Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Additional Tags:

Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Mutual Pining, Injury, Smut, Emotional Sex, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Crying During Sex, Episode: s01e04 Rose (Heated Rivalry), 2014-2016 Montage in Episode: s01e04 Rose (Heated Rivalry), Confessions, Emotional Intimacy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Gentle Sex, POV Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, POV Alternating, Tender Sex, Getting Together, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Scene: Ilya Rozanov Makes Tuna Melts in Episode: s01e04 Rose, Character Study, Episode: s01e05 I'll Believe in Anything (Heated Rivalry), 2017 MLH All-Star Weekend in Tampa Bay (Game Changers), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, in which Shane and Ilya are the Yearners of All Time, they love each other so much I’m SICKKK (and they are too), Love Confessions

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-23 Completed: 2026-08-11 Words: 35,214 Chapters: 3/3

blue moon baby

Summary

“Hollander,” Ilya murmured gently. “Bath is ready.”

Shane cracked his eyes open, staring dumbly at the burly Russian hovering over him where he was still laying in bed.

“…bath?” He croaked, voice raspy with disuse.

“Mm. I ran you a bath. It will make you feel better before you go to sleep tonight. Will help with your sore muscles.”

Shane asks Ilya to fuck him gently during one of their regular hookups, badly bruised from their game. Ilya runs him a bath afterwards, and they fall secretly and desperately in love that way, through whispered confessions and late night conversations while Shane soaks, and Ilya quietly observes him.

Notes

Posting another fic after 'copper tongue' went triple platinum is so scary... the impostor syndrome goes crazy.
Lower your expectations just a little for my sake 🙏 love y'all, mwah!

**this takes place ambiguously around the tuna melt timeline // my moon my man montage!

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Ilya was beginning to think there was something wrong with him.

There was no other explanation for why he ached this viscerally for Shane after each one of their matches, the gnawing hunger in him refusing to dissipate even after another night graced by Shane in his bed.

It didn’t make sense, not when Ilya had gotten so used to the routine of loose attachments, never letting any of his hookups pierce him below the skin. There was just no logic or reason to it—he couldn’t figure out how Shane Hollander had so easily gained access to his heart, not when no one else had ever come close.

His secret descent into love could have been such a beautiful thing, but instead it was tearing him up inside, like a rot spreading through his stomach and seeping into his veins. It terrified him, the possibility of losing the unspoken connection he and Shane had built through the years by letting even an inkling of his true feelings float to the surface where they could be seen.

Rather than stewing in worry on the nights he got to be with Shane again, Ilya tried channeling the roiling energy inside of him towards what he knew how to do best. He fucked Shane hard and oftentimes rough, lucky Shane seemed to like it that way after gruelling games both their teams had to fight doggedly to win.

It was always incredible when the tension they built up on the ice bled into the sex they had, Shane an alluring sight against the sheets while he watched Ilya undress, waiting for him to come closer and take him apart. It was electric as soon as that last door clicked shut and they got to be truly alone together, an invisible charge like livewire running between them.

Shane was much more well-attuned to what he wanted in the bedroom now than he had been when they were still bumbling teenagers, eager but unfamiliar with all that was possible between two men. Ilya thrilled at getting to try new things with him each time they did this, and god did Shane know how to give him everything he never knew he needed back in return.

Shane was unique to anyone he’d ever had before, consistent in his ability to drive him wild with want even all these years later.

Ilya was still buzzing from the high of their game as he pulled up to Shane’s condo that evening, the Raiders having just barely scraped off an overtime win against Montreal. The rush of the tough match ending in a loss would have Shane even more pent up than usual, which meant he would definitely be up for another intense hookup that Ilya could channel his building frustration into.

He knew it was stupid, maintaining hope he could fuck his growing fondness for Shane away with enough concentrated effort. His chosen strategy would probably seem illogical to anyone else, attempting to carve all the affection out of his chest by tangling himself up even further with the man he was actively trying to get rid of feelings for, but he was helpless.

Ilya was too gone on Shane to seek out anyone else, a new regular hookup that might aid his worsening affliction. He couldn’t make himself release hold of this sacred thing they shared, even while trying to disentangle his heart from the bramble.

Because Shane was the only person living this whirlwind parallel path with him. That undercurrent of sameness, an unspoken understanding shared between rivals, was why Ilya came away from their nights together feeling a little more alive than he did anytime they were apart.

They understood each other in a way no one else was capable of ever achieving. It was easy to let most of his walls down with another world-class athlete that needed this specific form of release just as badly as he did. Everything fell away suprisingly easily when it was just him and Shane naked and wanting, no outside expectations except the one to make each other feel good.

And that was the stark juxtaposition of his problem. Ilya knew he was rapidly falling in love with Shane, his condition worsening every time they saw each other. But while trying to drain that pooling, dangerous pit of want, he simultaneously refused to stop returning back for more.

Ilya was fairly certain he’d been the only man granted repeat permission to touch and explore and please Shane’s body since rookie year. It was a privilege he didn’t take lightly, and he was far too deep into his addiction by this point to manage quitting safely, needing a regular fix of his beautifully freckled rival like he needed the oxygen in his lungs.

He wanted so badly to keep hold of Shane’s physical affection, never strong enough to resist it for fear that he could never in this lifetime earn it back again. He wasn’t special. No sane man would give up something as sacred as Shane Hollander’s attention once they’d somehow consistently been granted it.

This also meant that whenever they were apart for weeks or months at a time, Ilya was taunted by memories of Shane’s strong hands tracing over his body or holding him tight while they fucked, his pretty brown eyes glazed over with lust as he left gripmarks all over his back. Ones Marly and the Raiders loved to rib him about in the locker room.

He hoped to create another similarly tantalizing memory tonight as he knocked on the back door of Shane’s condo.

Ilya waited only a minute or two before the door swung open, his favourite person in the world standing there in a well-worn blue t-shirt.

Shane was a little bigger than the average hockey player; they both were. Ilya found it incredibly endearing that even with those broad shoulders and thick muscles, Shane still often chose to wear the largest, softest things when he was out of the public eye.

It was a habit Ilya revelled at being kept around long enough to start recognizing, because knowing Shane’s intricacies gave him a taste of what it would be like if they could be together for real, granted a whole lifetime to learn each other's unique patterns and ticks.

His fingers twitched with the urge to hug Shane close, already overcome with an achy fondness for him.

Shane drank him in slowly from the door, taking everything in from his dark jeans to the open zip-up coat that did little to hide the intentionally fitted t-shirt underneath. When he was done, Shane met his eyes in silence, as if waiting for Ilya to say something or make the first move.

Eventually Ilya strolled through the entryway with hands in his pockets, trying to act unaffected, and was endlessly grateful for it when Shane dropped the act before he could, dragging him closer by the coat collar to kiss him until they were both out of breath.

“Fuck, Hollander, you are eager tonight.”

“Shut up,” Shane murmured against his lips. “Don’t act like you aren’t desperate for it too.”

Ilya smiled, knowing Shane could feel it where they were still interspersedly kissing. “I can show you how desperate I am if you let me get upstairs.”

Shane huffed with amusement at that, biting back his own smile as he pulled away and led Ilya up the staircase by the hand. It was the little moments like these—their fingers twined together, even if only to make it up to Shane’s place and get each other naked—that sent the butterflies in Ilya’s stomach aflutter.

He knew it didn’t mean anything, these casual doses of an intimacy they couldn’t keep, but his heart never seemed to get the same memo. Shane’s gentler touches always washed over him like a basking of the sun’s warmth.

As soon as they made it up the stairs and into Shane’s condo, the door clicking shut behind them, he dropped Ilya’s hand to turn around and crowd him against it, returning right back to kissing him.

Ilya tried to stamp down any lingering traces of fondness from the stairwell, focusing instead on the messy, desperate rhythm of their mouths. The emotional suppression was routine, but as they took turns moaning and sucking on each other's tongues, it was apparent his efforts to stop feeling this altogether were useless. Shane was too fucking beautiful not to want all-encompassingly.

They kissed and kissed some more. Shane’s hands ran through his hair, palming tufts of Ilya’s curls before using them to pull him impossibly closer, as if they could meld into one person if he tried hard enough.

Ilya for his own part was running his hands under the hem of Shane’s shirt, feeling along his muscled abs and pecs, then appreciating his toned back and tight waist. He settled on Shane’s hips with a firm grip that kept Shane’s body anchored tight against him, needing that closeness after weeks spent apart.

Shane whimpered at the sudden intensity of his touch, and Ilya swallowed the pretty sound down gratefully. He was pressed entirely against the door with Shane draped over him as best he could while they were still upright, both of them already well on their way to being fully hard.

Ilya moaned when Shane rutted up against him, kissing him through it while their erections dragged against each other with enough friction to drive him mad.

He needed to manoeuvre them away from this damn doorway, so they could make each other feel good without a wooden surface digging into his back. Ilya shifted to get his hands under Shane’s ass, hoping to carry him over to the bed where he could worship him the way he longed to after how breathtaking he'd looked on the ice tonight.

He hoped to get Shane there, but Shane stopped him before he could, going immediately tense when he bent for leverage to pick him up.

Ilya paused his movements, receptive to Shane’s sudden discomfort.

“Wait, Rozanov— um. Before that, I just wanted to…” He swallowed hard, then glanced away as if too embarrassed to meet Ilya’s eyes as he vocalized whatever was eating away at him. “Just, can you be a little bit gentler with me tonight? I know we don’t usually fuck like that. But this time I want to.”

Oh god. It was like everything down to the blood in Ilya’s veins went still. He could hardly process that man he was falling in love with had arms still wrapped around him as he overcame any hesitation to ask so fucking nicely if they could have gentle sex tonight.

The question was so unexpected, practically pulled from the vat of secret wants Ilya had been struggling to suppress over the past few months, and it was not going to be good for him at all.

It couldn’t be good for him, because it would feel too close to lovemaking, being able to draw pleasure from Shane in a much more attentive and languorous way than their usual frenzied or rough sex.

He was so scared of an irreversible truth spilling from his mouth at the height of passion, so he deflected.

“What, suddenly my dick is too much for you, Hollander?”

Shane groaned, knocking his head against Ilya’s collarbone and grumbling something unintelligible at the halfhearted quip. Ilya did feel a little bad when it clearly took some effort for Shane to be this honest, so he petted a hand against his hair, hoping the gesture would counteract the effect of his teasing words.

He waited another few seconds before Shane pulled back, looking at him with an oddly determined expression.

“Don’t make fun of me, alright? I’m not asking for no reason. I’m asking ‘cuz I'm sore from tonight’s game. You guys put up a really good fight, and coach gave me way more ice time than usual to try and get through your d-men. It was already a scrappy game, and with a couple longer shifts I’m all banged up.”

Shit, he was right. Ilya had been too focused on stealing pucks and setting up shots to notice that Montreal’s defence hadn’t been protecting Shane to their usual ability, especially beyond the second period. Both the Raiders and the Metros were completely worn out by the time they made it to OT, and Theriault was a fucking idiot who resorted to giving his star player unreasonable ice time to try and salvage a point from the tie. Shane must be sore all over from being continuously tripped, piled-on and shoved into the boards.

“My whole side hurts… I need you to be gentle with me or I don’t think I can have sex at all if I want to be able to skate properly next week.” Maybe as an excuse to break eye contact, Shane watched himself trace a finger along the collar of Ilya’s shirt. “I know it might be hard for you to get off if you can’t fuck me the way you usually do, though, so if you want I can just blow you instead.”

