!”

He adds glitter.

“Two!”

More glitter.

“One!”

“Done!”

Shane drops the brush.

He looks at his masterpiece.

Oh no. He has made a terrible mistake. He might actually lose this.

Ilya slowly puts his brush down too.

They both turn to each other.

“Why do you look so worried, Hollander? Realized you’re gonna lose?” Ilya smirks.

“Not a chance, Rozanov.”

He will make this work. He’ll have to. He refuses to lose.

Sonya climbs onto her knees to see the paintings.

She studies Shane’s first. Then Ilya’s. She looks at both again. Shane appreciates that she’s taking her time. She looks focused, her brow slightly furrowed. She’s taking this seriously. Good. As she should. This is a serious competition.

Shane waits. Ilya waits.

“Well?” Ilya asks, smiling.

“They’re bad,” Sonya declares solemnly.

Shane has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Ilya looks offended.

“Bad?”

“Yes.” She nods.

“Okay, they are bad,” Ilya concedes. “But which one is better?”

Sonya shrugs. “Both bad.”

“Come on,” Shane says. “You have to choose.”

“Why?”

“You’re the judge, remember? The judge chooses who wins.”

“Both lose.”

“It’s a competition. Someone has to win,” Shane insists.

“Look at them again. Which one is better?”

Ilya shows her his unicorn again. Sonya looks at it.

“Bad,” Sonya says wrinkling her nose.

“Why?” Ilya puts a hand over his chest.

“Looks weird.”

Shane snorts.

Ilya points at him. “Don’t laugh. You’re influencing the judge.”

Shane zips his mouth shut. He shows Sonya his drawing again.

She looks at it. Her face doesn’t look any more pleased than when she was looking at Ilya’s.

She looks back at him. “You win.”

He wins. He wins! Shane gets up, grabs Sonya and twirls her around. She giggles.

Ilya throws himself to the floor.

“You bribed her.”

How dare he insinuate Shane cheated? “I did not!”

“You did!”

Sonya giggles more.

Ilya looks at her, deeply wounded. “You’re choosing him?”

“Yes.”

“But… but… his unicorn is terrible.”

“She has made her decision. It’s final. Right, Sonya?”

“Right.”

Shane is beaming. Ilya is still on the floor.

“Your unicorn has no eyes, Shane.”

Well, he forgot. Small oversight. “It doesn’t need eyes. It has powers.”

“A unicorn needs eyes! Sonya, tell him.”

“Well, better no eyes than three like yours.”

Ilya scrambles to get up and goes to his drawing.

“My unicorn has two eyes. Do you need to learn how to count?” He points at one of the eyes. “See? One,” he points at another, “two.”

Shane points at the third eye. “Three.”

“That is not an eye.”

“No? What is it then?”

Ilya grins. “A nostril.”

Shane can’t hold it in anymore. He laughs. Ilya laughs too, even though he’s still trying to look offended.

“A nostril? Why does it only have one, then?”

“It’s looking at the side. You can’t see the other nostril.”

“Um, but you can see the two eyes.”

“It’s in perspective. You don’t understand my artistic vision.”

“There is no artistic vision.”

“Well, yours has three legs.”

“It’s running.”

“And it lost a leg while running?”

“It’s in motion. You can’t see the leg because it’s hidden behind another one.” Shane looks at Ilya’s drawing again. “And yours has a beard.”

“It’s not a beard. It’s a beautiful mane.”

“Why’s it green?”

“It’s a good color.”

Well, Shane knows he has him beat there. “Pink is better.”

“No. Yellow is better,” Sonya says.

So, they were both wrong. He still won. And that’s what matters.

“Fine,” Ilya says. “Fine. Shane wins.”

He picks up his painting. “I’ll frame this later.”

“You’re framing yours?”

“Yes. Mine. So I can remember this injustice.”

Shane reaches over and pulls his painting away from him.

“You can’t keep evidence of your defeat.”

Ilya grabs it back.

“I need it for the… the… the thing when you disagree with decision and ask them to look at it again.”

“The appeal?”

“Yes, the appeal.”

“There is no appeal. The decision is made.”

“I demand a recount.” Ilya winks at Sonya. She giggles.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Rozanov.”

“Okay, then new one. We do another one.” Ilya is already reaching for another sheet of paper. He looks back at Shane. “Or are you afraid to lose.”

“In your dreams, Rozanov.”

“I’m going to destroy you, Hollander.”

“This time, we paint each other.” Shane sets the timer on his phone. They will do it right this time. “Two minutes.”

Shane doesn’t know why he picked this theme. Drawing Ilya is even harder than the unicorn. He gives it his best. Takes his time. He wants to get his eyes right. And the curve of his mouth. His mole. His neck and strong shoulders.

The phone buzzes.

Well, it’s not terrible. Nowhere close to how beautiful Ilya actually is, though.

He looks at Ilya’s painting. It’s not good, exactly. But it’s sweet.

“Why am I red?”

“You’re blushing. Pretty blush with pretty freckles.”

“I do not—”

He notices Ilya looking at the painting he did with a small smile.

“Why is my head enormous?” Ilya asks.

He’s not good at proportions, apparently. “It’s symbolic. I was trying to capture your personality.”

Ilya grins. “Oh, it’s because I give great he—”

“Ilya!” Shane covers his mouth with his hand. Ilya licks it. He winks at him. Shane feels his cheeks heat up. Dammit. He looks like the painting now. Ilya must think the same because he bursts out laughing. Asshole.

Shane grabs the paintbrush and smears the paint all over Ilya’s nose.

“Oops.”

Ilya laughs harder.

Sonya seems to get the idea and runs to Shane, smearing paint on his arms.

Ilya gets up and smears paint on his face as well.

“No,” Shane says between laughter. “It was an accident.”

Ilya dips his brush in blue and drags it across Shane’s neck.

“Oops. This was accident too.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“So did you.”

Sonya reaches for the red. She lunges at Ilya and paints him. Shane laughs.

Ilya runs across the room after him. The three of them play fight. When it’s over, they are all a mess of colors, the clothes completely ruined.

Shane doesn’t care. He can’t remember the last time he laughed this much.

“Okay,” Ilya says, looking around the destruction. “I think we need to stop before the cottage becomes a crime scene.”

“Bath?”

She nods.

They clean her first, wiping the paint from her face and hands. She complains when Shane washes the green from her nose.

“I liked it.”

“It was very pretty,” Ilya agrees.

She smiles.

Once she’s clean and dressed, she is fighting to keep her eyes open. It’s already her naptime. They get her to her bed, make sure she falls asleep and leave, making sure the door is ajar.

Shane looks at Ilya. He’s still covered in paint.

“You have paint on your face.”

“So do you.”

“I know.” Shane reaches up and wipes at Ilya’s cheek with his thumb. The paint smears.

Ilya looks down at his fingers, then back at Shane.

“You made it worse.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“No.”

Ilya smiles.

