Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Rose Landry, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Svetlana Vetrova, Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Rose Landry, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Carter Vaughn

Additional Tags:

Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Soft Dom Ilya Rozanov, Top Ilya Rozanov, ilya rozanov in domspace, Ilya Rozanov Character Study, Shane Hollander Cheats on Rose Landry with Ilya Rozanov, ilya rozanov has a bite kink, Ilya Rozanov has a blood kink, Cheating, Character Study, AU, Inspired by Heated Rivalry (TV), Domspace, Fucking, Kissing, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Biting Kink, Blood Kink, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Creampie, Anal Fingering, Sexual Overstimulation, Overstimulated Shane Hollander, Overstimulated Ilya Rozanov, Rimming, Crying During Sex, Hand Jobs, Spit Kink, Affairs, Freak4Freak Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hollanov - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, Five Stages of Grief, Depression, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Suicidal Thoughts, drug references, Coke, Cocaine, Ecstasy - Freeform, fun party drugs, millenialcore when you really think about it

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Laceration

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-10 Words: 59,715 Chapters: 7/7

Salve

Summary

Ilya Rozanov was starting over. His mother was long dead, his father had finally passed, and his brother didn’t want him around anymore. Moscow was nothing but dead bodies and fading memories and scars that just wouldn’t heal.
Enter Shane Hollander.
*Laceration, from Ilya’s POV

Chapter 1: Awareness 

Montreal was quiet.  

It was nothing like Moscow. Ilya wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not; this move could be the worst decision he’s ever made. Moscow held a lot of memories, a lot of pain, but it also held some good ones, too. Memories that Ilya was terrified to lose.  

Montreal held nothing for him. It was completely new. The clubs closed at three, everybody smiled all the time, and strangers were too friendly for his liking.  

It was both comforting and daunting, this fresh start.  

For one thing, Ilya had never thought he’d get a fresh start. He hadn’t even thought he’d still be walking around at twenty six.  

The one thing Montreal had in common with Moscow was the ice. Ilya would be lying if he said that he didn’t find the ice comforting. He liked the cold, always had. He loved the sun, too, but something about the ice felt like home.  

And for the last two years, Montreal had Svetlana Vetrova.  

"You’re gonna hate it here,” Svetlana warned as she held up her plate. “It’s slow, not like Moscow.”  

Ilya passed his over, swapping with her. They'd been doing it since they were in school together; eating half a meal and then swapping plates. Best of both worlds, they called it.  

Greedy, his father always said. Ilya hated how clear his voice was in his head, how present. How right it was. Ilya had always wanted more.  

“It is boring,” Ilya agreed. “It might be nice, to be bored for once.”  

Svetlana smiled at him, switching to English when their waiter came back to top up their drinks. She bumped her ankle against his under the table and switched back to Russian when they were alone again.  

“Did you come just for me?” she asked. “Because I don’t want to have sex with you anymore.”  

“No,” he said honestly. “I don’t want to have sex with you either. I needed get out of Russia. I didn’t know where else to go.”  

It was always easy to be honest with Svetlana. She always took him at his word, which was nice. Being trusted like that, being known to speak carefully and be listened to. Svetlana was really the only one that ever did that with him.  

“You’re going to hate it here,” Svetlana said again. “It’s cold. It's quiet. You hate the quiet. You go crazy without noise.”  

“I think I will like this kind of quiet,” Ilya said, dismissing her worries with a wave of his hand. “No ghosts here.”  

Svetlana looked at him for a long moment before she smiled, her ankle knocking against his under the table. “Just me.”  

There was something different about Svetlana; something lighter, something easier. He hadn’t seen her since the last time she was in Moscow nearly a year ago, but her eyes looked clearer. She held herself differently. Something had changed for the better.  

He wondered if it was happiness, or something like it. Something about Montreal that fit Svetlana. Maybe it would be the same for him. Maybe in a year he would look at himself in the mirror and see a similar light in his own eyes.  

“Just you,” Ilya smiled at her. “The only thing I like about Russia is you, and you are here. It's perfect.”  

“If you say so,” she said. “I’m not cooking for you.”  

"If you say so,” he shot back.  

They stared each other down before they started to laugh. Ilya gave it a month before she was making him golubsty. He hated that he was already a little homesick for Moscow; he’d only said goodbye to Russia that morning, and he had been so eager to leave. It didn’t seem right that he’d be missing a place that he hated so much.  

Maybe he wouldn’t be homesick for Moscow, but for the familiar. Ilya had only been in Canada for a few hours, and he already felt unmoored. It had been so long since his life was his own, since he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It had been so long since he’d even wanted to do anything. It was strange to miss the coldness and the sadness. Or at least, the ease of knowing how he would feel every day when he woke up. The routine and predictability of misery had become somewhat of a comfort in the last few years. It was the only thing he could count on most days.  

“So, what is your plan? Aside from sleeping on my couch,” Svetlana said.  

“Nooo, you’re going to let me sleep off my jetlag in your bed,” Ilya whined. “No sex, no matter how much you beg,” he joked. “I don’t know. Take the weekend to adjust. Start looking for work and a place to live on Monday. Find a car.”  

“I might have a lead on a place for you,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “Close to me. A girl at work is moving and can’t get out of her lease. Wants to sublet her place.”  

Already, Ilya felt like life here was going to be so much easier than back home.  

A place of his own. Nobody relying on him anymore. No one needing anything from him.  

No ghosts.  

He hoped that his father’s voice in his ear would fade in time, forgotten and left in the past, just like his mother’s voice now was.  

>>>  

Ilya groaned at the sound of a phone ringing. He felt Svetlana moving behind him, the sheets rustling loudly. He kept his eyes screwed shut; he wasn’t going to fucking wake up now. He refused.  

"Turn it off,” Ilya mumbled.  

“Shh,” Svetlana soothed as she rejected the call, curling up behind him again. “Go to sleep.”  

“What time is it?”  

She shushed him again as she ran her hand through his hair. Ilya hated how much that always worked, leaning into the gentle touch.  

“Who is calling you so late?” Ilya asked, his body sinking into the mattress with exhaustion, even though something in the back of his mind was starting to wake up a little.  

“A very sexy man that I cancelled a date on to pick you up from the airport,” Svetlana said.  

“How sexy?”  

“You’ll see,” she said proudly. “He’s very tall. Lots of hair, you know how I like that.”  

Ilya huffed out a soft laugh as he pulled her arm tighter around him, enjoying the warmth of her. “Is he your boyfriend?”  

Svetlana didn’t say anything.  

"You like him,” Ilya guessed, smiling in the dark.  

“He's kind. He is more of a man than I’m used to,” Svetlana admitted. “Speaks very directly. Doesn't keep secrets. Experienced, but not disgusting about it, you know. Confident. He knows who he is. You’ll like him, too.”  

“Maybe we should have a threesome,” Ilya teased.  

“No. Stay away from him,” Svetlana warned, digging her nails into his waist. “I like this one. You’re not taking him the way you took Vanya.”  

Ilya snorted as he thought about Svetlana’s high school boyfriend. She had said she was going to marry him, but Ilya suspected Vanya wasn’t into as into girls as he said he was. They’d had a threesome, and Vanya had been so into Ilya he’d forgotten Svetlana was even there. It had been their one and only fight, but not their last threesome.  

“No promises,” Ilya tried to taunt, but he wasn’t even sure he was talking anymore, sleep taking him again.  

>>>  

It was light when he woke up, and he was alone. Ilya sat up in Svetlana’s bed, looking for his phone.  

Her side of the bed was cold. She must have put his phone on charge for him, he realised as he rolled over to the other nightstand and unplugged it, because he hadn’t even unpacked last night. After they’d gotten home from dinner, he had showered and unzipped his bag enough to pull out a fresh pair of underwear and his toothbrush.  

He’d crawled into bed with Svetlana, knowing she would pity him after his long flight and cuddle him like she used to when they were teenagers and their feelings felt too big for their bodies, when they would climb all over each other as they figured out how to love one another. It was easier now that they were older. A hug didn’t have to lead to sex. They hadn’t done that in years, not since she was living in Moscow in their early twenties. Ilya thought that they both preferred it that way; it was easier to be friends without that part of them getting in the way. They both needed a friend more than someone to fuck.  

Ilya felt around for his phone, reaching to Svetlana’s bedside table and unplugging it from the charger. He smiled at how thoughtful she was as he checked the time.  

Ten a.m.  

He'd slept for thirteen hours, and he hadn’t had a single dream. Not bad at all. Ilya stretched, taking stock of his body. All things considered, he felt good.  

He didn’t have any missed calls or messages waiting for him.  

Of course not. Ilya hadn’t told Alexei he was leaving; he’d left the paperwork relinquishing his claim to whatever he might inherit from their father’s estate and left when everybody was still asleep. He had enough savings to start a life in Montreal; he didn’t need anything from his family anymore, and he couldn’t bear to see their faces if he had told them that he was leaving and they looked relieved to see him go.  

Ilya had always been a coward, through and through. Just like Alexei had always said.  

He stretched, cracking his neck loudly before he forced himself to get out of bed, looking around Svetlana’s apartment in the daylight.  

She had a lot of things.  

Ilya looked around at the bookshelves filled with books and trinkets and plants, recognising a lot of things from her bedroom when they were growing up.  

The silver music box her father had gotten her for her fourteenth birthday. The little wooden figurine her cousin Yulia carved for Svetlana during the two weeks she dated a guy that thought he could whittle. The smoking case Sasha gave her when they were seventeen to keep their joints in.  

His mother’s copy of The Master and Margarita that she used to read to him before she died, that Svetlana would curl up and read with him as teenagers when Ilya was missing her. He'd given it to Svetlana because he couldn’t stand look at it anymore, surprised to see it displayed prominently on her shelf. A reminder of him, maybe. Of Moscow, or their childhood.  

And so many new things he had never seen before.  

A crystal vase with filled with tiny gemstones. A little painting of a flower smaller than the palm of his hand on a tiny easel. A journal, the pages crumpled, notes sticking out. A plant in a decorative pot. A collection of coloured pens, all without any ink left.  

Svetlana had more evidence of her life on this singular bookshelf than Ilya had left Moscow with. All he had was his mother’s cross, a few shirts, and his father’s voice echoing inside his head.  

Ilya didn’t know Svetlana knew how to take care of plants. He didn’t know she was sentimental, that she kept things like this.  

Svetlana had a life here. Ilya could see it, could feel it in how homey her little apartment was. It was so warm and inviting.  

Nothing like Moscow.  

Maybe Ilya would make a place of his own like this in Montreal. A place that felt safe, that felt like home. That didn’t feel sterile and unsafe and didn’t make his skin itch.  

>>>  

Svetlana had left Ilya to his own devices for the weekend, only demanding that he be home on Sunday night for dinner to meet her boyfriend. Ilya had spent the day wandering around the city, buying a packet of Canadian cigarettes before wandering into a club, kissing a pretty boy with light hair and green eyes in the middle of the dancefloor.  

And nobody even noticed.  

Ilya already liked Canada.  

He sucked the guy’s cock in the bathroom stall, losing himself in the familiar feeling of pushing himself to take it all, to please this lovely man who brushed Ilya’s hair away from his face. It had been so long since Ilya had been with a man so freely that he lost himself in the man’s moans and the feel of his hands, grateful when he came down Ilya’s throat, for the incontrovertible proof that he really was no longer in Moscow. The man jerked Ilya off in return, thanking him with a dirty kiss and disappearing back into the crowd.  

Ilya made his own way back out to the dancefloor, loose limbed and sated, and for the first time since he landed on Montreal, truly excited about a life that would really be his own. He danced until a pretty blonde with brown eyes told him his accent was sexy and asked him to come home with her. Ilya went, fucking her over the back of her couch, laughing to himself when she told him his tongue tasted like tequila and candy and thanking him profusely for making her come.  

Ilya had briefly wondered if all Canadians were this polite, even when they were having sex, and somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, a tiny part of him regretted leaving Russia – or at least, he thought he might miss one thing. He had always liked how mean the women were back home, how much they’d treated him like it was his job to please them. He’d miss that, he realised.  

But he loved how much gentler the men were here. How much freer. Safer.  

He wandered home before dawn, slept all day and made sure to be awake in time for dinner, because he knew better than to skip out on her.  

Because Svetlana had a boyfriend, and Ilya had never been introduced to one of her boyfriends before. It had to be serious.  

And it was.  

She had seriously undersold Cliff Marleau to Ilya. I like this one was very misleading once he saw how in love they obviously were. Ilya watched as they moved together, Marleau topping up her drink every time her glass hit halfway, his hand resting comfortably on the back of her chair. Svetlana was no better, looking at him with stars in her eyes, her arm wrapped around his.  

Ilya loved seeing her happy like this. Marleau was a nice guy; the way he always had Svetlana in his eyeline, always watched her, ready to assist her, was nice. And he was handsome. Fucking hot, really Ilya had always been partial to a good looking man with dark hair and dark eyes and biceps so big he could probably hold Ilya down and –  

“So, dating how long?” Ilya asked, clearing his jetlagged head. He was not going to have a repeat of Vanya.  

“A few weeks,” Svetlana shrugged, trying to act casual.  

Ilya saw right through her. A few weeks and she was already in love. He looked to Marleau for the truth. 

"Nearly six months,” Marleau corrected.  

Ilya tried not to smirk at the look on Svetlana’s face. He himself had never been brave enough to correct Svetlana. Not like Marleau was.  

“Go on,” Svetlana said, looking at Ilya. “Give him a hard time now. Get it over with.”  

Ilya stayed where he was, relaxed in his chair as he look over at Marleau. Marleau looked back at him, equally relaxed, and smiled. He already liked Marleau, but he wasn’t going to tell Svetlana that already.  

“I really care about Svetlana,” Marleau said before Ilya could speak. “We're the real deal. But if you think otherwise, I’d love to hear why.”  

Marleau's face subtly said otherwise. He was calm and funny, but strong. Stoic, maybe, Ilya couldn’t quite tell. Not in the way that Russian men were, though. And maybe a little bit brave, because Ilya had been careful not to smile or be too friendly all night, and Marleau didn’t seem to mind at all. He just talked to Ilya as warmly as he did with Svetlana, as if they were already friends.  

Ilya already liked him.  

Ilya raised an eyebrow, staring at Marleau. Fuck, Ilya really liked him. He was going to be good for Svetlana. He was direct and brash and kind. He seemed like one of those people who could see right through people, which mean he was perceptive and smart. He mirrored all of Svetlana’s best qualities. And he was sexy, Svetlana was right. He briefly wondered if he couldn’t convince Svetlana for one last boy to share, just one time.  

He looked over at Svetlana, who was beaming at him. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her so happy. Ilya loved seeing her happy more than anything in the world, his heart twinging when he realised how little he had seen her like this before.  

“Okay,” Ilya said.  

“Okay?” Marleau asked, his face betraying uncertainty for the first time.  

“Yes. Okay,” Ilya shrugged. “If she is happy, I am happy. If that changes, then we talk.”  

Marleau laughed brightly and took a sip of his beer, watching Ilya. “She said you were funny.”  

“I am,” Ilya agreed. “I think maybe so are you.”  

Marleau winked. Svetlana knocked her ankle against Ilya's under the table; they’d won each other’s approval tonight. He and Marleau liked each other. Svetlana approved, he could tell.  

No ghosts in Montreal, Ilya promised himself, enjoying his peaceful dinner with his best friend and a man who looked like he might fit right in with them.  

>>>  

“Can I bum one?”  

Ilya nodded as Marleau sat across from him at the tiny table on Svetlana’s balcony, handing him a cigarette and lighter. Marleau lit up and exhaled, staring out into the street like Ilya.  

“So, did I pass?”  

Ilya looked at him sideways as he considered him. “You don’t need my approval.”  

“I wasn’t talking about you, man,” Marleau scoffed. “Wow. Svetlana said you had an ego, but damn.”  

He laughed, taking another drag of his cigarette. “She likes you, yes,” Ilya said. “Must be very serious. She’s never let me meet one of her boyfriends since high school.”  

Marleau seemed pleased by that. “Well, it’ll be the last time. Because I’m gonna marry her,” Marleau promised. 

Ilya turned to look at him properly. There was a real honesty, an ease in his eyes; Marleau was sure of himself. It was nice to see. It had been a while since Ilya had met someone who meant what they said as easily and he and Svetlana did.  

"That’s good,” Ilya said, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “She feels the same, I think.”  

“She does,” Marleau said surely. “Listen, you’re important to Svetlana,” Marleau said, inhaling and breathing out smoke slowly. “She told me all about you guys. As kids, and how you used to hook up. About stuff that happened in Moscow, her family and a little of yours.”  

Ilya's eyebrow raised at that.  

“I get what you’re going through, to a degree,” Marleau said. “My dad's gone. I moved to Canada for school like, twelve years ago. I've done the starting over thing. I’ve lost people I thought I’d have for life. I just want you to know, you’ve got a friend in me. If you want.”  

Ilya hated that he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching. “Why?”  

Marleau shrugged. “Svetlana’s a good judge of character. I figure if she cares about you as much as she does, you’ve gotta be good people. And she’s never gonna let you go, but you know that. So, I figure we’re family now.”  

Ilya smiled at that. “Svetlana is very smart,” he agreed. “Same reason I already decide to like you.”  

Marleau smirked before he wiped the smile off his face. “Cool.”  

“Cool,” Ilya echoed, enjoying the silence as they smoked.  

>>>  

Svetlana’s friend handed over her apartment key six minutes after Ilya walked inside the place. It had a fridge, a couch, a wooden bedframe, a dresser, and a tiny kitchen table, and absolutely nothing else inside it.  

"The lease is eight months,” Tara explained. “My girlfriend got a job in Vancouver so we’re packing up, we’ll be out of here in a couple of days. You can move straight once we’re gone. My landlord’s pretty chill with the sublet, so just try to keep quiet and clean.”  

Ilya nodded. Tara hugged Svetlana goodbye and told him to keep whatever he wanted and donate the rest. He looked around and asked Svetlana to help him make a list of stuff to buy. By the late afternoon, he had a new mattress, pillows, sheets, Svetlana’s old coffee table, a fresh set of plates and cutlery, and a fridge stocked with meat and vegetables and whole milk and a pantry full of coffee beans and chocolate.  

“You need so much more,” Svetlana frowned as she set up his new drying rack.  

“I’ve got time,” Ilya shrugged, washing his new bowls. “I’ll collect things I want. Slowly.”  

After Svetlana left, he put the empty pack of his first Canadian cigarettes on the bookshelf and promised himself that he would try to collect things that mattered. Thing that felt like he was living a life that was his own.  

>>>  

Ilya got a job and a car just over a week after arriving in Montreal.  

Marleau was friends with a guy that worked at a car dealership. He had taken Ilya to meet Watts, and they’d gotten him a good deal on what was probably a fifth hand sedan. It wasn’t as exciting as he would have liked – it was plain and slow and boring, really – but it was fine and it was affordable, and that was what mattered. Reliable and nice and safe. Exactly what Ilya needed.  

Watts had mentioned that his uncle was looking for workers for his construction company. Ilya put his hand up, excited by the prospect of having a physical job where he could shut his mind off and build something with his hands. Build something that mattered. Leave something behind in the world that he’d created and not broken.  

Six weeks in, and a life in Montreal was starting to take shape. He saw Svetlana a lot, and Marleau was with her more often than not. They’d surprised him with pizzas after his first day at work, sitting on the floor of the living room with the television Ilya had just set up, passing slices around and being completely obvious about checking up on him.  

Ilya had kept the ribbon from the box of chocolates that she brought with her for dessert, tying it in a bow and putting it next to the cigarette packet.  

Six weeks in, and he sometimes went days without hearing his father’s voice. Days passed, two or three at a time, where Ilya didn’t dream about him at all. It was already easier to breathe in Montreal than it had ever been in his twenty six years in Moscow.  

Ilya laid awake a lot at night thinking about why that was. On the surface, it was easy for him to understand that the weight of caring for his father in his dying years had bled him dry, that the burden had eased when he had died. But it was deeper than that.  

It was how in every street he walked in Moscow, there were memories of his parents and his brother. A family that never truly existed outside of his childish perception of the world around him. Souls that were long gone, long before hearts had stopped. The way he’d be walking familiar roads and see a flash of long blonde hair and swear he was seven years old again trying to catch up with his mother who had run away from him, daring to see if he had the streets memorised yet, jumping out at him from corners to scare him because she thought it was funny to make him scream. Years later, he would still expect her to jump out at him, to clap in his face loudly and laugh when he jumped at the sound.  

The entire city was filled with ghosts at every turn.  

He had decided on a whim to walk away. Ilya had tried to stay in Moscow; he had assumed that he would live and die there, that he’d be buried next to his mother, young and finally at peace. He had been careful to bury his father with his own parents and brothers, keeping the plot next to his mother free of his father. His mother didn’t deserve that, not even in her death, to be haunted by her husband.  

Ilya had tried, but he’d snapped. Four months after he buried his father, he had called Svetlana as he was packing and asked her if Montreal was a nice place to live.  

He’d walked out of the apartment he had grown up in for the last time, knowing that somehow, Alexei would understand, and that he’d never see his brother again.  

Life was nice in Montreal. Ilya hadn’t realised how much he’d been craving nice until he was surrounded by it.  

His job was easy. He was strong, and a good worker, and he liked being busy, and it was nice to move his body with purpose that wasn’t repetitive movements at the gym. Watts’ uncle was patient and fair and kind; as long as the boys did their work, he was happy. He let them go a little earlier on Fridays and bought them lunch at least once a week, and Ilya got to smoke whenever he wanted.  

He found a gym half a block away from his apartment. It was nice and clean and the girl at the front desk smiled brightly and flicked her hair every time he walked in, which was nice. The clubs played generic music, but the drinks were cheap and people loved to dance here, which was fun. He had already come across a number of beautiful people to spend the night with on evenings he couldn’t sleep. Unlike Moscow, it was easy to find a man that he liked and go home with them. Even if nobody here was setting him alight and the sex was more polite than he enjoyed, he was still having fun. It was nice.  

It was safe. He'd never felt anything like it before.  

Maybe he was a little bored. Ilya had never been bored before.  

He liked it.  

For the most part.  

>>>  

“Hello?”  

“Hey, Rozy,” Marleau greeted.  

“Hey,” Ilya returned, confused.  

“Listen, Svetlana gave me your number. Do you wanna grab a drink tonight?”  

Ilya ran a hand through his hair, considering. “Sure.”  

“Great!” Marleau said. Ilya could practically see his bright, genuine smile. “You wanna meet at that bar near the pasta place Svetlana took you to last week? Nine?”  

“Okay,” Ilya agreed, saying goodbye and hanging up.  

>>>  

“How are you settling in?”  

Ilya had barely swallowed his first sip of beer. He looked at Marleau with an eyebrow raised. “Fine.”  

“Just fine?” Marleau asked.  

He looked so relaxed, sitting back in his chair, his legs spread wide as he watched Ilya. Ilya kind of liked that Marleau didn’t see him as a threat, or competition for Svetlana, like other men had in the past. He seemed completely at ease.  

Ilya shrugged. “Canada is very boring. It’s fine.”  

“Svetlana said you skate,” Marleau said, changing topics.  

Ilya nodded, taking a sip of his beer. “Used to.”  

“My friends and I play for a local league,” Marleau said. “It’s nothing serious. We're friends with a bunch of the guys on other teams, it’s just a bit of fun. Just an excuse to move around and hang out.”  

Ilya stared, unsure of why Marleau was telling him this.  

“Do you wanna play tomorrow?” Marleau invited. “Harry’s kids are sick so he’s out. We mostly just fuck around on the ice and go get food after. We go out most Saturday nights too, if you’re into that. They're good guys, I think you’d like them.”  

“Sure,” Ilya agreed, the prospect of being back on the ice making the hair on his neck stand up a little.  

He used to love to skate. When he was a teenager, after his mother had died, he had thrown himself into hockey. He'd had real talent, and even been scouted for the KHL before he’d finished school. Ilya had wanted to go to university before heading for the draft, to indulge in his curiosities about philosophy and art before he played professionally.  

But his father had already begun to show signs of illness before he finished high school. By the time they got the diagnosis eight years ago, Ilya realised that his father had been showing signs of dementia for as long as he could remember.  

He'd always wondered if that contributed to his mother’s death; if she couldn’t manage his father’s illness, between her own depression and raising her sons. If taking care of a mean old man who was losing his mind was just a bridge too far for her, too much to cope with.  

All the notes and lists and labels on things he had grown up with as a child had made sense when Ilya had gotten older. The arguments where his mother cried, and his father shouted you know what you were getting into. You knew the deal. The house he had grown up in had gone from stiflingly silent and careful to loud and belligerent, the threat of violence lurking around every corner in a way that it hadn’t been when he was small.  

He and Alexei agreed that they would both stay close to their father and do their best to manage him on their own, because he would never accept anything else. They agreed to manage his behaviour and protect his image as best as they could, and they pretended not to notice how fucking hard and terrible it was and how far everything had spiralled out of their control the worse he became.  

Ilya stopped skating or going to university. His days became all about giving baths and changing adult diapers and cooking and cleaning accidents and soothing tantrums, and his nights were all about alcohol and coke and whatever else he could get his hands on that wasn’t pills, fucking the first pretty girl that made eye contact with him before doing it all over again the next night, secretly lamenting to himself that the wrong parent had died and trying to trust Alexei not to murder their father while Ilya was across the city, and secretly thinking that if Alexei did do it, that he would understand, and then hating himself for feeling that way.  

Giving up hockey had been painful; another loss, like his mother or his childhood that he’d been forced to leave behind before he was ready, never really making peace with it. Giving it up to look after his father felt particularly cruel after everything he had done to make Ilya miserable over the years, but Ilya never backed away from fulfilling his duties, no matter how painful they were. No matter how much it bled him dry. And he’d never admit it, but he knew he and Alexei were holding onto their father for as long as they could, holding onto each other, neither of them having the balls to be the one to walk away, even though they both wanted to.  

But then their father had died, and Ilya had walked away.  

And Alexei hadn’t called.  

Ilya hadn’t expected him to, but it had still hurt. And then he had hated himself for wishing that Alexei had tried to stop him from leaving, even though he hadn’t given him the chance to, and then he hated himself even more for knowing better and still wishing, and now all he was left with was disappointment and hatred and hard edges and open wounds that wouldn’t heal.  

Maybe he could get something of himself back though, in boring Montreal, even if it was just a shitty, friendly game of hockey with some of Marleau’s friends.  

"You’re in?” Marleau said, not blinking as he looked at Ilya.  

Ilya nodded, trying to look like he didn’t give a fuck about playing hockey again.  

Marleau looked pleased, pulling out his phone to text his friends about finding a substitute and telling Ilya the logistics. He hadn’t been on the ice in so long; Ilya wondered why he hadn’t gone in the last few years, even just to skate.  

Ilya went to bed that night and thought about the ice, about moving his body in ways it hadn’t moved in years. He thought about the aches he used to get in his thighs, and how he used to push himself to be better and faster than anyone else. He thought about how much fun he used to have.  

He realised, as he was falling asleep, that for the first time, he hadn’t been thinking about ghosts of his past that made him sad.  

>>>  

The smell of the ice smacked Ilya in the face the second he walked in. He had forgotten how much he missed it.  

It was freezing cold inside the arena. Ilya hiked his gym back up over his shoulder as Marleau led him through the rink, showing him around and taking him to the back to the locker rooms. Marleau introduced him to a bunch of people along the way, friendly with everyone, knowing the name of everyone he passed.  

People loved Marleau, that much was clear.  

He was growing on Ilya more and more. He'd started thinking of Marleau as his friend, and not Svetlana’s boyfriend.  

He followed Marleau into the locker room, shaking hands with all the boys and trying to remember their names. They were all nice guys, friendly and smiley, but one stood out to Ilya straight away.  

Shane Hollander.  

“It’s nice to meet you,” Shane said, extending his hand. His big hand with long fingers that Ilya would have killed to feel inside him.  

Ilya shook it as he took him in, vaguely aware of Marleau turning to talk to one of the other boys behind him.  

Shane was beautiful. Fucking stunning, really. He was Ilya’s height, maybe a little taller. He was broad shouldered and had thick biceps and silky black hair and the prettiest brown eyes Ilya had ever seen, even if they did look a bit sad. His cheeks were dusted with freckles and his mouth was so red and soft, Ilya had to stop himself from leaning in and biting his lip.  

Ilya wanted to fucking eat him.  

And god, Shane’s hand was so warm. Ilya hadn’t realised how cold he’d been until he’d taken Shane’s hand.  

He loosened his grip, ready to pull away, conscious that his palms would turn sweaty out of nerves. But Shane held on for just a second too long to be socially acceptable, not appearing to realise that it was probably time to let go. Ilya watched him carefully, hoping that Shane would keep holding on, delighted as  a soft pink blush spread across Shane’s cheeks as he finally let go of Ilya. He tried his best to school his face, but judging by Shane’s eyebrows, he caught Ilya’s lip twitch.  

It was strange, how cold he suddenly felt without Shane touching him.  

“So, um, where are you from?”  

“Moscow,” Ilya answered.  

“Moscow? And you came to Montreal?” Shane asked, looking confused. “Why? Isn’t it kind of shit here compared to Europe?”  

Ilya shrugged, unable to take his eyes off of the freckles on the bridge of Shane’s nose. Most people at least pretended to think that was a good idea. “Needed a change.”  

“So, you went from Russia to Canada?” Shane asked, frowning at him. “You swapped snow for more snow. It’s colder here than most places on Earth, you know.”  

He was funny – most people pretended to understand that choice, but Shane didn’t seem to have a filter. It was a ridiculous decision. Not even Svetlana had needled him this much about it.  

“It’s quiet,” Ilya shrugged. Shane raised an eyebrow, looking at him intently before he shrugged back.  

"Well, if you like quiet, you’re in the right place,” Shane said, his lips quirking.  

“I think maybe I am,” Ilya said.  

If Marleau wasn’t right by them, he might have winked, but he didn’t.  

Shane bit his lip and reached out for his hand again. Ilya tried to school the surprise in his face as he shook it again, doing his best not to preen under the intensity of Shane’s gaze, or laugh at the fact that Shane reached out to touch him again so overtly.  

Ilya held on for a long moment, letting Shane’s heat radiate through him. When Shane’s eyes flicked down to Ilya’s lips before he pasted on a fake smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Ilya caught it, pleased that he had been reading Shane right. He was somehow so much less subtle than all the other Canadian men Ilya had been with recently.  

Ilya liked Shane. He was weird and sexy and seemed like he was uncomfortable in his own skin and adorable and Ilya wondered if maybe Montreal wasn’t as boring as it looked from the outside after all. It couldn’t be, if there were pretty boys like Shane here.  

>>>  

“You’re fast.”  

Ilya turned to see Shane standing next to him, his eyes watching the boys across the rink celebrating the shot Ilya had passed to Cliff.  

“I am,” Ilya agreed.  

“Do you play?” Shane asked.  

“Not for years,” Ilya said honestly.  

“You’re good.”  

Ilya raised his eyebrows in surprise – he couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that to him on the ice.  

“And your hands,” Shane said.  

Ilya watched Shane look down at his hands, lick his lips then look back up to Ilya, blinking rapidly.  

“They’re good. Strong. You’re strong, I mean,” Shane said, sounding strained. “I bet you have a lot of power. In them. Your hands.”  

Ilya was sure that Shane was flirting, but something about the look on his face told Ilya that he didn’t realise he was doing it. Ilya wracked his brain for something to say; he wasn’t often speechless, but he had no idea how to respond to Shane. He worried that if he flirted back too obviously, Shane would scare. The look on Shane’s face told Ilya that he clearly wasn’t happy with how this conversation was going, and Ilya was reluctant to chime in and make it worse.  

Before he could try, Shane nodded to himself and skated off, leaving Ilya wondering whether Shane could sense the mutual interest brewing between them.  

>>>  

Ilya was curious. Shane didn’t act or move like anyone he’d met before. It was as if everything he did was just a second too late, a second too long; as if he was acting like how he thought someone should act instead of just being himself. It was disconcerting and strange and Ilya couldn’t take his eyes off of him because he was so fucking weird and beautiful and interesting.  

Judging by how often Shane met his eyes, it seemed like maybe he couldn’t take his eyes off of Ilya, either. Every time they locked eyes, Ilya felt warmer and warmer inside. Ilya swore the more he looked at Shane, the more he could see the tightness in his eyes disappear. It was like slowly he was seeing more and more of the real Shane.  

Ilya knew he was probably projecting. That he just met a pretty boy who was kind of weird and hot and he was hoping that the interest was mutual, but there was something about Shane that Ilya felt certain about for some reason. A pull that he couldn’t ignore.  

Shane being a beautiful skater didn’t help. Ilya could tell from the way the boys gave him a bit of a wide berth that Shane was the most elegant, in control version of himself on the ice. He always knew where his team and the puck was, and was the first one after it. He anticipated every move before it happened, and chose to let the other team score twice when their team was up by three. Ilya's eyes flicked over to Marleau, who just shrugged and said we slow him down as if they all had some sort of agreement to let Shane lead their informal team.  

For his part, Shane didn’t seem to realise that the boys were deferring to him. He was a team player through and through.  

Shane was a gentleman, that much was clear.  

Ilya was fascinated. He was confused. He wanted to find out if Shane was a gentleman all the way through, or if it was all an act like Ilya was beginning to suspect. A public persona. Something told him that Shane was just begging for permission to let go, that he had a wild side that he might not even be aware of. Shane seemed like one of those guys that was wound tight, that would snap and let go during sex.  

But in between watching Shane and fantasising about him, Ilya was having fun. Ilya couldn’t remember the last time he’d just been out on the ice, skating for the hell of it, smacking a puck around with people who were just there to have a good time.  

Marleau and his friends weren’t particularly great at hockey. They chased each other down for the hell of it, shoving each other into the boards playfully, laughing as they missed goal after goal. The other team was no better, laughing the entire time, barely paying attention to the game itself, in one case passing the puck to the opposite team for a beer.  

They were having fun. Aside from Shane, who was actually making the effort to play real hockey, they were just enjoying themselves. And even Shane would laugh when someone fell over or missed a goal or tried a trick shot and failed terribly.  

It was nice.  

Every time Ilya had the puck, he wouldn’t even have to yell Hollander before he’d pass it to Shane, and Shane scored every time. He watched closely as the smile on Shane’s face became more and more genuine, utterly captivated by the dimples underneath his eyes that appeared by the end of the game as Shane watched the rest of the guys, carefully cultivating a game for them to have the best time.  

Ilya had never seen anyone with dimples under their eyes before. He'd never had this much fun playing with someone before, and he’d never enjoyed hockey like this before, just for the sake of it.  

Hockey had always come with so much pressure. But out here, with a group of guys he didn’t know, Ilya felt lighter than he ever had in his life.  

His coach would make them skate until they vomited, and if they dared to misbehave, they would get whacked with their own sticks. If they were really terrible, his coach would call their parents, and his father would make whatever punishment coach issued look like child's play.  

But this was nice. This was better. When Ilya scored the final goal and Watts tossed it at him to keep, Ilya even thought that this might be the best game of hockey he had every played in his life.  

“You good?” Marleau asked, skating up next to him.  

“Yes,” Ilya said honestly, tucking the puck into his pocket.  

“Wanna grab food with us? The whole team comes.”  

Ilya's eyes cut over to Shane, blinking when he saw Shane already looking at him, as he nodded. He followed Marleau to the locked room, stripping in silence as he thought about where on his bookshelf he’d put the puck Marleau had given him. 

>>>  

Ilya watched him all through lunch. Shane ordered the fish and pushed it around on his plate, drank a ginger ale when everyone else drank beer, and seemed like half the time, he was zoning out. Ilya watched as his friends roped him into conversation and tried to engage him, but they also seemed to leave Shane alone at points.  

He watched as Shane kept looking up, locking eyes with him, and looked away, his cheeks getting a little pinker every time.  

His freckles stood out a little more when Shane blushed. Ilya wondered how many there were.  

>>>  

It was absurd how much of the week Ilya had spent looking forward to seeing Shane. The week felt slow as Ilya counted down the days until the was back on the ice, skating laps around the rest of the team, catching Shane’s eye and making a face at how slow everyone else was.  

But it felt like Shane was avoiding him the following Saturday.  