Knowing that Shane was asking to take things slower out of necessity and not a similar place of yearning made Ilya feel a little better about giving in to one of his most indulgent wants, but what he’d added on at the end threw him off.

Ilya was anything but a selfish lover, and Shane was so unbelievably perfect he deserved to be pleasured in ways he couldn’t even properly conceive of yet. There was no way Ilya was going to use him like he’d suggested.

Ilya cupped a hand against the back of his neck, pulling him into an oddly tender kiss.

“I am not some asshole that can’t cum without being rough with you, Hollander. You know you’re so hot you barely have to touch me.” The honest compliment was worth it for the way Shane smiled shyly at him, noticeably relieved. “And you’re not a fucking prostitute. I’m not going to make you suck my dick and then leave right after.”

For a brief moment there was a strangely unreadable expression on Shane’s face, but then he huffed, back to hiding in the crook of Ilya’s neck.

“Thank you,” he murmured. And then, lower, “So you still want to fuck me?”

Ilya laughed once, softly, and ran a hand through Shane’s hair, encouraging him to relax and nuzzle further into his skin.

It was an echo of that unforgettable night in Vegas, when he’d followed Shane into the bathroom like a dog on a tight leash. He’d been too blinded by his own relief at seeing Shane again to realize how badly he’d scarred him with his prolonged silence, the tangible mix of Shane’s sorrow and desire seeping through to him with the first touch of Shane’s head against his shoulder.

“Didn’t you hear me? Of course I still want it, Hollander. Only a sick, sick man would ever pass up sex with the hottest man in the NHL.” He nudged his nose against the side of Shane’s head. “I am almost offended you would ask me this.”

Ilya could feel Shane’s small grin against him, and it warmed him to his core. He hated when Shane’s insecurities bled into their nights together, and tried his best to shut down any self-deprecating words without teetering too dangerously into obvious fondness. It seemed wrong that Shane couldn’t see himself for all his impossible beauty, not when there were countless people who would beg to have him in any capacity, let alone like this.

“C’mon,” Shane tugged at his jacket until Ilya started walking him backwards towards the bedroom. It took them a lot longer than it probably should have to get there, kicking off their shoes with their lips glued together the whole way, but eventually they made it. “Help me take my clothes off. Need you to fuck me.”

“Mm,” Ilya agreed, slipping his tongue into Shane’s mouth one more time between words. “Sit down on the bed, then I will get you naked and ready for me.”

And then Shane was obediently perched on the edge of the mattress, staring up at Ilya as he helped him out of his t-shirt with gentle hands and careful movements. Shane winced at the pull on his sore shoulder, but reassured Ilya that he was fine once he stopped to ask.

“Lean back on your hands a little,” Ilya instructed. It would give him better leverage to tug Shane’s sweats and boxers off without putting any unnecessary strain on his legs.

Shane lifted his hips just enough for Ilya to be able to slide the fabric down and to the floor, hissing when he had to lean awkwardly on his hip to help Ilya free the bunched up fabric.

The resulting sight of Shane fully bare stunned Ilya into silence.

“Fuck, Hollander, what happened to you?”

Ilya’s hand twitched towards reaching for him, but he resisted at the last moment. It had only been two hours since the game, but Shane’s entire right side from the top of his thigh up past his hip was discolored already, a hematoma forming in the mottled and bloody bruising.

Ilya grimaced just looking at it. There was no way it wasn't really fucking painful.

“I dunno. It’s probably from the pileup by the net in OT. I was already down when Carmicheal got tripped by someone’s stick—felt like his elbow was the first thing digging into my side before the rest of his weight came crashing onto me.”

“Jesus christ,” Ilya winced empathetically, this time tracing his fingers feather-light over the ugly patches of bruising. Shane shivered at the unexpected gentleness of the touch. “And you kept playing after that? Are you insane?”

“Coach needed me. The team needed me. I was probably running on adrenaline or something… the pain didn’t really register fully ‘till I got back to the locker room.”

“Shane… I am not going to fuck you when you’re hurt like this.”

Ilya wouldn’t have even noticed his slip of the tongue, his inclination towards tenderness and the resulting use of Shane’s first name coming to him so naturally after seeing him badly beat up. The only indication that Ilya had said something out of the ordinary was Shane’s pupils widening just a fraction.

He needed to remember to be careful tonight.

Ilya watched the way Shane’s throat bobbed, his own feeling similarly dry at the unintentional layer of intimacy he’d started to peel-back. Shane was looking at him intently, practically begging him to come closer.

When he didn’t move, Shane reached for his wrist, tugging Ilya towards him so he was looming over where Shane lay back against the edge of the bed. “Please, Ilya. I need you.”

Oh god. If he had been worried about his own slip up, he had no idea how it would feel to have the same ammunition used against him. Ilya. Ilya. Not Rozanov. The butterflies in his stomach kicked up again.

It was probably blatantly obvious how weak he was to Shane’s desires, always willing to give him what he asked for in the bedroom even if he sometimes liked to make Shane beg for it first. Ilya’s given name rolling off his tongue with an air of breathy want was just cruel, and something they both knew he wouldn’t be able to resist for long.

“We shouldn’t,” He persisted weakly.

Shane ignored him without trouble, then tugged on his wrist again until Ilya complied and propped himself up over him on the bed.

Ilya was careful not to bear any weight on Shane, overly conscious of his bruising as he bracketed his head with his forearms, unable to resist kissing the curve of his cheek, then his mouth.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Shane murmured against Ilya’s lips. “You know I’m strong, and we’ll go slow. I can take it.”

Ilya pulled back just enough to look Shane in the eye. “I don’t want to hurt you even more when you are already like this. Is only fun if Montreal loses a playoff spot, how do you say… fair and square? Not because I fucked their already injured captain hard enough that he has to be benched next few games.”

Shane smacked him halfheartedly against the chest. “You’re such a fucking asshole. My team can still win games without me, y’know.”

Ilya rolled his eyes, smiling a little. “Always so humble, Hollander, but we both know that is not true. Just look at how shit the Metros played tonight. Your coach tried to kill you giving you three minute shifts with no line change because only the prince of hockey can get past Boston’s defense.”

“Wow. Talk dirty to me, Rozanov.”

Ilya nipped his bottom lip, glad to be back in more playful territory after the unintentional tenderness they’d shared only a moment earlier.

“What? It is true. You would not be worthy of being my rival if you weren’t second best player in the league.”

“I hate you.”

“Yes. Sure, Hollander.”

“I’m serious,” he grumbled. Ilya could see the corner of his mouth quivering as he fought off a smile.

“I don’t think you hate my dick, though.”

Ilya swallowed Shane’s protest before he could even open his mouth to argue, loving the way he melted further into the mattress while being thoroughly kissed. When they were both out of breath, Shane shifted to mouth at his jaw, gasping his words against Ilya’s skin.

“I need you so bad, Rozanov. And I trust you to be careful with me. Just— I wanna feel you deep inside me so I can fall asleep thinking about your cock instead of these bruises.”

Trust. Shane trusted him. The words were so sincere, and they caught Ilya especially off guard because they were immediately followed by Shane begging to be fucked.

Ilya groaned, feeling even more of his blood rush south. “Is not fair when you talk like that. How am I supposed to be a good man and let you heal when you are trying to seduce me?”

“That doesn’t matter. Just… please, Rozanov. You are good to me. You’re good because you’re about to give me what I want. Don’t make me keep begging, it’s embarrassing."

There was only so much Ilya could take before he started to really sympathize with Shane, even if his ailment was his apparently insatiable desire to be fucked. Shane wasn’t the only one starving for it, though, so if he still wanted to do this in spite of his injury… Ilya couldn’t say no.

He would make sure to be as careful with him as possible. It wasn’t just a promise to himself, but one he also silently made to Shane, brushing the back of his knuckles gently over the slope of his jaw.

With some mental effort Ilya removed himself from their near-embrace, standing up from the bed to start peeling off his jacket and shirt.

It hadn’t really registered that he was still fully clothed despite Shane already being naked and vulnerable beneath him. Not when he’d been focused on restraint and the unreasonably difficult task of convincing Shane that they wouldn’t be having sex at all tonight.

Scrapping his efforts after a little bit of sweet-talk was further proof that Ilya was weak. Both to his own wants, and the pretty picture of Shane begging beneath him while holding him close, doe eyes warm and enticing and entirely impossible to resist. He could practically feel Shane’s relief now Ilya stood over him while he stripped, readying to take him apart so fucking gently.

Ilya stepped closer to the bed once he peeled off the last torturous piece of fabric keeping him from being skin-to-skin with Shane, tossing his boxers to the floor. It nearly sparked a head rush, the way Shane looked at him while sliding back further up the bed, wordlessly coaxing him closer.

The shift created room for Ilya to crawl up over him without his feet dangling off the mattress.

Once Ilya was settled, their lips crashed back together in a messy, desperate kiss. Their bare erections brushed despite Ilya making sure not to bear too much weight down on him, the sensation a teasing reminder of how good even the faintest contact with Shane could be.

They made out like that for what felt like no time and forever, content to lose themselves in the rhythm of each other's mouths. It was mindlessly sensual, and it did the trick getting Shane’s muscles as loose and relaxed as possible before Ilya could start to prep him.

Eventually, regrettably, Ilya pulled back to sit on his heels, helping Shane get comfortable against the sheets.

Shane observed him with a subtle glint in his eyes, quietly fond as Ilya fussed over him, propping him up against two pillows, then changing his mind and maneuvering him so he lay flat on the bed, a pillow placed instead under his achy hips.

Making sure Shane was enjoying himself without any unwanted pain was always top of mind for Ilya when they hooked up. Verbal consent and the occasional check-in midway through sex—especially when they went at it rough—was the norm for them, even when Shane sometimes grew frustrated and insisted he was fine, that they had done this a million times by now and that he would tell Ilya if he didn’t like anything he was doing.

Ensuring Shane was comfortable was even more non-negotiable tonight. It couldn’t be just an undercurrent, a piece of the backdrop, not when even a moment of recklessness could injure him even further.

“How do you want to do this?” Ilya questioned, rubbing a gentle hand across the length of Shane’s right side, the one unmarked by bruises.

He tracked the way Shane swallowed, then lifted his good leg to bend it at the knee so his foot was planted on the mattress. It helped splay him open despite his hurt leg laying flat against the sheets, some semblance of comfort still intact.

Ilya leaned down to kiss Shane as he traced over his rim with a lubed up finger, hoping to keep his mind occupied to avoid any tenseness as he worked him open.

Shane was always so responsive, his natural reactions easily coaxed out of him in the form of a gasp or a sigh or a painfully beautiful moan. It was always better when they got to have each other away from hotels, somewhere where they could be truly alone and lose themselves in the sensations without thought to how loud they were being, like right now.

It felt divine, working open a place for himself inside Shane while they kissed and Ilya got those perfect moans breathed right into his mouth, lapped up like sweetest ambrosia. Having to stifle Shane’s gorgeous reactions because of thin walls was criminal; he was endlessly grateful not to have to do it here.

Ilya could feel Shane’s aching cock against him, so hard it sometimes twitched up to brush against his stomach while he languorously rubbed at his prostate.

When Shane started to squirm against the sheets beneath him, Ilya pulled back, kissing a path down his jaw. “Stay still for me, solnyshko. You are going to hurt yourself if you twist around too much. Just tell me what you need and I will give it to you.” He murmured, stilling his fingers as he dragged his lips across Shane’s neck, eliciting a pleasant shiver.