“Come on.” Ilya takes him to the bathroom. Once there, he strips Shane of his clothes.

“Um, there’s paint on your neck.” Ilya kisses him there, a soft brush of his lips. It tickles. “And here.” His collarbone now. Ilya kisses him there too. “And here.” Ilya kisses his nipple. Shane hisses.

“There wasn’t any paint there.”

“No?” Ilya looks up at him. “My mistake then.” He takes off his own clothes.

“Shower?” Shane asks.

Ilya nods. They get into the shower, turn on the water.

Shane grabs the soap, ready to wash Ilya. Ilya stops him.

“No. You won. You should enjoy the reward.”

Ilya washes him carefully with soapy hands. When he’s sure Shane is clean, he drops to his knees and swallows his cock in one movement.

Fuck, he’s so good at this.

Shane thrusts a little. Ilya moans. He sucks one of his balls, then goes back to sucking his cock.

Shane tries not to come embarrassingly quickly. He fails. He does not mind.

When they get back to the playroom, they can hear Sonya’s gentle breathing and see two terrible unicorn paintings drying on the table.

The cottage is quiet. The windows are open and all they can hear is the birds outside. Shane is lying on one side of Sonya’s bed, Ilya on the other side, and Sonya in the middle. Shane could get used to this.

“Story!” Sonya interrupts his thoughts.

Shane chuckles. He gets one book from the bedside table. Opens it.

“No.”

“Oh, you want another one?”

He searches for another book.

“No. No book.”

No book? “I thought you wanted a story.”

“You tell.”

Oh, no.

“I don’t know any stories, Sonya.”

“Make one.”

Shane cannot do that. He doesn’t know how. He looks at Ilya, hoping he will help. Ilya is already looking at him with a big smile on his face. Looking too amused by Shane’s obvious distress. Asshole.

“I don’t know how,” Shane admits.

“You do.”

“She’s right.”

Traitor. “Whose side are you on?”

“Always hers.” He grins.

Shane sighs. “Fine.”

He thinks. Okay. He’s going to do this. He will tell her what he knows.

“Once upon a time there was a little boy named… uh… Sean.”

Ilya snorts. Shane glares at him. Ilya holds his hands up in surrender.

“He—”

“No.”

“What?” How did he mess up already? He’s hardly begun.

“Girl,” Sonya insists.

Oh. “…There was a little girl.” He looks at Sonya. She nods, satisfied. “There was a little girl named… uh…”

“June,” Ilya offers with a grin.

Right. Of course.

“She lived in a village with her mom and her dad. But she looked a little different from all the other kids.”

“What did she look like?” Sonya asks.

“Straight, black hair and uh…”

“Freckles,” Ilya finishes.

Sure. “Yeah, that.”

Shane settles in bed again. He keeps going.

“June doesn’t quite fit in. She doesn’t know how to talk with the other children. She wants friends but whenever she walks over and asks if she can play, they say they’ve already started. Or that they are busy. Or they simply run away, laughing.”

Sonya interrupts.

“They are mean.”

“And very stupid. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with June?” Ilya turns to Sonya. “You would play with her, right Sonechka?”

“Yes.” Sonya nods emphatically.

“Thank you.” Shane swallows. He can’t look at them right now.

“But these kids don’t like her. So, June goes home alone every day. And her parents worry. They try to talk with the other parents in the village, to invite other children. But no one ever shows up.

So her father teaches her jokes. June goes back to school the next day. She is confident. She approaches a group of children and tells a joke. And everyone laughs. June is so proud. Except… except… they aren’t laughing at the joke. They are laughing at June.

One of the boys makes fun of her. So she bites him. Hard.”

“Good,” Sonya says, crossing her arms.

“No, Sonya. Not good. You shouldn’t bite people.”

“Only when they are very, very mean,” Ilya whispers to her.

“Ilya! You can’t tell her that.”

Shane sighs.

“But June’s mom agreed.”

Ilya laughs.

“She told June not to worry about the other kids. And June starts spending more time with her parents. She loves it but June can tell that they were worried. She wants to make them proud.”

Shane stops. Takes a breath.

“One day, June’s mom gets home with something she wants to show June. She shows her a beautiful… uh… a kite. A beautiful kite.”

Ilya snorts. Shane turns to him.

“Any problem, Ilya?”

“No, no. ‘S perfect. I’m sure June is very good at flying kites.”

“She is, actually. She’s the best.”

Shane goes back to the story.

“June holds the kite in her hands. When the wind comes, she goes outside and flies her kite. And it feels… amazing. Freeing. She feels like she’s flying herself.

Finally. She thinks. Something that seems made just for her.

From that day on, she spends all her free time flying the kite. Her parents sign her up for kite flying competitions. She wins them.

People in the village start showing up. Everyone in the village loves kites, but no one has won competitions in a long time. So, they are very excited about her. They clap. Children talk to her. Adults smile.

But, every time, when the competition ends, everyone goes home together. No one asks her to come. So, she stays. She sits with her kite.”

Shane can tell they are both looking at him.

“June decides. She is going to be the best at flying kites. She will be perfect. So, she practices and practices. Her fingers hurt from holding the string. She becomes better. Her kite flies higher. Faster.

People from other villages have heard of her now. They tell her how good she is. They want her to join their team. She wins the competitions.

She’s happy. Her parents are proud of her. Other people want to be with her. She still feels awkward when she’s with them. Doesn’t know what to do or say when she’s not flying kites. People still treat her weird sometimes. But that’s okay. She found something she likes. Something she’s good at.

She is preparing to become a professional. There will be a world competition. She is nervous, but June knows she’s good.”

“She’s the best,” Sonya says.

Shane smiles. He looks at Ilya. He is looking back with a soft smile. Shane has to look away.

“She is. But there is another girl. Lila.” Shane pauses. “From a different country. Everyone says she is just as good as June.”

“Impossible.” Sonya is looking at him with wide eyes.

Shane laughs.

“That’s what June thinks. But she’s curious. She wants to meet her.

She sees the girl before the competition starts and introduces herself. Lila is beautiful. But June thinks she doesn’t care much about her. She will show her, June thinks.

They compete against each other. June is surprised. Lila is just as good as everyone says. She’s as good as June.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah, Sonya. She’s really, really good. And she wins. Lila wins.

June should be upset. And she is. But she also finds that she’s happy. She has never met anyone as good as her. Competing against Lila is so fun. She wants to fly kites with her forever.

June swears she will win the next time. She will practice and she will get even better. Not even Lila will win.

They keep meeting each other. Competing. June wins the next competition. Lila keeps pushing her to be better.

June loves this. But she’s also a little jealous. Because Lila isn’t just good at flying kites. She’s also funny, and loud, and doesn’t seem to care about rules.”

“Rules are boring,” Ilya says in a soft voice.

“That’s exactly what Lila thinks. And everyone loves her. Everyone invites her to their parties. Everyone jokes with her. And she is still so good.