Ilya tried his best not to stare at Shane the entire time, but it was impossible. Ilya had never been the sort of man who turned away from beautiful things. He figured that maybe he’d get a chance later after the game, but Shane didn’t go out for lunch with the boys. He didn’t shower with them in the locker room either, which Ilya thought was interesting. Heartbreaking and disappointing and cruel, but interesting. 

Ilya had no shame; he had been looking forward to seeing Shane underneath the hot water, to get a look at him without the compression leggings and hockey gear, but he settled for surreptitiously checking out Marleau and sending Svetlana a congratulatory message when he was back at his locker.  

He went for lunch with the rest of the team and heard some delightfully naughty stories about Marleau. He talked at arm’s length about how he liked his job and Montreal was fun, but he said nothing about Moscow. The guys seemed to follow his lead fairly quickly, only asking questions about how much snow was in Moscow compared to Canada and if wild wolf packs really did roam the city and had he ever seen a bear in real life and had he been to the European party cities, and was it true that Russians ate cold soup?  

He answered them all in good fun, grateful that not a single one of them made fun of his heavily accented English. They were nice guys, if a bit loud and obnoxious and, in the case of a couple of them, kind of dumb.  

But nice.  

It made Ilya’s heart relax a little bit, knowing Svetlana would have good people all around her if she was serious about Marleau.  

“So, Rozanov, what do you think?” JJ asked.  

Ilya blinked. “About what?”  

“Saturdays with us? You in?” JJ asked. His Québécois accent was thick, too; Ilya wondered if he was speaking English a little slower so he could understand him.  

“Sure, why not,” Ilya nodded, not wanting to come across as too eager to have something to do on weekends that wasn’t just sex and questionable substances.  

Marleau clapped him on the back as the boys all started talking about next week’s game. Another game meant another chance to see Shane; at least next week, he had another chance to try and convince Shane to tag along for lunch.  

Chapter 2: Acceptance

Ilya watched Shane.  

Every Saturday, he showed up to play with Marleau’s team and watched Shane. The way he moved on the ice, so smooth and practised. The way he smiled, the feeling never quite reaching his eyes, as he talked with the boys. The way he seemed to tune out the entire world when everyone was talking over one another, locking eyes with Ilya, always looking away after holding his gaze for a second too long. The way he looked at Ilya when he wordlessly handed him a ginger ale on the rare occasion Shane joined them for lunch after a game.  

Ilya wanted him. He wanted Shane beneath him, moaning his name. He wanted to know how he kissed. He wanted to taste his sweat. He wanted to see if he could get a real fucking smile out of him, one that actually reached his eyes, one that actually made the sadness in those brown eyes fade, almost disappearing altogether. He wanted to hear Shane laugh. He wanted to be the one to make Shane laugh.  

“You're preoccupied,” Svetlana said.  

Ilya scoffed, inhaling as she reached over for his cigarette. “With what?”  

“I don’t know,” Svetlana said, taking a drag and looking at him closely. “Tell me.”  

“There’s nothing,” Ilya said. It was mostly true. “I’m adjusting.”  

“To?”  

“Boredom,” he said, reaching for a fresh cigarette and lighting it. “Canada is very quiet. I’m going to run out of people to fuck by the end of the month.”  

“I told you you’d hate it,” Svetlana laughed softly.  

“I don’t think I hate it,” Ilya said. “I just didn’t think I would miss Moscow so much,” he admitted before he could stop himself.  

Svetlana was quiet, letting that sit between them for a moment. Ilya tipped his head back against the wall as he looked out into the city.  

“You miss it?” she asked, watching him closely.  

“Maybe,” Ilya said quietly. “No. Some things. The food. The women. Canadians smile too much. They fuck too gently. They’re boring.”  

Shane wasn’t, Ilya thought. Shane wasn’t boring. Shane didn’t smile for the sake of smiling like all these Canadians on the street. He was too thoughtful for that. His lips only twitched when he let them. He didn’t say things he didn’t mean. And he was comfortable in silence in a way most people weren’t.  

He was almost Russian.  

“Maybe it will rub off on you,” Svetlana teased. “Maybe soon you will be smiling at everyone you pass on the street like you belong here.”  

Ilya scoffed as he smoked.  

“Would you go back?”  

“No,” Ilya said, cutting her off. “I will never go back.”  

They were silent as they smoked, Svetlana reaching over to rest her hand over his.  

>>>  

“Did you need two people for this?” Ilya asked as Marleau backed his truck up into the lumber yard.  

“Yes,” Marleau said. Ilya wondered if Marleau knew what a bad liar he was.  

“You did not,” Ilya muttered.  

“I just thought it would be nice to get you out of your apartment during the day,” Marleau said. “Svetlana said you’ve been partying a lot.”  

Ilya tutted. “How does she even know that?”  

“She has eyes and ears all over the city,” Marleau laughed. “If you’re going out, she knows about it.”  

Svetlana had been the same in Moscow. One Tuesday Ilya had gotten into a fight so vicious with Alexei that he’d simply walked out of the apartment at two in the morning. He'd stumbled around until he’d ended up at a bar, and somehow, twenty minutes later, Svetlana was there, cleaning up the blood running down his face and taking him to a friend of hers he had never met before to stitch his eyebrow back together.  

“Yes, I guess,” Ilya admitted. “There’s nothing to do around here.”  

“Are you, you know, looking for something serious?” Marleau asked.  

Ilya wrinkled his nose. “No. I don’t do serious.”  

“Really?”  

Ilya hummed. “Are you one of those people that wants everyone to pair up because you are paired up?”  

Marleau laughed. “No, no. I just think you’re a good guy, and you have a lot to offer someone.”  

It was Ilya’s turn to laugh at that. He swung the car door open, reaching for a cigarette as Marleau followed.  

“Please do not light up in the middle of a fucking timber yard,” Marleau admonished.  

Ilya sighed loudly and tucked his cigarettes away, following Marleau inside to look for wood, because Svetlana was now dating a man who would build her a new dining table twelve hours after she complained about how wobbly the old IKEA table was.  

>>>  

Shane was slippery. Whenever Ilya skated up to him on the ice to talk, Shane would indulge him for a moment before skating off, trying and failing not to look back at him. Whenever Ilya passed Shane the puck to score, Shane would beam before schooling his face into a neutral expression. Whenever Ilya asked if Shane was coming out with them later for lunch or for drinks, Shane would shake his head and say next time without ever showing up next time. Whenever Ilya started stripping in the locker room, Shane would toss his pads into his bag and leave, still sweaty and panting, without showering, but Ilya caught his eyes lingering on him, always catching on his hips for some reason.  

It was driving Ilya insane. He just wanted one moment with Shane to talk to him, to try and work him out. To try and make his lips twitch, maybe to taste him, or something. Anything.  

So he was more than caught off guard when Shane walked into the bar the following night.  

He looked like he’d styled his hair, wearing a white t shirt with a Ducati on it and dark jeans. The boys started cheering as Shane made his way over, grimacing in greeting in a way that Ilya was sure Shane thought was as smile.  

“Boys,” Shane greeted.  

“Can’t believe you made it,” JJ beamed.  

“Have you ever left your house this late before?” Watts asked.  

“Fuck off, it’s literally still light outside,” Shane rolled his eyes.  

“Yeah, but the sun’s down,” Miity chimed in. “You’re normally down to sleep by now.”  

“Time for a round?” Shane said, eyes sweeping the empty pitchers, ignoring the teasing.  

“I’ll help,” Ilya offered, standing from the booth and following Shane to the bar.  

Shane’s shoulders were tight as he stood at the bar. Ilya relaxed over the bar next to him, letting his elbow brush Shane’s to see if he’d move away.  

He didn’t.  

Fuck, he was warm.  

Ilya tried not smile to himself; it wasn’t a big deal. Not really. Even if it felt monumental to him. It was just forced proximity. Everyone was crammed in together around these tiny booths.  

“So, how are you finding Montreal?”  

Ilya raised his eyebrow, a little surprised that Shane spoke to him first. He was looking intently at Ilya, not blinking. Ilya lamented the darkness of the bar, too dull to see his freckles properly. “It’s quiet.”  

“That’s not what I asked,” Shane said, looking unimpressed.  

Ilya tried not to smile. Shane could definitely pass for Russian with his attitude. It was a relief, talking to someone so direct. “Maybe it’s a little boring. But I think I like it.”  

“You like being bored?” Shane asked. Ilya watched as Shane grabbed an unused napkin tossed on the bar and folded it aimlessly as he looked at Ilya. Having Shane’s attention on him was a lot. After weeks of craving it, it felt even better than Ilya had imagined.  

“Mm, no. I'm not bored. It’s peaceful here. I like that,” Ilya said.  

Shane turned to look at him properly. His elbow was resting against Ilya’s forearm, knocking him as he played with the napkin.  

Ilya didn’t move away.  

“Russia wasn’t peaceful?” Shane asked.  

Ilya snorted. “No.”  

“Why?”  

Ilya shrugged. He looked at Shane, ready to make a joke or tell a lie, but his eyes were so earnest he found the truth easier to share. “No family here. No drama. Clubs close so early. Moscow is always very busy and loud. Montreal is more balanced.” He knew he didn’t really answer Shane’s question directly, but Shane seemed smart enough to put the pieces together.  

“You don’t talk to your parents?” Shane asked, his brows furrowed.  

“My mother died when I was young,” Ilya said. “My father died a few months ago. I don’t speak to my brother anymore.”  

Ilya waited for pity to draw across Shane’s face, for empty platitudes to tumble out of his mouth, for questions about why he and Alexei weren’t close; maybe questions about how his mother died or his father. But Shane’s eyes stayed clear as he stared back, no trace of pity in them. Maybe sadness, or something like it. But Ilya had been seeing that in his eyes from the first time he’d looked at Shane, before their eyes had locked on one another, even, so he didn’t think that sadness was about him.  

“I’m glad you’re free,” Shane said.  

And fuck, if that wasn’t exactly how Ilya had been feeling since the moment he stepped foot on Canadian soil.  

“Most people say sorry,” Ilya mused.  

Shane's face fell, looking down at the wad of napkin between his fingers.  

“No,” Ilya shook his head. “I hate it. I'm sorry, everyone says. Why would they be sorry? They did not kill them.”  

Shane grimaced. “It’s something people say.”  

“Do me a favour,” Ilya said, turning, resting his side against the bar. “Don’t say things just to say them to me.”  

Shane nodded. “Okay. I mean, I’ll try.”  

Ilya wasn’t sure what it was about Shane, but he believed him. There was something so honest about him, so earnest. Ilya wasn’t sure he’d met anyone like him before. He looked away as the bartender finally made her way over to them, smiling. Shannon, her name tag read.  

Ilya watched as Shane ordered half a dozen pitchers of beer, smiling politely at Shannon as she angled her chest towards them and batted her lashes at Shane. Ilya noticed, and he noticed the way Shane didn’t notice.  

He hadn’t looked down at Shannon’s chest once.  

Ilya felt vindicated, puzzle pieces slotting together of all the behaviours he’d noticed in Shane so far. The way he didn’t notice women. The way his eyes lingered on the boys in the locker room after games, on Ilya. The way he’d shook Ilya’s hand twice when they met, holding on for just a little too long both times.  

The way Shane’s elbow was still resting against his forearm, leaning into their shared heat, just like Ilya was.  

The way Shane had moved closer to Ilya when Shannon had appeared in front of them.  

“You don’t want a ginger ale?” Ilya asked as the pitchers were passed to them.  

Shane blinked at him for a moment before he shook his head. “Maybe later.”  

While Shane was paying, Ilya grabbed the balled up napkin and dropped it into his pocket, unsure of why he wanted it on his bookshelf, but already knowing where he’d put it.  

Ilya smiled as Shannon handed the pitchers over, grabbing three and watching as Shane also picked up three, his huge hands steady and full. He followed Shane back to the group, hoping he’d get to talk to him more tonight.  

>>>  

Shane had followed Ilya right into the booth next to him. Ilya had done his best not to beam from his seat in the corner, making sure to look relaxed and calm. It was easy to let himself relax with Shane warm at his side, Marleau, Vaughn and Hunter across from them, arguing about whether European hockey or Canadian hockey was better.  

“Canada does everything better, sorry, Rozanov,” Vaughn said.  

Ilya shrugged it off, taking a sip of his beer. “Not everything. Alcohol, music, clubs, Europe does these better.”  

Vaughn perked up at that. “Wait, I’ve heard that.”  

Ilya smirked. “Canadian clubs are like school dances. Very polite, very slow.”  

“Very boring,” Shane added.  

Ilya smirked and shrugged, and he could feel Shane shake with a short laugh.  

Hunter scoffed as Pike joined them, sitting next to Shane and forcing Shane to press against his side. Shane was so warm, his hard muscles tense as he sat rigid in the booth. Ilya stayed as lax as he could as he bragged about the clubs he’d been to, letting his legs fall open a little more, spreading a touch wider than he needed to, just to see –  

Shane didn’t move away as Ilya’s thigh pressed against his.  

This time, when Shane pressed against him, pushing back and keeping his leg there, Ilya knew that Shane meant to do it. That he liked Ilya touching him. That he wanted to touch him back.  

Ilya pressed back reassuringly, and out of the corner of his eye, he was sure he saw Shane’s mouth twitch.  

He tried not to beam proudly as the boys kept talking. The conversation shifted as Hunter admitted he hadn’t been to a real club in years, saying bars were better. Shane was mostly quiet, but Ilya caught him agreeing.  

“You don’t like clubs?”  

“I don’t dance,” Shane said, as if that was an answer.  

“Everybody dances,” Ilya disagreed.  

“Well, I don’t. I can’t, so,” Shane grimaced.  

“I think you can,” Ilya said, unable to stop himself from looking down at Shane’s body. “It’s just moving your hips.”  

Shane opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it, his eyes darting around the table. Ilya tried not to pout as Shane stayed quiet and sipped his beer; he knew Shane had something smart to say, and he wanted to hear it. But he was also conscious of the way the boys kept looking at Shane, checking to make sure that he was still there, as if he would disappear at any moment. He could tell that Shane could feel their eyes on him, tensing up randomly before forcing himself to try to relax.  

“Have you travelled much?” Vaughn asked.  

“Mm, just around Europe. I used to go to Croatia and Germany for clubs. France when I was in school,” Ilya shrugged, wondering if Svetlana had told Sasha that Ilya was in Canada with her now. He doubted it; he hadn’t heard from Sasha in years. “Svetlana and I lived in Spain for a few months after school finished.”  

“Really?” Marleau perked up at the mention of her name. “She never mentioned that.”  

“Might not even remember,” Ilya dismissed. He didn’t think Marleau would want to hear about the six months he and Svetlana had tried to live like a couple; the months on end he had spent with his head between her thighs willing himself to feel something, the months Svetlana had spent taking care of him, holding him at night while he cried himself silently to sleep, telling him it was okay if he didn’t want to go back home and deal with his family. “She always drags me places. She hears about a party or a club, and then we are on a plane. One way ticket until we get bored and come home.”  

“That sounds so fucking cool,” Vaughn said. “Good stuff over there, I bet.”  

Ilya caught the way Vaughn tapped his nose subtly when the other boys weren’t looking and dipped his head in response. That was good to know. He’d have to go out with Vaughn and see what Canada had to offer.  

“Did she drag you to Montreal?” Pike asked.  

“No,” Ilya shook his head. “Came here on my own.”  

“Why?” Hunter asked.  

“Nowhere else to go,” Ilya shrugged, regretting it as soon as it was out of his mouth. Shane pressed his leg a little harder against his. “I don’t think she is too happy to have me bother her as much as I do, but, nothing she can do about it.”  

“Nah, she loves it,” Marleau said. “She likes keeping an eye on you.”  

“Oh, are you guys like, related?” Pike asked.  

“She's family,” Ilya said honestly. He could feel the curious looks from the boys, but Marleau seemed completely relaxed, which Ilya liked. It was good that he wasn’t threatened; Ilya had never loved Svetlana the way she deserved, no matter how hard he had tried to. No matter how long Svetlana had waited for him to.  

Not that she seemed to care anymore. Ilya wondered if she had told Marleau that part when she had given him the rundown on their past. He hoped not; he hoped that it didn’t matter anymore.  

“Have you been here before? Your English is really good,” Pike said.  

“No, I learn in school,” Ilya brushed off. He didn’t want to talk about how it had been his mission to learn English so he could get drafted to a team in the NHL and get the fuck out of Russia when he was a teenager. “And American movies.”  

Vaughn laughed loudly. “Oh god, is that my legacy?”  

“Better than other things,” Ilya said kindly.  

The conversation deviated, but Ilya noted the way Shane didn’t join in. He seemed to wait until all the other guys were distracted before he sat back against the booth and looked at Ilya.  

“Your English really is great,” Shane said.  

Ilya smiled. “I get stuck on some sayings sometimes.”  

“Of course you do, because most of them make no fucking sense,” Shane waved off.  

“Putting words together that have nothing to do with each other,” Ilya complained. “English is stupid.”  

“French is no better,” Shane shook his head.  

“You speak French?”  

“Yeah,” Shane shrugged. “Lots of colloquialisms. Sayings just for the sake of it.”  

Ilya hummed in agreement. “Russian has some of these, but English uses them too much, I think. You have too many words that all mean the same thing, very confusing.”  

“What’s Russian like?” Shane asked.  

“We have a lot less words,” Ilya said. “We are more intentional with them. And we speak less. So when we say something, it matters more.”  

Shane nodded as he contemplated that, his brow a little furrowed. Ilya let himself stare at Shane’s face, trying to make out the freckles under his eyes. He couldn’t make them out in the shitty bar lighting, which pissed him off. He wanted to see every single one. He wanted to kiss them. He wanted to come across them and find out if they were dark enough to make out underneath the mess. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do to make those eyes a little less sad.  

“I like that,” Shane nodded. “I hate trying to work out if someone means what they say, or if they’re talking just to talk.”  

"Me too,” Ilya agreed.  

“I prefer your way,” Shane said, licking his lips as he looked at Ilya.  

Ilya shifted slightly in his seat; he couldn’t get hard in front of these guys that he still barely knew. Canadians were very nice, but they were probably too polite for public erections and wouldn’t be thrilled if he reached over, grabbed Shane’s hand pressed it down over his cock.  

Something told him that Shane might not mind, though.  

“Yeah, those sayings make it harder than it needs to be,” Shane mused, taking two steps back. “But it doesn’t matter what language you speak, does it. Doesn't matter if no one’s listening. That’s why you’re so quiet all the time, right?”  

Ilya blinked as he stared at Shane. He wondered if Shane had even realised what he’d said; how he’d seen right through Ilya in a way nobody ever had before.  

“Maybe,” Ilya admitted. “With my father and brother, there was no point in talking. They never listened.”  

“What about your mom?” Shane asked.  

Ilya tried to smile at the mention of her. “She tried.”  

“My parents are like that,” Shane said quietly, staring down into his glass. “They try.”  

Ilya let his elbow knock against Shane’s, keeping it there. “I think all families are hard in their own way.”  

Shane hummed before he seemed to shake himself off. “So is living in Montreal like, the first time you’re on your own?”  

“Yes,” Ilya said. “It’s nice, to be by myself.”  

“Are you lonely?” Shane asked.  

Ilya smiled as he looked down at their bodies, pressed against each other. “Not right now.”  

Shane smiled back as he took a sip of his beer, looking out at the boys, laughing raucously at something.  

>>>  

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, are you seeing anyone?” Marleau asked.  

Ilya tried not to look surprised as they waited to be served at the bar, their backs turned to Shane and JJ in the booth against the wall.  

"In the three weeks since you last asked me?” Ilya asked.  

Marleau laughed. “You’ve been going out a lot, I thought maybe you’d have met someone.”  

It took everything inside Ilya not to turn and look at Shane. “No. I haven’t met anyone.”  

"I find that hard to believe,” Marleau said, bumping their elbows together.  

“Not anyone I want to see twice,” Ilya said crassly.  

“Have you given any of them a chance?”  

“I think Canadians are just too boring for me,” Ilya dismissed. “Not very exciting in bed,” he said, not caring how he sounded. “Too polite.”  

Marleau looked like he was trying not to agree. “Well, I have a friend, she’s uh, kind of a firecracker. I think you two might get along.”  

“You think she will be exciting enough for me?” Ilya laughed.  

“Yeah,” Marleau said bluntly. “I mean, you seem like the kind of guy who needs to keep moving. Jenna’s like that, too. I kind of get why Svetlana needs to keep an eye on you.”  

Ilya frowned, not responding as Shannon made her way back to them, smiling at him and asking what he’d like to order.  

>>>  

Ilya laughed as Shane shook his head.  

“There’s no way,” Shane said.  

"She calls me Ian,” Ilya said. “I am just lucky no one else has been around when she calls me that, or I’ll have to change gyms.”  

“Is she blind?” Shane laughed. “Doesn’t your ID show up on their end when you scan your membership?’  

“Mm, Canadians can’t say it anyway, so maybe Ian is not so bad,” Ilya waved off.  

“It’s not hard to say.”  

“Maybe she has that thing where you can’t read the letters in the right order. You say it wrong, too,” Ilya couldn’t stop himself from saying.  

Shane’s face dropped. Ilya was glad all the guys were milling around by the bar or outside having a cigarette and weren’t in their booth to witness the way Ilya just made Shane make that face.  

“Fuck off,” Shane said. “I’m saying it wrong?”  

Ilya nodded, hating how much he loved the way Shane looked put out. He could see the boys making their way back over from the bar, and made a snap decision that he hoped he wouldn’t regret. He hoped more than anything that Shane would follow the breadcrumbs he had thrown down all night.  

“I’m going to smoke,” Ilya said, elbowing Shane. Shane moved to get out of the booth, letting Ilya out. Shane slid back in as JJ and Pike sat on the other side, pouting as Ilya winked and made his way out the front door.  

It was a cool night, thankfully. Ilya leant against the wall around the side of the bar and smoked one cigarette, then two, as he thought about Shane.  

Shane, and his beautiful, red mouth. Shane, and his dark eyes, so full of life and sadness and desire. Shane and his big hands that Ilya was desperate to feel on him. Shane and those beautiful freckles that Ilya was desperate to see in the sun, see if they got any darker in the light.  

“Ilya,” Shane said.  

Ilya blinked as Shane rounded the corner, frowning at him. He tried not to smile too wide knowing that Shane had, in fact, followed the breadcrumbs.  

"How should I be saying it?”  

He tried not to laugh; Shane had left his friends inside and followed him out here, nose wrinkling at the smell of Ilya’s cigarettes, just to ask him how to say his name.  

Ilya might feel those hands on him tonight after all.  

"I don’t know if Canadian tongues can say it,” Ilya sighed. “Your mouths are too...tight.”  

“Canadian mouths might surprise you,” Shane muttered.  

Ilya raised his eyebrows, delighted at how indignant Shane looked. “You add another sound,” he admonished. “Iliya, you all say, and it’s wrong.”  

“Say your name,” Shane demanded, squaring his shoulders as if he were about to be tested in an exam.  

Ilya rolled his eyes dramatically, taking one last puff of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the wall and dropping the butt on the window sill before turning to face Shane. Shane could have moved back and given him some space, but he didn’t. Ilya leaned close, watching Shane’s eyes flutter a little at how close he was.  

“Ilya,” he said slowly, watching Shane watch his mouth. The alcohol had long warn off, but Ilya felt hotter than he had felt all night, having Shane stare at him so intently.  

“Ilya,” Shane repeated, still adding the extra syllable in the middle.  

“No,” Ilya sighed, shaking his head. “Your tongue is in the wrong place. Your mouth is too tight. This needs to be relaxed.”  

Ilya reached for Shane’s face without thinking, gripping his jaw lightly. Shane's face slackened, his eyes clouding over and his mouth parting slightly. Fuck, Ilya had never felt someone go so lax under his touch so fast before. He needed more, so much more.  

“Your tongue is here,” Ilya said, thumbing at the front of his jaw, unable to stop himself from feeling the soft skin right next to Shane’s mouth. “Make it, like, flat. You need to say the L from here, at the back,” Ilya instructed, his thumb brushing his cheek. “The back of your tongue touches the top of your mouth. Not the front of your tongue at your teeth. Your tongue always stays inside your mouth. Ilya,” he said, slowly, demonstrating it himself. “The ya sound is longer than the ee. You almost skip the I sound and start from the L.”  

He didn’t realise how tight he was holding Shane’s face until Shane whimpered. Ilya was grateful they were outside the bar in the fresh air, because if they were still in the corner of that tiny booth, he probably would have done something stupid, like lean in and kiss him.  

He knew he should let go of Shane’s face before those big brown eyes got any cloudier and softer and wetter, but he just fucking couldn’t. Ilya pushed his luck, squeezing Shane’s cheeks just a little harder.  

“Ilya,” Shane whispered lowly, correctly. Softly.  

Ilya nodded absently as he watched Shane. “Ideal'nyy.”  

Shane smiled brightly, dimples appearing under his eyes. Ilya didn’t know that Shane even had dimples.  

Before he could stop himself, he let himself whisper a soft good boy. Shane bit his lip as he looked at Ilya, his brown eyes cloudy and hazy and he was swaying forward and so was Ilya and fuck.  

He wanted to kiss him. Ilya wanted to push him down and devour him and make him beg for more. He wanted to see what it would take for Shane to cry, or to whisper his name right before he asked for more. He wanted to see what it would take to see those dimples again. He wanted to see if he could bring any light to those deep brown eyes.  

The air suddenly felt cooler. Ilya turned his head and stilled when he saw Marleau watching him from inside the bar, frowning as he looked between him and Shane.  

Ilya let go of Shane’s face, leaning back against the wall with the easiest smile he could manage. He watched as Shane blinked rapidly, giving himself a little shake and taking a deep breath.  

Fuck. He hadn’t thought that Marleau would have a problem with him being attracted to men, but maybe he had misread these guys. He had figured they would be fine with it, given how close they all were to Shane and how Shane was clearly interested in men, but Ilya could be wrong. The disapproval was pretty clear on his face.  

Ilya looked back at Shane, who still looked a little dazed. He had already let go of his face; he didn’t want to put any more space between them. Not to soothe Marleau, or anyone. He wanted to get closer, to see how close he could get before Shane said he was too close.  

He wanted to take Shane home. He wanted to touch him properly. He wanted to kiss him and taste him and make him come and cry and beg for more. He wanted to fucking own Shane. He wanted to see if he could take him back to that floaty place he’d managed to send Shane to with just the soft press of his fingertips against his chin.  

He wanted to make Shane happy. He wanted to ease the sadness he was beginning to suspect he was the only one that could see behind those big, wet eyes.  

Shane cleared his throat and leaned against the wall, a move too rigid to look casual, but Ilya mimicked him. He reached for another cigarette, ignoring Shane’s huff of disapproval.  

“Do you actually like Montreal?” Shane asked.  

Ilya shrugged. “Better than Moscow.”  

“Was Moscow so bad?”  

“Yes.”  

Shane raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.  

“I love the city,” Ilya tried to explain. “I love speaking Russian. I love the clubs. I love the pretty people, the food. I love my good memories. But there is more bad than good there.”  

“Your brother?” Shane asked.  

Ilya nodded, almost regretting telling him about Alexei earlier. It had been a casual comment, but Shane had pressed him, and Ilya had ended up telling him a sanitised version of them not getting along but trying to care for their father together.  

“Would you go back?” Shane asked.  

Ilya's eyes flicked to the street corner opposite them, and for half a second, he thought he could see his father there. Old and confused, his back stooped and his skin pallid, looking at him with disgust. For half a second, he was back in Moscow, being clipped by that car and breaking his wrist as he ran across the street without looking in a panic to bring his father inside after having wandered off from Alexei’s watch at the doctors.  

“Nothing to go back for,” Ilya said honestly. “I loved my mother, but she is dead. My father needed me, and now he is dead. Moscow is just death.”  

“You don’t think they’re still with you?” Shane asked.  

Ilya grimaced, reaching to touch the cross around his neck, not looking across the road, not willing to see the image of his father again. “No. I come here to get away from ghosts.”  

Shane smiled sadly. “I heard they follow you no matter where you go.”  

Ilya tried to laugh that off, refusing to think about the ugly spectre of his father, addled but still hateful, still with him, always a few feet away, staring at him in disgust and shaking his head like simply looking at Ilya was causing him pain. “I hope not. I thought they stayed in the places they died.”  

“Maybe they stay in the place in your head where the part of you that loved then died when they did,” Shane said.  

It was convoluted and profound, and maybe beautiful, but Ilya couldn’t appreciate it right now. Maybe one day he’d remember that Shane said that and think it was poetic and lovely and ask him how he knew that, if he knew death as well as Ilya did. Maybe next time he heard his father’s voice in his head, he’d want to punch a wall and blame Shane for confirming that he was haunted after all. Maybe he’d wake up and all of this will have been a dream, and Shane wasn’t real.  

They were quiet as Ilya finished his cigarette and lit up one last one, tucking the now empty packet into his pocket. He'd never been so comfortably silent with someone before; Ilya had always found silence threatening, but standing with Shane, it was nice. Peaceful, almost. Like Shane was simply making space for him, happy to be next to him.  

He wondered what Shane was thinking. He wondered if Shane wanted to close the distance between them as much as Ilya did.  

“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke here,” Shane finally said.  

Ilya rolled his eyes with a smile as he looked at Shane. “Okay.”  

Shane raised his eyebrow, but Ilya just stared at him.  

“Do you always follow the rules?” Ilya asked.  

Shane shrugged, looking down at his feet. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”  

Ilya hummed as he considered it. “Probably. But it doesn’t make you any happier, trust me. So may as well do what you want.”  

“You followed rules?” Shane teased.  

“Sometimes I used to,” Ilya shrugged.  

“Are you happy here?” Shane asked, forcing Ilya to take a mental sidestep.  

Ilya blinked as he looked at Shane, his face curious. Ilya thought about the question before he answered.  

“I don’t know,” Ilya said truthfully. “Moments happen, and I think, oh, now, yes, maybe I will be happier. Like when I remember my father is dead and I am not home anymore. But most of the time, I think I am not, like when I remember my mother is gone, or I have to speak English, or my body misses the weather back home. I don’t know. It's a lot of work to think about it. Makes me less happy.”  

Shane hummed in agreement, his eyebrows drawn. Fleetingly, Ilya wondered if Shane could fix him. Shane seemed like the type of man that could kiss someone and make them forget anything bad had ever happened to them in their whole entire lives.  

Ilya looked down at Shane’s mouth and heard the words pass his lips before he could stop them. “Are you happy?”  

Shane blinked rapidly again, looking pained. Ilya watched as his eyes travelled from Ilya’s eyes to his mouth, down his chest and back up again.  

“Right now, even with you slowly killing yourself, I think so,” Shane said.  

Ilya tried not to let his lips twitch at how funny Shane was. He wondered how Shane would feel if he knew that had been the goal for longer than Ilya could remember.  

“Could you be happier?” Ilya couldn’t stop himself from asking.  

Shane's eyes moved slowly, down to Ilya’s lips, then down his neck, his chest, and down to his hands before travelling back up to his face. “Maybe,” he murmured.  

Ilya couldn’t help but smile.  

Shane was so honest. Ilya loved that; he never had to consider any underlying meaning to his words. Shane was so open and direct, saying whatever popped into his head, never questioning if there was anything he should hold close to his heart. Ilya admired the way he just said whatever he felt. He loved that Shane just said whatever he wanted with no regard for what other people would find appropriate.  

“How?” Ilya mused.  

Shane shrugged as he watched Ilya take another puff, eyes locked on his mouth. He watched as Shane leaned a little closer and licked his lips.  

“I think –”  

Ilya flinched as the door to the bar opened loudly, noise disturbing their perfect, quiet moment. Shane frowned and took a step away from him as Marleau and JJ led the boys around the corner, cheering when they saw them standing together.  

What was Shane going to say? Maybe what? Ilya couldn’t stop thinking about it as the guys sorted themselves out into groups and waved down a taxi that was passing the bar.  

He was lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice Marleau wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into his side. “Where are we going?”  

“Hollander’s dropping us off on his way home,” Marleau winked. “Since he’s the only one sober enough to drive.”  

“You know, it’s still early, there are cabs around,” Shane snarked. “Maybe I wanna stay.”  

Marleau laughed and waited for Shane to point to where his car was before he started moving.  

“Hey, I’m sober too,” Ilya made a point of saying. He saw Shane catch his eye for a split second as they pushed off the wall and followed.  

Ilya finished his cigarette as he reached the backseat, stubbing it out on the sole of his shoe as he pulled out the empty pack and tucked the used butt into the package. Ilya stuffed his rubbish in his pocket before climbing into Shane’s car, a boring sedan that didn’t even have an air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. 

Marleau was laughing loudly at something Miity was saying as Shane waited patiently for everyone to fold themselves neatly into their seats, buckling their seatbelts before he took off. He was a careful driver, Ilya noted. He kept to the speed limit and constantly checked his mirrors.  

Not reckless, like Ilya.  

He wondered if Shane knew Ilya would be the last stop of the night. He seemed to drive on autopilot to drop off Vaughn and Miity, looking in his rearview mirror to say something to Marleau, making him smile brightly. By the time they pulled up to Marleau’s apartment building, Ilya noted that Shane hadn’t asked him for his address yet.  

“Thanks, Hollander,” Marleau smiled, clapping Shane on the shoulder as he climbed out of the car. “Text when you get home.”  

Ilya nodded goodbye to Marleau, frowning slightly when he noticed Marleau lingering. He looked between him and Shane with his mouth drawn before he shut the door and ambled inside his apartment building.  

Shane turned to look at Ilya, chewing on his lip, and nodded to the front seat.  

He moved quickly, getting out of the backseat and climbing into the front, clicking in his seatbelt and nodding to the road. He only had one shot at giving Shane a goodnight kiss, and he wasn’t going to waste it.  

“I’m not far,” Ilya said, rattling off his address, Shane not even needing to check a map before he was taking off and driving to Ilya’s place.  

The air felt warm between them, the way it had all night. Ilya couldn’t even remember the last time he was this excited and nervous to make a move on someone, let alone someone he was so sure was into him as much as he was into them.  

They were silent for a while before Shane finally broke the silence.  

“How come your cross is different?” Shane asked without looking at him.  

Ilya's hand rested against his chest. “It’s Orthodox.”  

“Are you religious?” Shane asked.  

“Only when I need something,” Ilya said, aiming for a joke but grimacing at himself when he realised it was true. Please, God, bring mama back. Please, God, take papa away.  

He caught the way Shane’s lips twitched in amusement as he parked the car, turning to look at Ilya. Ilya realised with a start that he’d been staring at Shane for the entire drive, but Shane hadn’t seemed perturbed. He watched as Shane bit his lip as he looked over Ilya, his eyes lingering on his lips.   

Fuck, Ilya wanted to be the one biting on that lip.  

Ilya wanted to touch him, so fucking badly. He wanted to feel him. He wanted to strip him bare and kiss his way across every inch of skin. He wanted to see if Shane’s body was as angular and gorgeous as his face. He wanted to know what Shane tasted like. He wanted to know if Shane had freckles in other places, or just on his nose.  

He thought Shane might want to touch him, too. Neither of them had been subtle all night, bumping into each other and whispering into each other’s ears all night, tucked into that tiny booth alone, reluctant to pull away from each other.  

“Did you have fun tonight?” Ilya asked, genuinely curious.  

"Yeah, I did,” Shane nodded. “More than I usually do at these things.”  

"Good.”  

Shane seemed tense as his eyes swept down Ilya’s chest before he looked away, like he was forcing himself not to look at Ilya. Ilya frowned, confusion settling over him.  

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, making sure to sound as soft as possible.  

Shane looked wary, but he nodded.  

“Have you ever been with a man before?” Ilya asked, opting to just be direct.  

Shane chewed on his lip for a moment before he shook his head, meeting Ilya’s eye. “No.”  

Ilya nodded; he had been sure that Shane liked men, but now his shyness made sense. “Do you want to?” he asked.  

Shane looked at him, his eyes doing something sad and complicated before he surged forward and kissed him. Ilya kissed him back immediately, and –  

His entire mind went blank. All that mattered was Shane’s soft, wet lips moving against his, and his huge, warm hands pressed against his chest.  

Ilya kissed Shane with everything he had, letting his hands move over Shane, threading one hand through his silky black hair. He could hear soft moans and whimpers echoing around them, absolutely no idea as to who was making what sounds.  

Fuck, Shane was so warm. Ilya hated the sad sound that escaped him when Shane broke the kiss, his forehead resting against Ilya’s as he gasped to catch his breath. Ilya settled for finally grazing his thumb across Shane’s freckles, wishing he could see them in the sunlight.  