“Fuck me. Please fuck me, I swear I’m ready.”

Shane was always so pretty when he begged. It had taken them years of infrequent hookups to get to the point where he was completely comfortable pleading for what he wanted, knowing with absolute certainty that he did not have to be ashamed or embarrassed when he was with Ilya.

That level of trust added a whole new layer of pleasure to everything they did together. Shane had to know that hearing him get like this, impatient and pent up past the point of rational thought, lit Ilya up inside.

Ilya dragged his free palm across Shane’s cheek, patting it twice before leaning down to peck him on the lips. “Shhh. I already promised I would fuck you tonight, hm? And you have been such a good boy, saying please and begging so pretty for me.” Shane whined at the feel of Ilya’s fingers still inside him, dragging torturously slow against his prostate as he continued teasing. “Tell me, should I suck you off first, or fuck you like the perfect cock slut you are?”

Shane nodded his head frantically against the pillow, practically pleading with his eyes for Ilya to just get on with it. And god, he was so gorgeous like this, eyes taking on that glistening quality they only ever did when Ilya messed with his heart—the memory of that Vegas bathroom flaring up like a painful stitch in his chest—or when he was desperate, so horny he entrusted all of his needs to Ilya, even the ones he couldn’t yet bring words to. It was a level of power Ilya sometimes didn’t know what to do with, being given the reins to guide Shane through the motions whenever they had sex like this.

And Shane was always the most willing listener, needing to achieve that pleasant buzz, that state of numbing bliss that came with releasing the stressors of planning and penciling every aspect of his life outside the bedroom.

When they were both here, naked with nothing but plain need for each other permeating space between them, Shane was incredibly eager to let go.

Because he was a fucking god on the ice, known by the hockey world as a quiet killer. He was stilted and polite in interviews, then brilliant and so damn quick with the puck, almost never stooping to the scrappy fighting other dirtier players got caught up in. Shane knew his skills, and he let that be enough to be what propped him up as a modern day legend of the sport.

It was why being granted witness, sole protector of Shane’s release of control, drove Ilya wild. He never took that vulnerability, that perfectly presented submission lightly. Not when no one else got to have him like this.

Ilya took a light hold of Shane’s jaw, ensuring he couldn’t look away. “You need to use your words. Say it out loud so I understand. Which one do you want, kotenok?”

“Want you inside me. Please, Rozanov. Please fuck me.”

It was a sweet kind of torture, dragging it out, making Shane chew on his words instead of racing to be inside him. Ilya almost always wanted to take it slow with him, the urge to savour their rare nights together continuously lurking beneath the need to fuck him fast and rough to temporarily sate the unending hunger inside him.

That hidden perpetual desire for intimacy was why he was glad for the excuse to be gentle tonight, even if it would be the nail in the coffin of his sanity, solidifying his feelings for Shane in a way he knew would be irreversible.

Ilya kissed him once, slipping his tongue in filthily, before pulling back to roll on a condom and slick himself up, the only other sound in the room their heavy, anticipatory breathing. Neither of them could ever hide their open desperation when they got to this part, the last few moments before their bodies melded into one.

No one but Shane inspired this much raw want in him. Ilya could usually get partly hard from giving other people pleasure, but Shane was the only person who could consistently render him desperate and ready to fuck without even a hand or a mouth on him beforehand. He never needed it to get ready for him, but Shane liked to give Ilya everything anyways, dropping to his knees and working to be called good so he knew he was doing well, that he’d fulfilled a purpose.

It was intoxicating just hearing his syrupy-sweet moans, and feeling him open up around Ilya's fingers, readying to take him. His dick got so hard it hurt whenever he sucked Shane off, Shane never able to stop bucking up into his mouth or squirming against the sheets while being held down, all those thick muscles struggling to break Ilya’s firm hold on his hips.

The sex was always different with him. It was apparent in all the memories of nights dragged out so they didn’t have to let go, and even more undeniable now as Ilya hooked Shane’s good leg over his shoulder, carefully pushing inside him.

Shane gasped at the initial intrusion, reaching out for something to hold and landing on Ilya’s wrist, the one not keeping his leg secured. Ilya shook him off so he could tangle their fingers together properly, leaning forwards to press their hands into the pillow next to his head. By the time he lowered himself down enough to kiss Shane, he’d bottomed out, and Shane was whimpering against his lips, the needy sound enough to drive Ilya a little bit insane with lust.

It was a struggle to hold himself still and give Shane time to adjust, the feeling of that sinfully tight heat wrapped around him lighting up every nerve that told him to move, but Ilya was determined not to hurt him. He was going to be so good and careful tonight, no matter how much Shane begged or how badly he himself had to fight off the instinct to fuck him harder.

Ilya nosed at the curve of Shane’s cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked, kissing the skin there before pulling back to look him in the eye.

Shane nodded, short and a little frantic. “Yeah, I’m good. So good, Rozanov. You can move.”

Ilya nodded back at him, as if to say okay, I hear you, I’ll give you anything and then returned to kissing him, their tongues dragging against each other at a blissfully unhurried pace.

Ilya thrust into him with careful precision, pulling out only shallowly before burying himself completely inside Shane again. He was content to maintain a slow grind, heat licking up his spine at the way Shane whined and clenched around him, unused to the feeling of continual fullness rather than their usual frenzied rhythm.

Ilya was losing his mind, just a little bit. He was unable to look away from Shane’s face, starry freckles and earth-brown eyes already glazed over with pleasure as he got used to the feel of Ilya burying himself deep inside him, making a home for himself in the man he longed for years to claim as his own. Ilya held Shane’s meaty thigh against his chest through it all, using it as leverage to bury his cock impossibly further into him. He was flushed, his whole body running hot at the feel of Shane’s perfect hole inviting him deeper, squeezing him tighter.

The time floated away from them just like that, the world shrinking down to only this room, this moment, as it always seemed to do when Ilya was with Shane.

Because Shane was the only person whose presence settled the constant chaos inside him, that which consumed every other aspect of his life.
It almost made Ilya want him more, the way he was completely unaware of the healing effect he had on him. Shane couldn’t know that he soothed a part of Ilya’s soul with every honest look and earnest touch, each hookup giving him far more than just physical release. It shouldn’t be attainable, the way his spirit found calm when they coalesced, finally at peace for the handful of hours before they were forced once again to part, but it was true.

Here in this bed with Shane, Ilya was wanted in maybe the purest form possible, save only for the real love he burned to share with him. It had to be enough, Shane’s body aching for him while he had permission to savour the candied sweetness of Shane’s eagerness and trust in turn, taking his time worshiping his wonderfully pliant, mouth-watering beautiful body.

Ilya was addicted to Shane’s sugar, pushing into him a little harder while leaning down to soak up those saccharine moans breathed straight into his mouth. He was echoing Shane’s same desperation twofold, already barely hanging on to his sanity despite the drawn-out pace of their usually roughened sex.

His earlier fears of this becoming too real, too much like lovemaking dissipated with the rest of his rational thought. He couldn’t think clearly enough to realize he’d fallen right into the trap he told himself he’d be strong enough to avoid earlier. He was a lost cause with the haze that overcame him now, Shane’s flushed body splayed out temptingly beneath him, perfect ass warm and inviting around his cock.

When Ilya was dangerously close to cumming, he released his hold on Shane’s good thigh, bringing it back down to rest on the bed. Shane whined when he paused his slow, deep grind into him, so Ilya kissed him in wordless apology.

“You are driving me crazy, you know that?” he murmured, nosing at the underside of Shane’s jaw. He wasn’t right in the head anymore, too far gone to screen his words for obvious traces of his monstrous affection. “Moy dorogoy.” My darling, my dear. “No one is as perfect as you. No one else ever makes me feel the way you do.”

Shane practically sobbed at that, overwhelmed at his words and the instinctual need to move while not being able to without running the risk of further injury or pain. He wound his fingers tight through Ilya’s curls, pulling him away from where he was pressing kisses to Shane’s neck so he could tangle their lips together instead.

When they were both panting, Shane tugged him back just enough so the tips of their noses brushed.

“You can’t say things like that to me,” he whispered, breath stuttering when Ilya traced an unnervingly gentle finger across his cheek, mapping his freckles. “Not when…” he swallowed, glancing down to look at Ilya’s mouth, rather than his eyes. “Not when it doesn’t mean anything.”

It was like a needle to the heart, piercing something tender in him, quiet yet sharp. Because those words were so far from the truth it was almost laughable, and Ilya wasn’t stupid enough to think Shane didn’t know it. The reality was that what he’d said couldn’t mean anything, not with who they were supposed to be to each other once they left this room, this fragile bubble of their secret world together.

He couldn’t do this, wasn't supposed to let his honest thoughts slip out so easily, finding light when they’d only ever known the dark caverns of his heart.

He was so caught up in his own worry he almost missed the undeniable sadness in Shane’s eyes, a flash there and then gone again. It hinted that maybe Ilya wasn’t alone in this suffocating, perilous want, and that thought made him want to die a little. He was simultaneously overwhelmed with relief and overcome with new misery imagining Shane experiencing even a fraction of this same pain.

Because it was fucking agonizing to fight against what he couldn’t control, stifling his growing feelings for Shane that could be so wonderful without the impossibility of them needing very different, much less public lives.

It would never work, and so he hoped he’d judged Shane wrong. Hoped that he’d mistaken that sorrowful glint in his eye.

The reality that they couldn’t have anything honest beyond these walls made Ilya want to claw at his chest until he was nothing but a bleeding memory of a man. He wanted to be rid of his stupid heart, scooped empty of this love that the world outside would tell him was wrong. It was why that first memory of Shane, just a sweet Canadian kid introducing himself to the abrasive Russian immigrant most would avoid, still haunted him. Because they weren’t meant to fit, but they’d gone and molded themselves to each other anyways, nothing but a firm handshake and two quietly eager smiles solidifying their course.

And now years later, Ilya was pretty sure he was in love, and the idea that he could never one day have Shane the way he longed to was a constant pressure needling him under the skin.

Something ugly and raw must have shown on his face, because suddenly Shane was pulling him down until Ilya was laying atop him, face buried in his neck. He wasn’t really aware of anything surrounding him anymore, reduced to just a body wanting to crumble with the blackened emotions stiffening him up.

He was still inside Shane, and it registered only distantly that he was crying a little, Shane petting his hair with such gentleness it was ruining him even further.

If he was more present in his mind, he would’ve remembered that Shane was still hurt, and that bearing this much weight down on him was probably making his bruises ache even worse. But Shane hid any indication of his hurt, scratching at Ilya’s scalp and pressing kisses to his temple while he sniffled and broke apart.

He didn’t even really know why he was crying, not when he hadn’t let himself feel sorrow this viscerally for years. Vulnerability was something Ilya had been taught to push down since he was a boy, but Shane’s easy comfort was undoing him, his body instinctually sinking into Shane’s warmth. He sensed safety, and it led to whatever was happening now, him releasing the sadness he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge was eating away at him at the worst possible moment, while they were still having sex.

Ilya didn’t know how many minutes went by until he felt okay again, breathing evened out where he was still nestled in the crook of Shane’s neck. He shivered pleasantly at the feel of a calloused palm rubbing up his spine, nails scratching delicately against his skin on each downstroke.

He didn’t want to look up, to pull out or pull himself away, not when it meant he’d have to acknowledge whatever had come over him, and what it would mean for them going forward.