Lila says what she thinks and doesn’t seem to mind what people think of her. She makes June want things. Things other than flying kites. She keeps teasing June. But it’s not like when other people tease her. It doesn’t make her feel bad or small or wrong. It makes her happy. It makes her laugh.

Lila teaches June to break some rules sometimes. Shows her how good that can be too.

This confuses June for a long time. She can’t do those things. They are not for her. There are a lot of people looking up to her. She can’t let them down.

But Lila keeps teasing. She keeps showing up. And June realizes she doesn’t want her to go away.

Then, she discovers something strange. Even when June makes mistakes, Lila doesn’t leave. She still wants to be with June. She wants to fly kites with her. But also, she wants to talk to her.”

Shane can hear Ilya clear his throat. He can’t look at him or he will not be able to continue.

“For the first time, June feels she can be herself around someone and Lila still stays. Even when June is boring, Lila finds her funny. June doesn’t have to think so much before she talks when she is with Lila. Doesn’t have to think before she does things. She can just be.”

Ilya is not moving. Sonya is listening but she’s clearly fighting sleep. Her eyes closed most of the time.

“Then, June starts paying more attention. She looks closer. And she notices that even if Lila laughs all the time, there are times, when she thinks no one is looking, that she seems sad. Even if she seems brave all the time, there are times she is scared. Even if there are always people around her, she could still be lonely.”

Shane glances at Ilya. He wipes his eyes. Shane has to look away. He swallows.

“Lila has made June feel comfortable to be herself around her, and she wants to do the same for Lila. June wants to be by her side. So she promises her something.”

Sonya opens her eyes again. “What does she promise?”

Shane looks down. He blinks back tears.

Then quietly he says, “June promises that when Lila is happy, she will stay. When Lila is sad, she will stay. When Lila is scared, she will stay. When Lila is tired, she will stay. When Lila doesn’t know what to do, June will sit beside her until she does.”

Several minutes pass. The room is quiet. Shane looks down and Sonya is already asleep.

Shane whispers, “I think that’s the end.”

He takes a deep breath and dares to look up. Ilya is already looking back, tears falling down his face. When Shane looks at him, Ilya turns his head to hide. But then, he looks back at Shane, eyes still filled with tears and whispers back.

“Thank you.”

They are in their bedroom, lights out except for the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

Ilya is inside of Shane. Finally. He had been opening him up for what felt like torturously long hours. So slow. So gentle. He looked at Shane as though he is something sacred, with a reverence Shane struggled to meet head-on. Too earnest. Vulnerable. His touch was sure and deliberate, yet frustratingly restrained, lingering just enough to make him ache for more. It was maddening. Every brush of his fingers over his prostate making him gasp.

And now, his beautiful cock filling him. Shane cries. He needs more. His hands keep grabbing the sheets. He’s frantic. More. Please. Ilya shushes him softly. He pets him, comforts him. His touch feather light. Shane thinks there are words leaving his own mouth, but he can’t quite tell what he’s saying. Ilya kisses them away.

Ilya is barely moving, fully inside Shane. It’s too much and too little at the same time. Fuck. He needs more. Shane tries to grab Ilya’s hips, make him move, but Ilya keeps his pace, moving less than an inch each time he rolls his hips. His hands never leave Shane. Always tracing patterns across his skin, like he’s writing, touching every part of his body, as if he can’t decide where he wants them to be.

Shane is so full, he’s bursting with it. Ilya’s cock, yes, but also him. Ilya. Filling every pore of his body, every thought in his head. He can’t take it anymore. He starts moving, tiny rolls of his hips, fucking himself on Ilya’s cock. He can’t stop. Ilya keeps kissing every inch of his skin he can reach. He’s mumbling something in Russian Shane can’t understand. Over and over again. It feels like a promise.

“Please fuck me.”

Shane is whining. He knows he is. This is excruciating. He needs more. He needs… needs.

“Ilya. Please.” Ilya smiles at him, brushes his mouth with his thumb. “I need… more. Please, baby.”

Ilya comes. He looks so beautiful that Shane almost forgets to breathe. His eyes never leave Shane’s, tears gathering along his lashes, until one finally spills over and trails down his cheek. Shane gently brushes it away with his thumb. And Shane can feel him. His come filling him up. His small aborted movements, at last. Shane is so close.

Ilya takes him in his mouth, and Shane comes with a cry, helpless to stop it.

The next day, the sun is already low by the time they get the fire going.

Sonya is sitting between Shane and Ilya, wrapped in a blanket even though she keeps insisting she isn’t cold.

The fire crackles in front of them. The sky is turning orange and pink behind the trees, the last sunlight catching on the smoke. It’s getting cooler, but the fire is warm enough that Shane doesn’t mind.

He hands Sonya a marshmallow. She immediately rushes to put it in the fire. Shane holds her arm back.

“Careful. Don’t put it too close.”

She nods very seriously.

“I know.”

Shane lets go of her arm, hovering close by. She immediately sticks it almost directly into the flames.

“Sonya.”

She pulls it back. Looks at him.

“What?”

“Slowly.”

Shane holds her arm and shows her how to do it. When he’s confident she can hold her arm there, Shane lets go. Sonya looks back at him and smiles.

“Careful. It’s on fire.”

She looks at the marshmallow.

“Oh.”

Ilya laughs.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just observing.”

“Very helpful.”

Ilya smiles and takes a marshmallow from the bag. He holds it in front of him.

“What do I do?”

Shane looks at him.

“With the marshmallow?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never done this?”

Ilya shakes his head.

Shane stares at him. He’s never done this? Shane has to make it perfect for him, then. Special.

He picks up Sonya and places her on his lap. He sits closer to Ilya, their thighs touching. It will be easier to help them both like this. Shane hands Ilya a skewer.

“Put it on.”

Ilya does, carefully pushing the stick through the middle.

“Now?”

“Now you hold it over the fire.”

Ilya holds it directly over the flames.

“No.” Shane reaches over and moves his hand back.

“You said over the fire.”

“Yes. Not in the fire.”

“It is over the fire.”

“Now it is.” Shane is still holding his hand. “You want it close enough to get warm, not close enough to burn.”

Ilya looks at him.

“You sound very experienced.”

“I am,” Shane grins.

Ilya raises an eyebrow. “With marshmallows?”

“Yes. I used to do this with my dad when I was a kid.”

“Impressive.”

“I have skills.”

Ilya laughs. “I can see that.”

Shane elbows him.

Sonya is watching Ilya’s marshmallow with great interest.

“You have to make it brown,” she tells him.

“I know.”

“You turn it.”

“I’m turning it.”

“Don’t burn.”

Ilya looks at Shane.

“She is trying to get your job as marshmallow chef.”

Shane snorts. “I think she will be great.”

Sonya sticks her tongue out at Ilya. Ilya does the same to her.

Sonya holds her own skewer with both hands, carefully turning the marshmallow.

“Like this?”

“Perfect.”

She looks pleased with herself.

Ilya turns his marshmallow too and looks at Shane.