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Ilya breathed.  

Shane nodded, no hesitation in his eyes.  

If it were anyone but Shane, Ilya might have felt embarrassed by the smile that he felt break across his face, so wide that he could feel it in his cheeks. But it was Shane, and something about him felt safe and so, so right. Ilya unbuckled his seatbelt and reached to open the car door, hearing Shane’s seatbelt click behind him.  

>>>  

Ilya had imbibed a lot in his lifetime. He’d done all sorts of drugs, smoked, snorted and swallowed anything offered to him. Buried his head between the legs of anyone who smiled at him. Engaged in all sorts of risky behaviours because he could, because he just wanted to feel good. Because he was subconsciously trying to kill himself, Svetlana would say.  

And, maybe.  

But having Shane Hollander – kissing him, touching him, moaning for him, felt like Ilya was high on something else entirely. It made him feel like he was alive and burning hot for the first time in his life. Like he was too high to think about anything other than the man in front of him. He could already tell this would be the worst comedown of his life, that he’d spend the rest of his life craving this feeling again.  

It had felt like the entire outside world ceased to exist the second he locked the front door and pulled Shane into his bedroom. Like they were they only two people in the world as Ilya stripped Shane down, pushed him into the armchair across from the bed that Tara had left behind and fell between Shane’s knees, and finally wrapped his lips around Shane’s dark, flushed cock, so hard and weeping with precome already, so oversensitive that Shane was clearly already trying to hold himself back.  

Shane tasted sweet, Ilya thought as he suckled at his tip, relaxing his throat as he swallowed Shane down, running his hands down Shane’s thighs to try and keep him calm before he massaged Shane’s swollen balls into his palm, smirking when Shane bucked and twitched beneath him.  

He'd never blown anyone as big as Shane before. Ilya had to remind himself to breathe through his nose as Shane gasped and cried and pulled his hair, unable to control himself. Ilya loved it; he encouraged Shane wordlessly to thrust up into his mouth, wanting to hear him moan as loud as he could, thrilled that he was making this beautiful man unravel with just a few soft sucks of his mouth.  

Shane was even more beautiful than Ilya had thought he would look beneath him. His skin was so smooth and perfect, unmarred aside from a small scar on his shoulder and an abundance of silver stretch marks across his hips and ass that Ilya was determined to see up close later. And his face – Ilya had never seen anyone look so beautiful as they fell apart because of him.  

Ilya watched Shane’s face closely as he took Shane all the way, his hands holding his hips, encouraging him to thrust up into his mouth. Shane’s eyes looked black, glassy from unshed tears as he stared down at Ilya, whispering things Ilya couldn’t really make out. His cheeks were red and his lips were swollen and even darker than his cheeks, and Ilya couldn’t see his freckles in the dark and that was practically a crime –  

“Wait,” Shane gasped, trying to push Ilya away from his cock, pinning his cross to collarbone as he pressed a firm hand to Ilya’s chest.  

Ilya fought to stay – it didn’t feel right, to be on his knees and not have Shane’s cock in his mouth. He made himself blink and look up at Shane. His vision was fuzzy, and maybe his own eyes were wet, Ilya wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything other than that he needed to feel Shane. He'd never felt so high in his entire life; he was so cock drunk and wasted, so out of control of himself. “What?”  

“Can you – do you want to fuck me?” Shane breathed, his fingers fiddling with Ilya’s cross. “I want you to fuck me.”  

Ilya nearly blacked out. He nodded, standing and pulling Shane with him. Shane moved easily, letting Ilya shove him onto the bed and pulling him closer as he climbed on top of him, seemingly needing to be as close as Ilya did. He stilled as Shane put his hands on his chest, making Ilya hold himself up above Shane.  

He watched carefully as Shane took him in, biting his lip as he stared at his cock before he looked up at Ilya with wide eyes.  

“Don’t worry, it will fit,” Ilya teased as he finally settled over Shane in between his legs, kissing him.  

Shane huffed out a laugh as Ilya pressed against him, kissing him back and spreading his legs wide, letting Ilya settle comfortably between them. Ilya kissed him until Shane relaxed beneath him, looking less tense before Ilya pulled back to look at him.  

“Have you ever..?” he asked as he reached between Shane’s legs to stroke his hole.  

Shane made a soft sound, his breath hitching as Ilya pressed his thumb to Shane’s opening, but he didn’t clam up or move away from Ilya’s touch. A good sign, Ilya thought.  

“No,” Shane shook his head. “I mean, my fingers, a couple of times, but it’s awkward. I don’t think I do it right.”  

“You ever come that way?”  

Shane shook his head, and his cheeks somehow turned even pinker. That was better, Ilya thought. He was going to change Shane’s life tonight, and Shane would never forget the way Ilya felt, or what he did to him. Ilya was about to make sure of that.  

“Okay,” Ilya said softly. “Can I?”  

Shane nodded, his eyes wide and trusting and god Ilya wanted to keep him. Maybe tie him to the bed and make sure Shane never left. Made him lie here and just force him to take Ilya over and over and over until Shane couldn't take it anymore.  

“Have you done this before?” Shane whispered.  

He tried not to smile as he nodded, hoping that he could at least assure Shane that he didn’t have to do anything; that Ilya would take care of him. Shane relaxed a little in his arms as Ilya brushed his sweaty hair out of Shane’s eyes, letting his thumb caress the soft skin under his chin before he leaned in and tasted him.  

Ilya kissed Shane softly on his swollen, red lips before he kissed his way across his jaw, down his neck, down his sternum, stopping to gently suck at his dark, hard nipples before making his way down to his bellybutton, down his hips, licking teasingly down his cock –  

The shocked gasp Shane let out when Ilya grabbed his knees and folded them to his chest was adorable. Ilya tried not to smirk as he lowered himself and licked Shane’s hole, sucking and massaging and making sure he was relaxed. Shane’s hands pulled at his hair, messily trying to unstick the gel Ilya had used to slick back the sides, moaning as Ilya pressed closer.  

Ilya worked slowly, methodically, pressing his tongue inside Shane. He waited until Shane became lax beneath him, making sure Shane was relaxed and whimpering before he grabbed the lube from his nightstand and slowly began to work a finger inside.  

Shane was so receptive. Ilya had slept with his fair share of people, and while plenty of them made noises or fell into his rhythm fairly easily, nobody ever seemed to match his enthusiasm completely or move their bodies with him so perfectly as this. Not like Shane.  

It was like Ilya’s body was made for Shane. Everything Ilya did, every touch, every press of his fingers or his tongue, Shane loved. He moved with Ilya, opened for him, moaned for him just like Ilya needed.  

Or maybe Shane was made for Ilya – he wasn’t sure. Every sound Ilya made was reciprocated, every move was met equally, wholly and purely. He knew, even as he pressed the tip of his cock to Shane’s loosened hole, that this was going to be the best sex he had ever had in his life.  

It had been bad enough when he’d just been attracted to him from across the rink. It became unbearable tonight when they had talked and Shane had revealed himself to Ilya, shown himself to be funny and perceptive and sweet and wise and clever.  

But now, being inside Shane, Ilya realised he’d never felt this before. He had no idea what it was, but it was huge and heavy and terrifying and for the first time in god knew how long, Ilya wanted to live so he could feel this all over again, maybe forever.  

“Hollander,” Ilya coaxed.  

Shane stared up at him through wet eyes. His bottom lip was bitten raw; his hair was a sweaty mess, he was panting, his chest and cheeks ruddy and red. Ilya had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.  

“Shane,” he said softly. “You still want?” he asked, teasing the tip of his cock inside Shane’s hole.  

Shane nodded, wrapping his legs around Ilya’s hips to bring him closer and –  

He couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.  

Ilya's first push inside Shane was so intense that he was sure for a split second that time itself had stopped. He'd never felt anything so hot and tight and wet in his life. Shane’s body opened so easily for him, pulling him in, begging for more of him where his words failed. Ilya pressed his hand to Shane’s chest and tapped him gently, signalling for him to breathe.  

“Fucking hell,” Shane breathed. “Fuck. Ilya, please.”  

He pushed into Shane carefully, watching his face carefully, pressing inside all the way, sliding smooth and deep, grinding deep against his prostate –  

Shane came with a cry so vicious it echoed in Ilya’s head for a long moment.  

Ilya watched as Shane painted his stomach white, unable to believe his eyes. He had never in his life – it had only been one stroke – he hadn’t even touched Shane’s cock – he didn’t even know that was possible –  

He stopped moving and kissed Shane, not even letting him catch his breath as he stilled his hips. Shane gasped and Ilya let him breathe, nipping at his neck before he pulled back to look at him.  

“Shane.”  

“What the fuck, Ilya,” Shane mumbled, meeting his eye. “Is this what it’s like? I didn’t know. Ilya, fuck. Fuck.”  

Fat, wet tears were sliding down his temples. Ilya kissed the soft spot beside his eye where Shane had a single freckle, licking his lips and tasting the salty tear. He wanted to taste every single part of Shane. He was hungry for it, for all of him.  

“Are you –”  

“More,” Shane suddenly begged, firm and fierce as his eyes cleared, looking up at Ilya. “Please. Fuck me, I need it, fuck me properly. Ilya, please, you too, please.”  

Shane was going to fucking ruin him.  

Ilya buried his face in Shane’s neck as he moved his hips, slow and firm, never taking his hands or his lips away. He could feel the fog around him getting thicker and heavier, his entire body feeling like it was fused to Shane’s, feeling hotter and hotter, feeling like he might never be able to pull himself away.  

“Ilya,” Shane cried out. “Fuck me, fuck me, oh my god, please. Ilya, please. Fuck me, use me, please. I’m yours, please.”  

Mine, Ilya claimed with every thrust. Shane moaned his name, begging, pleading for more, crying, and Ilya felt everything he had ever been worried about or scared of or sick of disappear completely. The only thing that mattered was this, whatever was happening between them.  

He could hear himself talk back to Shane, asking if it was okay, asking him to tell Ilya how good he felt, how everything Shane had to offer was Ilya’s now, and Shane held him tighter and dug his nails in deeper, and Ilya felt like maybe he really hadn’t been born until this very moment.  

Ilya moaned as his orgasm began to build, unable to stave it off any longer, his hips moving faster and harder. If Shane was sensitive or in pain, Ilya wouldn’t have been able to tell with the way he arched up and pressed closer, needy for more.  

Shane whined, and Ilya kissed him hard as his stomach tensed. He moved faster, his balls drawing tight as he spilled inside Shane. He moaned as he fucked harder, rutting desperately, not ready for this to end, his entire body feeling like it was on fire as he came harder than he ever had in his life. Shane cried out for him, and Ilya couldn’t stop himself from leaning close and finally biting down on Shane’s red, spit slick lip.  

He could feel Shane cry and come again on his cock as the taste of sharp metallic flooded his senses. Ilya briefly wondered who was claiming who as he swallowed and kissed Shane roughly, licking at the laceration on his lip, wondering how he was ever going to pull himself away from Shane.  

>>>  

Somewhere in the haze, Ilya realised that he hadn’t used a condom.  

Somewhere between his second and third orgasm, Ilya realised that Shane was full of him. Shane didn’t seem to understand what a mess Ilya had made of him, unable to say anything that wasn’t Ilya or please or more or fuck me or I need it or yes or right there or again, again, again.  

Somewhere beyond another one of Shane’s orgasms, and Ilya hadn’t even known that men could come that many times in the span of a few hours, Shane started to become more desperate, squirming and drooling and mumbling things Ilya couldn’t even begin to make sense of. Ilya couldn’t quite work out where his mind was at, but there was something settling in the air that he didn’t like. Something that told him that this was too perfect, too pure, too good, and that he couldn’t keep it.  

That familiar voice in his head that reminded him that this was fleeting, that it would end, that he needed to brace himself. The voice that he was all too familiar with telling him that he didn’t deserve this, that it would all turn soon. That the universe would correct itself because happiness wasn’t for Ilya.  

But Shane kept begging for more loudly in his ear, and all Ilya could do was give it to him, because he wanted to. He needed to, and that came before anything, even the voices in his head.  

He needed to fuck Shane and taste his come and his blood and his sweat and his tears and he needed to feel every inch of him, and he wanted Shane to want the same. He wanted Shane to give everything that he could to Ilya, and Ilya wanted to prove that he could take it and honour it and keep it safe, and give it back in kind. He wanted to be sure that Shane felt the same way, that he was alive, too, with Ilya. He wanted to fuck the sadness right out of Shane so he never felt that way again.  

Somewhere, when Ilya was kissing Shane and turning on the light to count his freckles, Shane asked him who gave him his necklace, and Ilya told him.  

Somewhere, when Ilya was slicked with Shane’s come and his own sweat and all he could taste was the two of them together, he heard we can’t do this again.  

Somewhere, when Ilya was spitting into Shane’s mouth and pushing his mess down the back of his throat, making Shane gag and cry and choke and swallow around his fingers, his awareness of everything outside them slipped away completely. 

Somewhere, when Shane was running his hands through Ilya’s sweaty hair and drooling around Ilya’s fingers and moaning as Ilya licked it all off his chin, Shane pressed his hands to Ilya’s chest and said that this couldn’t happen again.  

Ilya laughed to himself; the absurdity of it was too much. As if they wouldn’t be doing this again and again and again for the rest of time. As if the voice in his head that he’d spent years trying to quiet was actually right. As if Shane didn’t feel what he felt.  

He'd kissed Shane as he slowly stroked his cock, thumbing over the soft head until he was firming up again, shaking his head when Shane said that he didn’t do this with men. Ilya kissed and bit him and gripped his cock a little tighter to remind that he did, in fact, do this with men. He did this with Ilya.  

He worked Shane through another orgasm, stroking him and kissing him and biting him, coming with him over Shane’s come splattered abs. Ilya felt more cock drunk than ever as he played with the mess the two of them had made, feeding it to Shane and then himself, biting Shane and kissing him, tasting them on each other.  

Ilya fleetingly felt like they were one, somehow, that this was too much to have done with anyone that he barely knew, but it felt so right with Shane.  

His mother had told him something about lovers when he was little, but he couldn’t recall the words now. Ilya wondered if there was something about Shane that would make him think of those words while he was inside of Shane, touching Shane, making Shane come again and again like it was the easiest thing in the world.  

Maybe with anyone else, Ilya wouldn’t have enjoyed passing their come back and forth on their tongues. Maybe with anyone else, he would have been disgusted by the tangy taste of blood. Maybe with anyone else, he wouldn’t have lost himself so unrecognisably. Maybe with anyone else, he wouldn’t have begged like a stray dog for affection.  

But it was Shane, and Ilya could feel it in his bones that there was nothing he wouldn’t give to him, to make his body turn lax like that, to watch his eyes turn hazy with desire and arousal and then clear again, coming back to Ilya, just a little happier every time.  

Ilya kissed Shane with everything he had, his cock twitching against Shane’s as he moaned beneath him. They should shower. Ilya should drag him into his tiny bathroom and wash him, maybe even wash his hair for him. He should fix Shane’s bleeding lip, kiss it better and change the sheets and then hold him, let their bodies rest before they woke up in the sunshine and do this all over again, do it forever –  

Shane planted both hands on his chest and pushed him away. Ilya shifted, figuring Shane was oversensitive and chased his kiss, but Shane shoved him in the chest, hard, both of his wrists smacking against his chest so hard it winded him, and scrambled off the bed from underneath him.  

It hurt.  

Ilya blinked as he tried to understand what was happening, rubbing the sore spots on his chest idly as he watched Shane try to wipe the copious amount of come off his stomach with his own t shirt. Suddenly, his chest hurt even more.  

Suddenly, the ghost of Alexei was in the room, standing alongside his father; their hands clenched as they stood over him, looking as eager to escape him as Shane did.  

He felt sick as he called for Shane, trying to will himself to stay quiet and not beg like a fucking child, but Ilya could hear himself call out for him, once, twice, four times. It didn’t even seem like Shane could hear him; his entire body had flipped like a switch, turning from lax and beautifully sated to whip tight, like he was about to break. Ilya felt like his heart stopped beating as Shane shook his head, bending down to grab the nearest clothes. All the warmth in the room was gone; Shane took it with him when he pushed Ilya away.  

“Shane,” Ilya tried again.  

Some sick part of him was thrilled to see his own spend dripping out of Shane’s gaping, swollen hole as he dressed, gratified that wherever Shane was running off to, it would be with Ilya still inside him. That he wouldn’t be able to get away from Ilya so easily, no matter how badly he clearly wanted to.  

Shane pulled on a t shirt that Ilya had worn earlier that day to the gym, finally turning to look at him.  

He looked distraught. His eyes were red and sad, sadder than he’d ever seen them, and his mouth was turned down into a sneer.  

Ilya didn’t understand what had just happened. He didn’t know what he did. Maybe he had worked Shane up too much, and Shane couldn’t take it. Maybe Shane was disgusted when Ilya had fed him their come. Maybe he’d hurt him when he bit him earlier, even though Shane had said that it felt good, even though he had begged for Ilya to not let the cut heal. Maybe he had read this all wrong, read Shane all wrong. Maybe he had fucked up when he agreed to meet Marleau’s friends. Maybe Montreal was just going to be more ghosts and more loss and more memories that Ilya would never be able to escape.  

Maybe Shane didn’t want to be his. Maybe Ilya had wanted Shane to be his too much.  

Shane's eyes dropped down to the sheets, and Ilya hated that he was naked right now, that he was kneeling there, on display and covered in their come, begging for Shane to come back to him, still marked up in his release and his sweat and his blood and his tears and his saliva –  

“I’m sorry,” Shane said flatly, looking into his eyes again for the first time since he’d pushed him away. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done this.”  

Ilya blinked, confused, watching as Shane waved his hand down Ilya’s body. His blood ran cold as he realised what Shane meant. “Because I am a man?”  

Shane shook his head. Ilya didn’t understand. He didn’t know what had made Shane freak out like this. They had spent hours together devouring each other, feeling each other, knowing each other. If he had done something wrong, he could fix it. He could adapt. He could do better. He could never do it again. He could make Shane happy, he was sure of it.  

He just didn’t understand what had changed.  

Maybe the reality of having sex with another man had somehow finally hit him. Maybe Shane had been disgusted with himself. Maybe he had just wanted to try this once and Ilya had done too much, and Shane realised he didn’t like men. Maybe Ilya was too much, too dirty, too filthy for a nice boy like Shane. Maybe Ilya had read him wrong, pushed him too far, or had disgusted him with what they had done tonight. Maybe Shane wanted someone that was going to make love to him, soft and sweet, and maybe Ilya was too fucked up and broken and damaged for someone like Shane. Maybe Ilya really was as depraved and disgusting as Alexei had always said he was. Maybe Ilya had to keep himself locked away, like his mother had always told him to. Maybe Ilya wasn’t enough, and Shane could feel that, and he just wanted someone else, someone better.  

Maybe his father was right, and nobody wanted him. Maybe what Alexei had told him as a child was true, and he just wasn’t enough to get anyone to want to stay with him.  

Maybe the voice in his head was right all along, and he just wasn’t ever meant to be happy. He was always meant to be left behind.  

Maybe Shane had realised that. Maybe he had been attracted to Ilya and gotten it out of his system. Maybe he had realised that all Ilya was for was a good night, and nothing else. Maybe Shane had realised that belonging to a bleeding, gaping wound wasn’t worth it.  

Shane was still silent. Ilya watched as Shane shook his head one last time before he left, leaving Ilya behind without a look back.  

Ilya waited. He didn’t move for a long while, even as he head the front door shut. Even as minutes passed, and Shane had surely left the building and driven away. Just in case Shane turned right back around and came back to him. Just in case the voice in his head was wrong.  

Ilya waited so long he could have sworn he could see the ghost of Shane standing in his doorway, hovering, shoulders tense, like he might turn around and come back at any moment.  

Ilya waited, just him and all his ghosts, hoping that Shane would come back and say sorry, he was joking, he didn’t mean it.  

Ilya waited.  

>>>  

He sat in his bed until dawn began to lighten his room. He realised he was shivering, cold and fucking pathetic, covered in all sorts of bodily fluids, dried and tacky against his skin, waiting for yet another person who would never come back for him, when Ilya decided he needed to move.  

He stripped the bedsheets. He kicked all the clothes on the floor to the corner of the room to be washed. He ran himself a boiling hot shower and washed every single trace of Shane Hollander off of him, because he didn’t deserve to be there.  

No, that wasn’t true. Because Ilya didn’t deserve to have any trace of Shane left on him. He hadn’t deserved it in the first place, and that was probably why Shane had run away. Shane had wiped them off of his skin so easily, like they were nothing. Ilya didn’t deserve to hold onto something that Shane had decided wasn’t good enough.  

Ilya switched the water to as cold as it would go, trying to force himself to get out and move. He stood under the spray until he was cold and shaking before he climbed out, brushed his teeth, dressed for the gym and locked the door behind him without looking back.  

He couldn’t bear to see the ghost of another memory he wished he could erase.  

>>>  

Svetlana looked at him strangely. “You didn’t want to shower before you came and bothered me, Ilyukha?”  

Ilya shrugged. He wondered how they sounded to Marleau or anyone else when they spoke Russian together; the West loved to pretend Russian was a hard, mean sounding language. They acted like they didn’t hear how romantic it was, how soft Russian sounded, how intimate and loving it was. How even when their culture was difficult, they used their words in ways softer than Westerners could fathom. Even now, as Svetlana teased him, they wouldn’t hear the concern and love in her words, in her nicknames for him. They would probably think they were fighting.  

“You look like shit,” she said.  

“If you don’t want breakfast, I can go,” Ilya shrugged, pretending that he didn’t need her.  

Svetlana grabbed his elbow and pulled him into the apartment. Ilya followed her into the kitchen and put down the box of pastries and two coffees, trying his best to look nonchalant.  

She looked at him too closely. Ilya made sure not to meet her eye as he grabbed them plates.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked.  

“Nothing,” he lied.  

“Ilya,” she said firmly.  

Ilya turned to look at her, shaking his head. “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”  

“Which one?” Svetlana asked him, her eyebrow raised.  

He shrugged, because he really didn’t know what to say. I think I like this guy but he physically cant’ stand to be near me wasn’t worth verbalising.  

Svetlana nodded, seeming to understand somehow, taking the plates out of his hand and wrapping him up in a tight, solid hug. Ilya hugged her back so hard he heard her wheeze, but he couldn’t make himself let go.  

Later, he’d accept that whatever Shane was, it was one sided and over. He'd accept that what he thought he could see in Shane was just a product of his own imagination, a fantasy as dead as his mother.  

Later, he’d accept that Shane was just a one night stand. Just some guy who was curious about men, that never intended to fulfil his curiosities beyond that night, that never intended to stay.  

Later, he’d be okay with being nothing to one more person.  

Later, he’d accept that he was being haunted by one more ghost.  

Later, he’d be stronger.  

Chapter 3: Processing

Ilya spent the day with Svetlana before he finally went home after dinner. He opened the window to air out the bedroom and cleaned with the methodical patience that he had become familiar with from his father’s hospice nurse.  

Jadranka. She had beautiful, kind, downturned hazel eyes, and spoke to him in a mix of broken Russian and Croatian that he could only half understand, assuring him that it was okay to mourn a man as cruel as his father. She kept his father clean and as comfortable as he could be in those last weeks, and the last time he had seen her, helped clean Ilya up after he had heard his first, and hopefully last, death rattle, wiping his face kindly after he had been sick and finally let go of the body, telling him that he was strong and brave for staying with his father until the end.  

Hrabar, snažan dječak, she had called him.  

He wasn’t strong, and he wasn’t brave. His family had known that about him all his life, and they knew him better than anyone.  

Ilya had stayed because he needed to see his father die with his own eyes, or he may never have believed he was really gone. He stayed because he hadn’t been with his mother when she had died; he had found her, cold and alone, and as much as he hated his father, he couldn’t let him be alone, either. He stayed because he wouldn’t want to be alone either, when it was his turn.  

Ilya had never been brave or strong. He had simply been unwilling to repeat his own mistakes after a certain point. He had always been weak and avoidant and needy and pathetic and Ilya couldn’t even believe that Shane let Ilya have him even once.  

And then Shane had left, righting the balance of the world, and Ilya had realised too late that he was no better than anyone else; he repeated his mistakes, too. He always put himself in a position to make it easy to be left behind. He was no better than his mother, who woke up every day hoping that the world would be kinder, seemingly shocked by noon when she realised that it was still the same cold, harsh world that she couldn’t find a place in.  

Ilya erased any trace of Shane in his apartment, except for the balled up napkin that he had kept for some reason. Ilya tucked that inside the empty cigarette box where he couldn’t see it.  

Just so he had proof that Shane had been real.  

Just in case Shane came back like his traitorous gut kept telling him he would.  

>>>  

Svetlana demanded he come over for dinner on Thursday.  

Marleau was there, which was a good buffer between him and Svetlana. She was watching his every move, the same way that Alexei used to when Ilya was already on edge, so uncomfortable in the silence that Ilya would inevitably snap and start a fight, just so they had a reason to hurt each other.  

Ilya knew that Svetlana cared; that she wasn’t trying to hurt or upset him, that she was the only person in this world left that actually loved him, but it was too much. He hated the way she watched him like he was some sort of animal that was about to lash out.  

It made his skin crawl.  

“And no game this week,” Marleau was saying. “Every few weeks the ice skating program does their thing, so we get our Saturdays back.”  

Ilya nodded absentmindedly. Maybe he’d message Vaughn and see if he’d be up for a night out tomorrow. He seemed a little more fun than the rest of Marleau’s friends. He shivered as he thought about finding someone else to fuck, someone that could clear his mind and his body of Shane’s touch –  

“Okay, enough,” Svetlana said firmly. “Tell me what happened.”  

Ilya made sure not to flinch as Marleau looked between them, confused. “Nothing happened.”  

“You are shaking,” she said.  

“It’s snowing outside,” Ilya said in English so Marleau would understand Svetlana was jumping down his throat for nothing. “What, I can’t be cold?”  

“I have seen you walk through Moscow in shorts and a mesh singlet at three in the morning with no alcohol to keep you warm, not even noticing how cold it is,” Svetlana said accusingly.  

“Maybe I am getting sick, I don’t know,” Ilya muttered.  

“Or old,” Marleau chimed in. “That happens. They don’t tell you that.”  

“I’m younger than you both,” Ilya shot back.  

“He is not old,” Svetlana said. “He is upset.”  

Ilya clenched his jaw, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make Svetlana hate him or Marleau punch him, but Marleau just cleared his throat as he sat forward in his seat.  

“Well, a few of the guys have been a bit off, that checks out. We must have spread it at the game last week.”  

Svetlana didn’t look like she believed him, but she turned back to the kitchen to make tea. Ilya could feel Marleau watching him, not dissimilarly to Svetlana, but didn’t dare meet his eye.  

>>>  

“Did something happen at the bar on the weekend?” Marleau all but whispered as they smoked out on Svetlana’s balcony.  

Ilya shook his head.  

“Seriously, if any of the guys are giving you any trouble –”  

“Nothing like that,” Ilya shut down. “Your friends, they are very nice. They make me feel very welcome.”  

Marleau visibly relaxed at that, but he still looked worried. “But something did happen?”  

“I don’t want to talk to Svetlana about it,” Ilya said firmly.  

“Okay,” Marleau said evenly.  

Ilya kept his eyes straight ahead as he took a deep breath and blew out the smoke. “I met someone. I think maybe we like each other, but then I find out it’s just me. So.”  

“Oh,” Marleau said. “Fuck. At the bar?”  

Ilya didn't say a word, taking a long drag instead.  

“Is – are they maybe not in a position to pursue something?” Marleau asked.  

Ilya frowned. “What do you mean?”  

Marleau shifted. He looked uncomfortable, and shit, maybe Ilya had read him all wrong and Marleau was homophobic. “Is it – are they just scared maybe? Or maybe they’re not like, available?” Marleau asked.  

“I don’t know,” Ilya asked. “I didn’t get a chance to ask.”  

“You didn’t?”  

“No,” Ilya said, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting up another one. “We fucked. They run away without saying anything. I don’t know anything.”  

Marleau frowned, but he stayed quiet, which Ilya was thankful for. They smoked in silence until Svetlana opened the door and lured them back inside with dessert. Ilya almost smiled as he ate his mađarica, listening to Svetlana tell Marleau about the time they had ‘run away’ from home when they were fifteen because Ilya had read about the Morske Orgulje in a newspaper and wanted to hear it for himself. Marleau laughed as she told him that they’d spent two entire days on trains just to get to Zadar, and how they’d been there for another two days before anyone had even noticed that they were missing.  

Ilya smiled thinly, wondering if Svetlana had any idea how much of the story she had wrong. She'd been telling it for so long, a version so fantastical and lovely and wrong, and he’d never corrected her.  

He had never told her the truth about that trip. About why he really wanted to go there in the first place. About how he had only bought a one way ticket. About how for years afterwards, even when he had forgotten the sound of his mother’s voice, he still heard the song of the sea, dulcet and beautiful and taunting and maddeningly lonely, like she was begging for him to come back to her.  

>>>  

Svetlana had let him fall asleep on the couch, which was nice.  

What was less considerate was the loud sex she was having with Marleau in the next room with no regard to his need for rest.  

Ilya turned over onto his back to listen, just out of curiosity. He'd spent years fucking Svetlana, becoming familiar with what how she liked to be touched, how to make her come. He listened as Marleau grunted low and soft, Svetlana’s high, breathy moans filling the apartment as they came together, a symphony of soft noises and gentle touches.  

They sounded lovely. Beautiful, really. All soft assurances and sweet encouragements and perfect, yes, there’s. They sounded right together, like they fit together. It was nice. He and Svetlana had never sounded like that; he wondered if that was something he could tell them without sounding crazy. Svetlana would know what he meant, how happy he was that they didn’t sound as lazy and comfortable and bored and he and Svetlana did together, but maybe Marleau wouldn’t.  

Ily grabbed his jacket and snuck out of the apartment, Svetlana’s whines and Marleau’s low voice seeping through the crack beneath the door, wondering what he and Shane had sounded like.  

>>>  

It was like a craving.  

He dreamed of Shane. He could feel the ghost of Shane’s hands on his body. He could smell him on his sheets, even though they’d been washed. He could taste him on his tongue, blood and sweat and come still sweet on his tastebuds. He could hear the sea Shane ran out from him, Ilya’s come trailing down his thigh as everything grew colder.  

Ilya laid awake at night, unsettled after those dreams, feeling colder than usual, wondering whether Shane was lying in bed thinking of him, too.  

>>>  

His instincts were right about one thing: Vaughn was a hell of a lot of fun.  

They went out, going to a club Vaughn knew that none of the boys liked going with him to, because none of them much liked dancing.  

Ilya loved dancing.  

He loved music so loud it gave him a tension headache the next day. He loved the crush of bodies on the dancefloor together; the warmth of it, the lack of self-consciousness of people’s touches, the sweat. He loved how free he could be, moving his body without a care in the world. He loved that he could drown out the voices in his head, even if it was just for a little while.  

Vaughn was a good dancer. He wasn’t shy about dancing with girls together the way some men were. He was also generous with his coke, and he was gracious enough to not say anything when Ilya left the dancefloor with the hot blonde that was grinding on him turned and slipped her hands underneath his t shirt, the white Ducati shirt that Shane had left on his floor the week before that pulled too tight across his chest, and raised her eyebrows.  

He had no idea why he’d worn it. He hadn’t realised Shane had left it behind until he had done the laundry, and Ilya had been torn between throwing it out the window and displaying it lovingly on his bookshelf. In the end, he had slept in it for three nights in a row then worn it to the club, knowing that he’d find someone to fuck, but still wanting Shane all over him.  

It was pathetic, and Ilya didn’t even care.  

Ilya led the girl into the bathroom, Amy or Jade or something, it didn’t matter, shutting the stall door behind them and kissing her. Something in his brain flagged when their lips met, like it was wrong. Like he shouldn’t be kissing anyone but Shane. Like Shane was supposed to be the last –  

Ilya reached down for his cock and gave himself a tug, getting himself fully hard. Shane didn’t matter. He had a pretty girl rubbing up against him – someone warm, someone that wanted him; that was what mattered.  

She was soft everywhere Shane had been hard. She kissed demurely, where Shane had opened up for him, begging for Ilya to take him. She was gentle where Shane had pulled his hair so hard Ilya had ached. She was warm where Shane had been hot, so fucking hot, hot enough that Ilya had felt like he had been shivering since Shane took his touch away.  

She was hot and fun, whoever she was. But she didn’t whisper his name when he pressed into her with so much reverence Ilya had to look away. She didn’t hold him close as he thrust into her. She didn’t pull him closer, like she couldn’t bear to let him go. She didn’t get so cock drunk and fucked out that she babbled and begged and cried. She didn’t ask him if she could suck on his tongue like it was something that she needed.  

She wasn’t enough to quiet the voices in his head or make him come so hard he felt like his soul left his body. She didn’t taste so good she quelled his craving. She didn’t warm him up from the inside. She didn’t make the sick feeling in his stomach go away.  

She wasn’t Shane.  

>>>  

Ilya had to remember to remember their fucking names.  

He couldn’t for the life of him remember whose ass his tongue was inside of right now. Ilya had just seen him, tall and pretty, with dark eyes and a wide smile, and offered to buy him a drink.  

Ryan, maybe. Or Nick. Or John, Ilya couldn’t be sure. But he had started to sob when Ilya had finally taken him into his mouth, moaning loudly and desperately and begging Ilya to fuck him.  

Ilya pressed two fingers inside him, gratified to hear his moans deepen. He reached for the lube, sitting up on his knees and carefully working in a third finger.  

“It’s okay?” he asked.  

The guy nodded, his face and chest bright red, flushed from the alcohol and the coke and the orgasm Ilya had already worked him through. “So good. Fuck me?”  

Ilya reached for a condom, slipping it on quickly and pressing himself closer, lining himself up with the guy’s hole –  

He moaned as he fucked inside him, rolling his hips slowly. Ilya listened as Alex or Michael or whoever the fuck he was panted desperately, watching him buck and push back beneath him.  

Ilya closed his eyes and hated himself for imagining he was Shane.  

>>>  

“You look tired,” Svetlana said, reaching over to grab his face and make him look at her.  

“Take your man hands off of me,” Ilya muttered, batting her hand away.  

“I do not have man hands.”  

“Marleau, do something about your woman,” Ilya demanded.  

Marleau laughed, shaking his head. “You two are like children, I'm not being the dad.”  

Ilya chose to ignore the way Svetlana’s eyes lit up at that, keeping his eyes on his pad see ew. There were some things about Svetlana he didn’t need to know.  

“Ilya,” Svetlana said carefully.  

Ilya’s eyes flicked to Marleau, who frowned, also clearly worried. “Don’t.”  

“But -”  

“I’m fine,” Ilya said sternly. “Bruised pride. Ego, whatever. I’m fine.” He sniffed and said in Russian, “I’ve been through worse.”  

“You look sick, Ilya,” Svetlana said bluntly.  

Ilya stared her down, not saying a word. He knew he looked a little pale. He knew he felt sick to his stomach nearly all the time. He knew he felt less alive than he had in a long time, maybe since his father was alive. The blues, his mother used to call it, those days where they both just felt so tired that she would let him stay home from school so they could lay in bed together and watch terrible old movies on VHS tapes that she had borrowed from their upstairs neighbour, drinking nothing but black tea with honey.  

Marleau changed the subject when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to speak, and Svetlana let him. Ilya knew he’d pay for it later, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  

>>>  

He didn’t catch a cab home when he left Svetlana’s that night. Ilya walked to the nearest bar, ordered a drink, and waited to catch the eye of a beautiful girl with dark hair and small perky tits that was clearly interested in him. He walked her back to her place two blocks away and fucked her roughly from behind, only mildly pleased to find out that she was a screamer, thinking about someone else as he grabbed her chest, lamenting the way Shane’s pecs had fit into his hands perfectly as he fucked another body that he wouldn’t remember in a month’s time.  

>>>  

Ilya didn’t bother messaging any of the boys to see if they wanted to go out. He didn’t want anyone slowing him down tonight.  

He just needed to forget. He needed to stop fucking caring. He'd spent days meandering through the confusion inside his own head, dissecting that night over and over, trying to work out where he’d gone wrong to no avail. His head had felt heavy and fuzzy and slow for days; he just needed a distraction. He came home from work, showered and napped, ate toast for dinner, and made his way back to the club he went out to his first night in Montreal.  