He should probably get back to fucking Shane. Then maybe he could fix this. He thought about it some more and then realized, belatedly, that in the midst of his tears he’d gone mostly soft.

He let out an involuntary whine of embarrassment, pressing his nose against Shane’s jugular and opting to hide there for as long as he was allowed. Something loosened in his chest when Shane hummed faintly, sounding light despite the unbearable heaviness Ilya feared would smother them following his unexpected outburst.

But Shane just played with the shell of his ear, trailing a hand down to his hip, squeezing firmly. “C’mon, you gotta get off me so I can shower, you big animal.”

It was not at all what he expected Shane to say, and it inspired the smallest resurgence of playfulness in him. Ilya grumbled and bit gently at Shane’s shoulder. The resulting smack he received was worth it.

“I’m serious, move. Let me take a shower so we can talk about this later.”

The clear direction was what he needed. He obediently pulled out and let himself be pushed onto his side, then froze. Of course Shane wasn't going to let them ignore this. Ilya never cried. He suspected no one did during what was supposed to be just a casual hookup, Shane just a mouth to kiss and a body to get off on when he was horny.

It was starting to set in, just how badly he’d fucked everything up.

“But– I didn’t even make you cum.” He sputtered dumbly.

“And you didn’t cum either. Don’t be stupid, you know that’s not important right now.” Shane reached out to drag a hand across his cheek, still a little damp with the remnants of his tears. “How early is your flight?”

Ilya swallowed, leaning into Shane’s touch. “Not until tomorrow afternoon. We have two day break until our next game, so no need to rush back to Boston.”

Shane nodded, scooting over to the edge of the bed. “Good, that’s really good. Means you can just lie down and relax while I shower, hm?”

It was too pleasant a note to leave off on when their next conversation was going to be so much heavier. “I’m not—” Ilya choked out, staring down at his hands curled up over his thighs. “I didn’t mean to do that.” Cry went unspoken. “I do not want you to think I am weak.”

He didn’t want to see what Shane’s face was doing right now, whether it was pity or something worse dawning on him as the sympathy inevitably wore off.

It almost startled Ilya when Shane leaned in to kiss his cheek, studying his profile from up close before going in for one more, lips feather-light and devastating against his still damp skin.

“I’ve never thought that about you, Rozanov. Not once.” He said, tone light, the words firm.

It was more steadying than Shane probably realized. He was always so earnest, sometimes even without realizing it.

Ilya finally blinked up to look at him, and upon seeing those warmly determined eyes, crumbled.

He sat forward on one hand, cupping Shane’s face to bring him close, then kissed him messily, verging on desperate. Ilya needed to make him forget about whatever strange vulnerability he’d let slip, bringing them back into the easy rhythm of their warm bodies seeking out sex.

He was grateful when Shane melted into him, like he always did when Ilya controlled the pace. Shane gasped at the feeling of Ilya wrapping a firm hand around his cock, still mostly hard even after all he’d done to sour any of Shane’s remaining attraction to him.

Ilya knew he didn’t deserve this, so he was going to make it as good as possible for Shane, both as an apology and a desperate thanks for still wanting him after such an ugly show of his tender underbelly. He needed Shane to cum hard, both for his own peace of mind and because Shane deserved nothing short of worship after giving him this much grace tonight.

Shane arched into him beautifully, kissing him more insistently as Ilya worked him back to full hardness. His hands were tangled up in Ilya’s hair, and Ilya shifted down to mouth at his neck, careful not to leave any marks. Gooseflesh erupted all over his skin at the sound of Shane’s pretty moans breathed right against the shell of his ear, like precious secrets meant only for him.

The slide of his palm against Shane’s cock was a little rough despite Shane starting to leak precum, so Ilya took the opportunity to press for more of that sweet submission he loved to earn, and that Shane loved to give.

He kissed Shane’s pulsepoint once, twice, then pulled back to look at him properly. Shane whined at the loss of Ilya’s calloused fingers squeezing him just right, shifting uncomfortably where he sat perched at the edge of the mattress. He tugged at Ilya’s curls to convey his urgency, brown eyes searching his own for some indication of why he’d stopped.

Ilya didn’t let him wonder for long, not willing to deny Shane any more well-deserved pleasure when he should still be fucking into him until he was properly sated. Shane wanted to be left buzzing with satisfaction, the feeling of Ilya’s cock a lingering fullness overshadowing the pain of his bruises, and he’d failed to give him even that much. It was the least Ilya could do to get Shane off in some other way, even if his own orgasm was beyond salvageable with how ashamed he was.

So he pressed two of his fingers to Shane’s kiss-swollen lips, unable to look away as he pushed them inside without resistance. They’d done this enough times by now for Shane to take to the act enthusiastically, getting Ilya’s fingers good and wet while moaning around them, eager to have those fingers working his cock.

Ilya was hard again just bearing witness to the beautifully debauched sight of him, Shane’s eyes half-lidded and breath laboured while he sucked expertly at the third finger Ilya inserted into his mouth.

It amazed him how much control Shane was still willing to give up to him after seeing him reduced to a fragile shell of his usual self only minutes ago. Ilya felt small and unworthy of this continual devotion, but he was also selfish, and in Shane’s kindness he’d proven again why Ilya could never let him go.

Ilya didn’t think anyone else would still want to be touched or teased and then brought over the edge by a person who’d been so unstable, falling apart during sex without even fully understanding why.

When Shane started squirming more insistently against the sheets, chin glistening with spit as he sucked harder, licking between fingers, Ilya couldn’t in his right mind make him wait any longer.

He batted Shane’s hand away when it slid up his thigh, trying to grasp at his cock to jerk him off in tandem. Tonight wasn’t about him anymore—he wasn’t deserving of Shane’s touch when he’d ruined Shane’s only wish so early on. Instead, he slipped his dripping fingers out of Shane’s mouth, spat into his own palm for extra wetness, and grasped his cock tight, intending to bring Shane off fast and rough like he’d earned after being unintentionally edged by Ilya failing to fuck him properly.

It only took a couple of practiced strokes to reduce Shane to a moaning, writhing mess. Shane leaned forward to seek out his lips, content to suck on Ilya’s tongue now that his fingers were being put to arguably better use.

The only sounds in the room were their pants and moans breathed into each other's mouths, and the slick sound of Ilya’s fingers squeezing around Shane’s stupidly thick cock, grip tightening around the head then going loose on the downstroke. It was driving Ilya fucking insane trying not to touch himself while Shane fell apart in his grasp, shuffling closer until their bodies were pressed almost flush against each other.

He could tell Shane was close when he started throbbing more intensely in his hand, silky moans turning much more needy and hoarse. Ilya noted distantly that he was nearly there himself, just the feel of Shane’s cock achingly hard for him paired with his gorgeous sounds enough to drive him close to the edge.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” He breathed against Shane’s mouth, the unfamiliar pet name falling from his lips before he could think clearly enough to stop it.

Shane didn’t seem to notice, thankfully too lost in pleasure to flag it as out of the ordinary. Instead he just nodded, cock glistening with precum and spit, throbbing hard in Ilya’s hand. “Yeah, ‘m so fucking close, Rozy,” he panted, arms wrapping around Ilya’s shoulders to pull him impossibly closer. The nickname sent another lick of heat up his spine. “Don’t stop, god, just like that. Stroke me harder. I’m- I’m gonna cum, hahh, ughhh—”

And then Shane was spilling into his hand while Ilya worked him through it, kissing all over his face and neck as he cried out. Shane’s body twitched a little with each spurt of cum, his orgasm intense following his earlier ruined one. He threw his head back to give Ilya easier access to mouth at his exposed throat, pulse thrumming strong beneath his lips.

Ilya’s own cock was so hard it felt like it was going to burst, but he made no move to touch himself, continuing to tug at Shane’s dick until he was whining with the first shocks of overstimulation. Ilya continued to milk him until he was certain he’d expelled every last drop of his cum.

Shane slumped forwards once Ilya released his spent cock, forehead resting against his shoulder. Ilya kissed his temple, then nestled his chin atop his sex-ruffled hair, breathing in the scent of his minty shampoo.

Shane hummed against Ilya’s bare skin, sated with the pleasure of release, and Ilya warmed at contented sound. It meant he’d finally done something right after a string of disappointments, not so useless that he’d left Shane without an orgasm.

Ilya nuzzled into Shane’s hair, unbearably fond of this man who’d seen him at his most raw emotional state and held him through it anyway.

The silence stretched out comfortably between them, Ilya more than content to have Shane slumped boneless against him while he basked in the afterglow. He’d settled in to Shane’s lax warmth, so it came as a surprise when Shane reached for his erection, seemingly still eager to return the favour despite his exhaustion.

Ilya grabbed his wrist on instinct, stopping him before he wrap fingers around him. “No,” he murmured. “You said you wanted to take a shower earlier. The warm water will be good for your bruises. Don’t worry about me– just go.”

Shane lifted his head to look at him with a mix of confusion and irritation. “Are you kidding? Look at how hard you are,” he gestured pointedly at Ilya’s still-straining erection. “I’m not gonna leave you like that when you just made me cum so hard I saw stars.”

Ilya fought off the instinctual teasing he would usually resort to at the compliment, needing to hold firm in his resolve. “Is okay, Hollander. It is different tonight, you are hurt.”

The excuse sounded weak even to his own ears. Shane wasn’t taking the bait either. “I didn’t break my wrist, dumbass, I can still jerk you off.”

Ilya only shook his head, brushing his knuckles against Shane’s cheek. How else was he supposed to convince Shane that he needed this? Needed to punish himself for his show of weakness, because Shane was too sweet to do it for him. He didn’t know how else to say I don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve you or to feel any more pleasure tonight.

He wanted to kiss the frown from Shane’s lips and tell him that none of what had happened was his fault. That you should’ve told me to go. Should’ve turned your head away instead of embracing me after I ruined what we were supposed to have. After I cried when I was supposed to be making you feel good.

Ilya shook his head again, the stubbornness finally convincing Shane to give up the fight. He huffed and turned to get up off the bed.

The problem made itself apparent immediately once Shane stood and tried heading towards the ensuite. He hissed after only a couple of careful steps, legs visibly shaky. Ilya shot up to steady him by the waist, slowly helping him back to the bed. Shane winced as he sat back down.

“You are hurt. I hurt you.”

The words sounded solemn, almost robotic in his frozen shock of worry. Ilya didn’t want to believe that despite his earlier carefulness while fucking Shane, he’d somehow still managed to make his pain worse to the point he could barely walk.

“It’s just jelly legs. I’ll be fine in a few minutes, so don’t… don’t beat yourself up for something I asked for, alright?” He fumbled around for Ilya’s hand, squeezing it firmly. “You were the one who tried to make us stop after I asked you to fuck me, remember? And you were so gentle with me, doing exactly what you were supposed to do. You look so shaken up, Rozanov. I’m fine, I promise.”

Ilya shook his head, disentangling their fingers to tug hard on his curls. “No, is not fine, Hollander. We should not have done this when you are в синяках.” All bruised. “I can’t…” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, voice hoarse. “I can’t believe I hurt you.”

“Ilya,” Shane stressed. His hands came up to cup his face, grounding him now that he’d begun to spiral. “Look at me. I’m alright, and you didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to. You didn’t hurt me.” Ilya opened his mouth to protest, but Shane shook his head, silencing him without words. “Why don’t you take the shower first, hm? I’ll relax here until you’re done, rest my legs for a bit, then I’ll be fine. You’re the one who’s gotta get back to your hotel later. I’m gonna be lying here until tomorrow—plenty of time to heal up.”