Shane smiles at him. “Yeah.”

Shane watches him for a moment. The firelight catches Ilya’s face, making his eyes sparkle. He looks focused, a little furrow between his eyebrows. But his mouth looks soft. A little open.

Sonya looks between them.

“Is it ready?”

Shane looks at her marshmallow.

“Almost.”

“It’s brown.”

“Just a few more seconds.”

“It’s very brown.”

Shane laughs.

“She’s impatient.”

Ilya laughs too.

Sonya’s marshmallow finally turns golden.

“There,” Shane says. “Perfect.”

She smiles. He helps her pull it off the skewer and onto a piece of chocolate and graham cracker. She takes one bite. Chocolate gets smeared across her mouth.

“How is it?”

She chews seriously.

“Very good.” She takes another bite.

Ilya looks at her. “Is mine ready?”

Shane looks at it. It’s mostly white. “You have to wait a little longer.”

Ilya deflates a little. Shane snorts.

“Mm, I guess she’s not the only impatient one.”

Ilya turns to him, mouth open. Points a hand to his own chest. “Me?”

Shane laughs. “Yeah. You.”

Ilya gasps.

“Now. It’s ready now.”

Ilya takes it off the skewer. He puts it on the graham cracker, adds chocolate, and tries to eat the whole thing at once.

His eyes widen.

He chews.

Shane waits.

“Well?”

Ilya looks at him.

“Oh.”

“Good?”

“Very good.”

Ilya reaches for another marshmallow.

“I’m doing another one.”

Sonya snuggles against his chest. She yawns.

“Tired?”

“No.”

She yawns again. Ilya raises an eyebrow. “Very convincing.”

Shane smiles. Sonya closes her eyes, her head resting against his arm.

“I should take her to bed,” Ilya says.

“No. Stay. I’ll go. I’ll be right back.”

Shane stands and lifts her. She makes a small sleepy noise and tightens her arms around his neck. Ilya kisses her temple.

Shane carries her inside. He looks back once before going through the door. Ilya is still sitting beside the fire, turning his marshmallow carefully over the flames.

He takes Sonya to her room, changes her into her pajamas, and gets her into bed. She barely wakes when he pulls the blanket over her.

“’Night, sweetheart.”

“’Night.”

Her voice is barely more than a whisper. He kisses her forehead. She is already asleep by the time he reaches the door. Shane leaves it slightly open and goes back outside.

The air feels colder without the firelight warming his face. Ilya looks up when he approaches.

“She asleep?”

“Yeah. Out in five seconds.”

Ilya smiles. Shane sits down beside him. Ilya is holding a s’more out to Shane.

Shane looks at him. “You did?”

“Yes.”

Shane takes it. He looks at it. It’s perfect.

“We can share.”

Shane takes a bite.

“Good?”

He looks so earnest when he asks. Shane doesn’t care much for sweets nowadays. But Ilya made this for him. He saved it for him. And suddenly, it’s the best thing Shane has ever had.

“Perfect.”

Ilya smiles. He eats the rest of the s’more.

There’s a smear of something on his cheek. Probably chocolate. He doesn’t seem to have noticed. Shane reaches over and wipes it away with his thumb.

Ilya looks at him and smiles.

A loon calls and Ilya startles.

“What the fuck was that?” He’s looking around, trying to see where the noise came from.

“A loon?”

“A what?”

Shane laughs. “A loon.” Is Ilya scared? Shane has an urge to hold him close. “It’s just a bird.”

“Sounds like a fucking wolf.”

“It’s a bird. Trust me.” He’s still looking around. “You’re so scared.”

“What kind of a bird makes a sound like that?”

“A loon.”

“Stupid Canadian wolf-bird.”

He’s ridiculous.

Shane calls the loon back.

Ilya stares at him. “Oh, so now you speak bird too?”

Shane chuckles. “Fluent.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Ilya looks back at him.

They stay like that, looking at the fire. Shane hugs Ilya close and he lays his head on Shane’s lap.

It’s nice. He wants to know him. Protect him. From imaginary wolves but also real threats.

“Have you talked to your brother lately?”

Ilya shakes his head.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Probably. I don’t know.”

He wishes he could make things easier for him. “I’m sorry about your family. Even if they sucked you must miss them.”

“My mother didn’t suck. She was great.”

“How did she die?”

“By accident. She accidentally swallowed a whole bottle of pills.”

Jesus.

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

Shane’s heart aches for that little boy. For the man currently on his thighs. He wishes he could have found him sooner.

“I found her.”

Shane can’t imagine what that must have been like. He tries to picture his own mom, but his brain refuses.

“I don’t want you to think she was weak.” Ilya’s voice breaks.

“I don’t.”

“She wasn’t.” Shane cards his fingers through Ilya’s curls. “She was so funny and beautiful. She was so sad. And my dad was so hard on her.”

Not for the first time, Shane wishes Ilya’s dad was still alive. Just so he could meet him. Maybe beat him.

Shane holds his hand. “Do you wanna go inside?”

“No.” Ilya’s still looking at the fire.

Shane holds him. He wants to take all his pain away. Wants to make sure he doesn’t cause more. If anyone finds out about them, they’ll never play hockey again. Their life will be over. His parents will be disappointed. And Ilya will never be able to go back to Russia. To where his mother is.

Shane will have to find a solution.

Chapter End Notes

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Chapter 12

Chapter Summary

Love confessions

Chapter Notes

Ilya wakes to Shane gently nudging him awake. The light is already on.

“I have another idea.”

“What idea? What is happening?” Ilya turns to him.

“What if you played in Ottawa?”

Did he spend the night thinking about this?

“Ottawa is same division as Boston. We’re still rivals.”

“Okay. But listen. First off, super close by. Second, Ottawa needs a star center and they are nowhere near their cap so they can definitely afford you.” Shane cups his chest gently. Ilya doesn’t think he noticed doing it. “And, maybe we can start to change the narrative a bit.”

“What? Hollander, I just woke up. What is narrative?”

“Okay. Boston and Montreal, that’s intense. Everyone knows that. But Montreal and Ottawa…” Shane has an intense look as he explains. Focused. “And look. Lots of guys have friends in other teams. We’re not rookies anymore. There are younger guys coming in, frothing at the mouth. Let them hate each other. We don’t need to keep this up until we retire, do we?”

“Okay, is very late. What are you getting at?”

“You play for Ottawa. I play for Montreal. Okay? We’re only two hours apart. And we start a charity. Something that we both care about. And we come up with a story like… I approached you.”

“Or I approached you.”

“Fine. Sure. And we tell the press and everyone that by working on this cause that we both love… that we developed a mutual respect for one another and…”

Shane stops. Looks at Ilya.

“And it wouldn’t be bullshit either. Like we can really start a charity. Something cool that means a lot to both of us. And, you know? We still play hard against each other on the ice.”

Ilya grins.