He met a cute girl from Vancouver who was down for business who kissed him like she was trying to eat him. It wasn’t as good as Shane, who actually did bite Ilya like he wanted to eat him, but it was something. Ilya followed her back to her hotel room and let his body do what it did best. He licked and kissed and sucked and thrust and dug his fingers into her soft skin and wondered if Shane was fucking someone else right now, if he’d learned enough tips and tricks from Ilya before he’d run away. If he was making someone come the way Ilya was making Liana or Tasha or whatever the fuck her name was cry out as he thrust inside her right now. He wondered if Shane was with another man that felt more right than Ilya had, if he was better than Ilya was.  

He left the room after an appropriate amount of post sex lounging and made his way down to the hotel bar, frustrated at how awake and wound tight he still felt. Ilya had a drink, then another two, before he tossed a twenty down and turned to leave, freezing when he caught the eye of a woman at the other end of the bar.  

She was beautiful; older than him by maybe twenty years, with light brown hair and hazel eyes that seemed to look straight through him. He watched her watch him before he sauntered over to her, not even a little surprised when she reached out to sweep a hand down his sweaty chest without even saying a word to him.  

He had always loved older women. They knew what they wanted, and they asked for it. And Ilya knew how to give it to them.  

Ilya followed her up to her room and fucked her up against the glass door to the balcony, biting her neck and pulling her hips back into his with enough force to leave bruises. He laughed at the way she moaned when he answered how old he was, saying he was the same age as her son. He let her push him down onto the bed and ride him, moaning as she braced herself with her hands on his chest. Ilya held her wrists to keep her hands there, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to soothe the feeling of Shane pushing him away in the same spot, still unwilling to let her move away.  

>>>  

Ilya considered dropping out of the hockey team, but Marleau had text him to let him know that he was bringing Svetlana to meet his friends, and Ilya knew that he had to be there or Svetlana wouldn’t be happy. So, Ilya packed his gear and made his way down to the rink, looking forward to seeing Svetlana and Marleau and play hockey, and nothing else.  

He didn’t want to see Shane. And he wanted to see Shane more than anything. Fuck, he’d even take Shane shoving him away again if it meant feeling Shane’s warm touch again. Ilya could learn to love being hit like that again if Shane was the one hurting him, he was sure of it.  

Weak, his father’s voice echoed through his mind, loud and unbidden. So lovely and sweet, his mother’s voice almost came to him. But was too soft, too wrong; unable to drown out the booming sound of his father, too airy and floaty, too much like the Morske Orgulje. Too beautiful and soft and gentle. It was never enough to drown his father out. Which was strange, because Ilya could remember so clearly standing on the steps, staring out at the Adriatic, the music being louder than anything he had heard in his entire life. His ears had rung for days with the echoes of the sea.  

Ilya went to the rink, because even though this was Shane’s team, and Shane’s friends, he was Marleau’s friend too. And Ilya liked Marleau. He liked skating, and he liked playing hockey. He liked Vaughn and JJ and Watts and the other guys. They were fun, and they were kind. They were nicer than the guys he used to meet up with and party in Moscow, and Ilya didn’t want to lose that. Even Pike and his fifteen children were tolerable in small doses.  

And Svetlana was probably going to marry Marleau, which meant Ilya had to be mature about this, even when he didn’t want to, to make her life as easy as possible. Shane and Marleau were close, Ilya had learned from Svetlana in the last few days. They went to the gym together, they sparred together. Ilya didn’t even know that Shane boxed until Marleau had mentioned it over the weekend. But Marleau loved Shane; he even called him kid when he spoke about him, a fondness to his tone that Ilya noted was only for Shane and Miity as the youngest of the group.  

So Ilya had to play nice, because Shane didn’t seem like the type to bail on people, their night together notwithstanding.  

And Ilya never walked away from someone. To his own detriment, sometimes. Often.  

Ilya had moved continents just to be with his best friend. Before that, Ilya had stayed in Moscow for years to care for his father. Ilya had given up school and worked to subsidise Alexei’s wife and daughter when Alexei was too fucked up to work and couldn’t feed them. Ilya had gone to his mother’s grave every weekend to liturgise for her, even though he didn’t fucking believe in god, just on the off chance she was still there, still with him, still listening.  

Ilya wasn’t a quitter.  

>>>  

Ilya could feel Shane the second he trailed behind Marleau into the locker room without even looking. Ilya could feel his sad, dark eyes on him, a shiver running up his spine at the focus on him.  

He dropped his bag next to Vaughn and talked about their nights; Ilya bragging quietly about his conquest last night, and Vaughn telling him about his neighbour he’d been hooking up with now that she’d recently kicked her boyfriend out.  

Ilya resolved to not give a fuck about Shane. They’d had a great night together, and it was done. In the past. Ilya was great at forgetting things – it was in his DNA, probably. Shane could be just one more thing Ilya would forget ever happened, like the sound of his mother’s voice or how gentle Alexei’s hands used to be.  

His ego was hurt; it wasn’t that big a deal. He’d had actual problems in his life, and he had dealt with them and been fine. He'd been through much worse. A man not liking him back was no big deal. Ilya was just tired and homesick and bored, probably. He was projecting.  

Ilya would move on in no time. He didn’t even feel anything for Shane, not really. He'd just been intrigued, that was all. He had just been curious about those sad brown eyes and wanted to see if he could brighten them up at all.  

They were nothing. And that was fine. Lots of people were nothing to Ilya – most people, in fact.  

Ilya didn’t care. He was fine. He had been through worse things; so what if a boy he thought he could like didn’t like him back. Ilya would survive. It was a little demoralising to know that he hadn’t impressed Shane enough in bed to have him running back, but that was fine. Not everyone connected that way. Ilya knew logically that he’d probably fucked a few people over the years that may have felt the same way about him at some point.  

He briefly thought about how Sasha had told him he was in love with him when they were seventeen, and Ilya had just stepped away from him and shook his head, not even brave enough to look him in the eye when he said that he didn’t feel the same. Sasha had called him a liar and said that people didn’t fuck like that unless they were in love, and Ilya had strangled out a laugh and said he fucked everyone like that. Sasha had cried, even as hard as he’d tried not to, then lied and said he was just joking.  

Maybe that was how Shane had felt. They were attracted to each other, and Ilya had thought that there was something there, something that could have grown, maybe, but he had been wrong. Shane had just wanted sex, and then he’d fucked off. Ilya knew that game; he’d done it himself too many times to count.  

People left; it wasn’t a big deal. It was just how things went. It was expected, even. Everyone left at some point. Ilya knew that. He knew better than to be surprised by that.  

Ilya had been sure that Shane was gay, but maybe Shane wasn’t. Ilya had pushed too hard on the bounds of Shane’s sexuality, and Shane had no choice but to run. Maybe he’d been too quick to try to confront something he wasn’t ready to. Maybe Ilya had once again been caught out believing somebody at their word when they were lying. Maybe he should always be operating at the base assumption that he was temporary, and people wouldn’t ever want more from him.  

Sasha had left Moscow three weeks after Ilya had rejected him, and Ilya still had no idea what happened to him. Svetlana never brought it up to him, and Ilya had never asked. She still turned her phone over when Sasha’s name popped up on her screen, as if she were protecting Sasha from Ilya.  

His mother had killed herself, even though he was still a child and still needed her. When he was little, he hadn’t understood why she had done it. He couldn’t understand why she couldn’t push through and be there for him, why she couldn’t see how much he had needed her. But now, as an adult, he did.  

Alexei had turned his back on him before Ilya had learned how to shave.  

Even Svetlana had moved halfway across the world from him.  

Ilya knew that it was easier to be the first to leave. He just hadn’t ever gotten the timing right. That was all, he told himself.  

He changed into his gear and laughed at something Watts said, because the others were laughing and he didn’t want them to notice he wasn’t listening to them. Ilya kept his head down and ignored Shane, worried that if he looked at him, he’d snap and shove him against the wall and ask him what the fuck he was looking at. Or he’d manhandle Shane down to his knees and force his mouth to Ilya’s cock. Or he’d grab him by the throat and order him to apologise for occupying so much space in his mind the last couple of weeks.  

So, Ilya didn’t look at him.  

Shane didn’t get Ilya’s attention anymore. It didn’t matter how badly Ilya wanted to see him beneath him again, shaking and crying and coming underneath him. Shane walked out and didn’t say a word. So Ilya would follow his lead.  

Ilya managed to avoid Shane in the locker room, following the boys out onto the ice, skating a couple of laps and winking at Svetlana when she whistled at him. Ilya was so happy to be back on the ice, almost forgetting about Shane, when Watts spoke.  

“I didn’t know your missus was coming, Hollander!”  

“ROSIE!” JJ shouted, waving to the redhead next to Svetlana.  

It felt like time had stopped as Ilya processed what the boys had said.  

Missus.  

He hated that everything snapped into focus and made sense with that one word. One word he could have used weeks ago, instead of wandering around in this fugue state of confusion and frustration. He hated that Shane’s hesitance had context now, that his need to get away from Ilya was so much more than being with a man. Ilya hated that now, he could understand why Shane had run, and he couldn’t even really blame him for it anymore.  

He'd wanted Ilya – truly wanted him. Ilya had felt it, he knew he had. Shane had wanted Ilya. He’d wanted to be Ilya’s. And Ilya had let himself want that, too. But Shane had a girlfriend waiting for him at home. Of course he had to leave.  

He finally let himself look at Shane, hating the way his stomach dropped in arousal and disappointment when they locked eyes.  

Shane looked scared and sad and so fucking beautiful, and he was looking at Ilya with wide, wet eyes, looking like he wanted to say something, his big eyes pleading and sorry, and all Ilya could think was that he didn’t fucking care.  

He didn’t give a fuck that Shane had a girlfriend. He didn’t give a fuck that Shane was probably straight. Ilya didn’t give a fuck that he was probably just some sort of sexual experiment for Shane and that Shane probably hadn’t even thought about the consequences of following Ilya up to his apartment that night.  

He didn’t fucking care. He still wanted Shane.  

He wondered, though. Ilya wondered if Shane regretted how hard he had hit him when he had pushed him away. He wondered if Shane missed him; if he had fucked his girlfriend and thought of Ilya the way Ilya had every time he was inside someone else for the last few days; if he had used any of Ilya’s tricks to fuck her the way Ilya had fucked him, if Shane had made her come as hard as Ilya had made Shane –  

Marleau jostled him, bringing Ilya back to the moment. Ilya tore his eyes away from Shane’s and tried to look unbothered, following Marleau’s eyes over to the stands.  

“She seems like she’s getting along with the girls, don’t you think?” Marleau asked, his voice betraying nerves.  

Ilya nodded, resolutely refusing to look at Shane’s girlfriend in the stands and only look at Svetlana. He could see a flash of red hair next to Svetlana, and Ilya’s stomach turned again.  

Shane’s girlfriend.  

His picture perfect, plain, radiating vanilla even from the stands, girlfriend. A girlfriend that Shane had run home to. A girlfriend that he had ignored Ilya for.  

Ilya couldn’t stop himself. He looked.  

She really was plain. She was kind of pretty, in a soap opera way, but she wasn’t someone Ilya would notice on a night out. Ilya let himself look between her and Shane, wondering what the fuck a man as beautiful and wild as Shane saw in a woman that bland.  

“Rozy, you okay?” Marleau asked, his eyes finally focusing on Ilya.  

“Fine,” Ilya lied.  

Ilya caught the way Marleau scanned the rink, looking like he was searching for the lie. He ignored Marleau and skated off without a look back at Svetlana or Shane, determined to leave this behind him today. Like everything else, this was out of his control. Like most things in his life, Ilya was pretty sure that there was nothing he could to do change this.  

At least he had answers now. Some. Kind of.  

>>>  

Ilya had no idea who won the game.  

He spent most of his time on the ice trying to chase after the puck, acutely aware of Shane staring at him the entire time and doing his best not to look at him. He avoided Marleau and Pike and Miity and Svetlana and Rose and didn’t make eye contact with a single person the entire game.  

Ilya snuck another look up into the stands as they filed off the ice after the game, looking at the woman Shane Hollander had chosen over him, and frowning.  

She looked like she had practised the smile she was wearing as she looked down at Shane, waving brightly at him. 

Ilya was the first in the locker room. He didn’t even bother stripping off his pads as he took off his skates and threw them into his bag, sliding on his shoes and leaving without a word. He had to get the fuck away from Shane and Marleau and the ice –  

Ilya blinked as someone grabbed his arm outside of the locker room, pulling him against the wall. He sighed when he realised it was Svetlana, her eyes wide and worried.  

“Tell me what’s going on,” she demanded.  

Ilya didn’t even bother looking around to see if anyone was listening in; nobody here spoke Russian aside from the two of them, he was sure.  

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “I’m just tired from fucking so many beautiful women. You know how much work I put into that.” He winked lewdly, but Svetlana just frowned at him.  

“You’re sad,” she said, rubbing his arm.  

Ilya scoffed and shook his head. “I’m not sad. I’m tired.”  

Svetlana reached up to brush his sweaty hair off of his forehead, and for a second, he let himself lean into her. “Same thing. I’m worried about you.”  

“Don’t worry about me,” Ilya said, leaning against the wall and trying his best to look relaxed. “Work is easy, I get paid well. All my money is mine. Lots of beautiful people beg me to fuck them. I get to skate again, that’s nice. I bother you every day now. You cook for me. I’m good.”  

Svetlana looked away from him, her face stony as someone walked past them. Ilya didn’t turn, seeing Shane pass them out of the corner of his eye as he kept talking to Svetlana.  

“Him?” Svetlana asked.  

Ilya didn’t say anything as she sighed, stepping closer to hug him. He let her hold him until he was sure Shane had left the arena, finally making his way out to the car park.  

His heart didn’t sink to the ground when he didn’t find Shane waiting to talk to him in the car park.  

>>>  

Ilya didn’t let himself think about it until he got home and stripped out of his sweaty gear, tossing everything onto a pile on the floor. He tipped gym bag out, intending to do a load of laundry before he went out tonight, freezing when he saw a plain black t shirt that definitely wasn’t in there when he’d left for the game that morning.  

He could feel his heart skip a beat as he picked it up, inspecting it.  

Of course Shane returned it. Of course he did it sneakily, too scared to actually talk to Ilya about what he’d done. Of course he’d washed it; it had probably been soaked with their come. Shane had run out still covered in their shared mess, his lip still bloody and raw from when Ilya had cut into him with his teeth, so desperate to consume him that he had actually chewed through Shane’s delicate skin, and he’d gone home and probably immediately washed all the evidence of their night together away.  

Ilya brought the shirt to his face, throwing it into the hamper with a grimace at the harsh smell of detergent.  

It smelled nothing like Shane.  

>>>  

He knew he was overdressed for the bar when he walked in, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. Ilya rolled his eyes as the boys chirped and whistled at him, telling them they needed to step up their game or he was going to steal all the women.  

Ilya hadn’t even put in that much effort, just throwing on a white button down and slicking his hair back a little to look neat, because women liked that. And next to Canadian men, the lowest effort that Ilya put in was still more than anyone else. All he had to do was roll up the sleeves of his shirt and unbutton it one button past indecent, and he didn’t even have to speak to pick someone up.  

He greeted the boys with a cheer as he took a seat across from Marleau, knocking Vaughn with his elbow as he nodded to the jugs of beer on the table. Vaughn took the cue and passed him an empty glass and a jug, looking him up and down.  

“You look slick,” Vaughn said, wiggling his eyebrow.  

“You look like a prostitute,” Marleau joked.  

“Deuce Bigalow,” JJ laughed.  

“None of you could afford me,” Ilya shot back.  

The boys laughed as they recapped their game. Ilya sat back, nodding at Pike as he sat down next to him and pretended to listen as he talked about his dozens of children and complaining about a birthday party that he didn’t seem too involved in planning. Ilya abstractly wondered what sort of woman would marry an overgrown child like Pike, getting so lost in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t notice the new arrival until JJ stood up and cheered, finally seeing Shane standing by their tables.  

“Boys,” Shane said, scanning the group.  

Ilya watched Shane’s eyes track down his chest before he offered to buy the next round, JJ and Pike jumping up to help him. Ilya surreptitiously unbuttoned another button as he did his best not to stare after Shane, standing awkwardly at the bar.  

In sweatpants.  

Ilya frowned to himself. Maybe he had read Shane wrong and he really was straight.  

>>>  

Shane was on edge. Even without looking at him, Ilya could feel the anxious, nervous energy radiating off of him. If the way the rest of the guys were acting, so could they. He watched him out of the corner of his eye, his eyebrow raising every time JJ refilled his glass of beer or Pike handed him a shot, and Shane took it.  

Ilya made sure not to pay him any attention. He unbuttoned another button when nobody was looking and made an effort to look like he didn’t give a fuck whether Shane was looking at him or not, but after a while, it felt like Shane was rubbing off on him. No matter how funny Vaughn was or how much JJ tried to rope him into conversation, Ilya felt twitchy. He felt hot and wound up, and he wanted to stand up and ask Shane in front of everyone why he ket staring at his chest and didn’t just reach across the table and touch him the way he clearly wanted to. Instead, he excused himself to go outside and smoke, only mildly surprised when Marleau followed him outside.  

“Hey,” Marleau greeted. His eyes were glassy, Ilya could see as he swayed, leaning against the wall to keep himself up.  

Ilya said nothing as he handed him his pack of cigarettes, lighter already tucked neatly inside.  

“You look good tonight,” Marleau said.  

Ilya sighed dramatically. “Please, control yourself. I can’t deal with another one of Svetlana’s boyfriends hitting on me.”  

Marleau laughed brightly as he lit up and handed the pack back to Ilya. “I’m just saying. Before I met you, I didn’t really get it when Svetlana would talk about you. But now, I get it,” he said, waving a hand down at Ilya.  

Ilya raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding. “Get what?”  

"Your whole vibe,” Marleau said, waving a hand down at him.  

Ilya wasn’t sure if Marleau meant it in a good way or not, but he wasn’t sure he particularly cared.  

“She loves you a lot, you know,” Marleau said.  

Ilya looked at him, searching for anger or jealousy or upset, but Marleau looked serene, completely happy. “Yes. I know.”  

Sometimes he wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve Svetlana’s love, but he was long past thinking about it. She was the only steady thing in his life, and he was grateful for whatever childhood loyalty kept her by his side, whether he had earned it or not.  

Marleau hummed. “I thought I’d have to compete with you at first,” he admitted. He finally turned to look at Ilya, smiling. “I’m glad it’s not like that. I think you’re a good guy, you know.”  

Ilya blinked and looked away, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “You don’t know me. I might not be.”  

“You are,” Marleau said, tossing his cigarette butt onto the ground and grinding it out with his shoe. “You’re not as mysterious as you think you are.”  

He didn’t say anything as Marleau clapped him on the shoulder and turned to go back into the bar. Ilya looked inside, catching sight of Shane ordering another round at the bar with Pike, waving his hands as he talked, his eyes scanning the room frantically, looking like an adorable, twitchy puppy ready to run away from its own shadow.  

Ilya started walking down the main road towards the traffic, intent on finding another bar or club to wander into and find someone else to take his mind off of Shane. He was just one or two decent fucks away from forgetting all about Shane, he was sure of it.  

>>>  

Ilya dried off, running the towel through his hair before he used it to wipe down the foggy mirror and toss the towel into the hamper.  

The cold shower had sobered him up, at least. He’d intended to go to a club, but the second he sat down in the cab, all he wanted was to go to sleep. He'd resigned himself to settling for some porn and a wank when a knock sounded at his door.  

Ilya considered not answering, but he figured Marleau had followed him back here to check on him or something ridiculous, and he’d never hear the end of it from Svetlana if he’d left Marleau out in the cold hallway to sleep. He grabbed a pair of boxer briefs, sliding them on, ready to pretend to be annoyed at Marleau and froze when he opened the door to Shane.  

Shane looked nervous, wild eyed and bleary, his lip bitten red like he’d been chewing on it. Ilya stayed silent as Shane’s eyes swept down his body, strangely eager to see what he had to say.  

An apology? Ilya would take it, even though he didn’t care for one. A commiseration fuck? Ilya could go for that. Maybe he’d feel better if he fucked Shane so brutally hard that he couldn’t sit down for a week. An explanation? Ilya wasn’t sure he needed one after today.  

Ilya watched Shane watch him, wondering what his plan was.  

His father used to cheat on his mother. Even as a child, Ilya had understood what was happening between his parents; the infidelity and the heartbreak. His mother used to cry about it to their neighbour when she thought Ilya wasn’t listening, and their neighbour had told her that it was normal, that all men did it, and that she needed to know her place and be grateful for what she had. That his mother had to harden her heart and get used to it, or she’d be out on the street and would never see her children again. Ilya had laughed at that when he was older; clearly, that hadn’t been one of her concerns.  

Ilya had never cheated.  

He had probably fucked people in relationships before. He was sure he’d sucked off a closeted married guy in a club more than once, or that he’d fucked women with clueless boyfriends waiting for them at home. And he’d never cared. They didn’t disclose anything, and he never asked. All he cared about was that they wanted him and he wanted them. That had been all that mattered for years.  

“I’m sorry,” Shane finally said, breaking the silence.  

Ilya wondered if Shane even knew what he was sorry for. He reached up to wipe away a stray droplet from his face, tickling his temple as it dripped. “If I knew you had a girlfriend –”  

“I know,” Shane cut him off.  

Ilya was grateful. He wasn’t sure how he would have ended that sentence. I wouldn’t have had to pretend that I was a good person and cared about your relationship. I wouldn’t have thought this was something it wasn’t if you had someone else to go home to. I wouldn’t have left myself want you more than I should have. I would have been prepared for you to leave – you wouldn’t have had to push me away, because I would have pulled back first. I wouldn’t have cared you were cheating if you had told me. I would have helped you hide it. I would have kept doing this in secret with you. I wouldn’t have cared.  

“I fucked up,” Shane said, his breathing picking up. “On so many levels. I should’ve been honest with you, it’s the least you deserve.”  

Ilya frowned as he looked at Shane, wondering how to tell Shane that he didn’t give a fuck.  

He didn’t care about Shane’s excuses. He didn’t care about his girlfriend or his reasons or whatever clear sexuality crisis he was going through.  

He still wanted him. And he didn’t fucking care about the consequences or how anyone else would feel about this. He just wanted to know why Shane was here, on his doorstep.  

When Shane looked at Ilya right in the eye and said, “I wasn’t thinking about anything other than being with you,” Ilya felt absolutely no guilt about opening the door and letting Shane inside.  

Shane looked nervous as he stepped inside, even as his eyes wandered hungrily down Ilya’s body. Ilya half listened as Shane explained that he’d never been attracted to anyone before him, about how he loved his girlfriend but wasn’t in love with her, about how he definitely didn’t know he was attracted to men.  

Shane didn’t know he was gay, that much was clear. Ilya wasn’t sure if he should say something about it, but Shane was clearly spiralling, and he didn’t think telling him that he was gay would help. Ilya just listened as Shane said all the right things, all the things that Ilya had wanted to hear.  

That Shane felt something for him. That there was something real between them. That Ilya wasn’t crazy for thinking there was.  

“I wanted more,” Shane said, his eyes clearing as he stared at Ilya, his jaw firm. “I wanted you. I want you.”  

Ilya wanted to shove Shane up against the door and kiss him. He wanted to be the one biting at his swollen lips, to get on his knees and work Shane up until he was a pathetic, crying mess and refuse to let him come until he promised to never leave again. He wanted Shane on his knees, begging for his forgiveness.  

“You gave back my shirt,” Ilya said instead. He clenched his jaw shut, hating how pathetic he sounded. As if the shirt meant anything.  

Shane took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he looked Ilya right in the eye. “I wanted to keep it,” he said. “I wanted to wear it. I wanted to wear it in my house and think of you. I wanted to show up at the gym in it. I wanted everyone to see that it was too big for me and know that it wasn’t mine. That it’s yours.”   

Ilya tried not to scoff. It was almost too good to be true, hearing that Shane wanted him as badly as Ilya wanted Shane, that this went both ways. The confirmation that Shane had been as fucked up about this as Ilya had over the last couple of weeks was fortifying.  

“You have a girlfriend,” Ilya said. He wanted Shane to correct him, to say had. I did. Not anymore.  

“Yeah,” Shane nodded. “And I care about Rose. She's my friend. I love her. But I don’t – I’ve never – with her, it’s not how it was with you. I didn’t mean to lie to you,” Shane said, his voice dropping quiet and low, like he was about to share a secret. “If I’m being really honest, I forgot all about her that night. I forgot everything. All I could think about was you. Being with you. I didn’t think about hurting anyone. It was like I was blind and you were the only thing I could see clearly. Like, you touched me, and you were all that there was. I don’t know – I don’t know how to explain it.”   

If Ilya were a better person, he would have thanked Shane for explaining himself and send him on his way. He would have locked the door behind him and let this all go. He would have gone to bed alone and woken up tomorrow determined to leave this behind him.  

But Ilya was selfish; he always had been. He was father’s son that way, as Alexei liked to remind him.  

He stepped closer to Shane, reaching out to touch him and sighed with relief when Shane pressed into him. He ran his thumb against Shane’s lip, his cock twitching when Shane opened up for him. Ilya pulled his lip down, knowing that his bite mark would have already healed, but still feeling disappointment sweep through him when he saw the perfect, unmarred skin.  

“You forgot you had a girlfriend,” Ilya scoffed. It was mean, but right now, he wanted to be mean to Shane. He wanted Shane to agonise, just a little, just a fraction of what Ilya had felt. He thought that maybe Shane wanted it too, some sort of punishment for every choice he’d made lately.  

Ilya could give that to him.  

“You’re all I’ve been able to think about for the last two weeks,” Shane whispered, parting his lips more as Ilya pressed his thumb harder against his lip. “Before that.”  

Ilya looked at him, and he believed him. He hated how pleased he was to know that he wasn’t the only one. He hated how fucking powerful he felt, knowing he was all Shane had thought about, about how Shane had come running back to him like he had hoped he would.  

“Pretty boy like you can get sex anywhere,” Ilya sneered.  

He noted the way Shane whimpered at that, his eyes fluttering and his tongue lolling against Ilya’s thumb.  

“It’s not about the sex,” Shane mumbled around his thumb.  

Ilya leaned closer, pressing his thigh in between Shane’s legs and smirking when he felt Shane’s hard cock against him. He swore he could hear Shane’s heartbeat, hammering wildly in his own ears as he touched him.  

“It’s this,” Shane murmured, leaning closer to Ilya. “It’s you. It’s us.”  

Ilya wanted to kiss him so badly. He wanted to ask Shane to prove it, to show him, but Shane was one step ahead of him. He could feel Shane’s breath on his lips as he leaned closer.  

“Please let me apologise to you,” Shane whispered, their lips almost touching.  

Ilya nodded, eager to see –  

Shane dropped to his knees. Ilya tried to remember to breathe as Shane pressed up against him, rubbing his face against his dick, getting harder by the second. Ilya wondered if he should be embarrassed that he’d been hard the entire time he’d been around Shane, just from looking at him. He watched as Shane’s mouth dropped open and he rubbed his cheek against Ilya, his tongue laving at Ilya’s cock through the thin material of his underwear.  

Ilya tried to keep still, resting a hand in Shane’s hair as he pressed kisses across his clothed cock. He gasped quietly as Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya’s thighs, gripping them tightly and trying to press even closer to him. Ilya couldn’t help the soft noise that he let out when Shane suckled at his tip before he rose up on his knees and kissed his way up his stomach, licking across his lower abdomen and rubbing his face against the patch of hair there before kissing his way across his hip. Ilya watched in fascination as Shane latched onto a random spot on his hip, groaning to himself when he could feel Shane kiss him there like he was kissing Ilya’s mouth.  

He had enough. Ilya yanked Shane up by the hair, smirking to himself at the pained moan he let out, but clearly aroused at Ilya manhandling him. Ilya let go of his hair and pushed Shane to the bedroom, planting both hands against Shane’s chest and shoving him back inside roughly, almost feeling like it was enough to undo what Shane had done last time.  

Shane stood against the bed, looking expectantly at Ilya. He tried not to preen at the attention Shane was giving him, at the power he was handing over, staring at Ilya like he was a statue in a museum. Ilya looked Shane over, pleased to see the obvious erection through his sweatpants.  

“Take of your clothes,” Ilya demanded.  

If Shane wanted to apologise, Ilya would let him.  

Shane undressed frantically, watching Ilya for approval. Seeing Shane stark naked in front of him, presenting his beautiful, perfect skin, marred with pretty freckles and stretch marks and a tiny scar on his shoulder was almost too much. Ilya had never seen anyone as lovely as Shane before.  

He was going to punish Shane, just a little, for making him go two whole weeks without this. 

Ilya grabbed him roughly and flipped him around, shoving him face down onto his bed. Shane went easily, letting Ilya hold him down a little too hard as he reached for the lube he hadn’t bothered to put away since the last time Shane was here. He clicked the bottle open and poured too much directly over Shane’s hole, dark and puckered and clearly untouched, probably not since the last time he was in Ilya’s bed. Ilya smirked as Shane flinched from the feeling, immediately reaching down to massage it into Shane’s hole.  

Shane gasped beneath him, but he was still. So still.  

Trying to be good for Ilya.  

Ilya was careful to stretch Shane open enough to fuck him and not touch his prostate. Shane wasn’t going to get to come yet, Ilya decided. Not until Ilya was satisfied that Shane had repented.  

He pressed Shane down into the mattress harder as he slipped a second finger inside Shane, watching him closely for any sign of discomfort, but Shane looked completely blissed out. His cheeks were flushed red, and his lips were slick with drool, moaning loudly as Ilya pressed a third finger in. Shane tried to turn to look at him, but Ilya pushed his face away, harder into the sheets.  

Shane didn’t get to look at him right now, he decided. He’d been so desperate for Ilya’s eyes on him all day; he’d have to wait longer, Ilya decided. The more Shane tried to turn to look at him, the harder Ilya pressed his head down and away from him.  

It was easier than he thought it would be to punish Shane, to make him feel like he was paying for his sins. Ilya wasn’t sure who needed this more, him or Shane, but it felt like they both did. Like they both needed Shane to suffer, just a little, harmlessly, before Ilya pretended there was even anything to forgive in the first place.  

Ilya tugged his cock roughly, slicking himself up with the excess lube trailing down Shane’s thighs before he fucked Shane without any warning.   

His knees nearly buckled at the feeling of being inside Shane again; he was so fucking hot and tight and perfect, and he was crying out for Ilya just like he had that first night. Ilya didn’t bother taking his time, immediately pounding into Shane, listening to his desperate, perfect moans as he fucked him.  

Ilya had missed him. Maybe it was pathetic, but this was where Ilya had wanted to be for the last two weeks. Every time he was inside someone else, every time he was kissing someone on a sticky dancefloor or sneaking his hand inside their jeans – he had just wanted Shane.  

He thought that Shane must have missed him too, if the way he was whining beneath him was any indication. Shane was so good for Ilya, spreading his legs wider, trying his hardest not to rut against the sheets and get himself off, averting his eyes whenever Ilya caught him looking back at him, letting Ilya push him down into the bed harder.  

Ilya held onto Shane tighter, as if he could force him to stay here forever. He felt like he could breathe for the first time in so long, his head so airy and relaxed as his body tightened and tensed. He fucked Shane harder, faster, his entire body feeling hot and sticky and rigid and tight –  

He gasped as his orgasm crashed over him, grinding his hips against Shane’s ass as Shane writhed against him, pushing back and trying to get closer. Ilya tried to catch his breath as he pulled away, releasing his hold on Shane and running his hand down his face before he could stop himself. Shane finally turned to look at him properly, his eyes red and wet and hot, and Ilya couldn’t take Shane looking at him like that any longer if it didn’t mean anything. Shane reached back for him.  

Ilya looked down at Shane, frowning as his own cum dripped out of Shane. Ilya moved away from Shane’s outstretched arm, dropping to his knees, spreading Shane’s cheeks and –  

He was tonguing Shane’s wrecked, loose hole before he could think twice, gathering his own release on his tongue, frustrated that Shane couldn’t keep Ilya inside of him. He hated how much it reminded him of that first night, where Shane had ran away from him with Ilya’s mess leaking down his thighs.  

Ilya wouldn’t let that happen again. Ilya would make sure Shane kept him with him one way or another.  

Shane cried out as Ilya dug his fingers into his ass too hard to be anything other than mean, licking him clean. Ilya stood and reached for Shane’s hair, yanking him down off the bed, unsurprised at how easily Shane let him manhandle him. Ilya pulled on his hair harder, making Shane look up at him as he knelt, watching Ilya stare down at his cock, hard and weeping against his stomach.  

Ilya couldn’t help himself. He pulled Shane closer to him on his knees, pushing his thumb between Shane’s lips, so red and swollen even though they hadn’t even kissed yet –  

Everything stopped as Shane opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, his brows furrowing like he was begging. Like he wanted this as much as Ilya did. Ilya wasn’t sure he was breathing anymore as he leaned closer, opening his mouth and drooled his own come onto Shane’s waiting tongue.  

He'd never in his life seen anything so filthy and perfect as Shane’s wet eyed sigh of relief as he leaned closer to take it. Shane twitched in his grip as he tried to keep his balance, his eyes looking panicked when the stream of come slowed between their mouths as their lips met. Ilya let go of Shane’s jaw as he pulled back, wiping his tongue with his thumb, taking what was left of his come before giving it to Shane, letting him suck on his thumb. He pulled his thumb away, his breath catching when Shane opened his mouth to show that he’d taken everything Ilya had give him. All of it.  

Ilya gently tapped his cheek, and Shane did as he was told perfectly, swallowing loudly and –  

He watched in shock as Shane twitched and jerked awkwardly in his grip, come smearing all across his stomach and chest as he stared up at Ilya, an orgasm wracking through him just from swallowing Ilya’s come and spit and sweat.  

Ilya shook his head as he stared down at Shane in shock. He had never in his life met anyone like Shane. He had been right, when he’d met Shane.  

He was special. Shane was perfect.  

Shane’s orgasm was a strange sort of confirmation of whatever was happening between the two of them. Ilya didn’t quite know what to do with it. He let go of Shane’s hair, suddenly desperate to kiss him, but Ilya was all too aware of how disgusting they both were. He wanted to hold Shane and kiss him and tell him to stay, and he wanted Shane to say yes.  

Ilya hauled Shane up and dragged him to the shower, half supporting him as Shane slouched against him, helping him in before he quickly brushed his teeth, getting rid of the taste of lube and following Shane into the shower. He finally let himself wrap his arms around Shane for a long moment before he reached for the soap, washing Shane off.  

He should have done this that first night. He should have taken better care of Shane. He should have done a million things differently.  

Even though Shane still would have left to go home to his girlfriend. But maybe if Ilya had have taken better care of him, Shane would have come back sooner.  

Shane seemed to sense that Ilya felt off, somehow. He held Ilya close, burying his head in the crook of his neck as Ilya angled Shane under the water and washed the sweat and lube off of him. Ilya could feel Shane get more lax and soft in his arms, smiling to himself when Shane let him pry himself away and hold him by his neck, letting Ilya stare at his freckles.  

Ilya hated how proud of himself he was for remembering their pattern.  

“I missed you,” Shane whispered, breaking the fragile silence as Ilya brushed his thumb underneath his eye.  

Ilya was quiet; he had missed Shane too, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to say it. It was already too humiliating, needing Shane the way he had tonight, being so desperate to mark him and keep him.  

Ilya wasn’t sure he would be able to pretend that he didn’t care a second time around, when Shane left again. He hoped that he said enough tonight without his words. He hoped that Shane could feel it in how tight Ilya held him, how much he wanted him.  

“Stay?” Ilya asked instead, pulling Shane back into his embrace. It was all he was able to offer Shane right now. It wasn’t much for a man that already had everything with someone else, but maybe Shane would want it anyway. It felt like Ilya was baring his soul in a horrible, sick way, asking for more.  

Shane nodded, whimpering softly as Ilya shampooed his hair, not moving an inch until Ilya shut the water off and tapped his hip. Ilya pulled Shane out of the shower, drying him off thoroughly before drying himself, leading Shane back to the bedroom. Shane stayed latched to his side as Ilya manouvered them into the bed, pulling the covers up over them. He let himself take a deep breath as he finally locked eyes with Shane, noticing the way Shane stared at him like he couldn’t believe this was real, either. Ilya let himself lean closer and kiss Shane, long and sweet, before moving to turn the lamp off.  