It was a struggle to bite back all of the protests and apologies that wanted to spill from his lips. He felt sick with worry and an even deeper pit of shame for how this night had turned out, searching himself for anything he could do to fix this.

The idea struck him quietly, while Shane continued to hold his face as if he were the one in need of comfort. Ilya shook him off gently, then helped maneuver Shane into a comfortable position against a small mound of pillows they’d set aside while fucking.

Shane didn’t grumble or complain about being doted on, probably realizing how much Ilya needed to feel useful in his daze of worry. When Ilya finished settling him in against the sheets—Shane assuring Ilya that yes, he was cozy and his legs felt fine—Ilya kissed him deeply on the mouth, the only apology Shane would reasonably allow.

They lost themselves in each other for an unintelligible amount of time, kissing until Shane huffed and shoved at his shoulder, encouraging Ilya to go and get clean. Their closeness left Ilya transfixed by his angelic dark eyes and unique array of freckles. He couldn’t help stealing one last peck before complying and padding off to the ensuite, decidedly not to take a shower.

~★~

Despite all that Ilya seemed to think had gone wrong tonight, Shane was perfectly happy as he lay back against the pillows carefully arranged for him, sheets rumpled and still warm from their joint body heat. He was sleepy and sated from the really good orgasm, and pleased with how unusually tender Ilya had been ever since seeing his bruises.

They didn’t normally do this, careful not to tread into obvious affection or sex that could be classified as anything other than two pent up athletes needing to blow off steam. Not when it could invite an unwanted mix of feelings into their strictly physical arrangement.

But Shane had already started falling for Ilya long before tonight, and his injury gave them an excuse to take things slow for once, providing the perfect guise to explore a dynamic he desperately craved to have with him.

It started off perfectly, the drag of Ilya’s cock unbelievably good as he ground into Shane deep and slow just like he’d asked. Shane almost came in an embarrassingly short amount of time, realizing he didn’t even need the usual insistent pressure on his prostate because of how intoxicating it was to be continually full of the man whose heart he longed to keep safe.

And then something irreversible happened, creating a shift that changed the way the rest of the night unfolded.

There was no warning, no indication of what was to come before Ilya spoke those startlingly sincere words in the heat of the moment, rambling about how good he felt and how nobody could ever make him feel like Shane did.

It struck a nerve, targeting the real affection he harboured for Ilya that he’d unsuccessfully tried to suppress over the years. Gut instinct told him to deny it, to not even consider the possibility that there was truth behind Ilya’s lust-ridden confession, so that was what he did.

He told Ilya not to say things he didn’t mean, and in the resulting abruptness of Ilya’s tears, very likely confirmed one of his greatest hopes and fears: Ilya wanted him back. Impossibly, desperately, and probably even painfully.

He didn’t know what to do except hold Ilya close, petting his hair and hoping the physical affection would be enough to convey everything running through his mind.

He was inexplicably sorry for so many things. Sorry for unknowingly making Ilya cry, then sorry that Ilya had fallen for him instead of someone much easier.

He wished he could put proper words to all of those thoughts, but the realization that Ilya was suffering similarly to himself was too fresh. He told Ilya they’d talk about it later, after he could shower and collect his thoughts, but was promptly taken out of his mind when Ilya opted to give him an unfairly skilled handjob.

So here he was now, basking in the afterglow as he waited for Ilya to come back from his shower and kiss him again. Because even if they couldn’t have anything real outside these walls, maybe their heartache being mutual meant they could share something more intimate in private, when no one else was around.

He closed his eyes and let himself fantasize.

Shane must’ve been half asleep, or otherwise deeply immersed in one of his daydreams, because he nearly startled at the brush of careful fingers against his freckled cheek.

“Hollander,” Ilya murmured gently. “Bath is ready.”

Shane cracked his eyes open, staring dumbly at the burly Russian hovering over him where he was still laying in bed. It was apparent that Ilya was dry despite supposedly having showered, boxers pulled up over his ass instead of a towel.

“…bath?” He croaked, voice raspy with disuse.

“Mm. I ran you a bath. It will make you feel better before you go to sleep tonight. Will help with your sore muscles.”

Shane didn’t have a chance to process the implications of the unexpectedly sweet gesture before Ilya was sliding one arm under his knees, then hooking the other behind his back to carry him there.

Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya’s shoulders on instinct, mind struggling to catch up with his body and the reality that Ilya had gone out of his way to take care of him in a capacity that didn’t involve sex.

Rather than protesting or pretending he didn’t want this, Shane allowed himself to sink into the intimacy that had been pooling all night. He leaned his head against Ilya’s shoulder as he was carried to the ensuite, shivering when Ilya kissed his temple.

The lights in the bathroom were dimmed low, a pleasant flowery scent drifting from the water and suffusing the entire space. Ilya dropped onto one of his knees easily, letting Shane dip a toe in to check the temperature of the water and decide if it was nice enough to warm his bruises without being scalding.

It was so fucking sexy that Ilya could handle the weight of a two-hundred pound jock like him without faltering. It left Shane caught between a resurging flame of want at being subject to his impressive masculinity, those brawny muscles put to good use lowering him into the bath, and swelling affection at his quiet care.

“Water is okay?” Ilya asked, the undercurrent of concern obvious in his voice.

Instead of answering, Shane tilted his chin up to kiss him, wanting to settle those buzzing nerves and show him just how okay all of this was.

Ilya only indulged the kiss for a moment, serious about wanting an answer, but Shane took it as a success when the near-imperceptible shudder in his breath steadied out, leaving him visibly calmer.

“The water’s perfect.” He said, resting his head against Ilya’s shoulder once more.

“Good,” Ilya murmured, nosing gently at Shane’s hair. “Lower your feet, I am going to put you in now.”

Shane sighed at the bliss of his sore muscles being engulfed by liquid heat, his legs slipping into the water first, then his ruined side and torso. The water was pleasant enough that he hardly noticed the absence of Ilya’s arms around him, content to sink lower into the tub until he could lay his head against the rim.

Ilya had added just the right amount of soap that would get him clean without creating too many bubbles. It allowed Shane to immerse more of himself into the bath without the annoyance of pushing suds out of the way.

He was so content he hadn’t realized his eyes had drifted shut, not until a distinct shuffling from the bedroom made him blink them back open again.

Ilya wasn’t here. It sounded like he was rummaging through his coat, the unmistakable sound of a zipper echoing through the open doorway.

He wasn’t left to wonder for long. Ilya came padding back into the ensuite still clad in nothing but his boxers, this time with a cigarette and lighter in hand.

Shane couldn’t even find it in himself to be that mad when Ilya perched under the windowsill and lit up, sliding open the glass to let the smoke out and cool winter air in through the grate.

It wasn’t a windy night, so the heat radiating from the bath and the furnace were enough to offset the chill from some of the outside air. Normally Shane would be furious at Ilya smoking indoors, in his place no less, but right now that wasn’t the feeling that took over him at all.

Instead, it was like everything in him went still as he watched Ilya stare up at the stars, skin awash with the reflection of the blue moon. He was suddenly thankful Ilya knew him well enough to dim the bathroom lights to just an ambient glow, since it allowed for the beautiful picture before him, Ilya illuminated by nothing but the night sky while he smoked off whatever stress was making him quiet.

Shane’s eyes went half-lidded as Ilya took another puff of his cigarette, blowing smoke out through the window screen. His gaze turned lazily back on Shane, not studying him so much as drinking him in with poorly subdued hunger.

Ilya’s eyes roved over his face, then the place where Shane’s body disappeared beneath the bathwater, like he wanted more than anything to come close and touch him, yet had already resolved not to.

Shane couldn’t shake the feeling that the weight of Ilya’s stare was somehow heavier now than it had been even at the height of passion, when he radiated need at the sight of Shane laid bare for him in the moments before they fucked.

There were traces of sorrow laced through the deep blue of his eyes too, an undercurrent in the raging sea of want. Shane couldn’t escape it as Ilya memorized this private moment, lashes low and pupils blown wide. Still drinking him in.

The hand not holding Ilya’s cigarette twitched against his thigh, an involuntary reaction triggered by his reverent admiration. Shane felt suddenly perceived in a way he never had before, Ilya’s slow exhales and the shift of water wading around his legs the only sounds filling the drawn-out silence.

He closed his eyes against the invisible force of Ilya’s stare, feeling more exposed than he had all night despite his body submerged below a thinning layer of soap.

He needed to say something, to snap the cord of tension with his voice, but his thoughts were muddled by the thrum of juvenile nerves running through him.

He felt like a schoolboy left alone with his crush, too timid to think up something smart to say, but secretly thrilling at the individual attention anyways.

Ilya must have picked up on his restlessness, because he chimed in for the first time since re-entering the bathroom.

“I was literally just inside you, Hollander. There is nothing to be shy about.”

Shane flushed, the words half joking yet also strangely comforting.

What he said was true, though. Ilya had seen and explored Shane’s naked body in far more intimate ways than whatever was happening now. There was no reason for him to be this wound up over heavy looks and drawn-out silence. Not when they’d been doing this dance for years.

He laughed softly, a little embarrassed at how easily affected he’d been.

“Sorry… I guess I’m just not used to any of this.”

“And what is ‘this’ Hollander?” Ilya smiled crookedly, tapping ash out onto an empty soap tray he'd stolen off the counter. “What is wrong with me staying here just to smoke and look at the pretty man I am regularly fucking?”

Shane flushed even darker at the compliment threaded into the question. He liked it when Ilya called him pretty, even if it was clear by the way he was wording things that he was trying to play this off as casual.

His eyes were telling Shane that this was anything but that.

“Nothing wrong, I just wish you asked me before stinking up my bathroom with your cigarettes.”

Ilya snorted, rolling his eyes. “We both know you would never give me permission to smoke inside even if I asked politely like good Canadian boy. And you don’t even live here most of the time. Is just your private sex condo for bringing sexy hockey players to fuck.”

“Just one hockey player.”

Ilya’s smile softened at the unexpectedly genuine response.

“Yes, only one.” He swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing hard. Shane could tell he was thinking about whether to tread into similarly honest territory, a wave of heat unrelated to the bath washing over him when Ilya added, “You must like him a lot, if you keep wanting to see him again.”

Shane curled his toes under the water, fighting not to squirm with pleasure at this new game of indirect confessions Ilya was goading him into.

“I do like him. I like him so much.”

It felt safe to admit with the greater assumptions he’d made about Ilya tonight. Shane was fairly certain at least this was reciprocated, and it didn’t cost him much to say when his true feelings for Ilya went far deeper than a simple ‘like”.

Ilya was looking at him like he wanted to devour him whole.

“Mm. I think he would be very happy to hear that, Hollander.”

Shane closed his eyes and leaned his head against the side of the tub, angling his entire body towards Ilya. “You think?” He whispered.

“I know.”

He kept his eyes closed at the sound of Ilya shifting off his perch by the window, then while he walked over to the sink and rinsed the lingering smoke from his tongue with Shane’s alcohol-free mouthwash.

Ilya knew Shane didn’t like kissing him when he tasted of cigarettes.

Even without looking at him, Shane could tell what was coming next. Another beat passed, then two, and then finally Ilya was kneeling right next to the tub, cupping his face to bring their mouths together.

It was the closest Shane had ever been to dreaming while awake, the sensation akin to floating. He didn’t want to open his eyes and have it all fall away, not when it was the most wonderful coming-together he could imagine.