“Shut up.” Shane smiles too. “And then, if people saw us out in public or whatever it wouldn’t be so fucking crazy. And we’re only two hours apart all year-round. You can apply for like citizenship here, in Canada.”

Fuck. What has Ilya done to deserve him?

“We could be together more times. And I could help take care of Sonya. If you want.”

Ilya swallows.

“Or… or… If you don’t want to come to Canada, you can stay with Sonya in the US. You can go to New York or New Jersey. I’ll go to the other team. We’d be even closer.”

He would leave Montreal for Ilya? Ilya will not let him. He can’t keep taking from Shane, he’s already given him too much. He’s risking too much.

“Or to the same team if they can afford us both.” Shane smiles. “We’ll figure it out. And maybe. One day, when we both retire, we can be together. For real.”

It would be good. Ilya would move with Sonya to Ottawa. She would grow up in the same city Shane did.

“You really think that far ahead, Hollander?”

“I do. About this. About us.”

“And is that what you want? To be together?” Are you sure?”

“So much. So much it scares me.”

Shane says this with the same brutal honesty he says everything after he’s made up his mind. Simple.

Ilya needs to look away. He needs to breathe. The tears that were pooling at his eyes are dangerously close to falling.

Shane brushes his cheek. Grabs his chin gently. Makes him turn his head.

“Hey.”

Ilya looks at Shane. Shane is smiling. He’s radiant. They kiss. Ilya moves on top of him and they are still kissing. He tastes Shane’s smile.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” Ilya kisses his chest. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” He kisses his neck. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” His cheek.

He can’t stop confessing.

Ilya rests his forehead on Shane’s. Shane is already looking up at him.

He can’t hold it in anymore.

“I love you,” Ilya says, voice thick, close to breaking. He’s fully crying now.

Shane freezes. “Holy shit.”

Did Ilya read this wrong?

“I mean—”

“I love you too.”

Ilya can breathe again.

“Fuck, Hollander.”

Ilya collapses. Hides his face in the crook of Shane’s neck. He sobs.

“Oh my god. I love you so much.” Fuck. How will he ever deserve him?

Shane holds him. Kisses him. Runs his fingers through Ilya’s hair.

“Does it… does it fucking kill you too?” Shane asks softly.

No. Ilya’s finally free.

“Not anymore.”

Ilya raises his head, looks at Shane’s eyes. They kiss and Shane holds him. Ilya on top of him. They stay like that the rest of the night. Embraced.

At dawn, Ilya sits by the lake, watching the sun rise. The birds are singing. The light reflects on the water.

He’s talking to his mama. He wishes she could meet Shane. Wishes he could have them both. At the same time. In the same place.

He wants to see what she thinks of him. Wants to see her doting on Shane like she doted on him.

And he wants Shane to meet her. To understand a part of himself he doesn’t know how to explain.

Maybe he should go to Russia one last time. Tell his mama goodbye. Properly. Before he can’t go back again.

Shane arrives, carrying a blanket and coffee. He hands Ilya the coffee and holds the blanket over both of them. Ilya hadn’t realized he was cold.

Ilya looks at Shane. Smiles at him.

He’s being greedy. He has Shane by his side, and is still hoping for more. He doesn’t deserve him.

He will do whatever he can to earn his love. To earn his trust. He will give him everything.

They watch the sunrise together.

Ilya is peeling oranges in the kitchen, soft morning light coming through the window. He can hear Shane and Sonya in the living room. Sonya’s quick steps as her socked feet make their way to the couch, her laughter when she reaches it and jumps onto it. Shane’s more deliberate steps following hers, the sound of him moving as he settles on the couch. Ilya doesn’t have to be seeing them to picture it. Shane’s soft smile as he helps Sonya sit. They are talking but Ilya can’t make out the words. The emotion behind them is clear enough.

He begins at the crown of the orange. The first strip of peel comes away beneath his thumbnail. Citrus oil glistens on his fingers.

He remembers his mother. Not her face at first, but her hands. He remembers sitting at the kitchen table as a boy while she peeled oranges for him after school. She had never asked whether he wanted one. She simply knew. She would split the orange open, remove the seeds, pick away the bitter white threads, and place the clean segments in front of him. He had sometimes eaten them without looking up from what he was doing. Children could be terrible at recognizing devotion when it was given to them. Ilya smiles. All those years ago, she had been teaching him that love could be an ordinary thing done carefully.

He separates another orange, presses his thumbnail into it. The skin breaks. The fruit comes apart along its natural seams, each segment delicate and wet, almost translucent beneath the kitchen light. He removes the last thread of pith with the pad of his thumb. His fingers are stained with juice. He rinses them.

He carries two bowls to the couch.

Sonya jumps up when she sees him, interrupting the game she was playing. Ilya places the bowl in front of her and helps her eat. When she is done, Ilya takes the other bowl to Shane. He sits next to him, thighs touching. Shane looks at him, smile already on his lips.

“Play?” Sonya interrupts.

Shane laughs. “Yeah, yeah, let’s play.”

They restart their game of Mario Kart, Sonya excitedly pressing the control buttons.

“You didn’t have to,” Shane whispers to him.

“I know,” Ilya answers.

Ilya feeds him the orange while he plays. He lifts the first segment slowly between them. Shane opens his mouth and Ilya places the fruit against his tongue. His fingers brush Shane’s lower lip. Neither of them moves. The moment lasts longer than it needs to. Then Shane takes his wrist gently and kisses the citrus scent from his fingertips. Ilya blinks, eyes not leaving Shane’s mouth. He feels the kiss all the way up his arm. Shane turns his hand and kisses his palm. The gesture feels almost like a blessing.

Ilya offers him another segment. Then another. Then another. Shane keeps playing.

“I’ll win!” Sonya is grinning.

Shane sits up, back straighter, a new focus in his gaze. “No, you won’t.” He leans forward, tongue poking out. Sonya wins.

“And the winner is… Sonechka!” Ilya lifts her up to the sound of roaring from an imaginary crowd. She’s laughing, head thrown back.

“My turn,” Ilya says, grabbing the controller from Shane’s hands.

“Hey!”

Ilya kisses his forehead. “Sorry, solnyshko, I only play against winners”. Sonya giggles. Shane slaps his arm.

Ilya chooses Princess Peach and Sonya chooses Yoshi. She grips the controller with both hands and presses several buttons at once.

“I’m going fast!”

“You’re going so fast.”

Ilya has to keep checking what she’s doing, helping her a little. “You have to turn. No, the other way. Okay, that’s fine.”.

When the race is about to finish, Sonya throws him a banana peel. Ilya had no idea she could do that. When his kart goes off course, Sonya laughs.

“I got you!”

“Yeah, you did.”

They play a few more times, Sonya either against him or against Shane. She wins every game.

“Okay, okay. Sonya is too good. It’s time for the final battle. You and me, Hollander. Let’s settle this.”

“Oh, you’re on, Rozanov,” Shane agrees, smirk playing on his lips.

Shane chooses Mario. Again. Ilya snorts.