He sighed as Shane moved closer, tucking himself into Ilya’s side.  

“I’m sorry,” Shane whispered into his neck.  

Ilya shushed him softly, running his fingers through Shane’s hair as his breathing evened out. He tried to commit everything to memory, from the way Shane’s lips parted against his chest to the way his leg twitched as he fell deeper into sleep. The smell of his hair, freshly washed. The way he kept squeezing Ilya’s wrist, as if Ilya would be the one to run away this time.  

“Ilya,” Shane whispered again, and Ilya had no idea if Shane was awake or not. “I don’t know why I tried to stay away form you. I was always gonna come back.”  

Ilya stared up at the ceiling for a long time, counting Shane’s even breaths as he slept, wondering if Shane really would keep coming back, or if this would be the first and last time he’d ever get to hold him while he slept.  

>>>  

Ilya tried to catch his breath as Shane swallowed dramatically, showing his tongue and proving there was nothing left of his spend.  

Waking up to Shane’s hot, wet mouth on him was too much. He could get used to this if he wasn’t careful. Four hours ago, Ilya had stared into the dark and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that Shane would still be in his arms when he woke up, and he had woken up to Shane’s hands and mouth greedily touching him everywhere.  

Ilya pulled him in for a long, slow kiss, his body relaxing when Shane curled around his side, his chin resting on Ilya’s chest. Ilya let himself touch Shane’s freckles, counting to himself as Shane brushed Ilya’s hair off his face.  

“You have so many freckles,” Shane said quietly, his hands caressing over Ilya’s chest.  

“You have so many freckles,” Ilya parroted, brushing his thumb under Shane’s eye.  

“We didn’t really talk last night,” Shane whispered.  

Ilya nodded. He knew. He wasn’t sure what there even was to say. He wanted to believe that Shane wanted him the way that Ilya wanted Shane, but he didn’t think Shane knew what he wanted yet.  

He suspected that Shane’s body knew what Ilya’s body knew.  

“I understand that you didn’t mean to hurt me,” Ilya said, trying to give Shane an out.  

“I am sorry,” Shane said, looking him right in the eye.  

He knew Shane wasn’t vindictive. He wasn’t a cruel man. He was just a lot more lost than Ilya had initially thought.  

Looking at him now, young and warm and clear eyed in his arms, Ilya saw himself. Eighteen years old, in pain, and having no idea why or what the fuck to do about it. He wondered if this was how he had looked to Svetlana and Sasha when he had decided to drop out of university and devote himself to his father during the day, and to the clubs at night. If it had been obvious to them that he was staving off the inevitable.  

But Shane wasn’t like Ilya had been. He hadn’t been trying to numb himself consciously. It hadn’t taken Shane the effort it had taken Ilya to suppress himself and his wants. Shane had done it too easily. Probably even without realising. And then Ilya had opened the floodgates.  

Shane had only just found his first outlet. This was probably his first rebellion against his perfect life.  

Ilya could be that for him. He could take Shane at his most battered and broken and numb and let him feel again. He could make sure he didn’t sink to the depths that Ilya did. He could make sure Shane figured himself out where it was safe before Shane could stand on his own two feet. He could enjoy this for a little while longer and be better prepared when Shane inevitably left him again.  

“I know,” Ilya said, nodding at Shane. He knew Shane didn’t mean it. It was okay, now that Ilya knew.  

“I don’t think I can stay away from you,” Shane said, sighing and inching closer to Ilya.  

And because Ilya was greedy, he let himself admit to Shane that he didn’t want him to stay away.  

Shane moved easily when Ilya kissed him, letting Ilya push him onto his back and wrapping his legs around his waist to draw him closer. Ilya let himself take, biting down on Shane’s lip and swallowing his pained whimpers. The tangy metallic of Shane’s blood was sweeter than anything Ilya had ever tasted.  

>>>  

He wasn’t sure Shane knew what he was saying, or even if he was speaking at all. But the more Ilya fucked Shane out of his mind, the more he talked.  

Fuck, Ilya, don’t stop, don’t ever stop.  

Is it supposed to feel like this? Does it feel like this with everyone else?  

Don't stop, please, please.  

Don't let me leave again, Ilya, don’t.  

More, harder, please touch me, please don’t stop.  

Please, let me, please.  

Fuck, it hurts, more. Harder, Ilya, come on. I can take it. I can take anything you give me.  

Is sex supposed to be like this? Ilya?  

Ilya answered, but he wasn’t sure Shane was listening to him.  

I'll never stop. It's never felt like this before. This is why it hurt so much when you ran away. I'll never stop, ever. Do you want to stay? I want you to stay. I’ll make you want to stay. I'll never let you go again. Harder, more, anything you want, anything. Nothing has ever been like this, no one has felt like this, this is different, if sex was supposed to be like this, more people would know about it, I think. It’s not the sex, it’s us. Does she feel like this? Are you hers? You should be mine. Would you want to be? If you could?  

Ilya thrust into Shane, slow and deep, watching his face for any sign of pain or discomfort. He had been fucking Shane for so long that any sane person would be sore by now, would have had enough, but not Shane. He just kept pushing back against Ilya, holding onto him as Ilya fucked him from behind, kissing his neck, his shoulders, burying his face into Shane’s underarm and licking his way up, tasting his sweat.  

And Shane just begged for more. Ilya had lost count of how many times Shane had come by now. All he could focus on was how good Shane felt around him, taking him. How Shane cried for him. How Shane moaned as he made love to him, panting and gasping his name desperately.  

Ilya reached for Shane’s cock, using his own come to jerk him off. Shane whimpered and twisted in his arms, both towards and away from Ilya’s touch, his body unable to decide what he wanted. Ilya decided for him, pressing down on Shane’s stomach as he fucked him from behind, pressed together tightly on their sides while he stroked Shane’s cock faster. Shane was crying, Ilya realised, as he came again, dry and probably painfully, his body going completely limp against him.  

“Shane,” Ilya whispered into his neck.  

Shane made a soft noise, nodding slightly. Ilya let his come soaked hand wander up Shane’s body, leaving a mess, before he reached up and tapped Shane gently on the cheek, spreading their mess across his freckles.  

“Shane,” he cooed softer.  

Shane finally opened his eyes, gasping quietly as he looked at Ilya.  

It was too much, staring into Shane’s eyes like this. Too intimate, somehow. Like Ilya shouldn’t be seeing the sheen of sweat down Shane’s face, his hair damp and his neck slick, the thick muscles of his arms against Ilya’s own. It felt special, sacred almost.  

Ilya finally let go, barely conscious of how loud he was moaning into Shane’s neck. Shane reached for him, holding him closer and gasping as Ilya came inside him, like it wasn’t enough.  

Ilya had barely caught his breath when Shane was twisting beside him, settling more comfortably into his arms. Ilya reached to hold him close, spooning him from behind. He could feel his release leaking from Shane’s gaped hole, drooling down onto his own thighs.  

It was perfect.  

>>>  

Kissing Shane goodbye was harder than it should be. Shane kept him pressed against the wall as Ilya tried to catch his breath, never wanting it to end.  

“I’m coming back,” Shane panted against his lips.  

“I know,” Ilya admitted, kissing him quiet.  

He hated how much he needed to hear that.  

Chapter 4: Release

Ilya wondered how patient he could be, staring down at his phone before he laughed at himself.  

He was the most patient person he knew. He had waited for fourteen years to wake up and realise that this was all a nightmare, that his mother wasn’t dead. Every morning, he remembered again, and waited all day to go back to sleep in the hope that he’d see her again in his dreams.  

He’d spend years lost inside confusing nightmares where his mother was still there, frozen in time while he kept growing, holding his hand, watching it grow bigger, engulfing her smaller one. Quiet nightmares where his father wasn’t quite his father anymore, where he would tell Ilya about how happy he had been when he was born, to hold his son, asking if he could hold Ilya again.  

He'd suffered through hundreds of dreams recounting the day his mother died, when Alexei had stolen their mother’s necklace off of her cold body before the ambulance had gotten there and left it on Ilya’s bedside table without a word, keeping her thick gold chain bracelet for himself. He still remembered the way his father had seen him wearing it, reaching for his neck before Alexei had stood between them without a word.  

Dreams about the day his father died, about how he had reached for Ilya as his breathing had slowed and slowed and gargled and stopped completely, and Ilya had known true silence. Ilya still dreamed about how he had held on for too long, unable to let go of his limp hand, determined to remember at least one moment where his father was warm and solid and alive and didn’t hate him. Ilya hated how good he had felt in those final moments, when his father had cried and begged to hold his sons, unaware that only Ilya was there, grown and holding him already.  

He dreamed about how he had waited and watched for nearly a decade as his father had deteriorated and died, slowly and inefficiently, right before his eyes.  

He dreamed about all the times he used to wish for Alexei to treat him like he mattered.  

He dreamed about the years he had roamed Moscow, wondering when he would feel alive again.  

He dreamed of Shane, standing all the way at the end of the sea, calling to him. He dreamed of his mother behind him, calling to him, trying to get him to come to her.  

He dreamed of darkness, but now, the dreams were a little different. Now, there was a little light where Shane was standing, or – no, the light was coming from Shane. Like a fire Ilya was drawn to.  

Ilya stared down at his phone and considered calling Shane, but it was dead. He stood to look for his charger, but the wall had no outlets where he remembered them being there. Ilya laughed, throwing himself onto his bed, wondering if he would remember this when he woke up. He turned to his side, not even flinching when he saw his father there, reaching for him, his skin thick and taut and bright, the way Ilya remembered it being when he was a little boy. Ilya reached back, flinching when he was met with nothing but cold, dead air.  

>>>  

“You are really going to make me go to this?” Ilya complained, kicking Svetlana in the shin lightly.  

“If I have to go, you have to go,” she returned with a fake, bright smile.  

Marleau looked between the two of them, his brows furrowed. “What are you guys saying?” 

“Ilya is asking what time we should pick him up for the party this weekend,” Svetlana lied.  

Ilya looked at Marleau flatly and frowned at the smirk on his face.  

“It’ll be alright,” Marleau said. “I mean, Pike isn’t much of a party planner, but his missus is great, you guys will like her. And his kids are pretty cool.”  

Ilya sighed.  

“I’m sorry, do you have better things to do?” Svetlana asked him in English.  

Ilya sprawled out dramatically on her couch, throwing his arm over his face. “Yes. So many beautiful people I could be fucking instead of watching children sneeze on cake.”  

Marleau laughed as he sat next to Svetlana, handing Ilya the bowl of popcorn. “Shut up, it’ll be good for you to spend more time with the boys. They like you.”  

Ilya tried not to react to that.  

>>>  

“You’re different,” Svetlana said.  

Ilya didn’t say anything as he inhaled around the two cigarettes as he lit them, handing Svetlana one before he breathed out slowly. “How?”  

“Not so sad,” Svetlana said, looking out over her balcony. Ilya liked that about her; she knew when to look away from him. She had always known that.  

She wasn’t like Shane, who was always staring at him, always watching him. Svetlana’s eyes didn’t twitch when Ilya made a face, like she was cataloguing him.  

“I feel better,” he said vaguely.  

Ilya could see Svetlana’s raised eyebrow even out of the corner of his eye.  

“Just like that?” she asked.  

He puffed on his cigarette, blowing rings into the dark, frigid air as she waited for an answer.  

>>>  

There was a nonverbal agreement somewhere along the way that they wouldn’t call or text. Ilya knew that it was too risky, what with Shane not living alone, but it felt strange that Shane never contacted him. He just...showed up, like he knew Ilya was sitting there, waiting for him.  

Unless it was Svetlana or Marleau, his phone never rang. Ilya had almost gotten used to it.  

Which is why when his phone rang at one in the morning, Ilya answered it without even looking at the caller ID.  

“Ilyukha,” Alexei greeted.  

Ilya hated the way his entire body tensed, his stomach dropping at the sound of his voice. “What’s wrong?”  

It took Alexei a second to answer him. “Nothing. Everyone is fine.”  

Ilya let himself breath with relief before he blinked himself awake and realised what was happening. “Then why the fuck are you calling me?”  

“You haven’t sent money in months,” Alexei said, as if it were obvious.  

Ilya sat up in bed, furious. “Why would I send you money?” He could hear the low growl in his own voice. He tried to breathe –  

“You don’t care about your family anymore?” Alexei asked. “You run away like a fucking child and want to forget about the rest of us? I shouldn’t be surprised, though, should I? This is what you do. You run. You always run.”  

Ilya shook his head. “You’re calling me for money and I’m the coward? Why don’t you get a fucking job, you lazy piece of shit?”  

He could hear Alexei sniff through the phone. For a split second, Ilya could taste the cocaine in his own mouth. He felt cold all of a sudden, reaching for the covers and pulling them up around himself.  

“He left you the apartment,” Alexei finally said.  

Ilya blinked, trying to take that in. “No he didn’t,” he argued. “Polina said his will left everything to her.”  

Alexei laughed, bitter and mean. “She lied. Or wishful thinking, maybe, I don’t know. But he left you the apartment. I got the bank accounts. Not much in there. Polina got the cars.”  

“I don’t want it,” Ilya said automatically. “It’s yours.”  

“Oh, living big in – where the fuck are you?” Alexei asked.  

Ilya rested his forehead against his knees, considering lying, before he admitted, “Canada.” 

Alexei was silent for a long moment. “You are gone forever, then?”  

There was something in his voice that made Ilya’s heart pang. He almost sounded like a child again, like when they used to play hide and seek and Alexei would call out for Ilya to come back because he had hid too well. Come back to me, Ilyusha! Don’t leave me all alone! Sometimes Ilya dreamed about it, the way he did the sound of the sea.  

Ilya had always gone running back to him, like it was in his blood to do so.  

“Yes,” Ilya said firmly, deciding. “I will sign whatever you need to take the apartment. Don't ask me for money again.”  

“You really don’t want it?” Alexei asked, excitement evident in his voice. It made Ilya’s skin crawl.  

“I don’t ever want to step foot in the place where our parents died, Alexei,” Ilya said bluntly.  

Alexei was silent; for a long moment, Ilya thought that he might say something. To correct him and say Papa died in hospital. Or maybe Alexei would wish him well, or ask if they really wouldn’t see each other again, or ask him if he was sure. If he should keep Ilya’s room the way it was, in case he came back.  

But all Ilya could hear was his heavy breathing before Alexei hung up on him.  

Ilya sat there for too long, curled up against his knees, the ghosts of his parents on either side of him, probably watching him shiver in silence, too dead and gone to warm him up.  

>>>  

Ilya called out sick to work the next morning. He hadn’t slept, and he didn’t feel like talking to anybody.  

He curled up on his side and switched his phone off, and promised himself that he’d try again tomorrow.  

>>>  

He called in sick on Friday, too.  

>>>  

He was almost warm.  

Ilya blinked, blanching when he saw Marleau next to him. He tried to move, but Svetlana was plastered to his back.  

“You sleep naked,” Marleau said, nodding down at the covers. “I respect it. I can’t.”  

“He rolls over and squishes his balls,” Svetlana teased from her spot against Ilya’s neck.  

“You know you don’t have to tell him everything,” Marleau scoffed.  

Svetlana laughed, soft and melodic. If Ilya closed his eyes, he’d be back at the sea. He wondered if he was remembering it wrong, the soft, trilling sounds of the Morske Orgulje.   

“You haven’t been to work in a couple of days,” Svetlana said, her hand reaching up for his hair. Ilya closed his eyes as she scratched his scalp. “Watts called Cliff to check on you.”  

“I’m fine,” Ilya lied, his fastest reflex.  

“I checked your phone,” Svetlana said.  

Ilya fought to stay still, to stay quiet and not react in frustration. He wasn’t sure Marleau would like it if he snapped at Svetlana. He wasn’t sure he liked that he couldn’t talk to his friend how he wanted to anymore, these invisible boundaries that he couldn’t define separating him and Svetlana, even with her in his bed.  

“You should have told me Alexei called,” Svetlana said.  

Ilya opened his eyes, relieved to see Marleau looking interested but confused. “Papa left me the apartment. I gave it to Alexei.”  

Svetlana wrapped herself around him tighter, and Marleau reached a hand out, holding him by the shoulder.  

“I’m sorry, man,” Marleau said.  

“Cliff, go to your game,” Svetlana instructed. “Come pick us up after for the party.”  

Ilya closed his eyes as Marleau got up, letting Svetlana hold him as he fell back to sleep, absolute silence engulfing him for once.  

>>>  

Pike’s children were loud.  

For a moment, Ilya missed Moscow. He missed the kids, and he missed Alexei, even after everything. And then Ruby smacked Jade in the face and everybody started screaming and crying, and Ilya moved off to the side with Watts to try and block it out.  

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe Lisa wants us to do this,” Watts opined.  

“You don’t want kids?” Ilya asked.  

“No, I do,” Watts said, taking another sip of his beer. “I just hope we don’t get twins, you know? And I would be okay with one.”  

“One is good,” Ilya mused. “I would have like to been the only child.”  

Watts' eyes lit up at that. “I was an only child. I loved it.”  

Ilya listened as Watts listed all the cool things he got to do as a kid with his parents, trying not to be too obvious about being relieved of that conversation when Svetlana came over with fresh beers.  

“Watts, you look like a man who knows how to light a fire,” Svetlana winked at Watts, nodding to Marleau and Pike standing by the barbeque.  

Watts nodded and wandered off to help them, leaving Ilya with Svetlana. He leaned against the white picket fence as he watched the kids play.  

“I forgot how loud people were,” Ilya mused, relieved to get a break from speaking English.  

“You are at a club every second night, don’t pretend you don’t like noise,” Svetlana snorted.  

“You know what I mean,” Ilya corrected. “Kids.”  

Svetlana hummed as she looked around.  

“Does Marleau want kids?” he asked.  

“Yes, three,” Svetlana sighed. “I’ll give him one. Maybe a second, if he is good with the first.”  

Ilya raised his eyebrows at her in shock. “You’re going to have children?”  

She nodded, leaning against the fence and gesturing dramatically towards Marleau. “Yes. I like this one.”  

“You like him?” Ilya repeated. He reached for the cigarettes in his pocket before realising he left them in the car so he wouldn’t smoke around the children.  

“Like, love, what’s the difference,” Svetlana shrugged.  

“Pretty big difference,” Ilya said flatly.  

“I like lots of people,” Svetlana said. “And I love lots of people, too. But there’s only three people in the world that I like and love.”  

Ilya smirked at her. “Me and your mother have competition now?”  

She nodded as she looked over at Marleau. “I don’t know what it is about him.”  

“He’s hot,” Ilya said.  

Svetlana laughed. “Well, yes. Huge cock, too. Bigger than yours.”  

“I know, I've seen it,” Ilya said dryly. “Congratulations.”  

“Thank you,” she winked at him. “I don’t know, I love him. I want to wake up with him every day. He doesn’t make me sick like most men do.”  

Ilya nodded in understanding. He wasn’t the biggest fan of men either, most of the time.  

“What about your man?” Svetlana asked, looking across the backyard.  

“I don’t have a man,” Ilya said lowly.  

He followed Svetlana’s eyeline to where she was looking, flinching when Shane walked in with Rose. They were holding huge presents, and Shane looked so beautiful, even with his mouth pinched like someone was holding a knife to his throat and forcing him to be here. Rose looked equally tense.  

“He’s very sexy,” Svetlana said.  

Ilya hummed, not trusting himself to say a word.  

“Big dick?”  

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ilya snapped at her.  

Svetlana looked thrilled at having finally gotten a reaction out of him. “What? You’ve seen Cliff’s.”  

"Everybody here has seen it, he waves it around the locker room for everyone to look at,” Ilya muttered.  

“Come on, tell me,” Svetlana goaded. “Is it big? Has he fucked you yet?”  

Ilya clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to talk about him.”  

Svetlana was still smirking at him. “Too big? You can give it but you can’t take it, am I right?”  

Ilya scoffed. If he wanted to, he could, he was sure of that much. “I don’t want to talk about him.”  

“You can talk about this or talk about Alexei, your choice,” she said.  

He tried his best not to clench his jaw as his eyes flicked over to Shane.  

Svetlana followed his gaze, taking his cue. “He’s hot. His girlfriend is very plain.”  

He sighed, taking a long sip of his beer. “She’s pretty,” he acquiesced.  

“Lots of women are pretty,” Svetlana dismissed. “I am not talking about her looks. She is plain. As a person. She has nothing important to say. She doesn’t know who she is.”  

Ilya chewed on his lip, sneaking another look over to Shane and Rose. Rose was plastered to his side while Shane limply let his arm hang around her, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. It was so antithetical to the Shane he knew, always pulling him closer, holding him tight, groaning whenever Ilya tried to move away. Wherever Ilya moved, Shane followed.  

“He is not plain, is he?” Svetlana asked.  

He shook his head. “No. He is not plain. The opposite.”  

“I thought so,” Svetlana nodded. “He would have to be, to make you feel like this.”  

“But I don’t think he knows who he is, either,” Ilya admitted before he could stop himself.  

“Ah,” she said knowingly, looking at Shane and Rose. “Now they make sense.”  

Ilya watched as Shane looked at him, biting his own lip before he forced himself to look away. He followed Svetlana to the barbeque to check on Marleau, whispering into his ear that as much as Svetlana claimed to like her meat medium cooked, she actually preferred it six minutes past well done.  

>>>  

Ilya watched Shane all afternoon.  

No, that wasn’t true. He watched Rose all afternoon.  

She really was lovely. She knew all the guys on the team. She knew all their wives and kids. She held every baby she was passed, smiling brightly and genuinely every time. She was sweet with Jade when her braid fell out, redoing it with a smile.  

Rose was nice.  

Rose also barely looked at Shane.  

Shane barely looked at Rose, too, Ilya noticed. The entire party they stayed stuck to each other’s sides, but they barely spoke to one another. Ilya wondered, if he hadn’t slept with Shane, if the distance between them would look so obvious to him. He wondered if anyone else was looking at Shane and Rose and seeing what he saw.  

Two people who wanted to be in love, but weren’t.  

Ilya had learned a long time ago that there were no rules when it came to love. It was reflexive and accidental. It was chemical. It happened when it happened, and if it didn’t, it simply wasn’t meant to be.  

He and Svetlana had it once, in some ways. She had it for real now with Marleau. Watts and Lisa had it. Alexei had had it with that blonde girl in his Literature class during college, but he had loved cocaine just a little bit more, and she had left him. He still talked about her when he was too drunk to remember that he was married.  

It assuaged Ilya’s guilt a little, seeing Shane and Rose like this. Or rather, it assuaged his guilt over his lack of guilt, not caring that Shane was betraying his relationship with this perfectly plain woman to fuck him.  

It even emboldened him to follow Shane into the house when the girls made a mess and Pike sent him inside for extra blankets. Ilya didn’t feel anything but excitement as he shoved Shane into an empty bedroom and pressed him against the door and kissed him.  

Shane reached for him, pulling Ilya against him and moaning softly as he kissed Ilya back.  

It was stupid and risky, but Ilya didn’t care. He didn’t care that they were in someone else's home, and everybody he knew in this country was right outside the door. He didn’t care that he was risking his social standing with Svetlana’s friends and Shane’s by doing this. Ilya tried to pull away, but Shane grabbed his waist and dug his fingers in painfully hard, pulling him back.  

He kissed his way down Shane’s sharp jawline, pressing him harder against the door and closing his eyes at Shane’s soft, desperate pants. Ilya's eyes caught on the sheer curtain against the window looking out into the backyard. He wondered, if anyone looked up and into the room, if they could be seen.  

“Rose is very nice,” Ilya murmured into Shane’s ear.  

He wasn’t sure why the fuck he said her name, but watching Shane’s face fell, he felt relief. Happiness, even, at how Shane’s face twisted at the mere mention of her.  

“Don’t say her name,” Shane begged, reaching for Ilya’s zipper and yanking his jeans down to his thighs.  

Ilya could do that. He wanted nothing more than to pretend that woman didn’t exist. He kissed Shane as Shane stroked him, already hard and excited at Shane touching him again. He kissed Shane harder as he rutted into Shane’s fist before he realised Shane’s cock wasn’t involved. Ilya grabbed his wrist, stilling him, as he pulled Shane’s jeans down and palmed his hard cock through his underwear. Shane moaned lowly as Ilya smacked his hand away, holding the two of them together and jerking them off roughly.  

It took Shane no time at all to tense and twitch. Ilya moved quicker, determined to come with Shane –  

He gasped quietly as they both came, shuddering against one another, aiming their mess towards Shane’s stomach. Shane made a displeased noise as Ilya rubbed the heads of their cocks through their shared mess, feeling oddly like he was marking his territory.  

He wondered if Rose would know. Would she be able to smell their mess on Shane? Would she put her hand on his stomach and feel their wetness? Would she inadvertently find proof of Ilya on Shane?  

Ilya moaned as quietly as he could, wiping himself off on the base of Shane’s cock before he redressed him.  

Beautiful, spent Shane, who just stared at Ilya in disbelief, but didn’t protest as Ilya gently pulled his boxer briefs up and snapped them against his hips, leaving proof of whatever this was right there for anyone to see.  

Ilya realised too late that this was mean. It was cruel, to Shane and to Rose.  

He just wanted to know, somehow, that Shane was as affected by Ilya as Ilya was by Shane. He wanted proof, evidence of some sort, of what they were doing together.  

Maybe he wanted Shane to get caught, to come running back to him with an overnight bag and a promise to never leave again.  

Maybe he was upset with Alexei for being a dick, or Svetlana for pushing him about everything. Maybe he was upset with his parents for dying and leaving him to figure this out on his own. Maybe he just wanted one person to walk around with Ilya on their skin, the way Ilya walked around with all of his own wounds on the surface, exposed to the world for everyone to see.  

Ilya opened his mouth to offer Shane an out, to apologise, maybe to say that he was joking, that he wasn’t going to send him out to the party with swollen red lips, slick with Ilya’s spit, to wipe him down, but Shane whimpered quietly as he pressed his hand to his jeans, making a dazed face at the wetness against him, and nodded.  

He loved it, Ilya realised. He sighed to himself in relief, nodding at Shane as he fixed his own clothes. He checked himself in the mirror quickly, grimacing when he saw his own lips were swollen and red. Ilya made his way back over to Shane, looking into his eyes for any sign that this was too far, too much, if this was too disgusting and pathetic and weak of him to act so territorial over a man that wasn’t even his –  

Ilya nodded back, releasing a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.  

“Okay,” he breathed, desperately wishing they could just leave together. That he could pull Shane out by the hand and rub Rose’s nose in their come, smeared together on Shane’s stomach. “Now you can go back.”  

Ilya watched as Shane grabbed blankets from the closet, walking out of the room with shaky legs, his deep, heavy sigh from outside the door snapping Ilya into focus. He waited until Shane’s footsteps disappeared before he made his way down the hallway, washing his hands and fixing his hair. He made his way back to the backyard quietly, tucking himself between Svetlana and JJ at the large outside table, his eyes already locked on Shane.  

Poor Shane, whose cheeks were red as he tried not to squirm. Rose was pressed to his side, and Ilya nearly yelled out in delight as Shane flinched when Rose rested her hand on his hip.  

Ilya sipped his beer as Shane looked at him, wide eyed and –  

Aroused. He was definitely aroused. Ilya was all too familiar with that hazy, dark look in Shane’s brown eyes by now.  

Ilya smirked at him privately as he took a sip of his beer, turning to talk to JJ. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marleau watching Shane with a frown on his face.  

“Hey Rosie,” Marleau said, smiling easily and leaning forward across the table. “I saw John the other day,” he said.  

Rose perked right up, pulling away from Shane. Ilya watched as Shane breathed a sigh of relief, pressing his hand against his own stomach, a little too low down to be natural. Ilya watched as Shane’s eyes fluttered as he subconsciously rubbed his hand along his jeans, clearly not listening to Rose talk. Ilya’s eyes flicked back to Marleau, looking relaxed with his arm looped around Svetlana’s shoulders as he chatted with Rose.  

Ilya couldn’t bring himself to care that what they were doing was wrong as he locked eyes with Shane, watching his breathing pick up a little. JJ was still talking to him, but Ilya could only focus on the way Shane kept squirming in his seat.  

>>>  

Shane didn’t even make it four days before he was back on Ilya’s doorstep. Ilya wasn’t sure what it said about his ego that he wasn’t surprised to hear Shane knocking desperately at his door.  

He let Shane in, and before he could ask where Rose was, Shane had his large hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him to the bedroom.  

“A school night, this is new,” Ilya teased as Shane eagerly stripped him of his shirt.  

“I was alone – I needed you,” Shane said vaguely.  

Ilya wondered how bad of a person it made him that he was grateful to Rose for giving Shane an opportunity to sleep with him again. It had only been a couple of days, but Ilya had been craving Shane. He buried his face in Shane’s neck and inhaled deeply, trailing his nose down his shoulder, down his chest, all the way down to the base of his cock, inhaling his musk, the soap and the body wash and whatever it was that was so uniquely Shane.  

“Ilya,” Shane breathed.  

“I know,” Ilya soothed, dropping to his knees and looking up at Shane. “I’m happy you came back,” he admitted quietly before he kissed his way across Shane’s hip and swallowed him down with ease, pressing his lips to the base of Shane’s cock, hollowing his cheeks and sucking. In the back of his mind, he hoped that he had only said that in Russian and not English.  

Shane didn’t need to know how Ilya felt happy like a dog whose owner was finally home after a long day at work when Shane knocked on his door. He didn’t need to know that just the sound of knuckles against wood was enough to make Ilya hard these days.  

Ilya hollowed his cheeks, smirking as best he could as Shane cried out, burying his hands in Ilya’s hair and rolling his hips against Ilya’s face.  

Fuck, Ilya loved how little self control Shane had. Anyone else would have held still, or asked to fuck his face, but Shane got so cock drunk so fast, so desperate to chase his own pleasure, staring at Ilya in awe that everything else fell by the wayside. Like he had no idea what his body was even doing.  

Ilya wrapped his hands around Shane’s thighs, pulling him closer, smacking him on the ass and urging him to fuck his face. Shane took his cue, staring down at Ilya with wide, wet eyes as he pulled away, his thumb brushing Ilya's cheekbones. He made himself keep his eyes open, desperate to watch Shane, even though his body wanted to just let go and feel him.  

He wondered if Shane craved him as much as Ilya craved him. Ilya wasn’t sure if that was humanly possible. He swallowed Shane down with a loud click of his throat as he thought about it, grateful that he was the one that had fallen harder and faster out of the two of them.  

If Shane needed Ilya as badly as Ilya needed Shane, and Ilya was sure that was the case, they were both completely fucked.  

>>>  

Ilya was sure he was dreaming. He could hear the Morske Orgulje calling out for him, and he could feel warm, soft hands on his face. He could see freckles and dark eyes and he could feel full lips against his, begging for forgiveness. He could taste the sweet, metallic tang that he’d spent most nights dreaming about on his lips. He could see his mother’s hands, reaching out for him, too far away for him to touch. He could see his cross falling from his neck, falling into the abyss beneath his feet, disappearing forever. He could hear Alexei’s screams, drowning out the sounds of the sea.   

Ilya woke up with a start, blinking rapidly as his eyes focused.  

He was in bed. Alone. Shivering. No wonder he was dreaming of the abyss.  

Ilya kicked the sheet off of himself and stood, heading straight into the shower and blasting the spray boiling hot. He stepped inside before he could think about it, swearing at how painful the water was.  

He wished Shane was still in bed with him, still curled around him. He was never cold around Shane.  

>>>  

“You’re already mine,” Ilya breathed, moaning as Shane scratched down his back.  

Shane moaned as Ilya lowered his head to kiss him before he sank his teeth into Shane’s lip. Ilya had never experienced desire like this before; he’d never wanted to devour someone like this before. Ilya bit down until he tasted the now familiar taste of blood, hearing a moan that could have been him or Shane, he had no idea.  

“Am I?” Shane mumbled, his lip still between Ilya’s teeth.  

Ilya pulled back to look at him. Shane's lip was smeared, bright red; Ilya thought about how it made Shane’s blush look even deeper. “What?”  

“Am I yours?”  

Ilya smoothed his thumb across Shane’s jaw, watching the way his lashes fluttered at the touch. It was incredible – even when he was inside Shane, Shane would whine and blush at the softest, sweetest touches.  

Shane hadn’t blinked. Ilya realised he was waiting for his answer.  

“Yes,” Ilya said plainly. “Of course you are mine.”  

Shane made a soft noise as he stared up at Ilya with wet eyes.  

“Who else would you belong to?” Ilya dared to ask.  

He watched as a tear fell from Shane’s lashes before Shane dug his fingers into Ilya’s neck, pulling him down for a filthy kiss. Ilya dragged himself away, kissing his way down Shane’s neck, down his chest, stopping only to bite at his dark nipples, peaked and swollen and desperate for Ilya’s touch. Ilya kept kissing his way down Shane’s body, the trail of blood thinning out as he mouthed at Shane’s cock, flushed and spent, softening between them.  

Shane cried out as Ilya swallowed him down, unable care that Shane was probably sore and overstimulated already.  

He didn’t get to do this enough. Ilya loved this; he’d always loved sucking cock. From the first time he’d taken Sasha down his throat, sputtering awkwardly, determined to get it right, he’d loved it. He loved it the same way he loved going down on women; he loved watching someone lose all sense of self control when Ilya had his mouth on them. He loved watching them squirm and try to pull away and get closer. He loved the way they pulled his hair and held his head still and fucked his face and cried out his name.  

But he loved watching Shane more than anyone that had come before. Ilya couldn’t get enough of the way Shane seemed to forget everything in the world other than Ilya’s touch, the way went lax and waited to take everything Ilya had to give him. He loved watching his eyes go from stressed and tense to fluttering and almost empty, as if nothing existed but Ilya and whatever he was doing to Shane.  

Ilya pulled off Shane’s dick as he hardened, scrambling a little too fast to crawl over him and press his own cock to Shane’s hole. Shane gasped softly as Ilya swiped his cock through the mess of come and lube before he pressed inside, watching as Shane’s chest flushed an even deeper shade of red.  

Tears began to fall. Ilya watched in fascination as Shane cried as Ilya rolled his hips against his ass, grinding slow and deep, Shane’s cheeks streaming wet. Ilya leaned closer, caging Shane in against his chest, and kissed him sweetly.  

“Fuck,” Shane whispered.  

“Does it feel like this?” Ilya asked.  

Shane shook his head, his mouth slack and his eyes clouded over with arousal.  

“She doesn’t make you feel like this?”  

Maybe Ilya should have been embarrassed, waiting for Shane to be so cock drunk he could barely speak, to coax him into saying nobody fucked him as good as Ilya did, but he was desperate. Even if it was a lie, he just – he fucking needed to hear it.  

“Just you,” Shane moaned, pulling Ilya back down to him by his hair.  

Ilya kissed him desperately, pathetically, letting Shane absorb all the need and fucking want that Ilya had for him.  

Somewhere, in the back of his mind as he came for the second time that night, Ilya thought about how they probably should put a stop to this before someone got hurt.  

>>>  

Ilya cheered as Marleau scored a goal, skating up to the net to smack him on the shoulder. He could feel Shane by his shoulder, pressing against him for a second before the scrum started to dissipate.  

“You lined that up nicely,” Shane said to him.  

Ilya nodded; he knew that, but it was nice to hear Shane compliment his game. “I know.”  

Shane rolled his eyes as he began to skate away from him, his brows furrowed as he took off to the other side of the rink. Ilya followed, the way he always did with Shane now.  

He wanted to play with Shane like this every weekend.  

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It was too soon to be thinking about more with Shane, Ilya knew that. Shane still had a girlfriend and a life that he wasn’t privy to.  

Ilya wasn’t anything to Shane. Not really. Not yet.  

>>>  

“How much do these cost?” Marleau asked as he reached inside the closet to feel the shirts.  

“I don’t know,” Ilya lied. He wasn’t about to tell Marleau that he regularly dropped three hundred dollars on silk shirts to go clubbing in because he could.  

“Is it silk?”  

“You want to borrow one?” Ilya asked in amusement.  

“I don’t think any of these would fit me,” Marleau smirked, flexing his arms obnoxiously.  

Ilya laughed as he reached for a plain black shirt, throwing it on and checking that his hair looked good in the mirror before he turned to Svetlana for approval. She looked up at him from the armchair he had fucked Shane against only a couple of days ago, nodding at him.  