Nothing mattered more than this, the whispered confessions that led to a fervent need to be close to each other. Ilya was holding him like he was something precious, kissing him deeper than he maybe ever had before.

The next hour went by in a blur. They made out unhurriedly for an indiscernible amount of time, then Ilya drained the bath and held Shane up by the waist to steady him while he brushed his teeth and readied for bed.

Eventually he was back in his sheets, a towel laid out beneath him while Ilya massaged lotion into his skin, soothing his sore muscles and cooling his bruises.

He reserved a gentle hand for the worst patch of blue-black skin on Shane’s side.

Shane was blissed out and sleepy by the time Ilya started rubbing cream into the meat of his thighs, his brain unwilling to decipher the difference between this and the grip Ilya usually kept on him before they fucked.

Shane was still naked, which meant he couldn’t hide how he’d stiffened up at the feel of Ilya’s calloused palms running over his hips and thighs.

He turned his face to the side, hiding as best he could in the pillow. “Sorry,” it came out a little muffled, embarrassed. “Just ignore it. And thank you… thanks for taking care of me tonight.”

Ilya took him by the chin, turning his face to look at him. He brushed a thumb over Shane’s bottom lip, wordlessly admiring.

“Was nothing.” Then, a little lower. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

This time it was Shane who initiated the kiss, leaning up to signal he wanted Ilya closer. Ilya laid himself out on the bed beside Shane so he didn’t have to strain to reach him, content to make out lazily like they hadn’t just been glued to each other in the ensuite.

Shane moaned when Ilya wrapped a hand around him, jerking him slowly while lapping up all of his beautiful, natural sounds.

The slide was delicious, Ilya's hand still slicked-up with lotion, so it was no surprise when Shane came prematurely, overcome with pleasure both intensely physical and strangely emotional.

Ilya kept a firm hold on his good hip to make sure Shane didn’t arch too far up off the mattress and injure himself further. Shane whined when Ilya released his cock, and then squirmed while watching the stupidly hot Russian lick some of Shane’s release off his fingers.

It was a miracle he was too spent to get hard again when Ilya straddled his waist, using his cum-covered hand to stroke his own cock fast and rough, barreling quickly towards orgasm. He couldn’t imagine how pent up Ilya must be after neglecting his dick all night in favour of making Shane feel good.

Shane bit his lip when Ilya groaned, the gruffness in his voice unbearably sexy. Ilya was using his free hand to play with his tits, rubbing Shane’s nipples as he brought himself closer to the edge.

“C’mon, Rozanov. Cum for me. Want your cum all over me.”

The sound that left Ilya’s mouth the next moment was beautifully debauched, a moan so hoarse it seemed painful. He stripped his cock hard, squeezing Shane’s pec as he finally, finally came, painting his stomach and chest in thick ropes of cum.

Even in the haze of release, Ilya remembered that he had to be careful, propping himself up on his forearms instead of slumping down onto Shane like he usually did after fucking him boneless.

The kiss this time was surprisingly sweet, and didn’t last nearly as long as Shane hoped it would. He closed his eyes when Ilya disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a towel to wipe him off and help him into a clean pair of boxers.

Ilya tucked him under the covers, then left to go shower, the most precious night of Shane’s life starting to come to a close.

He must have fallen asleep in the minutes Ilya had been gone, because it took him a moment to get his bearings at the gentle brush of lips against his forehead.

Ilya was fully dressed back in jeans and his dark jacket. The thought of him leaving after the incredible night they’d shared struck Shane with a sudden and intense sadness.

“I don’t want you to go…” he whispered, mind still a little lax with sleepiness.

Ilya’s fingers brushed his cheek so gently it made him want to cry.

“I know, solnyshko. But I have to. The sooner I go, the sooner we play against each other in a few weeks, and then you will get to see me again.”

“Not fair,” Shane mumbled, bunching a hand in the front of his coat. “You don’t get to leave yet when you didn’t say it back.”

Ilya stilled. “Say what, Hollander?”

“That you like me,” he whined. “I told you that I like you so much, and you didn’t even say it back.”

Ilya’s resulting expression was shocked, though it quickly bled into relief, his shoulders dropping as the invisible fight drained out of him. He’d held a part of himself back after crying, but in all of Shane’s actions following the display of vulnerability, it was clear he didn’t have to shy away from this piece of honest truth anymore.

Ilya ran his knuckles over the curve of Shane’s jaw.

“I don’t think you can understand how much I like you. It is too much to describe.” Shane couldn’t contain the wonder in his smile as Ilya went on. “My heart goes like this whenever I see you.” He clenched and released a fist over his chest, the demonstration making Shane giggle. “Is very bad when we are on the ice. One day I might forget to steal the puck because I am thinking about kissing you.”

And then he leaned down to kiss Shane for real, combing a hand through his inky black bangs.

“But I do need to go now, or Marly is going to wonder if ‘Jane’ kidnapped me. I promise I will see you again soon.”

“Alright,” Shane murmured, suppressing his lingering urge to protest or pull Ilya close and force him to stay. He might be overstepping the boundaries of what was newly allowed between them, but he added, anyways, “I’ll miss you.”

Ilya’s private smile made him ache, just a little bit. “I’m going to miss you too, moy dorogoy.” A finger traced over his freckles. “I always miss you.”

And then he stood up from the bed, looking back over his shoulder when he reached the bedroom doorway.

“Goodnight, Shane.”

Shane closed his eyes, wanting those words to be the last thing lulling him to sleep. The room darkened when Ilya flicked off the lights, taking one last look at him before stepping out into the hall.

“Goodnight, Ilya.”

Chapter End Notes

I wanted to scrap this fic SO many times, it's a miracle I even posted it.
It took me a month to finish--a month which consisted of getting a couple thousand words down, hating it, then writing nothing for the next few weeks because I couldn't stop thinking this was too clunky and convoluted and wordy to even begin fixing. Thankfully I found my spark again recently, and cranked out Shane's pov super quick. It's nice to remember that if even one person enjoys a fic, it was something worth posting! Reading comments makes my day 💖

🛎 subscribe or follow my twitter to be notified when the final chapter drops! I hope to have it out this week ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

Thank you so much for reading!! :)

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Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

it's 4AM and i have work tomorrow but I was dying to post... just know i didn't even really read this chapter over so mistakes are likelier than you think. Edits will be done sometime tomorrow

Alsoooo I know this was supposed to be the last chapter, but it was getting long and i had a couple more scenes planned so! Now there's gonna be one more! Depending on how quickly I write I can maybe get it out in a few days. Enjoy~ (≧◡≦) ♡

It shouldn’t be possible to miss someone this much. 

It had only been two weeks since that blissful night when Shane asked Ilya to take him apart, slowly so as not to worsen his bruises. He couldn’t stop reliving it, the most intimate moment they’d ever shared: Shane soaking in the warm bath run for him while Ilya watched from under pale moonlight, blue eyes heavy like they were absorbing the most precious sight in the world. Like he was the most precious sight in the world.

The only thing keeping his gnawing anticipation at bay was being drip-fed subtle words of affection through Ilya’s increasingly frequent texts. 

Shane had over the years been conditioned to hide his screen in the locker room, not wanting Hayden or JJ to catch a glimpse of the filthy words ‘Lily’ tended to wield in order to rile him up, but lately there was an equal chance he’d be sent something sweet in lieu of a dirty text.

Shane had grown used to the radio silence between Boston versus Montreal games. His and Ilya’s need for each other wasn’t meant to traverse beyond the physical, which left no purpose for them to text each other unless they could disguise it through back-and-forth about hockey. It was why despite the gentle intimacy of their evening spent in Shane’s condo, and the quiet confessions they traded before Ilya slipped back out into the Montreal snow, Shane was still hesitant to be the first one to reach out. 

He couldn’t shake the sense that he’d been gifted something as delicate as a bird’s wing in the form of Ilya’s feelings, fearful of breaking it with his overeagerness. The affection between them was too new to understand how to navigate properly, so Shane forced himself to remain content with the usual silence until closer to their reunion on the ice.

He was lucky that Ilya was braver than he was, assured enough to give in first. 

It only took two days for Shane’s phone to chime with a notification from him, the text coming after Montreal’s first road game following their matchup with the Raiders. Just before his teammates hit the ice, reporters announced that Shane would be benched due to an oblique strain. It confused fans and the media who’d watched him finish out the last game seemingly uninjured, but he knew he’d pushed himself too hard and didn’t want to risk anything when he was still facing some lingering pain.

The news of his absence had apparently reached Ilya as well. 

Boston was scheduled to play a game later that evening once the Metros wrapped up, which meant Ilya was already in the locker room getting ready to run drills. A text this early was unexpected; Shane thrilled at the confirmation that there was an immediacy with which Ilya kept up with news about him.

Lily: you are still hurt? 

Shane bit back an instinctual smile at the honest concern. It was unlike Ilya to send something serious without a sarcastic follow-up text, his words tending to be laced with sex or humour to help soften traces of any heavier emotions. 

Only a little. Didn’t want to take any chances.

Especially after my ‘specialist’ recommended I take it easy

You know… no skating. just warm baths and massages until Montreal’s next game  

Shane chewed on his bottom lip as he waited for Ilya’s reply, buzzing with anticipatory nerves. He still wasn’t very good at flirting, even after all these years, but he was partially comforted by how endeared Ilya always seemed to be by his clumsy efforts at it.

Lily: you are going to kill me, trying to make me horny before game

A pause, then a ribbing more in the vein he’d come to expect.

Lily: i told u metros cannot win games without u

Shane scoffed, glancing up from his phone to make sure none of his teammates were paying him any mind. Most of them had already padded off to the showers, and anyone still lingering was too focused on stripping out of their gear to care what he was up to on his phone.

you’re such an asshole

Lily: u know u like it

Shane started typing out a denial they both knew was untrue, secretly happy to engage in their familiar banter, but paused when Ilya got another message through before he could finish.

Lily: i miss you 

Shane couldn’t breathe. It was like all the air in his lungs stopped, unsure of what to do or where to go because nothing seemed to matter other than the weight of Ilya’s words settling into his skin, warming him to his core.

It took Shane a moment to snap out of his haze of pleasant shock, and then his fingers were moving across the keyboard almost without thinking, his reply instinctual after Ilya opened the door to allow this small helping of intimacy.

I miss you too

feels like forever until i get to see you again

wish you were here kissing me right now

Lily: fuck hollander

Lily: u can’t say this to me when i can’t have you

Lily: we play in boston next time. come to my place after the game?

It was beyond tempting to give in, even though they’d only ever fucked in private hotel rooms or Shane’s secret condo, never their real homes and never with the understanding that maybe they could have something beyond just sex. This was Ilya inviting him a little further into his life, and Shane was desperate to latch on.

are you sure?

Lily: i would not ask if i wasn’t sure

Lily: want to have you naked and desperate in my bed, so gorgeous spread out under me 

Lily: want to hear your pretty moans without stupid thin walls to worry about

Shane flushed at the blatant expression of desire. He liked knowing how badly Ilya wanted him, craving his body and his sounds the same way Shane fantasized about his sculpted muscles and attentive hands bringing him pleasure in endless ways.

tell me what you’re gonna do to me when i come

Lily: at least u know that you are going to cum** first

not funny.

Lily: a little bit funny

tell me what else

how are you going to touch me?