“What? He’s the main character. It just makes sense.”

Ilya laughs but he’s sure his eyes give him away.

It’s the most focused Ilya’s ever been while playing Mario Kart. He’s in the lead, but not by far. Shane is close behind. Ilya dodges a banana peel, but Shane manages to pass him. Ilya nudges him with his elbow.

“Asshole, that’s interference.”

Shane kicks him. Ilya sits on his lap, obstructing his view. Shane tries to shove him, gives up and decides to play with his arms around Ilya, peeking at the screen from behind him. When the race is almost over, Shane leans forward, lifts his legs at the same time and throws him off his lap. Ilya falls on his ass on the floor. He still wins.

“Ha!” Ilya turns to Shane, arms in the air. “Won’t you congratulate me?”

“No, you cheater,” Shane laughs. “You played dirty.”

“You like when I’m dirty.”

Shane laughs. Ilya licks his mouth. It tastes of oranges.

“Ilya!” Shane screams.

Ilya keeps bobbing his head, sucking. Shane is making small movements with his hips, like he’s stopping himself from thrusting fully. Ilya grabs his hips and pulls him closer. He looks up at Shane. You can. Shane’s rhythm stutters. “Fuck.” He grabs Ilya’s hair and holds him down. Ilya’s nose is scrunched against his pelvis. Shane’s hair is rubbing against his face. Ilya breathes in. Fuck. He loves Shane’s smell. He moans. He can’t help it. Shane lets go and Ilya pulls back. He licks his shaft with his tongue, plays with the head. Shane’s leaking. He always leaks so much.

Shane pulls him up. “C’mere.”

Ilya follows. Shane grabs his face with both hands, a beaming smile on his face. Ilya leans down and licks the freckles on his face. Kisses his nose. Shane laughs, head thrown back. He’s gorgeous. Ilya finally kisses him, bites his bottom lip gently, soothes it with his tongue. Shane opens his mouth and Ilya slips his tongue in. He grinds down and his cock rubs on Shane’s. He gasps.

Ilya starts to make his way down, eager to return to where he was minutes ago. He kisses his jaw first, then his neck. He sucks just above Shane’s collarbone, then traces along the bone with his tongue. He bites. Shane moans. Ilya kisses it again and goes lower.

Shane grabs his arms and turns them. He’s on top of Ilya now. He looks so good, staring down at Ilya, eyes a little glassy but gaining a new focus.

“Okay?” Shane asks.

“Yeah.” Perfect.

Shane pecks him. Then he kisses Ilya’s neck, right under his jaw. He licks a little lower. Then a kiss a little above the hollow of his neck that makes his breath hitch. His shoulder. Right above his sternum. Ilya sits up on his elbows. He wants to see.

His Shane, looking up at him with such tenderness. Ilya pets his hair and Shane nuzzles against the palm of his hand, closes his eyes.

Shane kisses a little lower, two soft kisses right next to each other. Right under his left pec.

Oh. He’s tracing Ilya’s moles. Leaving a kiss behind each one. Ilya’s heart flutters. Shane can probably feel the way it’s beating like crazy. For you, he wants to say.

He goes on. Not missing a single one. He sucks on a few. Once he gets to the one next to his belly button, Shane swirls his tongue. It’s dizzying.

Hipbone. One side, then the other. It’s driving Ilya mad. He tries to stay still, but fails. Little jerking movements of his hips, his back. Shane rubs his cheek on Ilya’s happy trail. Without warning, he swallows him whole. Ilya almost comes on the spot.

“Shane!”

He pulls out. Smirks. “Yeah?”

“So good, malysh.” Ilya pets his hair.

Shane starts on an impossible rhythm, apparently intent on making Ilya come as fast as possible. Little gasps escape his mouth. He’s going to—

He tugs a little harder at Shane’s hair. He’s about to—

Shane pulls away. Squeezes the base of his cock. Ilya is heaving.

“Mean,” Ilya pouts.

Shane laughs. Kisses the head of his dick in apology. It jumps at the touch.

He starts jerking him off in a steady rhythm, not as fast as before. He licks his balls, sucks one into his mouth, rolls it around with his tongue. Ilya’s head falls back. Shane’s going to kill him.

He hears Shane spit, feels it land on his sack, dripping lower. Shane rubs at his hole, pushes one finger in. He works him open, pulling sounds from his mouth with every brush over his prostate. Ilya grips the sheets, thrusts up. Shane holds him down.

“Shane.” Ilya needs to… he needs—

“I want to fuck you,” Ilya begs.

Shane stops and looks up. His lips are red and swollen. Shiny. The tips of his ears turn pink.

“Would you let me—”

Shane looks away before continuing. “Would you—”

He swallows, looks back up at Ilya. Why is he nervous? Ilya holds his face, caresses his jaw.

“I want to fuck you,” Shane says, words rushed. His whole face is flaming red.

Ilya freezes. He wants that?

“If you… if you don’t mind.”

If Ilya doesn’t mind? Mind? He never considered it. It’s not what he usually liked, so he didn’t try at first. And then, he never thought it was something that would be offered to him. But suddenly, there’s nothing he wants more.

“Please,” Ilya whines. Heat rushes to his face.

Shane beams in answer. Kisses his dick one last time and pulls out his fingers. He pours more lube and slicks up his cock. Ilya licks his lips.

Shane presses in. Ilya gasps, back arching off the mattress. Shane keeps pressing in, slowly, until he bottoms out. Ilya can feel him. There’s no pain. Only pressure. Fullness. His thighs bracket Shane’s hips, trembling. Shane stills.

“Fuck. You’re big.”

Shane laughs. Ilya can feel it reverberating through his entire body.

“You’ve seen me before.”

“’S different now.”

And it is. Ilya can feel him everywhere. Every point of contact. And it’s not enough. He wants to rip himself open, wants all of Shane inside him, safe, protected. And he wants to be inside Shane, in an impossible contortion.

He needs him to start moving.

“You can move, you know? ‘m not going to break.”

“Yeah. I know.” He brushes Ilya’s hair away from his face. “Just need a minute.”

“Oh.” Ilya preens.

“Shut up.” Shane blushes, hides his face in the crook of Ilya’s neck. “You feel too good,” he mumbles against Ilya’s skin.

“Take all the time you need, then.” But Ilya wiggles his ass and rolls his hips.

He can feel Shane’s lips stretching into a smile against his neck, can hear him mumble words he can’t quite decipher but that sound too close to asshole.

Shane holds himself up with his hands on each side of Ilya’s head, pulls himself almost all the way out and then presses himself back in with one single movement.

Ilya’s hand flies to Shane’s arm, gripping hard enough to bruise. Shane repeats the movement, pulling almost all the way out. But this time, he adjusts the angle before thrusting again. His cock strokes Ilya’s prostate. Fuck. Ilya’s other hand covers his face.

Shane keeps going, every thrust brushing his prostate. He holds Ilya’s wrist, moves it away from his face.