“One more,” she said in Russian, nodding to his chest.  

Ilya unbuttoned one more button, winking at Marleau. “Let’s go. I can’t deprive Montreal of this.”  

Svetlana laughed as she stood and followed them out of his bedroom, teasing Marleau about his own shirt.  

“You should let me take you shopping,” she said as Ilya locked his apartment door.  

“We tried that once and you tried to dress me like a Russian mobster,” Marleau complained.  

“Women love it,” Ilya said. “Men, too.”  

Svetlana gestured to Ilya like he had just made her point for her. “Let me dress you better.”  

“I don’t need to dress better!” Marleau laughed. “I pulled you in the ice cream aisle of the grocery store.”  

Ilya huffed out a shocked laugh as he looked between them. “What?”  

“No -”  

“She was hunting for a specific brand of vanilla bean ice cream and couldn’t find it,” Marleau cut her off, grinning at Ilya. “She was getting real pissy. They'd switched shelves, and I found it.”  

“Yes, I was very grateful for my ice cream,” Svetlana cut in. “So grateful I ignored your disgusting sweaty gym clothes.”  

Marleau rolled his eyes as Svetlana unlocked the car. “You like me like that.”  

Svetlana scoffed. Ilya smiled to himself as he climbed into the backseat, listening to the two of them bicker with no heat behind it.  

They really loved each other. And they were secure in it.  

It looked nice.  

>>>  

Ilya tried not to laugh as Shane tipped his head back for the shot of vodka, endeared by the way his face was fighting not to scrunch up. He was so fucking adorable that it made Ilya want to climb into his lap and suck the taste of vodka right off of Shane’s tongue for him.  

“Another round?” JJ suggested.  

Ilya nodded, watching as JJ made his way up to the bar for another tray of shots.  

He was glad Marleau had made up some shitty story about needing to go out tonight. He had caught the tail end of Vaughn telling Marleau that his neighbour had blocked his number without any explanation, and now Ilya was watching Shane blink through bleary eyes.  

He looked happy like this. Lighter, in some ways.  

Shane caught Ilya’s eye and smiled brightly before he realised they were surrounded by friends and he tempered himself, his efforts to look casual way too obvious. Ilya laughed to himself as he talked to Miity about work, periodically checking in with Shane.  

Every time he looked, Shane was already looking at him.  

Ilya hated how much he loved Shane’s eyes on him. Even across the room, even with a girlfriend waiting for him at home, Shane was looking at him like that.  

He tried not to smirk to himself as he knocked back another shot, offering to get another round when JJ joined them.  

Ilya had barely made his way to the bar when someone touched his arm. He turned, smiling despite himself when he recognised a guy he had hooked up with a few weeks ago. Ilya couldn’t remember his name, but he remembered the way he had moaned as Ilya had pressed four fingers inside of him and asked if he wanted more.  

“Hi,” the guy said.  

He was cute, Ilya thought. He had nice hazel eyes and shoulders and he had kissed Ilya goodbye so sweetly.  

“I haven’t seen you out in a while,” the guy said.  

“Just out with my team,” Ilya said casually, nodding at the boys across the bar.  

The guy nodded and took a half step closer, his hand resting on his forearm. Ilya twitched at the touch, and the guy pulled away.  

“Shit, sorry,” he said, looking around the bar more warily. “Are you not –”  

“Not officially,” Ilya said, his eyes sweeping to the boys on the dancefloor, not sure how they would feel if they saw him being chatted up by a man. Not that he cared, but he didn’t want to have to find out. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”  

“No worries,” the guy said breezily, taking a small step back and leaning against the bar. “Listen, I was hoping to see you around. I had a really good time with you. If you wanna exchange numbers...”  

Ilya grimaced a little as he looked at the guy. “I’m seeing someone. Sort of. It's new.”  

“Lucky guy,” the guy smiled at him. “No worries.”  

“Let me buy you a beer,” Ilya offered to try and soften his rejection, smiling brightly at the bartender as he finally came over to serve them.  

They took a sip of their beers before the guy nodded over to the dancefloor. “You owe me at least one dance.”  

Ilya laughed and agreed. He loved to dance. He followed the guy out to the dancefloor and joined his group of friends, smiling at a girl who was looking at him hungrily who Ilya thought was maybe familiar for a song before he excused himself, making his way across the dancefloor to join Vaughn and Watts in some sort of dance circle where they were just jumping and shouting along to a song Ilya had heard a lot on the radio here, but never bothered to learn.  

He let his eyes wander over to Shane, confused to see him frowning at him slightly.  

>>>  

Ilya was maybe a little drunk.  

It was the only explanation for the way he pressed himself to Shane’s back, his hands on his hips as every one of Shane’s friends stood eight feet away, showing Shane how to move his body for him. And Shane had to be drunk, too, to let him.  

“I thought that was just for you?” Shane mumbled sultrily, knowing Ilya was close enough to hear him.  

Ilya couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t touch Shane the way he wanted to. He finished the last of his drink and stepped to the side, nodding for Shane to follow him, not needing to look back to know that he was.  

He checked to make sure no one was around, cutting off whatever argument Shane was about to make against public sex by kissing him.  

Shane was almost too predictable by now – he practically collapsed against Ilya, letting him shove him back against the wall and devour him.  

Ilya loved this; he loved how soft Shane became for him, how pliant he was. How he'd let Ilya push him around, trusting Ilya to make him feel good. He loved the way Shane whimpered when Ilya kissed him, always trying to pull him closer somehow, always hard for him.  

He moaned as Shane rubbed their hard cocks together, aching through his jeans. Ilya broke the kiss, checking that there was nobody around them, and dropped to his knees before Shane could stop him.  

Shane gasped quietly as Ilya unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out, moaning as Ilya swallowed him down. Ilya made quick work of getting Shane off, keeping an eye on the alleyway, the side door, and Shane, wrapping his hands around the backs of Shane’s thighs and digging his fingers in hard –   

Shane pulled his hair a little too hard as he came, grinding against Ilya’s face. Ilya relaxed his throat as much as he could, swallowing everything Shane had to offer, taking it all. He had barely blinked before Shane was hauling him up and switching their positions, tucking himself back into his jeans before he returned the favour to Ilya.  

Ilya fucking loved the way Shane looked on his knees for him. It was hard to reconcile the first time Shane had ever sucked his cock, nervous and unsure, to how confident and cocky he was now. He loved the way Shane looked so grateful to Ilya, like Shane was the one being pampered, even as the one sucking cock. Like he had been waiting all his life for it.  

Ilya glanced down the alley, his heartrate jumping when he saw shadows approaching. His adrenaline spike as he came, watching Shane moan softly as he swallowed Ilya’s come. He dragged Shane up to stand with him, making sure they were tucked in and zipped before he kissed him again. Shane whimpered, that soft, perfect whimper like always, grumbling when Ilya pulled away.  

He checked his buzzing phone, sighing when he looked at Shane.  

“We’re leaving,” Ilya said, reaching out to straighten Shane’s shirt. “Meet the boys out front. You first.”  

Shane blinked as Ilya brushed his thumb over Shane’s mouth, wiping off the drool and blood off of his bottom lip. Ilya hadn’t even realised he’d bitten Shane. He didn’t move as Ilya reached up to smooth out his hair until Ilya tapped him gently in the face, nodding at him to move. Ilya watched as Shane went back in through the side door, leaning against the wall and counting to one hundred before he made his way down the alley, smiling grandly at the boys, acutely aware of how messy and slutty he looked.  

It was expected of him, which made the jeers and chirps somewhat easier to swallow.  

>>>  

Ilya had no idea what Shane had done, but he was fucking itching to find out.  

Watts had decided he needed his wife's name tattooed across his heart, and then Hayden decided that he couldn’t let Watts show him up as a better husband than him. Ilya and Marleau had corralled the boys into a tattoo parlour that Vaughn said was reputable, and Ilya had seen Shane wander to the back with some punky looking girl that he absolutely would have hit on at a club in a different life.  

He tried to make himself busy until everyone was done, buying himself a plain gold clicker, curious to see if his ear piercing was still open tomorrow when Shane finally wandered to the front counter. Ilya didn’t move a muscle as Shane paid with a smile, sitting down next to Marleau with a sigh.  

What did you do? Ilya wanted to ask him. What perfect part of your body did you mar? Did you get her name tattooed on you?  

Ilya had a million questions, none of which he could safely ask in front of the other guys.  

He looked Shane over as he talked to Vaughn, looking for clues.  

His ears were untouched. Ilya couldn’t see any sign of second skin or plastic wrap on his arms. There were no eyebrow piercings, although Ilya suddenly thought that Shane would look ridiculously sexy with one.  

Ilya doubted Shane got his dick pierced. He'd never have the ability to go weeks without sex until something like that healed.  

Maybe Shane had gotten a tattoo of a rose next to his heart or something after all.  

Ilya blinked when his body jolted, frowning at Marleau when he realised he had kicked him. “What?”  

“You ready to go?” Marleau asked.  

Ilya nodded, standing when he realised the boys were paying for their tattoos and Vaughn was outside hailing taxis. He followed Marleau as he split up the boys, climbing into the front seat so he didn’t look too obvious. He lit up a little when he realised the driver had the radio set onto the hockey tonight, asking him about the scores.  

He didn’t realise they were at Svetlana’s apartment building until Marleau’s hand came down on his shoulder.  

“You wanna crash at Svetlana’s with me?” Marleau offered.  

Ilya scoffed. “No. I don’t need to hear you having sex with my Sveta, thank you.”  

He expected Marleau to laugh and get out of the car, but he was silent, and he just clapped Ilya on the shoulder again, slightly harder this time.  

“Come on,” Marleau cajoled. “She said she’ll make you those Ruski pancakes for breakfast.”  

Ilya blinked at him, more confused than ever. Svetlana would not make him blini for breakfast. He was sure she was saving that for his birthday. “You want threesome tonight, Marley? Is this why you push?”  

Marleau shook his head and scoffed. Ilya unbuckled his seatbelt and nodded.  

“Different conversation, then,” Ilya joked. “Yes, for this, I’ll come with you tonight.”  

“No threeway, Jesus,” Marleau complained, finally moving to get out of the car.  

Ilya glanced at Shane, who was too busy frowning at his phone to pay attention to them, surprised when Marleau leaned into his open window, his face grim.  

“Be smart tonight, okay?” Marleau said.  

Ilya didn’t get a chance to say anything before Marleau tapped the door and walked to the apartment. He frowned to himself as he gave the driver his address, trying to convince himself that there was no way Marleau had worked out that Ilya was sleeping with Shane.  

>>>  

Ilya hadn’t even looked back at Shane when he’d gotten out of the cab. He'd simply paid the driver and known, without a shadow of a doubt, that Shane would follow him inside.  

He had stripped and sat against his headboard, waiting. It had only taken Shane two minutes to follow him into his bedroom, already stripping off his shirt as he made his way through the door.  

Ilya looked Shane over carefully as he undressed, noting the way Shane even folded his clothes and turned around, letting Ilya inspect him. He smirked when Shane climbed into his lap, relieved to finally be touching Shane without worrying that someone would see them. Shane's erection was already weeping as it brushed against Ilya’s, a shot of heat rushing through his body.  

“Show me,” he demanded.  

Everything in Ilya’s brain stuttered to a loud halt as Shane reached for his lip. He couldn’t hear a thing but blood rushing through his ears as Shane pulled it down for him, showing the tiny black lines inside his mouth, only a few millimetres over from the fresh bite mark Ilya had left in the alley earlier that night.  

He hadn’t even noticed the way Shane's lip had been red and swollen, because he just always looked like that around Ilya. He sat up straighter, staring at the tattoo, unable to believe that it was real.  

Shane hadn’t gotten Rose’s name tattooed on his body. He hadn’t gotten a little symbol to remind him of her.  

He'd gotten Ilya’s fucking teeth marks tattooed on him. He'd tattooed Ilya’s fucking claim into his skin, forever.  

Ilya was so fucking in love with Shane. He felt like he could breathe again as he stare at the tattoo.  

Shane had to love him too, Ilya was sure of it. Nobody did this for somebody they were just fucking.  

Ilya could feel his entire body relax, releasing a tension he didn’t even know he was holding as he caressed Shane’s hips.  

“Does it hurt?” Ilya asked, because this means you love me too, right? didn't feel like the right thing to say.  

Shane nodded, but his eyes were dazed, the way they always were when Ilya was inside him, fucking him too hard and pulling his hair so hard that he cried in a complicated mix of pleasure and pain. Is that how this tattoo made Shane feel? Like Ilya was inside him, forever under his skin, hurting him so beautifully? Ilya’s cock twitched at the thought. He rolled his hips up before he could stop himself, grinding his cock against Shane’s.  

“Why did you do this to your perfect mouth?” Ilya cooed.  

He already knew the answer, but it was never enough, making Shane say the things that Ilya felt but was too scared to admit. Still, he was shockingly unprepared for the for you that came out of Shane’s mouth.  

Ilya shook his head as he leaned against the headboard, unable to believe it.  

Shane was too much. He was so fucking perfect, so weird and beautiful and intense, and he was Ilya’s.  

“You like it?” Shane asked.  

Ilya huffed out a shocked laugh as Shane kissed his way down his neck to his chest, stopping to suck on Ilya’s nipple.   

“No, I love it,” Ilya admitted, threading his fingers through Shane’s hair as he moved lower, pressing kisses against his stomach. “It feels like a present I don’t deserve.”  

Ilya watched as Shane laid between his legs, making a show of sucking his cock so wetly and filthily Ilya wondered where the duck he learned that from.  

A tattoo. A fucking tattoo.  

Ilya was fucked.  

>>>  

He tried not to smirk as Shane checked the tattoo in the mirror.  

Ilya had been mindful not to bite Shane again, not to suck at his lip too hard or kiss him too roughly, but he only had so much self control.  

“You really like it?” Shane asked, looking back at Ilya through the mirror.  

“I love it,” Ilya clarified. “You are fucking crazy. You know this, yes?”  

Shane looked pleased as he pulled his lip back down, the sharp black lines unmistakable. “Yeah.”  

“I never noticed how crooked my teeth are before,” Ilya said, squinting at Shane’s lip through the mirror. He looked at himself, opening his mouth and angling up to check his bite.  

“They’re not crooked,” Shane said, smacking him in the stomach.  

“Look at this one,” Ilya pointed.  

“They’re perfect, shut up,” Shane rolled his eyes.  

“What happens if someone sees it?” Ilya asked before he could stop himself.  

“No one’s gonna see it,” Shane said flatly. “It’s just for us.”  

Ilya watched as Shane winced as he touched his lip, looking around on Ilya’s counter for something.  

“What?”  

“Do you have anything for cuts or something?” Shane asked.  

Ilya hummed. “We have something Russian remedy. Slyuna, it’s good for you.”  

Shane let Ilya pull his lip down, making a shocked noise when Ilya leaned in and licked the tattoo.  

“What the fuck?” Shane cried out. “That is not sanitary.”  

“Mm, we passed sanitary when you swallowed my come with that already,” Ilya laughed.  

Shane winced. “What’s salina?”  

“Slyuna,” Ilya corrected. “Spit, you know. You think it’s a joke, but when you’re a child, they always tell you to lick your cuts to seal them, like medicine.”  

Shane scoffed. “There’s no way.”  

“Ask anyone with an accent like mine, they will tell you the same,” Ilya said.  

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”  

“You love it,” Ilya teased, wrapping his arms around Shane’s waist and kissing his shoulder.  

“Yeah,” Shane breathed, leaning into his hold.  

Ilya watched as Shane stared at the two of them.  

“We look good together,” Shane said.  

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. Better than you look with anyone else.  

He followed Shane back to bed, turning out all the lights and tucking himself against Shane’s back, wondering what the fuck he had ever done in his life to deserve Shane. Ilya realised as he was falling asleep that he’d never actually done anything to deserve Shane, and that probably meant that he couldn’t keep him.  

>>>  

Ilya could feel the sea pushing him around. Light was breaking through, and a loud noise –  

He sat up, squinting into the morning light, frowning when he realised Shane was scrambling out of bed and getting dressed.  

“Shane, what are you doing?”  

“What?”  

Ilya sniffed, watching Shane stop to look at him. “What are you doing?” he asked, slower.  

He watched as Shane got dressed in a rush, obviously needing to go home to Rose. A sick sense of satisfaction washed over him as he thought about Rose welcoming Shane home, her boyfriend who was still slick with Ilya’s come, who bled for him and who tattooed him on his skin.  

“You shouldn’t be leaving me,” Ilya moaned as he crawled out of the bed. “I get so lonely. Have to touch myself,” he pouted, looking down at his cock, clearly hard through his underwear. He smiled as Shane’s eyes caught on it. “You should be the one touching me, not leaving.”  

Shane sighed as he put on his jacket and made his way to the front door. “I have to go,” he pouted.  

Ilya grabbed his hips to still him, kissing him, hoping to convince him to stay a little longer, but Shane pulled away with a bright laugh. God, Ilya loved him like this. Giddy and soft and sweet and his.  

“I’ve gotta go now,” Shane admonished, kissing Ilya as he opened the door.  

Ilya moved to pull Shane closer to him, freezing when he saw Marleau on the other side of the door, hand up like he was ready to knock.  

He felt all the breath leave his body immediately. Ilya sick to his stomach as he looked at Shane, who had paled, standing stiff and rigid and guilty. He looked at Marleau who just looked tired and sad. It was so similar to how Alexei used to look at him that it made Ilya’s stomach fall to the floor.  

Ilya reached down for Shane’s hips, squeezing to try and comfort him, or something, but Shane tensed up even more. He moved to pull Shane back, to step between Marleau, just in case Shane needed to feel safe, but Marleau moved first, rubbing his face.  

“Jesus Christ,” Marleau said, shaking his head.  

Ilya had to deescalate. He was good at that; he’d had a lifetime of practise at this. He pulled Shane closer to him and opened the door wider for Marleau.  

“Come on,” he said, proud of himself when he didn’t hear his voice break. “Not in the hallway.”  

Shane didn’t say a word as Marleau walked in and shut the door. Ilya could see the way he was looking Shane over, his eyes catching on Ilya in nothing but his underwear, his fingers digging into Shane’s hips, the trail of clothes leading to the bedroom, and – it looked bad, Ilya knew. There was probably no way to talk his way out of this one.  

But it didn’t matter what Marleau thought of him. It didn’t matter if he told Rose and all of Shane’s friends that Ilya was a slut and a homewrecker; he'd been called worse. All that mattered was Shane, and how his friends saw him. Ilya opened his mouth –  

“I told you to stay away from him,” Marleau said, shaking his head at Ilya.  

Ilya did his best to look like he didn’t care, like Marleau’s disappointment in him didn’t fucking matter. He shrugged and smirked, one hand letting go of Shane to ruffle his hair before Shane cut in.  

“I followed him home.”  

Ilya blanched as Marleau’s gaze hardened, focusing on Shane. Not good, Ilya thought, forcing himself to breathe steadily. It was better if Marleau was angry at him.  

“It’s not what you think –”  

“I saw you guys kiss twenty seconds ago,” Marleau said flatly, cutting off Shane.  

Ilya wasn’t quite sure what to do. It would have been easier if Marleau was just angry and tried to hit him; at least then he could take the beating and call it a day.  

“What’s going on, guys?” Marleau asked, and somehow his tired, still kind voice made Ilya want to scream and punch a wall more than Alexei screaming at him in anger ever had.  

Shane finally moved, shaking his head and stepping away from Ilya’s touch. Ilya debated following him, but there was something blank and hard in his eyes like there had been that first night when he’d run from him. Ilya watched as Shane reached for the door and hesitated just for a second before he apologised and started running down the hallway.  

He dared to look at Marleau, who was gawking at him.  

“Man, what the fuck.”  

Ilya shrugged again, making himself smile the cocky, toothy smile he always used to bait Alexei into a fight. “He’s hot. You know me.”  

Marleau shook his head and moved to the door. “Yeah, I do. I’m gonna make sure he gets home okay. I'll be back.”  

Ilya stared at the open door, listening to Marleau’s heavy footsteps take off after Shane.  

>>>  

He didn’t call Svetlana.  

He had the quickest shower of his life, made his bed, and sat on his couch, waiting for Marleau to come back.  

Ilya had no idea why he was nervous. Marleau was just some guy Svetlana was dating. He tolerated Ilya because Svetlana pitied him, knowing that he was an orphan with no friends and nowhere to go. He was basically a charity case.  

Maybe Ilya could move somewhere else and start again. Maybe he’d move two provinces over, where Watt’s uncle had his second office and join the construction team there. Maybe the gyms would be better over there. Maybe Shane would want to come with him, too.  

It felt like no time at all before Marleau was knocking softly at the door before swinging it open, grimacing when he saw Ilya dressed and waiting for him.  

“I got him home okay,” Marleau said, shutting the door and making his way over to sit by Ilya.  

“Good.”  

He had no idea what to say. He was sure Marleau was going to end their friendship and tell him he couldn’t be friends with someone as immoral as Ilya, to demand that he stopped speaking to Svetlana –  

“I knew something was going on, but fuck, man,” Marleau said. “When did you figure out he was cheating?”  

Ilya huffed out a laugh. He was not going to throw Shane under the bus like that. “What the fuck do I care about boyfriends or girlfriends?” he lied.  

But Marleau just stared at him, his eyes narrowed. “You found out at the game she came to, right? That’s why you were so upset?”  

Ilya scoffed. “You are thinking too much about this. It’s just sex. People have sex. It's nothing.”  

“It didn’t look like nothing.”  

"It was,” Ilya tried. “It is. He has a girlfriend. Only comes here for sex, so.”  

“That’s not all you’re good for, you know,” Marleau said gently.  

Ilya raised an eyebrow at him.  

“I mean, you’re right, I do know you,” Marleau continued. “You’re a good person, Ilya. You found out about Rose that time she came to the game, right? That's why you guys were so fucked up that night?”  

He didn’t move a muscle as Marleau kept talking.  

“Listen, whatever it is with you guys, I just think you deserve someone who shows up for you,” he said. “I don’t know if that’s Shane. At least, not right now.”  

“I don’t care,” Ilya said before he could stop himself. “I don’t care what he can and can’t give me. It doesn’t matter.”  

Marleau looked disappointed, and for the first time, Ilya really did consider throwing a punch.  

“I really think –”  

“I know,” Ilya said softly. “I fucking know, okay? I know this ends bad for me.”  

Marleau didn’t say anything as he reached over to rest his hand on Ilya’s shoulder, and Ilya didn’t move away.  

Chapter 5: Growth

Ilya wasn’t sure he had breathed between the twenty four hours since Shane left his apartment to the second he stepped back inside. He had called in sick to work that morning, gratified when Shane had messaged him and asked to come over. He had half expected Shane to end whatever they were doing, but Shane had kissed him before the door was even shut behind him.  

He tried to be mindful of the tattoo, aware that it wasn’t even two days old, but Shane was a whimpering mess in his arms, rubbing his hard cock against Ilya’s as he pulled at his hair, trying to shove him into the bedroom.  

Ilya had a million questions. Everything from did you leave her to what if Marleau tells people to is the tattoo still there, but he wasn’t ready to hear the answer to any of those questions. So he shoved Shane down onto the couch, fell to his knees between Shane’s legs and swallowed him down.  

He watched as Shane’s face finally slackened, his eyes turning hazy and his mouth parting, his lips red and wet as he looked down at Ilya sucking his cock. Shane's eyes cleared for a moment as he brushed Ilya’s hair out of his face.  

Ilya almost didn’t hear the do you think I’m gay?  

He blinked, slowly pulling off of Shane’s cock as he stared up at him in disbelief. It took everything in him not to laugh at the absurdity of answering that question with Shane’s precome sitting on his tastebuds. Did he think Shane was gay?  

Embarrassingly, Ilya felt immediately vindicated that he had been right about Shane not knowing he was gay. But hearing it made him sadder than he thought he expected.  

If finding out Shane had a girlfriend had given Ilya the full picture, hearing Shane ask if he was gay snapped everything into terrifyingly sharp focus. Of course Shane was having a sexuality crisis on top of a morality crisis on top of an identity crisis.  

Ilya kissed Shane’s thigh wetly, doing his absolute best not to smile. God, poor Shane. Ilya had always taken for granted that he’d just wanted to fuck everyone and gone wherever the wind had taken him. Even when Sasha had asked about it, Ilya had been honest when he’d said I don’t know. I don’t think about it, and left it at that.  

But he had been right about Shane. He didn’t know who he was yet.  

Ilya had been left alone so young that he’d had no choice but to get comfortable with his own company and do whatever he wanted. He knew that no matter what he did, he was always going to disappoint his family, and it had given him a strange sort of license to do whatever he wanted.  

Shane didn’t seem to have that. He had trained and studied and worked, and he never really let go. Not unless he was with Ilya.  

“You ever just let yourself be who you are?” Ilya said instead, because it really wasn’t up to him to answer Shane’s question.  

“When I’m here,” Shane said, looking at him with clear, honest eyes. “When I’m with you.”  

Ilya was so fucked.  

He moved his hands up Shane’s thighs, caressing him softly before he splayed his hands over his stomach. His abs were hard and solid, firm in a way that usually had Ilya salivating, but now, it was comforting. Ilya ran his hands over the soft, warm skin, wishing he could burrow inside Shane and stay there forever so he would always have Ilya with him and know who he is.  

He reached up to Shane’s chest, pressing his right hand over Shane’s heart –  

“I don’t know if I’m gay,” Shane said quietly, looking at Ilya fiercely. “The only thing I know for sure is how I feel about you.”  

Ilya breathed out a sigh of relief before he could stop himself.  

This was all he had wanted since that first day in the locker room when Shane had reached for him that second time. All he’d wanted was to know.  

“How do you feel about me?” Ilya dared to ask, hoping for the first time that he’d actually hear the thing he wanted to hear.  

Shane gasped softly as Ilya scratched his nails back down Shane’s stomach, grabbing his hips firmly to try and keep Shane focused on him. Ilya watched as Shane bit at his lip before he grimaced, confirming for Ilya that the tattoo was still there.  

“I think I like you a little too much,” Shane said, looking him right in the eye.  

Ilya could feel the way his entire body loosened and warmed at that. He was sure he was smiling like a fucking idiot as he kept his eyes on Shane, emboldened by the way Shane hadn’t even blinked. “I think I like you a little too much, too.”  

Shane huffed out an anxious breath, and Ilya realised that for the first time, they were on the same page.  

That this was the first time that they were really talking. It made him want to keep talking. He never really wanted to stop talking, if it was with Shane.  

“I wouldn’t still want you, doing this, if I didn’t,” Ilya admitted.  

He grimaced at himself, hating how that sounded. Maybe he had said it wrong. Maybe Shane wouldn’t understand what he –  

“I’m so sorry,” Shane said, shaking his head like he was disappointed with himself. “I didn’t mean to drag you into my bullshit.”  

Ilya leaned up when he saw the first tear fall, pressing closer to Shane and wiping away the wetness under his lashes. He leaned in, gratified when Shane met him halfway, kissing him so sweetly it made Ilya’s heart race.  

“Don’t be sorry,” Ilya said against Shane’s lips.  

“Do you wish it could be different?” Shane asked, whimpering as Ilya kissed his way down his neck.  

Ilya didn’t want to tell the truth. He didn’t want to say no. No, I wouldn’t change it for anything. No, because even having you for one night was worth everything. No, because just one kiss with you makes me forget the sound of the Morske Orgulje for days. No, because losing everything and everyone was worth if it led me here, and that’s not something I could ever admit to anyone, because it’s so much worse than you cheating on your boring girlfriend.  

“Maybe,” Ilya said instead, opting for a safer answer. “Maybe it will be.”  

He knew Shane understood at least a fraction of what he meant by the way he looked at him.  

They were doing this. Shane was in this just as deep as Ilya was. Deeper, even, given what he was risking to see Ilya.  

Ilya closed his eyes as Shane kissed him, and wondered how long it would be before Shane stopped running back to someone else when he so clearly just wanted to be here with Ilya.  

>>>  

“What do you think? Do you think you are gay?” Ilya whispered into Shane’s ear.  

Ilya watched Shane’s face as he thrust into him, his face flushed and sweaty, on his knees in front of the wardrobe mirror. The set up had been a little awkward, but he’d wanted Shane to answer his own question.  

Shane keened as Ilya slammed into him, pulling out slowly before pressing back into him. Ilya could feel how turned on Shane was as he stared at them in the mirror, his eyes fighting between staring at Ilya’s body and Ilya’s cock sinking into his own ass.  

Ilya moved a little faster, pleased when Shane moaned, a little drool escaping the corner of his mouth as his eyes rolled back into his head.  

He'd never understand how a man could become so fuck drunk on cock and not realise they liked men. Ilya grabbed Shane’s face and smacked his cheek hard, making him open his eyes before he grabbed his neck and forced him to look at them in the mirror.  

Ilya pushed Shane down onto his elbows, making sure Shane was watching his face before he bent his head and spat on his cock. Shane cried out as Ilya fucked it into him, pushing back harder against his hips.  

Shane moaned as he pushed up into Ilya’s grasp. Ilya pulled him back up against his chest and tightened his fingers around his neck, just a tiny bit, watching as Shane jerked against him and came, hot, white spurts of come painting his chest up to his chin. Ilya leaned closer and licked his neck, fucking him harder and faster, the taste of Shane on his tongue enough to make him come.  

Ilya couldn’t tell who was moaning as his orgasm settled throughout his body. He let go of Shane’s neck, panting at the beautiful shade of red he currently was.  

“Maybe,” Shane whispered as he stared up at Ilya.  

Maybe.  

That was enough for Ilya.  

>>>  

“Can I ask you something?”  

Ilya nodded, then made a sound of assent when he realised Shane had his eyes closed and wasn’t going to open them. Ilya took the opportunity to step closer to him and hold him, moving closer to the steady stream of hot water. Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya’s shoulders and tucked his head into the crook of his neck. Ilya closed his own eyes and let himself revel in the warmth.  

“You’ve had a lot of sex, right?” Shane asked.  

Ilya felt himself tense. “I used to, I guess.”  

“No, I’m not – I'm not judging,” Shane said, squeezing him tighter. “I just mean, you’ve done casual, right? And you’ve been with like, different people?”  

“Yes,” he said softly, unsure as to where Shane was going.  

“Is this normal?” Shane whispered.  

Ilya didn’t even have to ask what he meant. He squeezed Shane back, only half aware that they were both hard again, their cocks pressed together between their stomachs.  

“No,” Ilya whispered back, like it was a secret. “It’s never like this. I was very confused for a while.”  

Shane let out a deep breath. “So, with anyone else –”  

“No,” Ilya said, a little stern. “Other people have been nice, or fun. We fuck, we say thank you, I never see them again. Some sex is good, some sex is great, but this is – I don’t know. More. Too much, sometimes.”  

“I feel like I’m fucking drunk whenever I’m around you,” Shane said, pulling away a little to look at Ilya. “Like, the only thing I can think about is you and your hands and your mouth and I want you to fuck me, but not really, like I think all I really want is to feel you inside me. You don’t even need to fuck me.”  

Ilya quirked his eyebrow. “You want to be my cock warmer?”  

Shane had the audacity to look confused. “What is that?”  

“Oh, you’ll find out,” Ilya promised. “But, I think I know what you mean. I feel the same. I just need you here. When you’re here, I feel good.”  

“I hate leaving,” Shane breathed, curling back against Ilya.  

Ilya knew. He had already told Shane that he didn’t have to leave anymore. He'd already begged him to stay. He hugged Shane tighter and turned them a little so they were completely drenched by the hot water together.  

>>>  

Ilya blanched when Svetlana walked into his apartment.  

“I thought I locked the door.”  

“You did.”  

He sighed to himself; he had forgotten she had a key. “Marley told you.”  

Svetlana shrugged, kicking off her shoes before she climbed onto the couch next to him, bumping his elbow with her own. “I was right about him.”  

“You already knew, come on,” Ilya admonished. He loved Svetlana, so much, but her need to always be right was the one thing that drove him crazy.  

“Yes, but now Cliff knows,” she sighed, tilting her head at him. “And then he realised I knew and I didn’t say anything.”  

Ilya tried not to grimace. “You fought because of me?”  

Svetlana snorted. “No. You do not have that much power in my relationship.”  

He felt relieved about that, at least.  

“I think it scared him,” Svetlana mused. “Seeing someone as steady as Shane cheat.”  

Ilya hummed.  

“We had to have a big talk about our own relationship, it was very annoying,” Svetlana sighed dramatically. “I already committed to him.”  

“Canadian men, very delicate,” Ilya teased.  

Svetlana smiled as she looked over at him. “But worth it.”  

Ilya nodded.  

“You two are something real now?” she asked.  

“Yes,” Ilya said, surprised at how quick and confident that came out. “I think he is in love with me.”  

“And you are in love with him,” Svetlana stated.  

“Yes.” 

“Hm. Okay,” she said.  

Ilya waited, sure she would say something else, but Svetlana just reached for the remote and changed the channel to something less interesting. Svetlana was silent for exactly eleven minutes before she turned to him.  

“Did you know Cliff’s birthday is soon?”  

“How would I know that?” Ilya asked.  

Svetlana smirked at him.  

“No, don’t make me –”  

“Help me plan a party,” Svetlana said.  

Ilya groaned as Svetlana pulled out her phone and started reading a list of ideas she had to host a party for Marleau.  

>>>  

Ilya tried not to react when Marleau skated right up to him.  

“Hey,” Marleau said.  

“Hi.”  

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”  

Ilya made a face as he looked at Marleau. “I saw you Sunday.”  

“Yeah, I remember Sunday,” Marleau scoffed. “Are you guys still –”  

“I don’t think it’s for me to say,” Ilya said.  

It was a cop out. He wanted to talk to Marleau about it. He wanted to ask if he was fucking stupid for believing that Shane had real feelings for him. He wanted to ask if they had a shot at something real together. He wanted to ask if Marleau hated him now.  

“Svetlana will not stop being my friend,” Ilya said instead. “But if you do not want to speak to me anymore, I will understand.”  

Marleau looked affronted as he turned to Ilya. “What the fuck? No.”  

“No?”  

“You’re still my friend, you fucking idiot,” Marleau said, staring at Ilya like he was stupid. “Shane’s choices are his own. I think you've gotten yourself into a real mess here, Roz, and you don’t need me telling you how I feel about it.”  

Ilya tried not to look so surprised at that. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Alexei would have said to him if he knew how stupid and foolishly Ilya had been behaving. And with a man, no less.  

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” Marleau said, lowering his voice so nobody else could overhear them. “Can you meet me somewhere on Monday afternoon?”  

Ilya nodded, intrigued. Marleau didn’t say anything else as the rest of the boys filed onto the ice, halfheartedly stretching as the other team made their way over with bright smiles and hugs for the guys they already knew.  

>>>  

Shane looked so fucking beautiful when he skated.  

Ilya never really had much of a shot at scoring when Shane was on the ice. He was too free, too pretty for Ilya to focus on the actual game. All he wanted to do was chase Shane around, race him, and maybe blow him while everyone skated around them at centre ice.  

The game was over before Ilya knew it. He could hear some of the boys talking about their weekend plans in the locker room as they stripped off for the showers, but all he could focus on was Shane, shirtless across the locker room from him, sneakily stealing glances at Ilya. God, Shane looked so fucking good. His body was so thick and strong and Ilya wanted to sink to his knees in front of everyone and swallow Shane whole while they watched. He wanted everyone to see that Shane Hollander, with his big brown eyes and his perfect thighs and smooth skin and muscles carved from marble, was like melted butter in Ilya’s mouth. No one elses.  

He grabbed his phone as Marleau talked to Shane, feeling daring. 

Ilya [14:54 Sunday]   

Come over   

Shane reached for his phone, only half listening to whatever Marleau was saying as his eyes lit up, flicking up to Ilya’s.  

Shane [15:11 Sunday]   

Now?   

Ilya nearly scoffed. Always, he wanted to text back.  

Ilya [15:12 Sunday]   

Yes   

Shane [15:12 Sunday]   

I can’t   

Ilya tried not to roll his eyes. Can't was relative when it came to Shane. He did. He always did.  

Ilya [15:14 Sunday]   

You can   

You will   

Ilya looked up at Shane, doing his best not to react to the heat he saw in Shane’s eyes. He blinked when he heard Marleau’s booming voice, turning back to his locker and stripping off his shirt. He grabbed his towel and moved quickly to the showers, careful not to look at Shane or Marleau as he stepped into the steam.  