He shouldn’t be doing this, especially not when his teammates were only a few feet away in the showers. He couldn’t help it, though. Sexting was the easiest way to keep the conversation going, and he wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet.

Lily: going to touch you just the way u like

Lily: however you want. you know i’ll give you anything, shane

Oh god. He didn't think he’d ever get used to Ilya weaving his first name through such sweetly seductive words. He was going to have to stop now before his heart burst, or he popped a boner in the middle of the locker room. 

There was a brief pause, probably Ilya collecting his thoughts or pondering whether he should send his next message.

Lily: then i want to take care of you again

Shane swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat, overcome with unspeakable fondness and the impossibility of this newly emerging delicate thing between them.

He wasn’t even sure what to say in response, unaccustomed to being the subject of such sweet ardor. The promise of another night spent anything like their last—the memory of Ilya carrying him to the bath, then quietly watching him from the window playing itself over and over in his head like a movie—raised gooseflesh all along his arms. He wanted it again with a ferocity that probably should have scared him.

Before he could type out something unusually sappy, or at the very least an impulsive please, yes, i want that so bad, Ilya was forced to cut the conversation short.

Lily: team is waiting for me, i have to go

:((

Lily: i know, i’m sorry

Lily: we will talk soon ok?

okay. call me next time?

It was another minute risk, probably an insignificant progression to most people, but one he and Ilya had carefully avoided over the years. He ached to hear Ilya speaking his name, the only thing that might be able to tide him over until they got to be in each other's arms again.

Lily: fuck yes. miss your voice

You heard it two days ago, dummy

Lily: so cute when you are trying to be mean

Lily: is still too long

Lily: now i really have to go

Lily: bye my jane ❤️

My Jane. It was a pointless reversion back to anonymity, especially when Ilya had typed out Shane’s real name only a few messages up, but Shane was stupidly charmed by it anyways, giddy like a teenager that had just been confessed to by his crush. There was no reason for him to be grinning this hard, hiding it as best he could while chewing on his thumbnail, but that was the reality when even these small embers of Ilya’s possessiveness were enough to spark a flame in him. 

Shane stared at that last message until he could be certain Ilya had left to get ready for his game, then tucked his phone back into his cubby in favour of removing his gear. He was glad to avoid the showers, still clean thanks to being benched from his injury. It afforded him these blissful few minutes of uninterrupted banter with Ilya, a temporary soothe over the lingering sting of missing him.

He would need a lot more of these stolen exchanges to make it through the month-long wait until their reunion. 

Ilya’s last words whispered to Shane in his bedroom still ran through his mind, that precious confession only coaxed out of Ilya after an entire night of built-up vulnerability. The potential for more beautifully tender words breathed gently between them ignited a new brand of impatient hunger in him; he didn’t know how he was going to make it through so much time without him.

When two weeks passed since that conversation in the locker room, Ilya made good on his promise to call Shane more than just the once. That insatiable need to be together in person was strong enough to warrant the novel indulgence, though they tiptoed around most words of affection in favour of retreating back to what they knew best. 

Ilya’s voice was gravelly and breathless over the line as he guided Shane through how to fuck himself open slow enough to drive him blissfully mad, the phantom connection just enough to help him imagine Ilya next to him when in reality, he was alone in his hotel room hundreds of miles from Boston. 

As good as it was to be the recipient of Ilya’s lust-ridden instructions and praise while they got off together, Shane wished more than anything that it was Ilya’s fingers inside him, bringing him pleasure while kissing and whispering praise against his skin.

Until they could see each other again though, this would have to do. It would never really be enough, but it was also more than Shane had ever shared with him before, never granted the luxury of a call when texting was the casual option they could hide their growing feelings behind. 

Shane hoped this was the start of something deeper, them giving in to the ever-present need to hear each other’s voice when they were cities apart. On the surface it was still just phone sex, but with time the natural progression might lead to them saying the tender words they’d sent over text out loud.

Shane didn’t want to wait for that moment. If he could muster up the courage, he would make himself be more open and honest with his feelings. He wanted to be trusted with Ilya’s heart, freely given it his next time back in Boston, welcomed into Ilya’s home, his private recluse where he could shed the hard exterior of a hockey legend. 

There was no way he could let this longtime love go to waste. 

~★~

Shane hadn't really thought about the Metros’ 3-1 win over Boston for more than a few minutes after the final buzzer sounded. He hopped the boards and gave ESPN a standard comment on the team’s performance, then headed towards the visitors locker room with barely-concealed intent. He had something much more important to focus on once now that he could hang up his captaincy, stripping out of his gear with an urgency his teammates eyed him warily for, but thankfully didn’t mention.

After years of his odd behaviour following their games against the Raiders, most of the Metros knew he had someone special in Boston. Hayden and J.J. used to peek at his phone often enough to learn that his girl was named Lily, but after countless unsuccessful attempts to pry more information out of him, they left him to his business with nothing more than a chirp or a side-eye when he got antsy like this.

Shane knew he seemed even more crazed than usual, already out of his jersey and in the shower before the stragglers had even made it to the locker room, but fuck. Anyone would be acting the same in his situation. The man he was falling in love with had given him hope, inviting him over for sex and also maybe something more after admitting to liking him back.  

Shane tried to stifle his impatience as he waved goodbye to Hayden, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder and trodding out through the visitors tunnel. He scrolled through his text thread with Ilya to get the cab driver his address, and then he was on his way, TD Garden shrinking into the distance behind him.

There was so much heady anticipation thrumming through his veins, Shane didn’t even think to text Ilya his ETA, arriving at his place without any proper forewarning. He hesitated between shooting Ilya a message to let him know he was outside, but then opted just to knock on the door instead. Ilya knew to expect him, anyways.

A minute passed, then two. No answer. Shane tried again, knocking a little harder, and let another minute go by before glancing at his phone to check the time.

Oh. It had only been forty-five minutes since they wrapped up on the ice. Shane was definitely early, possibly so early he'd gotten here before Ilya had the chance to slip away from reporters wanting a word about Boston’s at-home loss.

So he had to wait a little bit longer. That was okay. If Ilya was even half as eager to see Shane as he seemed to be in their conversations over the last month, he'd be here as soon as he could. Shane thrilled at how close they were to reuniting, nearly there now after what felt like an eternity of counting down the days.

Resigned to these last few minutes spent apart, Shane deposited his duffel on the porch and slid down against the brick wall, closing his eyes. He’d be back in Ilya’s arms so soon, kissing him like no time at all had passed since that magical night in Montreal.

Shane was deep enough in his reverie he missed the sound of Ilya’s Porsche pulling into the driveway twenty minutes later, boots scuffing against the concrete as he walked up the front steps. If he were paying closer attention, he would’ve sensed Ilya’s distinct presence and stumbled through his open door the moment it opened, waiting only for that click of the lock shut before finally crashing their lips together. 

Instead he was oblivious as Ilya leaned against the porch railing, smiling to himself as he took in the sight of Shane, big frame huddled small where he sat next to the door. His blue-black coat was only half-zipped against the winter chill, boot laces coming undone in an obvious betrayal of his hurry to get here.

In the end it was a gentle hand petting over his hair, paired with the familiar deep timbre of Ilya’s voice that had Shane blinking his eyes open, lazy brown meeting that beautiful ocean blue.

“Hollander,” Ilya said softly. Shane registered only dully that it might’ve been the second time. He was still floating in that mindless daze of waiting in daydream, the murmur of his name lulling him slowly back to reality. “Get inside now before I kiss you in front of the whole neighbourhood.”

Embarrassingly enough, it was the promise of Ilya’s mouth on his that brought Shane firmly back to his present needs. He scrambled to stand, too blindly eager to catch the way Ilya smiled down at him, probably amused at how quickly he’d gone and followed his instructions. 

Shane couldn’t bring himself to feel ashamed about his excitement when the evidence of Ilya’s similar wants was burning a hole in his pocket, hidden only behind a simple lockscreen and passcode.

Ilya fumbled a little with his keys, failing to mask his own avidity. Seeing him succumb to the same buzzing anticipation that was making Shane feel like a nervous teenager was strangely comforting. He fought the urge to rest his forehead against Ilya’s back as he unlocked the door, impatient for some bodily contact, and hooked a nondescript finger into his belt loop instead.

A moment later he was following Ilya inside, standing there watching while the burly Russian removed his jacket and boots, realizing a beat too late that he should probably be doing the same thing. Ilya huffed a laugh when Shane sprung into action only after he was already done, clearly caught up in his own head, and then he was opening his arms to catch Shane stumbling into him, crashing their lips together in a long-awaited kiss.

Ilya tried walking them backwards towards the bedroom, but Shane diverted before they could get there, nudging him into the living area while mouthing at his neck. He was so engrossed by everything about Ilya’s presence, the familiar scent of his cologne and that grounding way his hands ran under Shane’s shirt, he hadn’t even taken in how stunning his home was.

Shane paused to eye the glass fireplace, then the huge floor-to-cielling windows overlooking a forest after pushing Ilya down onto the couch. Ilya was pawing at his clothes, trying to get him undressed and settled on his lap despite Shane’s momentary distraction. 

“Wow, your place is incredible…”

“And here I thought you were excited to see me.”

Shane huffed and turned his focus back on Ilya, smiling. “I am.” The honesty came easily for a change. “Just also being polite. I didn’t think you’d have such an eye for interior design.”

Ilya removed his own shirt, then helped tug Shane’s off, pulling him forwards until he was straddling Ilya on the couch. “I can’t believe your real estate fetish is getting in the way of us having really hot sex right now.”

Shane kissed him to shut him up. “I hate you,” he murmured, meaning none of it. “Always such a dick when you lose to me.”

Ilya gripped Shane’s ass, still wary of hurting his newly healed hips, and used it as leverage to rub their growing erections together. “We have been over this many times.” He panted, “You like it when I am a little mean.”

He did like it when Ilya got a little more assertive with him, whether it was through similar playful bickering or a stern demand in the bedroom. There was no use denying it when they both knew it to be true. 

What Shane was also starting to realize was that he liked it even more when he got to see the secretly sweet side of Ilya, which usually only made an appearance when Shane was in a similarly vulnerable position. 

It used to feel dangerous, the way Ilya handled him with a deliberate softness when Shane was scared and about to give Ilya another one of his firsts. He thought back to the very first time they had full-on sex, Ilya’s hand brushing against his hips, steadying him in moments of his worst nerves. Then the kisses pressed to his spine, helping him melt into the mattress and let go right before Ilya pushed inside him, slowly so as not to risk hurting him.

That sweetness manifested most strongly during their last time together, Shane admitting he needed to be handled gently, and Ilya taking his words completely to heart. The sex had been maddeningly good, the unhurried drag of Ilya’s cock inside him while they kissed like they had all the time in the world something he would never forget. All that came after was somehow even better, the caretaking and the bath and Ilya’s eyes on him like he could die happy never looking at another person again.

Shane drug his hips against Ilya’s in a slow roll, savouring the way Ilya’s hands tightened on his ass, shivering beneath him. Ilya encouraged him to settle in closer with a small tug forwards, completely relaxed under Shane’s muscular weight.

Shane knocked their foreheads together, needing those blue eyes settled on his like cool ice soothing a hot bruise. He pressed a palm right over Ilya’s beating heart.

“I like it better when you’re sweet to me.” He whispered, close enough to catch the way Ilya’s pupils darkened, breath turning shallow. “I can’t stop thinking about what we did last time… what you said to me before you left.”