“I want to see you.” His voice is so gentle it dislodges something in Ilya’s chest. Ilya can’t deny him. He looks at Shane. Nods.

Every drag of Shane’s cock is intoxicating. He keeps chasing the feeling with his hips but it’s not enough. He holds Shane, tries to bring him closer, but his arms are shaking.

Ilya’s being too loud. Every thrust ripping sounds from his throat he’s never heard before.

“Shh, Ilya, it’s okay.” Shane pets him. “So good.” Shane is the good one, making Ilya feel like this. He’s never been so desperate. Shane moves two fingers into Ilya’s mouth and he sucks. It helps settle his head. Another point of contact. Shane above him, and in him, and around him. He’s never been so full.

Shane takes care of him with the same single-minded determination he has for everything he cherishes. Ilya can’t have enough of it. To be the object of all that focus. Of all that pinpoint precision. Ilya thinks this must be what it feels like to be something holy.

“Shane. Shane.” Ilya can’t stop saying his name. Over and over again, it gets punched out of his lungs with each of Shane’s thrusts, each of his caresses, each of his kisses. He doesn’t know why other words exist. Why would anyone need them? Why has he said anything else before? He can’t see why anyone would spend their breath on anything other than the most perfect word, capturing everything he will ever need to say. He feels it in his whole body, from his toes to his heart, cradled in his mouth, held safe, before dripping from his tongue. “Shane.”

Shane reaches up, brushes the tears from his eyes, kisses them.

“I love you, Ilya.”

Ilya comes.

Shane follows, never far away.

Shane kisses his forehead. Ilya’s eyes flutter open and he looks up at him.

“We should shower.”

“My legs don’t work.” Ilya sprawls on the bed. “You’ll have to carry me.”

Shane rolls his eyes but he’s already picking him up.

“Ahh.” Ilya wraps his arms around Shane’s neck and holds tight. He doesn’t remember the last time someone carried him. He must have been a child.

“You fucked me too good. I’ll never walk again.” Shane laughs. “You’ll have to carry me everywhere.” Ilya is smiling too.

“Poor baby.” Shane puts him down on the counter while he grabs towels.

“It’s very sad, Shane. You’ll have to carry me while we play hockey. You skate and I hold the stick. We’ll have to ask for special permission.”

Shane kisses him. Ilya momentarily forgets what they were talking about.

“Sounds impractical.”

“Hmm. It’s the price you have to pay after this.”

“I’ll take it,” Shane says while he picks Ilya up again and carries him to the shower.

“What was your mother’s name?” Shane brings Ilya back from his thoughts.

Ilya looks at him. The light reflecting in his brown eyes. Making his freckles stand out.

“Irina. Why?”

“I was thinking we could start a hockey school. Like a summer camp for kids, and give the money away to mental health organizations. Like suicide prevention.”

This perfect man.

“It was just an idea.”

He doesn’t deserve him. Ilya is not good like Shane is. Not deep down. Shane has seen part of it. But not all. Shane has shared so much of himself. Ilya has to tell him.

“I… Would you—”

Would you still love me if my mind starts slowly failing? Would you still stay if my mind lost its grip.

He can’t ask him that.

Ilya swallows.

“I might be like my mama. Sometimes. And like my father.”

He closes his eyes. He might be too much like both. The light of his mama not enough to save him from his father’s blood.

“I… You have—” Shane stops. “What do you mean?”

Ilya opens his eyes. Shane is scared. Ilya is doing things all wrong.

“I was not okay. Before. In… in the shower. In locker room in Montreal. I—”

“I will never do that to you again,” Shane says, as if it’s his fault.

“No! Not… not you. It wasn’t you.”

How can he say this?

“It might happen again,” Ilya adds. “Not… not the hurting you part.”

Never again.

“I know you won’t hurt me, Ilya.”

Ilya ducks his head.

“But the rest.”

He’s not explaining it right.

“You tell me. If it happens, you tell me. And I will be here. We’ll solve it together.”

Ilya will not let it happen again. He will not burden him with this, with how he gets. He will have to try. For Shane. His wonderful Shane who looks at him with so much trust. So much hope.

Ilya brushes Shane’s hair away from his face.

“She would have loved you. Like I love you.”

Shane touches Ilya’s face. Ilya can’t stop his smile.

“Say it again in Russian please.”

He will never stop saying it.

“Ya. Tebya. Lyublyu.”

The next morning, Ilya is in the water. Shane is watching him with Sonya on his lap. He ducks under the water. When he comes back up, he pushes his hair back, away from his face, and looks at them.

“Watch this.”

Ilya plants both hands on the lakebed and kicks his legs into the air.

“Whoa!” Sonya shouts.

He holds the handstand for a few seconds, toes pointed toward the sky, then folds at the waist and drops back into the water.

He comes up laughing.

“Again!”

“You liked that?”

“Again!”

Ilya does it again. This time he manages to hold it longer.

Shane is laughing.

“You’re showing off.”

“I’m impressing my audience.”

“You’re definitely impressing Sonya.”

Ilya swims closer.

“And you?”

Shane smiles. “Very impressive.”

Ilya feels absurdly pleased.

Sonya splashes him. Ilya picks her up and holds her against his chest, water up to her waist.

Shane is looking at them. Ilya extends an arm.

“Come join us.”

“I think I’ll just watch.”

“Please.” Ilya pouts.

Shane takes his hand. Ilya pulls him in. Ilya drifts closer until their shoulders nearly touch. Sonya grabs Shane’s arm.

“Look.”

She kicks her legs, but they barely move beneath the surface.

“That’s it, Sonya.” Shane picks her up again. “You want to swim?”

Sonya kicks furiously between Shane’s arms, splashing water everywhere, her little face scrunched up in concentration.

Ilya watches them from a few feet away, floating on his back.

Shane is patient with her. Ridiculously patient. He keeps one hand under Sonya’s stomach, the other hovering near her shoulder, letting her feel the water.

“Look at you,” Shane says. “You’re swimming.”

“I’m swimming!”

“You are.” Shane is proud.

Something in Ilya’s chest aches. He ducks under the water and comes up again near them.

“Gimme kiss,” Ilya asks with an exaggerated pout.

Shane laughs but kisses him, hands never leaving Sonya.

Sonya is rushing in, leaving a trail of water behind her, despite Ilya’s best attempts at drying her off with the towel.

“You need to shower, Sonechka. Go to the bathroom. I will help.”

Shane comes up behind him. “What do you want for lunch? I think we have hot dogs… or pasta.”

“Hot dogs.”

Shane kisses him, then turns around and bends to reach the drawer. Ilya’s eyes linger for a moment. He considers behaving, but he can’t resist. He slaps Shane’s ass.

Shane turns back to him and Ilya holds up his hands in mock surrender.

“Wow. Romantic,” Shane deadpans.

Ilya grins. “You know me. Ilya Rozanov, Impossibly Romantic.”