When Ilya came out, there was a message waiting for him.  

Shane [15:19 Sunday]   

Meet you there  

>>>  

Kissing Shane always felt like Ilya had just dipped and dabbed. He felt like he was floating above himself, like his entire body was on the verge of orgasm just from Shane’s lips against his. He loved the way Shane kissed him so hungrily, like he was trying to devour him. Ilya kissed him back as he pushed Shane against the wall, running his hands down his abs, grabbing his hips hard before moving to grope his ass. Shane whimpered against his mouth, and Ilya realised that his tattoo of Ilya’s fucking bite mark was probably still sore and Ilya should take it easy –  

“Oh, holy shit,” Shane breathed, grabbing Ilya by the shoulders as he stared at him like he had just realised something. “I love you.”  

Ilya felt too many emotions at once to sort through. Relief that Shane had said it first, confirming all of Ilya’s suspicious. Vindication, once again, a feeling that was starting to make him hard and proud. Joy, pure, unadulterated joy, at being loved by someone as beautiful and perfect as Shane. Disbelief at how slow Shane was. Amused at how surprised he seemed.  

In the end, Ilya settled for breathing the sigh of relief he’d been holding in, letting his fingers dig into Shane’s hips harder than ever, just to make sure he was really here and this wasn’t a fever dream.  

“I love you too,” Ilya admitted, and it was maybe the easiest thing he’d ever said.  

“Oh my god,” Shane gasped, kissing Ilya again.  

Ilya moaned softly as Shane’s fingers dug into his neck, wound into his hair and pulled hard, trying to get Ilya somehow closer than he already was. Ilya kissed him back furiously, trying to show Shane that he fucking meant it.  

“I’m so in love with you,” Shane mumbled against his lips.  

Ilya couldn’t wait anymore. He pulled Shane away from the door and pushed him into his bedroom, stripping off their shirts and shoving Shane down onto the bed with a hard smack to his chest. Shane laughed as Ilya climbed over him, his smile never dimming as Ilya kissed him again.  

>>>  

Shane loved him.  

Shane loved him. Shane said that he wanted to be with him. Shane accepted the key to his apartment. Shane was gay, and he wanted to tell his parents about who he was. Shane was in love with him, and he was going to leave Rose and be Ilya’s.  

Ilya had expected that he would feel guilt or – something. But he felt nothing but relief and happiness for himself, and for Shane. And a little bit of guilt about not feeling any guilt.  

He watched Shane turn over the key in his hands. Ilya was glad he’d taken it back from Svetlana. He'd tossed it onto his bedside table, considering adding it to his shelf, but when Shane said that he loved him, Ilya realised why he had snatched the key right out of Svetlana’s bag.  

“Did your parents love each other?” Shane asked.  

Ilya laughed before he could stop himself.  

“I mean, I know you told me about your mother, but –”  

“No, Shane,” Ilya shook his head. “My father married a young girl because he was too old and needed to have children, and my mother married my father because she needed someone to take care of her. It was like an arranged marriage.”  

Shane frowned as he turned to look at Ilya. Ilya noticed the way Shane put the key on his chest, holding it next to his heart.  

“Wow,” Shane said softly. “So they didn’t love each other at all?”  

“I think,” Ilya hesitated, wanting to say it right. He'd thought a lot about this over the last couple of years. “I never thought so. For my mother, no, I don’t think she loved anything about my father. Maybe grateful for him for giving her me and my brother, even though we made her life hard. The security is what she wanted, I think.”  

Shane moved minutely, pressing his foot against Ilya’s under the sheets, a silent encouragement to keep talking.  

“But when my father was sick, he kept asking for her,” Ilya said. His eyes pricked with tears as he remembered those last years. He shut them, willing himself not to cry. “He married again, only two years after my mother died, but she left when he got sick. My father didn’t remember Polina, but he would sit and cry for my mother. He would ask me, every day, where she was and when she was coming back. He started sleeping on her side of the bed.”  

Ilya closed his eyes as he recalled those days, rubbing his cheek and hoping his tears wouldn’t spill over. He could feel Shane move onto his side, curling up against Ilya, his hand resting over Ilya’s necklace.  

“He would get so angry with me,” Ilya whispered. “He thought we were keeping her from him. He would beg me to let her come home. He would –”  

Ilya cut himself off, not wanting to describe how terrified and angry his father was in those last months, how he would try to fight with him to get to his mother. Shane must have understood somehow, because he curled in closer.  

“Jesus,” Shane whispered, his hand coming to rest in Ilya’s hair.  

“And then he forgot me and Alexei,” Ilya said. “But he remembered me sometimes, more than Alexei. I think because I look like her. Me and mama, that was all he asked for.”  

He'd never said that part out loud. He and Alexei had never even talked about it. Ilya had been there when Alexei had realised that their father had forgotten him that first time. Ilya had seen his brother cry, and then Alexei had broken his nose and spat on him when Ilya had tried to comfort him, and Ilya had known then that he was going to be alone when his father died.  

“So, I think he loved her somehow,” Ilya said quietly. “And me, maybe. Somewhere, at the back of his mind. In his own way.”  

Shane moved closer to him, resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya kept his eyes shut, acutely aware of his tears running into his hair, but not willing to move and wash his face. Not when Shane was warm and close and loved him even when he cried.  

“I don’t think he would have remembered you and your mother if he didn’t love you,” Shane said quietly. “You’re like that too, you know.”  

“Like what?”  

“Just, impossible to move past,” Shane said. “Impossible not to love.”  

Ilya frowned, unsure of what Shane meant. “Do your parents love each other?” he asked instead.  

“So much,” Shane said, nodding against Ilya’s shoulder. “They met in college and fell head over heels for each other. I never really understood it. They're best friends, they do everything together. My dad’s world revolves around my mom, and my mom loves being spoiled.”  

Ilya wiped his face and wrapped his arms around Shane, crushing him in a tight hold. “You think we’ll be best friends, Hollander?” Ilya teased.  

“You already know me better than anyone else, Rozanov,” Shane said lightly, like that wasn’t a huge revelation to Ilya. “But I um, I think that’s why I thought Rose and I would work. We hit it off, and I thought, oh, this is what my parents have. So that makes it right.”  

Ilya could understand that. He'd been running from repeating his parents’ relationship, and Shane had been chasing his own parents’ example.  

“And you want what they have?” Ilya asked.  

“Not really,” Shane said. “My dad worships the ground my mom walks on. And that’s - you know, nice to an extent. In moments. But she’s such a steamroller, and he just does whatever she tells him to do. I do too, I think. I don’t want that.”  

“You don’t want me to worship you?” Ilya teased. “That’s news to me.”  

Shane laughed. “Sex is its own thing. I like the way we feel about each other that way. I just – if we’re, you know. More. I want something different. I like when you call me on my shit.”  

“Two newsflashes in twenty five seconds,” Ilya gasped.  

“Shut the fuck up, you know what I mean.”  

“Maybe we meet in the middle,” Ilya suggested, acutely aware that they were trying ever so casually negotiating a relationship that they had no right to be talking about yet. “Have our own thing that makes other people want what we have.”  

“And what’s that?” Shane mumbled.  

“Two huge cocks and no gag reflexes,” Ilya joked, flipping Shane onto his back and climbing over him, letting the heaviness of the moment dissipate.  

Shane squawked out a loud laugh, kicking out at Ilya as he settled between his legs. “That’s all anyone wants?”  

“Yes!” Ilya laughed. “You watch, when people meet us, they will want to be invited into our bed. They will cry when we say no, and then they will talk about how we are so sexy and happy and they will die sad that they won’t get to watch me make you come.”  

He saw the way Shane’s eyes fluttered at the mention of our bed and we, we, we. Ilya took advantage of the distraction and tucked his hands underneath Shane’s knees, hitching them up and folding him in half before he buried his face between his legs. Shane moaned as Ilya sucked his balls into his mouth, reaching up to stroke his cock languidly.  

They loved each other. Shane accepted his key. Ilya had brought up the concept of the two of them existing in the future, and Shane didn’t run away or cry or leave him bruised in his attempt to do both simultaneously.  

They were making progress. They were building something.  

It was slow and it was painful, but it was intentional and it was real, and it was everything.  

>>>  

Ilya raised his eyebrows as Marleau parked in front of the jewellery store. He didn’t say anything as Marleau smirked at him and climbed out of the car, not waiting for Ilya to follow. He made his way inside to find Marleau already talking to two very pretty salesgirls dressed in matching navy shirts.  

“Is it finally happening, Marley? You are going to make an honest woman out of me?” Ilya joked.  

Marleau rolled his eyes and gestured for Ilya to come to the counter. Ilya moved, raising his eyebrows when he saw the diamond ring between his fingers.  

"Wow,” Ilya said, impressed.  

Marleau had told him, that first night he met him, that he was going to marry Svetlana. Ilya had believed him, but he hadn’t thought it would happen so fast.  

“Already?” he asked before he could stop himself.  

“Yeah,” Marleau grinned at him. “What do you think?” he asked, holding out the ring for him.  

Ilya took it and inspected it, not having any idea what to look for. It wasn’t like Svetlana had ever told him what sort of engagement ring she wanted. It was a beautifully shiny diamond with a simple gold band. He could see Мое сердце принадлежит тебе engraved on the inside and laughed in an attempt to stop himself from tearing up.  

“She wrote that on a post it note to me ages go,” Marleau said. “I uh, I didn’t translate it for a while. I figured if she wanted me to understand it, she would have written it in English.”  

“It’s very nice,” Ilya said, relieved that his voice was even. “She told you her style, yes?”  

Marleau laughed. “On our third date. She said if I stuck around long enough, I’d need to know what she liked.”  

Ilya laughed too, handing the ring back. “You did well.”  

“She’ll like it?” Marleau asked. “You think she’ll say yes?”  

Ilya tried not to roll his eyes. “Marley, she cooks for you. She told me to be nice to you. She’s going to let you meet her brother next month.”  

Marleau looked like a puppy who just heard his favourite word. “So, yes?”  

“Yes,” Ilya confirmed.  

“Good,” Marleau said, turning back to the salesgirls. “Can I pick it up on Friday at like 5?”  

“Of course,” the girl closest to Marleau said. “We’ll give it a final polish right before you pick it up.”  

“You know, she’s going to find it the second you bring it home,” Ilya said.  

“Oh, I know,” Marleau nodded. “I’ll pick it up after work and then I can propose to her at the party.”  

“What party?” Ilya frowned.  

“My surprise party,” Marleau said, looking at Ilya like he was dumb. “What, you think I don’t know about it?”  

“Wow, you two really are the perfect match,” Ilya shook his head. “No secrets between you two, is there?”  

“Nope,” Marleau smiled. “She’s trying to surprise me. She's gonna lose it when I fucking surprise her back.”  

Ilya laughed; Svetlana really had met her match with Marleau. He followed Marleau back out of the store, across the road and into a Mexican restaurant. Ilya waited as Marleau ordered for them before he took a sip of his beer, sighing.  

“Ask me.”  

Marleau feigned surprise. “Ask you what?”  

“Whatever you want to ask,” Ilya said.  

Marleau looked like he was debating how to word it. Ilya tried not to smirk as he waited.  

“You and Shane,” Marleau tried. “What the fuck, man?”  

“I know.”  

“And it’s real, right?”  

Ilya shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I’m in love with him.”  

Marleau nodded. “I figured. Your face does all your talking for you, you know.”  

Ilya rolled his eyes at Marleau. “No it doesn’t. I am Russian, we do not make faces.”  

“No, it’s - both of you are kind of obvious,” Marleau said gently. “I mean, I see it on his face too, you know. It’s how I worked him out. He's even worse than you.”  

"So then what do you mean?” Ilya asked.  

“What’s the plan?” Marleau asked. “I mean, Rose is still in the picture, right?”  

Ilya grimaced and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know.”  

Marleau looked surprised. “You guys haven’t talked about it?”  

“We’ve talked,” Ilya conceded. “He needs time.”  

“How much time?”  

Ilya sighed, tipping his head back. “I don’t know. Doesn't matter. I’m not going anywhere.”  

Marleau looked surprised at that. “So, what? You’ll just be the mistress for as long as it takes?”  

“Yes,” Ilya said without skipping a beat.  

Marleau sighed, shaking his head. “That’s sad.”  

“I don’t care,” Ilya shrugged. “I fucking don’t. He matters. I will wait.”  

Ilya watched Marleau shake is head. “This is real fucking messy, man.”  

“I know.”  

“What if he doesn’t leave her?”  

Ilya reached for his beer, looking Marleau right in the eye. “He will.”  

>>>  

“I can’t wear this.”  

Ilya made sure to face Shane before he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Why not?”  

“It’s too big on me,” Shane complained, tossing the shirt at Ilya.  

“You see what I wear to the gym,” Ilya shrugged. “Bigger clothes are more comfortable. No one will notice.”  

He watched as Shane considered the shirt in his hands.  

“Fine,” Shane stood, snatching the plain black t shirt out of Ilya’s hands and putting it on.  

Ilya normally hated when Shane put clothes on, but if they were his own clothes –  

“Don’t go to the gym,” Ilya murmured, stepping closer and pushing Shane down onto the bed.  

“The guys are waiting for me,” Shane said, his voice breathy.  

Ilya knelt between his legs and kissed his way from Shane’s knee to his thigh, thankful that Shane Hollander was a shorts guy.  

“I’ll be quick,” Ilya lied through his teeth.  

Shane huffed, but he didn’t argue, spreading his legs further apart so Ilya could nose his way up and mouth at his balls through the thin material of his shorts. He let his mind clear as he slowly pulled Shane’s shorts down to his ankles and took him in his mouth, nothing else existing but the way Shane tasted and smelled and the low moans rattling between his ears. 

>>>  

Ilya listened as Svetlana rattled off her list of invitees as he folded his shirts while she sat in the armchair in the corner of his bedroom. He smiled to himself as he folded the shirt Shane had worn to the gym, forcing himself to resist the urge to smell it in front of her.  

“And Hayden’s wife, Jackie, she’s funny,” Svetlana was saying. “I like her very much. Even though she married a man who is like an untrained poodle.”  

Ilya snorted.  

“All those children and he just stands around waiting to be told what to do, that poor woman,” Svetlana bemoaned. “She is mostly very smart, but god. I will never understand good women who settle for bad husbands. I think they will be divorced in five years when she realises she can do better.”  

“Hopefully,” Ilya said dryly.  

Svetlana hummed as she picked at the chair. “She left you stained furniture. Rude. All the boys from hockey are coming, which is good.  

Ilya did his best not to react to the come stain Svetlana was scratching at, opening his dresser to tuck his shirts into. “Do you want me to invite Marleau out on Friday to throw him off the scent?”  

“No, he thinks we’re having dinner,” she dismissed as he stood. “Shane is coming?”  

Ilya nodded.  

“He’s been here a lot lately,” Svetlana stated.  

“Why do you say that?”  

“You haven’t been to see me much,” she said, eyeing him.  

Ilya sighed and nodded, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Sorry.”  

Svetlana waved him off, sitting forward to look at him. “You are less sad lately. I like that.”  

“I think we will be something for real,” Ilya said.  

“Then I hope the dust settles soon,” she said. “I look forward to meeting him as your something real.”  

Ilya hummed, thinking about an abstract future where he and Shane were something real, something that other people could see with their own eyes. Something akin to the way he saw Svetlana and Marleau – partners. Lovers.  

He was happy for Svetlana, he really was. Marleau was kind and generous and sweet and good for Svetlana, but Ilya couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever be the one somebody would want to marry. To be with, to show off proudly.  

It was selfish to want more, Ilya knew. He hadn’t talked to Shane about more. They had alluded to it, talked around it a dozen times, but they hadn’t been as up front as they should have been. Ilya knew why he hadn’t, at least.  

He hadn’t been brave enough to ask Shane if he loved him enough to want to be with him for real. He hadn’t been brave enough to ask Shane if he was going to leave Rose.  

>>>  

Shower, eat, sleep. That was all Ilya had to do.  

Work had been slow and hard. Ilya trudged through the door, dropping his bag against the wall and ambling into the kitchen.  

His entire body ached. He grunted as he reached for a glass, downing a glass of water, then a second, before he forced his feet to take him to the bathroom. Ilya stopped when he heard a sound, turning –  

“Hey,” Shane said, smiling like he was relieved when he shut the door behind him.  

“Hi,” Ilya smiled back. Suddenly, his body didn’t feel so heavy anymore. “I was about to shower.”  

Shane kicked his shoes off, whipping off his shirt and stalking over to Ilya, reaching for his zipper.  

“Good timing,” he said as he dragged Ilya to the bathroom.  

Ilya laughed as Shane ran the shower hot, stripping them both down and pushing Ilya inside. He sighed as Shane kissed him, wrapping his arms around Shane’s shoulders loosely.  

He'd ask Shane, Ilya promised himself. He'd ask Shane what they were.  

Ilya pouted as Shane broke the kiss, kissing his neck before he dropped to his knees and kissed his way across Ilya’s hips. He watched as Shane kissed that same spot on Ilya’s hip that he kept going back to before he mouthed at his cock, sucking the tip lightly and looking up at him with dark eyes.  

“I missed you,” Ilya admitted.  

Shane nodded, taking him deeper into his mouth and moaning.  

He'd ask Shane later.  

>>>  

Shane smelled like him.  

Ilya burrowed closer into his neck, sniffing him loudly. Shane made an embarrassed sound, but he pulled Ilya’s arms tighter around his waist. He loved the way Shane used his shampoo and soap, smelling indiscernible from him. It felt like Shane liked it, too.  

“I’m going to break up with Rose when she’s back this weekend,” Shane whispered.  

Ilya faltered; he hadn’t even had the chance to ask about it. He'd been two steps ahead of Shane this entire time, but for the first time, he felt like he was on the backfoot. And here was Shane now, offering himself up to Ilya.  

Or at least, he hoped that was what Shane meant.  

Ilya tried to move even closer to Shane, holding him tighter and hoping that Shane meant it. It was one thing when Shane was unattainable and they hadn’t said love to each other; when Shane was out of his reach, Ilya hadn’t let herself hope. But now, it was like Shane was within reach.  

Ilya wouldn’t survive it if Shane didn’t mean it.  

“I want to do this with you for real,” Shane said, his voice firmer.  

Ilya dragged his nose down Shane’s neck, smelling himself on Shane’s skin, kissing his way down his shoulder. Shane sighed as he relaxed in Ilya’s arms, and Ilya made the decision, then and there to have faith in Shane.  

Shane, who kept coming back to him.  

Shane, who used his key.  

Shane, who had Ilya tattooed on his skin.  

“Me too,” Ilya whispered into Shane’s shoulder.  

>>>  

Waking up with Shane when he wasn’t in a rush to run out was a fucking dream.  

The sun was barely up when Ilya woke up. Shane was already awake, pressing back against Ilya’s chest, grinding his ass against his erection. Ilya moved with him, tucking his cock between Shane’s cheeks and pressing against his hole, still wet and loose from the night before.  

Both of them whimpered softly as Ilya reached for the lube, coating himself before he pushed inside Shane. Ilya held Shane close to him, hardly letting him move as he rolled his hips against Shane’s prostate.  

He reached around to stroke Shane’s cock, his hand moving firm in time with his hips. Shane shuddered in his arms, wrapping his hand around Ilya’s wrist and humping up into his touch, chasing his orgasm. Ilya bit down on Shane’s shoulder as they came together, gasping for breath as Shane moaned his name.  

Ilya felt boneless and airy as Shane pulled away from him, turning in his arms and kissing him. Ilya kissed him back, threading his hand through Shane’s sweaty hair and moaning into his mouth. Shane flinched slightly, causing Ilya to snap out of his post orgasm haze.  

“Sorry,” he muttered.  

“No,” Shane said, pulling him down to kiss him fiercely.  

Ilya took a chance and nipped at Shane’s lip, and this time, Shane didn’t flinch.  

>>>  

Ilya watched Shane as they ate breakfast at the tiny table in the kitchen, cataloguing everything.  

He didn’t like his scrambled eggs too runny. He didn’t add salt to anything, and he didn’t put sugar in his coffee. He wrinkled his nose at the full cream milk, so Ilya made a mental note to buy soy.  

He kept his ankle pressed to Ilya’s under the tiny table.  

And he asked what time Ilya would be home tonight, and if risotto was okay for dinner.  

Home.  

Ilya wasn’t sure that Shane had even realised that he’d said it, but Ilya could have sworn his heart skipped a beat.  

Home. Ilya was home.  

He waited until he was in his car driving to work before he let himself laugh, loud and giddy. 

Shane was coming home, to him. Shane was using his key and soon he would be Ilya’s, and only Ilya’s, and there would be no more complications. Soon they’d be going to sleep together every night and waking up together and cooking meals together and maybe Ilya could get Shane to come to the gym with him so he could watch him work out and sweat and maybe they could go out for lunch together before hockey and kiss on the street before they got in the car to drive to the rink together. Soon they could skate together and not act like they weren’t trying to ignore each other.  

“See you when I get home?” Ilya had asked, paused at the door to look back at Shane.  

Shane had smiled at him from the kitchen counter where he was loading the dishwasher. “I’ll be here.”  

Ilya’s cheeks ached from smiling before he even parked the car.  

>>>  

“What should I wear tonight?”  

Ilya looked at Shane with a raised eyebrow, feeling the weight of the question.  

He knew Rose wasn’t going to be there tonight. Shane had made a comment about driving so Ilya could drink tonight over breakfast, implying that they would be coming and going together. Whatever they were, it was something, enough for them to be making plans together, even if the only two people who knew they were something were Svetlana and Marleau, who so far hadn’t said anything to anyone.  

“What do you usually wear to bars?” Ilya asked, trying to gauge where Shane’s head was at.  

“I don’t know,” Shane shrugged. “Whatever.”  

Ilya glanced between Shane and his closet. He was sure he knew what Shane was asking for. He reached in to grab a couple of plain silk shirts, a white and a black one, and holding them out to Shane.  

“Try these,” he instructed, sitting at the edge of the bed and watching Shane strip off his t shirt.  

He loved the way Shane took off his clothes for him. He loved the way Shane would turn slowly, as if he was inviting Ilya to watch, loving the way he stared at him. Ilya loved the way Shane’s back muscles looked like a bag of snakes fighting each other, all thick corded muscle beneath perfectly smooth skin.  

Ilya made a noise of approval when Shane pulled the white shirt on, watching as Shane only did the bottom three buttons. He frowned, then realised that Shane was wearing the shirt the exact way he had seen Ilya wear it.  

"Too much skin,” Ilya said without thinking.  

It was a lie. If he could, he would parade Shane down the street naked and show everyone what was his. Shane rolled his eyes.  

“So it’s okay for you to walk around like this but not me?” he asked.  

“Yes,” Ilya nodded. “You are too sexy. Men and women will fight me for you. It will cause a riot.”  

Shane shook his head, but took the shirt off. “As if I would go home with anyone but you.”  

Ilya opened his mouth to say something, but the ghost of Rose was suddenly in the room, sitting in the armchair and staring at him. He forced out a soft laugh instead, resolutely only looking at Shane.  

“It’s too fancy for the bar,” he said instead. “This one. More casual,” Ilya said, passing Shane a plain white t shirt.  

It was his favourite one. He'd bought it in Moscow a couple of years ago. It had a hole in the hem by the bottom, but he liked it like that. Shane pulled it on over his head and turned back to Ilya to show him.  

It hung loose on him. The shirt was too worn in to look like it was Shane’s. The shoulders were pulled just a little too wide, and the underarms were a little low on him. Shane was almost as broad as Ilya, but their shoulders were shaped different. Ilya had noticed that this week, now that he’d had so many opportunities to stare at Shane in the mirror, side by side with him, as they brushed their teeth every morning and night.  

“You look good,” Ilya said. “More than good. Take it off, let’s stay home.”  

Shane laughed, shaking his head and smoothing out the shirt. He bent down to give Ilya a sweet, soft kiss before he stood up and brushed Ilya’s hair off of his forehead. “Come on, we have to go.”  

“The sooner we go, the sooner we’re back,” Shane tried. “I’ll put that shirt back on.”  

Ilya perked up at that. “Oh?”  

“Maybe we can go out, just us, and I can wear it sometime,” Shane said, looking down at his shoes.  

Ilya stood and grabbed Shane’s hips, gratified by the pleased sound Shane whimpered out. “Ah, you want to show off for me,” he teased.  

Shane shrugged. “Maybe.”  

Ilya fucking loved him. He kissed Shane, properly, sweetly, caressing his sharp jawline before he pulled away. “Okay. We have a couple of drinks, we celebrate Marley, we come home and ruin that shirt.”  

He smiled as Shane lit up with laughter, taking Ilya’s hand and leading him out of the bedroom.  

“You are unbelievable.”  

>>>  

The bar was loud from the second they stepped inside.  

Ilya followed Shane to the tables at the back where all the boys were posted up, checking his phone for updates from Svetlana. They were thirty minutes away – plenty of time for at least six shots.  

“I’m buying,” Ilya called out, watching Shane sit next to Pike and his wife and making his way over to the bar.  

He nodded when Vaughn came up next to him, smacking him on the shoulder.  

“Haven’t seen you around much,” Vaughn smiled.  

“Been busy,” Ilya said. “Sorry, I know it’s easier for you to pick up when I’m there. I attract beautiful women like a lighthouse.”  

Vaughn laughed, signalling to the bartender for another beer. “You came with Hollander tonight, right?”  

Ilya froze momentarily. “He gave me a ride.”  

Vaughn hummed, looking at Ilya, his face more serious. Ilya waited for him to say something, to call him out on his relationship with Shane, to say anything, but Vaughn seemed to let the moment go. Ilya let himself breathe when Vaughn nodded to the table.  

“Odds on Pike embarrassing himself and his missus leaving him here to walk home?” Vaughn offered.  

"High,” Ilya said.  

Vaughn laughed as he grabbed a tray of shots, helping Ilya take it back to the table. Ilya didn’t care how obvious he looked; he made his way to the empty seat between Shane and JJ, pressing his leg against Shane’s, just to feel him right next to him.  

>>>  

He had thought, at the very least, that Marleau would try to look surprised when he walked into the bar. Ilya watched Svetlana’s face flit from excitement to confusion to disappointment to fury as Marleau walked in smiling at everyone like he had expected them.  

Then he watched again as Svetlana lit up when Marleau dropped to one knee and held the ring out for her, shouting yes before he could even ask her to marry him.  

Ilya sniffed, making sure his eyes stayed dry.  

He had known Svetlana his entire life, and he had never, ever seen her smile like this.  

It made him happy to see her happy, but some ugly part of his stomach twisted at the realisation that he’d never been able to make her that happy. Ilya felt something akin to grief as he watched Marleau pick her up and spin her around, dipping her dramatically and proclaiming that he would never have a better birthday ever in his life.  

Svetlana, who had spent years following Ilya around, pulling him back from the darkness, was finally with someone who pulled her into the light. Ilya was happy for her.  

He glanced sideways at Shane, feeling sick to his stomach.  

Had he pulled Shane into the darkness with him without realising?  

>>>  

Ilya drank too much too fast. He could feel his thoughts drifting away from him as he tried to listen in on the conversations around him.  

He wasn’t drunk. But he could be, soon, if Svetlana hadn’t taken away the two shots he had in his hands.  

“Rude,” he snapped at her.  

“Don’t be an asshole,” she snapped back, downing both of his shots with a wink. “Come on, I need a cigarette.”  

Ilya followed her out to the smoking area, lighting two cigarettes and handing her one, the way he’d always done since high school. Svetlana took it with a smile, inhaling deeply as she looked at him.  

“Did you know?” she asked.  

“He told me days ago,” Ilya couldn’t stop himself from bragging. He never knew things before Svetlana did.  

“And you didn’t tell me?” Svetlana complained. “Too many secrets since you moved here. You never kept secrets from me back home.”  

Ilya shrugged. “Things are different here.”  

Svetlana hummed. “It used to just be the two of us, I suppose.”  

The sick feeling returned to his stomach. Ilya steeled himself, turning to face Svetlana properly.  

“I’m sorry, Svetik,” Ilya said.  

Svetlana looked confused, raising an eyebrow at him as if she were bored. “For what?”  

“I think I’ve been a bad friend to you,” Ilya admitted. “Always making you look after me.”  

He looked down at his shoes in shame, unaware that Svetlana had moved until she was right in front of him, reaching for his hand.  

“I hate hearing your father’s words come out of your mouth,” she said firmly. “It is too beautiful for that.”  

Ilya sniffed, reaching for his cigarette. He could feel Svetlana staring at him, studying him.  

“I think – I think maybe we will feel like this a little bit, now that our family is growing,” she said.  

"It’s a weird feeling,” he said.  

“I know.”  

They smoked in silence, her head resting on his shoulder until Marleau came through the door, smiling brightly at Svetlana.  

“Hey, the girls want a closer look at your ring,” he said, looking apologetic.  

Svetlana stubbed out her cigarette, turning to Ilya and holding his chin, making him look at her.  

“I am happy you’re here with me, okay?” she whispered to him. “Then and now and always.”  

Svetlana leaned in to kiss him, sweet and gentle, just a press of her lips against his, like they were kids again, before she winked at him and walked back to Marleau. Marleau smiled at him as he took Svetlana’s hand, leading her back into the bar and shutting the door behind them.  

Ilya let himself breathe, lighting up another cigarette and trying not to let guilt eat him whole before he went back inside.  

>>>  

Shane telling him to meet him outside the bar had been a surprise.  

Shane pulling him into the backseat of his car, parked on a public street where people were definitely meandering around intermittently was a shock that had him hard and gasping into Shane’s mouth in seconds.  

“I love you in my clothes,” Ilya moaned as Shane climbed into his lap, pushing his shirt aside to smooth his hands over Shane’s stomach.  

“I love wearing them,” Shane breathed as he kissed him, pulling his hair and making Ilya look up at him.  

There was definitely some sort of exhibitionist thing happening with Shane today, that much was clear. Ilya thought about when they had pressed against each other at the bar in front of everyone a couple of weeks ago, to the back alley blow jobs and Shane’s tattoo that anyone could see and to now, with Shane sitting on his lap in the street, both of their cocks in his hand.  

“Fuck,” Ilya breathed, watching Shane stroke them.  

Shane was thick and hot against him, every pulse of his cock echoing through Ilya’s body. He grabbed Shane’s ass, pushing his hips back and forth, moving his own hips to time with Shane’s strokes, vaguely aware of the sound of an approaching car.  

Ilya had had much more public sex before, but this was too risky. Everybody they knew was around the corner, and Watts liked to wander around when he had too many drinks in him. This was maybe a little too public, given their circumstances.  

Ilya reached for Shane’s hand and spitting into it, knowing that it would set Shane off.  

It did. Ilya watched as Shane keened and jerked them off faster, his grip almost too tight. Ilya twitched beneath him as his orgasm washed over him, only barely aware of Shane using his other hand to catch their combined mess inside his underwear. His mind stuttered as he thought about Shane walking back into that bar with all his friends, his cock soft and spent and uncomfortable, soaking in their come.  

Ilya tipped his head back against the seat, shaking his head. “Fuck, Shane.”  

Shane laughed, kissing him and wiping them both off and tucking their cocks back into their pants.   

Ilya wanted to go home. He wanted to take Shane home and make him sit in his filthy underwear. He wanted him on his back, with his legs spread, his cock hard and aching while he licked their come clean off of him, and he wanted to never leave his bedroom ever again.  

He groaned when Shane smacked his hands against his chest, nodding to the bar.  

“I’m gonna need a cigarette before I go back in there,” Ilya murmured.  

Shane laughed as if Ilya was joking, and not as if he was planning on smoking the very last cigarette in his pack and then keeping the butt on his bookshelf for the rest of his life.  

“Come on,” Ilya said, patting Shane’s thigh for him to move.  

Ilya breathed as Shane slid off his lap, catching a glance at himself in the rearview mirror. He was red, and his hair had frizzed up. He would need to cool down and slip into the bathroom to clean himself up before he faced everyone, or it would look too obvious. Especially when the only people he had talked to tonight was Svetlana and Shane.  

“Go wash up, I need a cigarette,” Ilya said as he climbed out of the car, smacking Shane on the ass to get him to move aside so Ilya could shut the car door.  

He frowned when he realised, Shane was frozen, tense and rigid, stepping to the side to see Rose standing eight feet away from them.  

Ilya had no idea what to do. Shane and Rose were just staring at each other, all wet, sad eyes and shock and fear, and he was acutely aware that he was not supposed to speak right now.  

“What the fuck, Shane?” Rose finally said, looking between them. “How long?”  

Ilya reached out for Shane, pressing his hand into the small of his back. He could feel Shane register the touch, leaning back into it minutely before he finally spoke.  

“Three months, roughly.”  

Ilya watched as Rose processed that, laughing hysterically as she took a step back, then to the side, then looked at the car before looking back at Shane.  

“You’ve been cheating on me for three months?” she asked.  

Ilya flinched when the tears started to fall. For the first time, he felt truly guilty for what they had done, for pulling Shane down with him –  

“With a man?” Rose said.  

Ilya blinked. He could feel Shane tensing again, bracing for what came next.  

“I don’t understand, Shane. Are you gay?” Rose asked.  

“Yeah,” Shane said, his posture straightening. “I’m uh, I’m gay. I didn’t know. I didn’t know until the other day. I thought it was just – I was drunk, or curious. The first time. But it’s more. It's been more the entire time. I’m – I love him. I'm so sorry, Rose.” 

Ilya was still and quiet, the way he had practised all through his childhood, as Rose looked between him and Shane. It was almost like this with his father in those last few years. Standing in complete silence, watching and waiting to see how he would react. Ilya wasn’t sure which way Rose would go, but he was ready to pull Shane away and deal with whatever it was.  

Still, he was surprised when Rose’s eyes flicked down and she started laughing.  

“You love him,” she laughed.  

Ilya clenched his teeth together, careful not to make a noise. Shane was rigid again, and Ilya pressed harder against him, making sure that Shane knew that he wasn’t going anywhere. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a sick part of Ilya was pleased that Rose could see, within seconds, that Shane was in love with him. That sick sense of validation was starting to sound a little too loud for Ilya’s liking.  

“I’m so fucking stupid,” Rose laughed, shaking her head. “Jesus fucking Christ, I am so fucking stupid. I thought you were proposing.”   

Ilya felt himself freeze at that. Shane had told him that he was leaving Rose. He had asked to borrow Ilya’s gym bag for tomorrow so he could pack clothes in. He had made a joke about using they key to Ilya’s apartment more than any other key before.  

“What?” Shane asked.  

The shock in his voice settled Ilya just a tiny bit, but the sick feeling remained.  

“Fuck me, I guess, right? I found the ring a couple weeks ago,” Rose said, shaking her head. “I thought you had been so weird lately because you were nervous about proposing.”   

Shane began to move, shaking his head vigorously. “My mom gave it to me. I didn’t, um, I didn’t ask for it.”  

Ilya hated how loud the sigh of relief he let out was. He could feel Shane hear it, his body turning slightly towards Ilya. He rubbed his thumb over Shane’s back, trying to tell him that he understood. At least somewhat.  

“No, of course not,” Rose muttered, looking down at her hands. “You wouldn’t have. I should have guessed that, actually. You wouldn’t do anything spontaneous like that.”  

Ilya grit his teeth when Rose finally looked at him in the eyes and looked him up and down with disdain, scoffing in his face.  

“Well, not for me, at least,” she said.  

He knew Rose was hurt. Ilya knew he’d done something horrible to her.  

He just hated how much that fucking hurt him.  

“Rose, I’m so sorry,” Shane said, spreading his hands wide as he took a half step closer to Rose. Ilya tried not to see it as Shane walking away from him. “I fucked up so badly. It's just – I love you. It’s not – it’s not the love you deserve. You deserve so much more than what I can give you. I just didn’t know it for so long. I tried so hard to be the normal, regular guy with the perfect girlfriend, and I didn’t realise I was hurting you by doing that.”   

Ilya bit his lip, listening. He'd heard Shane say bits and pieces of this, fragments, disjointed thoughts in the dark as they laid in bed together. He stayed still, relaxing his hand on Shane’s back a little, ready to step away.  

He had intruded on Rose and Shane enough.  

“Can I take you back to the apartment?” Shane asked Rose. “I’ll, um, I’ll grab some stuff and go. I can text you tomorrow to set up a time to grab the rest of my things during the week. You take the apartment.”  

Ilya watched as Rose nodded, making her way over to the passenger door. He forced himself to step away from Shane, relieved when Shane’s face looked oddly clear. Shane nodded at him and moved to the car, giving Ilya his cue to leave without saying a word. Ilya squared his shoulders and walked back to the bar, wishing he could hear what Rose said before he rounded the corner.  

He stepped inside, heading straight for the bar and ordering two shots of vodka.  

He just hoped that Shane would use that key again.  

Chapter 6: Forgiveness

Svetlana caught his wrist before he could down his fourth shot, shaking her head at the bartender.  

“No more for this one,” she said sweetly before her face dropped, staring at him sternly.  

Ilya pouted, grimacing when she smacked him on the shoulder and switched to Russian to berate him.  

“What happened?”  

“She caught us,” Ilya said lowly. Nobody around them could speak Russian, but Ilya still didn’t want to say anything that could get Shane outed or caught.  

“Who?” Svetlana asked, turning to look out the window.  

“His girlfriend,” Ilya said, reaching for Svetlana’s beer. “We were fucking in the back of his car. She found us.”  

Svetlana's eyes widened with shock as he moved her beer out of his reach. “Fuck, Ilya.”  

He hummed, nodding to her drink. “One more.”  

“No. Water,” she said, signalling for the bartender again. “And coffee. Come sit.”  

“See?” Ilya said quietly. “Still taking care of me.”  

Svetlana hushed him, brushing her hand through his sweaty hair before she patted his leg to get him to stand.  

Ilya let her lead him back to the table, planting him between Vaughn and herself and forcing him to rejoin the conversation as if nothing had happened, keeping her arm looped through his.  

It took about forty minutes for the haze of what just happened to clear. Vaughn kept him occupied as Svetlana kept her nails dug into his thigh, not letting him move. They made it to midnight before Marleau and Svetlana started to get too obnoxious with their making out, leading Vaughn to nudge Ilya with his elbow and nod to them.  

“I feel like we should get them out of here,” Vaughn stage whispered.  

Ilya smirked as Marleau’s hand disappeared up Svetlana’s dress. “Probably.”  

It took twenty minutes to corral them into Vaughn’s car, and another ten to drive them to Svetlana’s apartment. Vaughn was gracious enough to turn the radio up high and pretend that Marleau and Svetlana were not having sex in the backseat of his car, instead glancing at Ilya. He at least waited until Svetlana and Marleau were inside her apartment building before he turned to Ilya.  

“Are you okay, man?”  

Ilya nodded reflexively, used to lying. “Of course. Long day at work, you know.”  

Vaughn hummed as he drove towards Ilya’s apartment building, letting silence sit between them for a long moment.  

“Everything okay with Shane?”  

Ilya forced himself to breathe normally as he shrugged. “Yes. I think so.”  

Vaughn was quiet until he pulled up to Ilya’s building, turning to look at him properly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, if there’s anything even going on. But if there is, I’m in your corner, okay?”  

Ilya blinked at him, unsure of what to say.  

“Okay?” Vaughn reiterated.  

Ilya clapped Vaughn on the shoulder and thanked him for the ride, forcing himself to get out of the car and not spill his guts on everything that was happening with Shane.  

It wasn’t his place to say anything. Not yet.  

>>>  

Ilya tossed his phone onto the bed, kicking off his shoes and stripping his clothes off.  

He hadn’t heard from Shane. Of course he hadn’t. Shane was in his apartment, where he lived with his girlfriend, talking about how he had been cheating on her for months. They were probably fighting and crying and screaming at each other.  

Ilya tried not to think about the fights his parents used to have. Shane wouldn’t be punching holes in walls. Rose wouldn’t be throwing plates at him. No one would be threatening to grab a knife and draw blood. No one would threaten to hurt him or Alexei as punishment.  

Rose was a good person. She had to be, if Shane loved her. She would cry and scream, maybe, but she wouldn’t hurt Shane.  

Shane, who had his key.  

Shane, who had Ilya etched into his skin.  

Shane, who would be coming through that door any moment and crawling into bed with Ilya.  

Ilya forced himself into the shower, washing the night off of him, brushing his teeth and dragging a towel through his hair, determined to look like he was patient and calm for Shane. He paced between the front door and his bedroom, waiting, waiting –  

The sound of the key in the door was enough for Ilya’s entire body to flood with relief. He watched as Shane stepped inside with an overstuffed gym bag, holding up his key and smiling.  

“Still works,” he joked.  

It was odd, to see Shane walk through his door without fear or shame or guilt lining his face. He looked lighter, somehow. Ilya gestured for him to come inside, but Shane hesitated at the door.  

“I don’t wanna crowd you. I can go stay at a hotel,” Shane said, studying Ilya carefully.  

Ilya rolled his eyes, as if that wasn’t the dumbest thing Shane had ever said to him. Even dumber than asking am I gay while Ilya was sucking his cock. All he had wanted since he met Shane was for him to be here, with Ilya. To be Ilya’s.  

“One thing you should know about me, Shane, I do not say things I do not mean,” Ilya said, reminding him of their conversation the first time they really talked. “It takes a lot of work to say things in English, so if I bother to say it, it is real.”    

Shane exhaled, letting Ilya usher him inside and dropping his bag by the door. He waited for Shane to stop adjusting his weight from foot to foot before he looked at him expectantly.  

“So, I'm single now,” he said.  

No you’re not, Ilya wanted to say. You’re not fucking single.  

He hummed instead, doing his best to not look like he wanted to try doing a cartwheel for the first time in his life. But Shane was giving him so much.  

“I’m sorry this was hard for you,” Ilya said quietly. “That she found out the way that she did.”  

That, at least, Ilya did mean. He knew Shane would have liked to mitigate the pain he was about to put Rose through, and selfishly, Ilya didn’t want to be a part of it. But it was fitting, he thought, that somebody knew what he had done and wouldn’t forgive him for it. Maybe he had to pay for it, at least a little.  

Shane shook his head, grimacing at Ilya. “No, that was too risky. I was reckless. I think I've been actin recklessly for a little while now, if I’m being honest. Hoping to get caught.”  

Ilya raised an eyebrow at that. That made sense. Alexei had always behaved like that – too afraid of a confrontation where he’d have to talk about his feelings, opting instead to let everything blow up around him and slink off before the dust settled.  

But Shane had stayed and dealt with it.  

Ilya pulled Shane alone to the couch with him, forcing him to sit. He ran a hand across his face, through his hair and down his back, touching him to make sure he was real and here.  

“Are you okay?” Ilya asked.  

“Can I be honest?” Shane asked. When Ilya nodded, he smiled. “I feel so fucking good. I didn’t realise that lying had made me feel so anxious and sick for so long, and now I feel light? Free. Like a real person for the first time ever. I feel like – healthy? Real?”    

Ilya hated that Shane had felt like that. He hated how well he knew that feeling. He grabbed Shane’s face, brushing his thumbs across Shane’s eyes.  

“You are a real person,” he said firmly. He needed Shane to believe it.  

“I felt like a ghost for so long,” Shane said quietly.  

Ilya blinked. There were a lot of ghosts in his life. His mother. His father. Alexei. His life in Moscow. Russia. His childhood.  

Shane was not a ghost. Shane was more heart and blood and soul than anyone Ilya had ever met in his life. He reached for Shane’s wrists, squeezing them so tight he needed Shane to feel it, to hurt just a little.  

“You are real. You’re here.” Ilya said.  

Shane sighed, leaning closer to Ilya. “I know. I always feel real when I’m with you. When I’m here.”  

Ilya breathed a sigh of relief. Shane had so easily put into words what Ilya had been struggling with for months.  

Suddenly, he was fucking exhausted. All he wanted to do was kiss Shane and tell him that he loved him and hear Shane say it back. Everything else could wait.  

>>>  

“Does it still hurt?” Ilya asked.  

“Aches a bit,” Shane said, fiddling with his lip. “It’s apparently not a very easy area to heal.”  

Ilya couldn’t stop himself from breathing out a soft laugh. “Really.”  

"Doesn’t help that you keep biting over it,” Shane complained. “At this rate, I'll be bleeding for the rest of my life.”  

Ilya leaned in, sucking Shane’s lip into his mouth. He ran his tongue across Shane’s lip lightly, sucking even softer before biting down with the faintest brush of teeth.  

“I’ll fix it,” Ilya promised.  

“How?” Shane asked.  

Ilya nodded, leaning up on his elbows and pushing Shane onto his back. “I have a salve for this. Can fix anything that’s broken.” He pulled Shane’s lip down and leaned in, licking the inside of Shane’s lip.  

Shane made a loud sound, shoving Ilya off of him. “Fuck!”  

Ilya laughed. “Twice now! You are too easy, Hollander.”  

He watched as Shane’s smile faded. Ilya breathed deep as Shane raked his fingers through his curls, leaning into his touch.  

“What if it’s too broken and it doesn’t heal the way it’s supposed to?” Shane whispered.  

Ilya rested his hand over Shane’s heart as if he was making a vow. “It will heal how it’s supposed to heal. And it will be perfect.”  

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for Shane to nod to show that he agreed with him. Ilya pressed forward when the first tear fell, kissing Shane until he was sure he forgot all about the fucking tattoo.  

>>>  

Making love to Shane felt surreal.  

They had fucked. They had had all sorts of sex. They had laughed and cried and ached for more for months.  

But Ilya had never just held Shane close and made love to him, soft and tender, to someone that was all his.  

Shane gasped against Ilya’s lips, panting softly as Ilya rolled his hips. He snaked his arm between Shane’s back and the mattress, pulling Shane closer to him. Shane’s eyes fluttered shut as Ilya kissed him again.  

Ilya had no fucking idea what time it was. He had no idea whether the light illuminating Shane’s freckles was sunlight or the lamp by the bed. He had no idea how long he had been inside Shane, making him cry out for him and making him whimper.  

Or maybe Ilya was whimpering. His throat was working, he was making noise, it seemed, but Ilya couldn’t hear himself. All there was was Shane. Beautiful Shane, flushed and sweaty and flayed open for Ilya to burrow inside, to take what he needed.  

“I love you so much,” Shane panted into his mouth. “You’re it for me.”  

Ilya tried to say it back, tried to tell Shane that he was everything, but Ilya couldn’t hear himself. Shane made a pleased sound, so he must have said something, but all Ilya could do was feel, feel, feel. Just feel Shane, white hot and blinding and perfect and his.  

Finally his.  

>>>  

Ilya could feel Shane moving. He turned his head, but Shane was already climbing over him, resting on top of him. He wrapped his arms around Shane, frowning at how slow and syrupy his body felt.  

“You passed out,” Shane mumbled into his neck.  

“What?”  

“You came so hard you blacked out,” Shane said, pinching his side. “Freaked me out.”  

Ilya laughed, kissing Shane’s temple. “Fuck. Sorry. Never happened to me before.”  

“Yeah, me either until I met you,” Shane murmured.  

“Your fault,” Ilya said, closing his eyes. “You killed me, Hollander. I’m dead.”  

Shane nipped at his chest before he rested against him, snuffling a little as sleep took them again.  

>>>  

“I’m gonna tell Hayd and JJ that I broke up with Rose,” Shane said, looking at Ilya with wide, worried eyes.  

“Okay,” Ilya said, trying to understand Shane’s face.  

“I’m gonna tell them that I’m gay,” Shane clarified. “And about us.”  

Ilya stood straighter at that. “Oh.”  

“If that’s okay?”  

“No, it’s okay,” Ilya nodded. “Just - you would be telling people that we had an affair.”  

“I would be admitting that I cheated on Rose, yeah,” Shane nodded. “But I think – I need to be honest. Even if it makes me look shitty. I mean, you've seen the worst of me and you still like me?"   

“Yes," Ilya nodded, smiling at him. "Okay."  

“Okay,” Shane agreed, turning to the dresser where Ilya had told him he could keep his socks and underwear. “Oh, hey, did you steal this?”  

Ilya looked up, flinching when he saw Shane grab his Ducati t shirt from the shelf and shake it out.  

“No,” he said flatly. “You left it here.”  

He watched Shane think, his brow furrowed as he tried to work out when he had done so. Ilya saw the exact moment Shane realised when he had left it behind.  

“Well, you’re gonna have to get used to sharing all our clothes now,” Shane shrugged, putting the shirt on.  

Ilya did his best not to smile at the sight of Shane in that shirt again, surprised that his chest didn’t ache at the sight of it.  

>>>  

“Why are you here?” Ilya asked.  

“We missed you,” Marleau lied, holding up a large pot.  

“We love spending time with you,” Svetlana cooed.  

“And we thought it would be a bad idea for you to just sit around stressing about Hollander moving out of his old place,” Marleau admitted.  

“And because I made you golubtsy,” Svetlana added, pointing to the pot.  

“I told you you would cook it for me,” Ilya beamed, pulling Svetlana in for a hug.  

“Shut up,” she complained, shoving Ilya away. “I have not made for Cliff before. It’s not for you.”  

“Marley, you are going to love this,” Ilya smiled. “Tastes like home.”  

Ilya grabbed plates and cutlery, helping Svetlana serve the food and bringing it to the couch where they all ate on their laps while they watched the hockey. Ily asked if they had told their families about the engagement and was regaled with stories about everyone being so happy, and trips being planned to introduce Marleau to Svetlana’s family.  

“I will show you where we grew up,” Svetlana said to Marleau. “You will hate it. It’s so depressing and dark and beautiful. I miss it so much.”  

Ilya didn’t even notice how late it was until Shane came home, carrying two backpacks, a suitcase and a gym bag. Marleau jumped up with Ilya, helping him unload.  

“You got more stuff in the car?” Marleau asked.  

Shane nodded. Marleau was out the door first, Ilya and Shane trailing him. Ilya pulled Shane back half a beat, holding his hand and lowering his voice.  

“You okay?”  

Shane smiled at him. He looked tired, but he nodded. “I feel good. I’ll tell you about it later.”  

They only had one trip back up to the apartment between the three of them, Shane proclaiming that he didn’t own all that much, and that Hayden had all the heavy items stored in his garage now. Svetlana was serving him a plate of golubtsy by the time they got back inside, looking him over carefully as he sat next to Ilya, their thighs pressed together.  

It was almost like a double date, Ilya realised. Shane and Svetlana bickered about the game while Marleau handed Ilya a beer from his own fridge like he lived here. It was warm and perfect, his little home with his favourite people here.  

He felt warm, deep down. Where it mattered.  

Ilya felt even warmer when Svetlana stopped by the door as she was leaving and pulled out his mother’s book. He blinked as he held it, looking at Svetlana in surprise.  

“What’s that?” Shane asked.  

“My mother’s book,” Ilya said, almost without wavering.  

“What’s it about?”  

“Two lovers finding their way back to each other,” Svetlana winked at him, kissing them both on the cheek before she left.  

Marleau followed her out with a salute. Ilya shut the door behind them, flipping through the pages.  

“Is it a happy story?” Shane asked.  

Ilya looked up at him, unsure how to answer the question. “Depends on your idea of happy,” he said instead.  

Shane looked confused as he looked at the book. “Maybe you could read it to me and I can decide.”  

“Okay,” Ilya murmured. He tried not to think about how he had asked his mother to do the same for him once, back when he was too impatient to read big books by himself. “Yes, okay.”  

Shane leaned in for a soft kiss before he pulled away with a sigh.  

“Unpacking or sex first?”  

Ilya put the book down carefully on the table before he bent down to hitch Shane over his shoulder, carrying him into the bedroom instead of answering.  

>>>  

He'd sent Shane off to lunch with his parents a couple hours ago, and he hadn’t heard from him. Ilya usually operated under the assumption that no news was good news, so he’d made his way to the gym, had a long session, and stopped at the grocery store to pick up food for dinner. He was halfway through the vegetable section when he saw a familiar head of red hair coming towards him.  

Ilya saw the exact moment Rose noticed him. He did his best to keep his face blank and his body relaxed, slowing down as he approached her.  

“Hey,” Rose said, stopping in front of him.  

“Hi.”  

Rose looked conflicted, like she was deciding on what she should say. Ilya waited.  

“How’s he doing?” Rose settled on.  

“He’s okay,” Ilya said. “Adjusting. It's a lot of change.”  

Rose huffed and nodded. “Yeah.”  

“How are you?” Ilya tried.  

“Embarrassed,” Rose said. “I feel so fucking stupid. And angry. At you, at him. At me.”  

Ilya wasn’t sure if an apology would help her or just make himself feel better, but Rose held out her hand to shut him up before he could decide either way.  

“He told me that you didn’t know about me,” she said.  

It was gracious. It was an out that Ilya didn’t deserve.  

“Not at the start,” he agreed. “But after, I did.”  

Rose flinched at that.  

“My choices weren’t...good,” Ilya acquiesced. “But, you know. It’s Shane. I didn’t think about what was good or bad.”  

He watched as Rose tilted her head.  

“I mean, I get it,” she said lowly. “I know it’s not like, a big conspiracy against me. If I'm being honest, that’s kind of why it sucked so much. Shane just found someone better and then didn’t bother to tell me for ages. I was just an afterthought. That fucking sucks.”  

Ilya nodded. He knew that feeling too well.  

“What’s for dinner?” Rose asked, looking into his basket.  

“Rice and vegetables,” Ilya shrugged.  

“Shane says he hates parsnips, but if you cut them right, he can’t tell them apart from potatoes,” Rose whispered to him.  

Ilya barked out a laugh in surprise. “Good to know.”  

Rose gave him a sad smile and moved out of his way. Ilya watched her go for a moment before he made his way to the cauliflower, determined to see if Shane was right and cauliflower steaks was a real thing and not something he made up to fuck with Ilya.  

>>>  

“They want to meet you,” Shane said.  

Ilya didn’t say anything, chopping the brussels sprouts in half. Shane had told him that Ilya’s brussels sprouts were the best he had ever tasted. Ilya hadn’t told him yet that the secret was roasting them in duck fat. Not after Shane had told him that his favourite birds were ducks.  

“They do?”  

“Yeah,” Shane smiled. “My dad didn’t seem too surprised when I told him I was dating a man, which...”  

Ilya tried not to smile as Shane considered that.  

“Do you think that means anything?” Shane frowned at him.  

“Probably not,” Ilya lied. “Fathers know their sons better than mothers, I think.”  

“Did your father –” Shane cut himself off.  

Ilya looked up and shrugged. “Yes. I think so. Probably why he hated that I was so close to my mother. Why he pushed me to do hockey for so long. He would always call me – you know. Names.”  

Shane’s face fell. Ilya didn’t say anything as Shane came up behind him, plastering himself to Ilya’s back. Ilya kept chopping vegetables, but he relaxed into Shane’s strong arms. It was nice, for once, having someone here, holding him together.  

“But I think they know,” Ilya shrugged. “Like how mothers know their daughters differently.”  

Shane hummed, his hand stroking Ilya’s stomach comfortingly. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to meet my parents,” Shane offered.  

“Do you want me to meet them?” Ilya asked.  

“Well, yes –”  

“Good, I would also like to meet them,” Ilya smiled, turning around in Shane’s arms. “I would like to tell them I like their son.”  

“You like me?”  

“Yes, I think he’s okay,” Ilya teased.  

Shane laughed, shoving Ilya away. Ilya rubbed the spot where Shane pushed him, surprised to feel the same phantom ache he felt from that first night. He wondered if it would ever disappear, or if it was another thing that would haunt him forever.  

“Well, they want us to come up to Ottawa next month,” Shane invited. “I think my mom wants to show you all my baby photos.”  

Ilya perked up at that. “Baby photos?”  

Shane rolled his eyes in regret. “Will that get you to go?”  

“Yes,” Ilya hissed, kissing his neck. “Throw this all in the bin, let’s drive over right now.”  

Shane yelped as Ilya picked him up by his thighs and dropped him onto the kitchen counter, slotting easily between his legs and kissing him. Shane pulled Ilya in closer, kissing him back feverishly.  

“Turn off the stove,” Shane demanded.  

Ilya complied, following Shane into the bedroom and falling right onto his knees for him.  

>>>  

Domesticity felt so fucking nice.  

Ilya had worried that years of caring for his father would have left him hardened and resentful, bitter about having another person around him all the time, but being with Shane every day felt like a dream.  

Cooking breakfast for two people was just as easy as cooking it for one. Shane made their lunches every day, packing Ilya all sorts of healthy food, always one chocolate bar for the afternoon slump, and sometimes a post it note with horrifically written attempts at Cyrillic that Ilya was sure Shane was getting straight out of Google Translate.  

He had a steadily growing stack of post it notes on his shelf now. A shelf that Shane had wordlessly been adding to.  

A receipt from their first official date night out. A gum wrapper from the piece Ilya had chewed frantically and swallowed in a panic at David and Yuna’s front door when he realised he had nowhere to spit it into. A DVD of the Russian adaptation of the Master and Margarita, which Shane had watched with wet eyes, making Ilya translate for him.  

A bottle cap from the first time Shane had showed Ilya his party trick of opening bottles with his teeth. The lighter that had magically stopped working the day Ilya had told Shane that he wanted to stop smoking. The first nicotine patch that Ilya had worn and promptly sweat off when Shane asked if he could try rimming him.  

A collection of trinkets, brought back wordlessly to impress one another.  

Dinners together almost every night, taking turns to cook. Falling asleep in each other’s arms every single night, and waking up together every single morning.  

Ilya couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a ghost waiting for him around a corner.  

“What do you think you’ll do when you get sick of me?” Ilya dared to ask one morning.  

“What do you mean when?” Shane asked, his face blank.  

Ilya laughed. “You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?”  

Shane scoffed. “No. You’re the most interesting person I know. How would I get bored?”  

Ilya shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m very boring now that I am dating you.”  

“Don’t say dating,” Shane admonished. “What we’re doing is not dating.”  

“No?” Ilya smiled.  

Shane shook his head, rolling his eyes at Ilya. “Come on, don’t annoy me. I already don’t want to go to this stupid baby shower thing.”  

Ilya laughed, reaching over to squeeze Shane’s thigh. “First baby for them, so exciting,” he said. “Watts hasn’t talked about anything else since Lisa told him.”  

“Fucking annoying,” Shane muttered. “Is this gonna be how it goes for everyone?”  

“Maybe,” Ilya shrugged. “We should find something to be annoying about, too.”  

“No.”  

“Shane -”  

“We’re not getting a dog when we still live in an apartment,” Shane said firmly. “We agreed, we need to have a yard.”  

Ilya groaned, dropping his head down to the table. He could hear Shane push his plate aside so Ilya’s hair didn’t fall into his food. “There’s a baby out there waiting for us, and we’re keeping her waiting.”  

“Her?”  

“Yes, always her.”  

“What if we find a nice boy dog?”  

Ilya sat up and frowned. “Slavic men do not have boy dogs. Only girl dogs.”  

“Really?”  

“Yes. It’s a rule in Russia,” Ilya lied.  

“Okay,” Shane rolled his eyes. “So many rules in Russia.”  

“Yes! Communism. You get it,” Ilya said.  

“Sure. Like how I have to wear my glasses after ten pm,” Shane said flatly.  

Ilya nodded solemnly. “Yes.”  

“And no spitting.”  

“That would be rude,” Ilya smirked.  

“You ever get sick of your own bullshit?”  

“Do you?”  

Shane was trying not to smile, clearly having fun. Ilya leaned in to kiss him, nipping at his lip.  

“Come on, let’s go,” Ilya sighed. “Jackie said she has news, and if it’s another baby, I think Svetlana will faint. I’ll need to catch her.”  

Ilya grabbed their plates, loading the dishwasher while Shane fixed his hair in the mirror.  

He considered how he’s ruin that perfectly coiffed hair when they got home.  

Maybe he’d fuck Shane over the edge of the bed, ass up and out for hours. Maybe he’d fold Shane over onto his back, keeping his ankles above his shoulders until he cried. Maybe he wouldn’t fuck Shane at all, and Ilya would fuck his mouth until Shane was coming untouched just from swallowing Ilya down.  

Ilya was getting very, very comfortable with domestic life.  

Chapter 7: Epilogue - Transformation

Ilya watched as Shane looked around in awe.  

“It’s fucking beautiful here.”  

Ilya smiled and nodded. “Right?”  

“I can see why you wanted to come here so badly,” Shane said, turning on his spot to look up at the buildings.  

Ilya watched as Shane snapped some photos on the bulky camera David had given to him to take on their honeymoon, even though Ilya had told Shane that it would be a pain to travel with.  

They hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of a wedding. They had been to half a dozen ridiculously over the top engagement parties and weddings in the last three years that left them with a distaste for doing anything similar, agreeing that all they really cared about was actually being married. Shane had requested a courthouse wedding with a small reception at a restaurant they loved with just their closest friends, and Ilya’s only request had been that they take a proper holiday and go on a honeymoon.  

They'd agreed on Paris and Barcelona, and then Ilya had had a particularly vivid dream about his mother and wokenShane up to ask if they could spare a couple of days to go to Zadar first. Svetlana had told Shane about how Ilya had been so desperate to come here when they were teenagers, and Shane had found the story funny, but asked Ilya later if he had been trying to run away from home. Ilya had promised to tell him the story one day, and Shane had kissed him and said whenever you’re ready.  

So when Ilya had asked to come here first, Shane had agreed easily, not pushing Ilya, but clearly guessing that there was more to the story. Shane had asked what there was to see, and Ilya had told him honestly that there was just one thing that he wanted to show him.  

“Come on,” he said, nodding for Shane to follow him.  

He froze for a split second, seeing a woman with long, light brown hair turn the corner ahead of him, twisting back to look at him like she was daring him to chase her or he’d lose her forever –  

Ilya blinked, and she was gone. His feet moved without him telling them to, chasing ghosts, chasing the sounds of the sea.  

It was strange, how after all these years he didn’t need a map. It was so easy to follow the familiar sound and the smell of saltwater. Ilya nearly reached for Shane’s hand before stopping himself, remembering where they were. He settled for reaching for the ring on his necklace next to his cross and playing with it as he looked to make sure Shane was following him.  

He walked slowly, letting Shane take everything in. Ilya watched him as they got closer, smiling when Shane heard the first notes of the Morske Orgulje and whipped his head around to look at him.  

“What’s that?”  

Ilya nodded for Shane to follow him out to the sea edge, sitting on the step and waiting for Shane to join him.  

“See all the holes in the steps?” Ilya pointed.  

Shane nodded, listening intently to Ilya. Sometimes Ilya still felt overwhelmed by the way Shane looked at him, like he had all the answers, or like everything he said was the most important thing anyone could ever say.  

“It’s a giant organ,” Ilya explained. “It’s an art project. The city commissioned this sculptor or something to make it.”  

“Wow,” Shane hummed, closing his eyes.  

Ilya watched as Shane swayed a little with the sound of the waves, listening to the dulcet tones as the gentle waves washed in and out under the organ.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”  

“I love it.”  

“I dream about it all the time,” Ilya admitted.  

Shane opened his eyes to look at him, his attention solely on him again. Ilya had told Shane about his dreams, bitsand pieces over the years, enough to paint a picture. But Ilya had still kept some things to himself out of shame.  

“I don’t remember my mother’s voice anymore,” Ilya admitted, the words slicing open something deep in the pit of his soul. “When I dream about her, and she’s talking to me or trying to tell me something, this is what I hear.”  

Shane looked between Ilya and the sea, tilting his ear as if he was trying to hear her speak to him.  

“Is it a sad sound?” Shane asked.  

“Yes. No,” Ilya answered. “When I was younger, I forgot her very fast. Some things have come back to me, but some things never did. Like her voice. But when I was younger, it was hard to accept. I was angry that she died and left me with my father. You know, she couldn’t survive him, but she expected me to? It wasn’t fair. I hated her for leaving me alone. And she was still the only person I wanted to talk to.”  

Shane shuffled a little closer to him, sliding his foot out to rest against Ilya’s. Ilya had told him that they were a little too far east to kiss and hold hands in public, and he had been glad that Shane had simply bought a chain to put his own ring on and not asked too many questions about why Ilya had insisted on coming here.  

“My father’s voice I can still hear,” Ilya said. “That one I do not think will ever go away. It’s like –” he pointed to his ear, trying to show Shane that it was always right there, like an echo that never stopped.  

Shane pressed his ankle to Ilya’s. Ilya was grateful that it was quiet, only locals walking home from work at this time of day, and hardly any tourists at this time of year. Nobody would notice two friends sitting together and talking.  

“When I was fifteen, I came here to die,” Ilya said, staring out into the sunset.  

He could feel Shane’s head whip around to stare at him, but Ilya couldn’t look at him right now. He wouldn’t be able to stomach Shane’s pity and fear and stress.  

“I didn’t have much of a plan,” Ilya said. “I was just drinking, and then I was going to go into the water. I just – Icouldn't remember my mama’s voice. And I was so tired. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I wanted to be with her again. Or, just not with my father. He was getting more and more sick, and Alexei was gone, and I couldn’t do it anymore. Even hockey wasn’t fun anymore.”  

Shane shuffled closer, his elbow knocking against Ilya’s. He could tell from Shane’s breathing that he was crying.  

“I just wanted to hear something nice before I died,” Ilya said, closing his eyes and tipping his head back as the waves picked up a little, the sounds getting louder and more melodic. “I thought my mother would have liked it here, if she could have come. She always used to read me stories until I fell asleep. I thought maybe it would be the same, somehow. I don’t know.”  

Shane was silent for a long moment, only the sound of a sniffle breaching the silence.  

“So why are we here now?” Shane finally asked.  

“I wanted to say goodbye to this place,” Ilya tried to explain. “I wanted to show you the worst of me. I wanted you to know me. Even the scary parts. The ugly parts.”  

“I know you,” Shane said quietly. “I love you. All of you. There are no ugly parts.”  

Ilya hummed, finally chancing a look at Shane. His eyes were wet, as expected, but he was staring at Ilya with something different. Surprise and shock, and something else.  

“I think you’re so fucking brave, you know,” Shane said, holding his eye. “You’ve always just been so...you. You made me braver just by being around you.”  

Ilya snorted. “I am not brave.”  

“You are,” Shane said. “You made it through.”  

“Mm, Svetlana found me,” Ilya said. “She tells everyone that we ran here together, but she found a note in my room with the train time. She followed me here. Found me standing down there,” Ilya pointed to the bottom step that disappeared and reappeared with the waves.  

“She saved you?”  

“Pulled me in by my hair,” Ilya laughed, remembering how much it had hurt. “I was so angry at her, I shaved my head the next day.”  

Shane made a wounded sound. “You shaved your head?”  

“My father was happy,” Ilya nodded. “Said I looked less like a girl.”  

“Fuck him,” Shane cursed, affronted.  

Ilya could see his hand twitch, knowing that Shane was aching to touch him.  

“I just wanted you to see where I go in my dreams,” Ilya said. “After I met you, I started dreaming of you out here, too.”  

Shane looked around, taking it all in. “Thank you for telling me.”  

Ilya looked out to the sea, nodding at Shane to look at a small sailboat going by.  

“Do you still feel like that?” Shane asked.  

“No,” Ilya said honestly. “Tired like that, sometimes. But no, never like that. Not for a long time.”  

“Why did you want to come back here?” Shane asked.  

Ilya had known that was going to be Shane’s big question. He'd been considering for weeks how to answer it. He still wasn’t really sure why, not completely.  

“I just wanted to show her that I’ve left her behind,” Ilya said.  

Shane’s head moved between him and the sea. Ilya waited for Shane to ask more questions, to ask him to clarify what he meant, but Shane just kept his elbow and ankle pressed to Ilya’s and listened to the sound of the MorskeOrgulje with him.  

>>>  

Ilya tried to catch his breath, but Shane wasn’t letting up. Ilya kissed him back, desperate to be inside Shane after not being able to touch him all day.  

They had sat in silence until the sun had gone down, listening to the sounds of the sea until Shane had shivered. Ilya had stood up fast, leading Shane back to the hotel and finally, finally touching him.  

Shane had kissed him ferociously the second the door had shut behind them and hadn’t stopped.  

Ilya moaned as Shane pushed his shirt up, running his hands up his abs and to his heart, resting there. He reached for Shane’s shorts, pushing them down his legs and shoving Shane further into the room.  

He needed to be inside Shane right now. He needed to show Shane how much he loved him, how happy he was that Shane was his husband. Ilya needed, he always needed more when it came to Shane.  

“Ilya,” Shane keened as he pulled Ilya to the bed with him.  

Ilya removed the last of their clothes, crawling over Shane and kissing him.  

The way Shane opened up for him like this never ceased to amaze Ilya. He was always so bare for him, so open and desperate to receive him.  

Ilya moved slow, the weight of today still heavy between them. His lips never left Shane’s as he slowly stretched him open, working him up to three fingers. Shane gasped as Ilya shifted lower to kiss his chest, dipping his head to suck Shane’s nipple into his mouth.  

He loved taking his time with Shane like this. He loved that Shane let him.  

Ilya finally pressed his cock to Shane’s hole, watching his face carefully as he pressed inside.  

The tension in Shane’s body released completely as Ilya’s hips met his own, gripping Ilya’s shoulders hard enough that he was sure Shane would leave bruises. Ilya moaned a little too loud for the hotel as he drove into Shane, controlled and languid and exactly the way that Shane liked. Ilya thrust a little harder, smirking as Shane’s mouth dropped open, panting and desperate and moaning his name.  

“Oh my god, fuck,” Shane breathed against his mouth. “Fuck, more please. Please, please, please –”  

Ilya shuffled up on his knees, getting even closer to Shane –  

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya moaned. “Oh god.”  

Shane cried out as Ilya moved faster, reaching for his own cock and gripping the base hard to stop himself from coming. Ilya batted his hand away, needing Shane to clench around him, desperate to feel it. He reached for Shane’s lip, staring at the tattoo of his teeth marks, leaning in and kissing him before he bit down. Ilya lost controlthe second he tasted blood, spilling inside Shane.  

Shane moaned low and deep as Ilya wrapped his hand around him, twisting his hand as he stroked him, pulling Shane over the edge with him.  

Ilya watched him so closely, cataloguing the way his brown eyed crinkled shut, wet lashes brushing against his cheeks. He studied the way Shane’s freckles glimmered underneath his tears, and the way his lips were swollen and wet, stained red with his blood and spit. He look down Shane’s muscular body, taking in his perfect skin, flushed with sweat, and his spent cock, still hard and twitching between their stomachs.  

“Mine,” Ilya said, using his thumb to smear Shane’s blood across his mouth and down his chin. He sucked the remnants off his thumb, staring at Shane. “I can’t believe you are my husband.”  

Shane broke out into a wide, tired smile. To anyone else, he might have looked insane. But to Ilya, he was so fucking beautiful. So fucking perfect. So his.  

He checked Shane’s lip, flinching when he saw that his teeth had cut through both sides of his lip. Shane whimpered at the pain, licking his lip and pouting. Ilya gave in, kissing him again despite the pain. Ilya knew how much Shane loved the feeling of it.  

“I love you so much,” Shane whispered as Ilya kissed his neck.  

Ilya couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Shane just yet. He tucked himself into the crook of Shane’s neck and closed his eyes, letting the feeling of Shane scratching his way soothingly down his back drown everything else out.  

>>>  

Ilya could hear the sounds of the Morske Orgulje louder than ever. He blinked, frowning when he saw his mother standing in the water. Her mouth was opening, but he couldn’t hear her over the rush of water and the music. He felt a warm hand in his and turned, seeing Shane standing on the top step, nodding for him to follow.  

His feet were cold, Ilya realised. He was standing on the last step, already in the water. Ilya's mother reached for him, but he recoiled at her touch, frigid and wrong.  

Ilya leaned into Shane’s touch. He was warm and hard and his skin was glowing, like he was lit from within. Ilya didn’t look back as he walked up the steps, reaching for Shane –  

He jerked awake, blinking rapidly as he realised where he was. Shane was plastered to his back, his arms wrapped around Ilya’s waist as if Ilya was going to run away from him. The window was open, and he could hear the melodies of the sea as clear as a bell.  

Ilya nestled closer to Shane, smiling when he heard him snuffle in his sleep and squeeze Ilya tighter.  

He loved it here. He loved anywhere where he got to be in Shane’s arms. He couldn’t wait to traipse around Paris and listen to Shane speak French, or to show him around Barcelona to the bars and restaurants he and Svetlana used to come to whenever they needed a break from home, drinking their way across Western Europe just because they could.  

But Ilya found himself, shockingly, missing the quiet of Montreal.