Shane laughs. “More like, Ilya Rozanov, Irritatingly Ridiculous.”

Ilya wraps his arms around him and holds him. Kisses his neck. “No, lyubimyy moy.” Shane’s eyelids flutter. Ilya traces his freckles with his thumb. They are more noticeable after the sun. “More like, Indecently Ravishing. Or Incredibly Radiant. Internationally Revered.” Shane hides his face in Ilya’s shoulder. He can feel him laughing harder at every absurd name Ilya says. “Irresistible Romeo.” Shane lifts his head and smacks his arm lightly. “Insanely Ripped, some would say.”

Shane is still laughing. “Yeah, yeah. And what would Shane Hollander be then?”

Ilya smiles. “Oh, that one is too easy. Shane Hollander, Sweet—” Ilya kisses Shane’s eyelid. “Heart.” Ilya kisses the other.

He takes a step back. He needs to go help Sonya. “Shockingly Hilarious. Sinfully Handsome. Sincerely Honest. So Hardworking. Shamelessly Hot.”

When Ilya is almost out of Shane’s sight, he adds with a grin. “Spectacular Head.”

Shane throws him a dishtowel. “English just rolls off your tongue today.”

Ilya snorts. He remembers another one. “Sexy Hole,” and winks.

“Ilya!”

Ilya runs to Sonya but not before he catches a hint of the red spreading up Shane’s neck and across his cheeks.

He helps Sonya shower and settles her on the living room couch with cartoons on. He showers himself and then goes back to Shane, telling him he can have his turn now.

 Ilya is setting the table when he hears Shane’s phone buzz. He can hear a woman’s voice coming from the living room.

“Sonya? What happened?”

She doesn’t answer him.

He goes to the living room, sees Sonya on a videocall with someone. He gets closer.

“—talk to Shane?”

Ilya recognizes her. It’s Shane’s mom.

“To daddy?”

This can’t be happening. Ilya tries to get the phone, but Sonya holds it closer to her.

“Papa, she wants talk to daddy.”

“Daddy? Is Shane there?” Ilya tries to grab the phone again, but Sonya moves. “Rozanov? Is that you?”

“Daddy is in shower.”

Fuck. He needs to fix this.

“Sonya, malysh—”

Shane comes in, hair still wet from the shower.

“Ilya? Who are you talking to?” Ilya looks back at him. He can tell the moment Shane realizes what is happening.

“Fuck. Mom?”

“Shane, what—”

Sonya hangs up the call. Shane’s mom calls again. Shane doesn’t pick up. She keeps calling.

“Fuck.” He falls to the floor. “Fuck, Ilya. They know.”

“Maybe we can explain.”

“What can we possibly say?”

Ilya walks closer. Shane holds his legs. Ilya pets his hair. He sits on the floor next to him.

“This is my actual fucking nightmare, Ilya.”

“Maybe it’s time to wake up, yes?”

Shane gives him a tentative smile.

“Do you want to call them back?”

“Fuck no.”

“Do you want to go to their house?” Shane doesn’t answer. “Do you want me to go?”

Shane looks up. “You would?”

Ilya doesn’t know what he would say to Shane’s parents, but for him, he would try.

“Of course.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know, lyubimyy. It’s scary but you’re very brave.”

Shane smiles. Ilya kisses his forehead. Sonya holds his hand.

Shane texts his mom. They are going to their house.

Shane’s parents are nice. They are surprised at first, but not rude. Not violent or aggressive either. Ilya didn’t think they would be, but he was prepared to defend Shane if needed. He doesn’t think it will be needed.

Sonya plays on the couch while they talk. They are mostly answering their questions. Ilya can tell Shane is embarrassed, but they are being nice. It’s nice.

Shane’s mom, Yuna, goes outside, and Shane follows her. Ilya stays with David in the living room. He asks Ilya about vodka. He appreciates the gesture.

They hear something breaking. Ilya looks to where Sonya is, broken glass surrounding her.

He rushes to her, checks for wounds, for blood. She seems okay.

“Are you hurt, Sonechka?”

She shakes her head. Ilya kisses her cheek. He moves her away from the glass.

He hears steps and looks up to find David there. He tries to assess him, to see how he will act at something being broken in his house. Ilya moves, puts himself between David and Sonya. But all David does is smile and help Ilya pick up the pieces.

“It’s an old frame, don’t worry. We’ll get a new one for this picture.”

David picks up the picture from the floor, and only then does Ilya look at it. It’s Shane as a child, in magician’s clothes, a cape and a top hat, a frown on his face. Ilya reaches for it, strokes Shane’s face in the photo.

“He’s the one who insisted on learning. You would never tell with how upset he always was about performing. But he saw a magician in a birthday party once and wouldn’t stop until he understood how the tricks were done.”

Ilya laughs. His Shane, wanting to understand everything. Even as a child. He can see it. He hopes they have more pictures. Maybe videos.

Ilya looks at Shane outside now, the slope of his shoulders, the way he holds himself. He can’t see his face. He hopes he’s okay.

David squeezes his shoulder. Ilya looks at him. He’s smiling.

“I can see it. You look at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen.”

He is. Ilya swallows, tears prickling at his eyes.

Shane and Yuna walk back in. They have lunch, they talk. It’s good. He can see himself sharing meals with them again. Maybe they’ll even like him.

They say their goodbyes, make plans for later. Ilya wants to get to know them, the most important people in Shane’s life.

As Shane drives them back to the cottage, his boyfriend’s hand on Ilya’s thigh, he thinks.

He loves this ridiculous man, who stays up to plan their future together, who trusts Ilya enough to show him who he is.

He doesn’t know what they’ll do or how they’re going to make it. He wants to make it easy for Shane, but he knows it won’t be. It will be even harder for them. Problems will keep appearing. He knows he’s leaving a lot behind. But he also knows, maybe for the first time in his life, that he’ll have a future. One he will fight for. One he wants to be in. With Shane. And maybe that’s enough for now.

Chapter End Notes

And it's a wrap!

Thank you to everyone who has been taking the time to follow this story, leave kudos or a comment. I always love reading your thoughts, so feel free to chat 💖

Thank you so much to everyone who trusted me enough to follow this story during the weeks I've been posting it. Your support meant the world.
And thank you to everyone who decides to read it after it's finished, thank you for trusting me with your time.

It's been an honor to share this story with all of you 💖

Let me know what you think of this chapter, what you think worked and what could have been better!

I had a lot of fun making up names with their initials. Tell me some more you come up with in the comments. I would love to see them.

Thank you to everyone who recommended or talked about this fic, I would love to know how you found it!

 

Just a few more notes about this story: this is the first story I've written in decades, since elementary school really. And it's been so fun! It is not how I first envisioned it, it ended up being a lot closer to canon than I first drafted. I hope that's okay.

Their story isn't over yet. They still have a lot of obstacles and challenges to overcome, in their own head, with each other, and with the world. I am planning on writing a second part if that's something people would like, so let me know if that is something you would be interested in.