“Yes?” Ilya questioned, voice low and wrecked when they hadn’t done anything physical yet to warrant it.

“Yeah.” Shane agreed, melting into it when Ilya pulled him into a smoldering kiss. 

Ilya sank back further into the couch cushions when Shane started sliding down his body, leaving a trail of heavy kisses over his neck, chest and toned stomach. He got the sense that the hand threaded through his hair was instinctual, like Ilya needed to maintain some tether to him at all times even while letting Shane carry out his pointed devotion.

Shane glanced up at Ilya when his knees hit the floor, fingers hooked in the waistband of his black sweats. Ilya caressed a hand over his hair and nodded in subtle encouragement, groaning when Shane took permission to free him of the fabric, mouthing at him over his boxers.

As much as Shane wanted to draw this out, to savour the taste and feel of Ilya growing hard for him while driving him slowly insane, his impatience was already winning out. He kissed and licked up the length of Ilya’s still-clothed cock, pleased with the way the black cotton tented even further under his careful ministrations. 

Ilya was trying not to buck up into him while he continued to tease, thighs gone tense under Shane’s hands. Shane took pity on him after another minute, pressing a kiss to his stomach right above the waistband before sliding his boxers down until his thick cock slapped up against his stomach, already achingly hard and a little wet at the tip.

“Fuck,” Shane whispered, eyeing the impressive length of him. He never got used to this part, always undone by the sight of Ilya straining with open need for him.

Ilya let him take his time, watching with hooded eyes as Shane started to jerk him slowly while lapping at the head, sucking it gently. He ran a hand through Shane’s inky bangs once he started to swallow him down, murmuring breathy praise all throughout. 

It was only a minute or two before Ilya guided him away from his cock to lean down and kiss him, messy and raw, a wordless expression of thanks.

“You are too good for me. Always so perfect, Hollander.”

“Mm.” He hardly felt capable of words, lust-drunk and mind maybe also clouded by some softer, more malleable emotion because of the sincere compliment. “Wanna keep sucking you.”

And then Ilya was speaking a string of what had to be either curses or continued praise in Russian, kissing all over his face before leaning back against the couch so Shane could continue taking him apart with his mouth. 

This was already verging on the most intimate sex they’d ever had, maybe only aside from last time. Shane couldn’t believe how heady and real everything already felt when there was still so much time left to spend together tonight. The anticipation of having Ilya inside him was all he could think about. He wanted that fusion of their bodies, the visceral illusion that even if just for a little while, they were two souls entwined.

Shane took Ilya into his mouth properly, savouring the sound of his deep moan travelling through the halls of his home, a recluse where they didn’t have to stifle their burning desire for each other. And Shane was suddenly done with easing into this, overcome with the need to be good. 

He worked his throat around Ilya with fervour, taking pleasure in swallowing him down as best he could. His own cock strained against his boxers the first time Ilya hit the back of his throat, that feeling of fullness something he endlessly craved. 

Taking him this deep meant he was as connected to Ilya as could be in at least some sense of the word. It always drove Ilya wild whenever Shane sucked his dick this effortlessly, his years of practice on no one else but him indisputably evident and often sparking a possessive lilt in the way Ilya later touched him or fucked him.

Shane took a steadying breath through his nose before taking him even deeper, all the way to the base. He swallowed around Ilya’s thick length, moaning at his heady musk, then started a consistent rhythm, curling his tongue around the underside of Ilya’s cock and sucking languidly like Shane knew he loved.

Ilya was looking down at him with a disbelieving gleam in his eyes, the same way Shane had seen people look up at beautiful paintings and sculptures in historical museums of arts. The hand in his hair was gentle—reverent, not guiding—and left Shane reeling with the full weight of this impossible worship.

He didn’t know how to bring words to the love that had taken over him, but in this moment it almost felt like Ilya understood. If getting on his knees to bring this man release was all Shane could do to convey the inner workings of his heart, then he would put all his passion into it, giving everything to his efforts to make Ilya think back on this moment fondly. 

Ilya didn’t let him continue for long after he garnered a steady rhythm, guiding him off his dick and into standing. Ilya tugged him close and tasted himself in a bruising kiss, right there in the middle of his living room, and then they were stumbling towards the bedroom, falling onto the mattress with Shane going pliant underneath him. 

Ilya’s solid weight pressing him down was perfect after having to be careful with his injury last time. There was no room to spare between their bodies while they kissed, rutting against each other until the urge for more could no longer be delayed. 

Ilya wasted no time stripping him out of his pants and boxers, kissing right over his hip where his splotchy bruises had now almost fully faded away. Shane’s heart pinched watching Ilya carry his clothes over to the lounge chair, folding them carefully just the way he always did for himself before they fucked. 

Shane hadn’t even really gotten his heart to calm down yet by the time Ilya returned to the bed. He was kissed chastely, a sweet hello before Ilya resettled between his legs. Shane propped himself up on an elbow a moment before Ilya was taking him down to the base, eager to give back all the pleasure he’d received without preamble. 

Shane cried out for him, gripping Ilya’s curls tight in a clumsy effort to ground himself, staving off the increasing likelihood of a premature orgasm.

It was always incredible with Ilya, no matter what they did together. He understood Shane to a startlingly precise degree, always perceptive to his body language and minute changes in expression, adjusting and guiding him in ways that ensured he would be coaxed into letting go and feeling good even on days he felt knotted-up with tension. 

Ilya was also just unfairly fucking sexy, a modern rendering of a Roman god when he went down on Shane like this, nothing but his halo of curls and hooded eyes visible above his own pliant frame.

“Ilya, ‘m gonna cum.” He was too out of his mind to remember pleasantries, or to register the fact that he’d subconsciously shed the use of Rozanov again. He tugged at Ilya’s curls in warning. “Not gonna last, you gotta get off now.”

Ilya moaned around him in protest and pulled off slowly, letting his tongue drag up the underside of Shane’s cock before it slapped back against his stomach, so hard it hurt. “You taste so fucking good. Lift up your legs for me, lyubimyy.”

Shane didn’t have to be told twice. He gripped both of his thighs, holding himself open for Ilya when he returned from the nightstand with lube and a condom. Rather than using either of those things though, Ilya discarded them on the mattress and lowered himself back down between Shane’s thighs, helping push them apart.

Shane cursed, eyes rolling back in his head at the first eager lap of Ilya’s tongue against his ass. This was something they almost never indulged in, since Shane found it even more vulnerable than the act of being fucked, but the handful of times they had tried it, he’d practically blacked out with pleasure. Ilya always ate him out like a man starved, kissing and licking at his hole like it was essential to his own pleasure, rather than something meant to get Shane relaxed and ready for his cock.

Shane fought not to squirm against the sheets when Ilya’s tongue eventually breached his ass, routinely working him open in alternation with wet, open-mouthed kisses to his rim.

He knew he was being loud, moaning and practically grinding against Ilya’s face when he inserted a lubed-up finger alongside his tongue, but Ilya always seemed to enjoy it more when he could hear Shane coming undone. It was even better when that subconscious knot of tension that ran through him in hotel rooms was blissfully absent, the animal fear of being overheard or caught effectively buried. 

Ilya had three fingers pumping inside him by the time he climbed back up the bed to kiss him, swallowing down his next instinctual moan. Shane wrapped both arms around Ilya’s broad shoulders, struck with the urge to hold him close and absorb his body heat while he continued to stretch him open.

Shane was practically sobbing into his mouth, the sweet drag of Ilya’s thick fingers against his prostate like honeyed torture while trying to make this last. He couldn’t hold on for much longer without cumming, so it was almost a mercy when Ilya pulled out and maneuvered them to a position where he was the one laying down, Shane straddling him.

“I’d like to look at you tonight, I think.” Ilya said quietly, knuckles brushing against his cheek in a way that echoed all the tenderness of their last time together. “Is this okay, you on top?”

Shane nodded, nuzzling into his hand. 

“You’re sure you are not still hurting? Your hips are okay?”

“Mhm. It’s been a month since last time, and I’ve played plenty of games since then. I promise I’m all good.” He ground his ass back over Ilya’s cock in a slow, torturous roll, growing impatient. “Wanna ride you.”

Ilya groaned at the friction, steadying himself with a hand on Shane’s side, then fumbled around the bed to reach for the condom and lube. He conceded easily when Shane took them both from his hands, lying back against the pillow to gaze at him while Shane set the pace. 

Ilya held him by the waist to keep him steady while Shane rolled the condom on over his cock, then gave Ilya a few loose strokes to get him nice and wet with lube.

Ilya’s breath was heavy and shallow as Shane began guiding himself down onto him. He paused halfway to adjust, revelling in the pleasant burn of the stretch and Ilya’s fingers biting into his waist, then continued taking him slowly deeper until he’d bottomed out.

Shane whined and clenched around Ilya’s thick length, nerves already buzzing with pleasure. He could never properly achieve this feeling on his own, not the distinct fullness or the swelling emotion that came with fucking the man that was quickly becoming his home in every metaphorical sense of the word. 

This used to be the closest they could get to having each other, back when sex was the hard upper boundary of their relationship. But those lines were blurring beautifully tonight, like a watercoloured canvas they’d started to paint that snowy night in Montreal. 

He wished he could hear those whispered words from Ilya’s mouth once more. I don’t think you can understand how much I like you. It is too much to describe. If the wondrous way Ilya was looking at him right now was any indication, they were hurtling towards something even greater when they were done. Shane ached to know how Ilya would hold him afterwards, and what he’d say in response if Shane found the courage to let more of his heart out into the open.

Once he started moving, initially only in a slow grind, they fell into a messy kiss, Ilya cupping his face and groaning as he sucked on Shane’s tongue. Shane braced himself on Ilya’s shoulders, beginning to lift himself up and drop back down on his cock in little thrusts that kept him continually full.

Ilya was kissing all over his face and throat now, anywhere he could reach when Shane had thrown his head back in a moan, bearing his neck while starting to ride Ilya a little harder. His lips trailing over Shane’s skin served as the perfect compliment to the insistent pressure on his prostate, something light when he was taking what he wanted with force. 

He was thrusting back on Ilya with more confidence now, eyes squeezed shut against the intensity of feeling washing over him. Shane could count on one hand the number of times they’d tried this position, but he’d had plenty of experience in the privacy of his own apartment, imagining it was Ilya as he rode his dildo and chased what he couldn't properly replicate without him. 

Shane could tell Ilya was already struggling to make himself last, gripping Shane’s hip with one palm and squeezing his ass with the other, like he wasn’t sure which handhold could anchor him better. Shane felt similarly unmoored just watching Ilya fall apart beneath him, loving that this odd reversal of their usual dynamic was still enough to drive him wild.

“Shane—” Ilya started, voice betraying the same desperation that was swimming in his eyes. But there in the soft blue was also something less buoyant. Something that had maybe always been there just below the surface, Shane too blind to see it after convincing himself his feelings would always be unrequited. 

“Don’t hold yourself back—you can cum if you feel good, baby. Fuck into me, yeah, just like that.” Ilya had braced his feet onto the mattress, using the leverage to thrust up into him while Shane bore down on his cock. “I want it, Ilya. C’mon, fuck me hard.”

He knew he was babbling, similarly close to the edge as Ilya started nailing his prostate with an urgency that was frankly toe curling. He didn't care. The first names and terms of endearment came naturally when he was being taken apart like this, their mutual fondness a living and breathing thing between them after being admitted the month prior.

If anything, Ilya seemed to bask the new layer of intimacy emerging between them, kissing Shane with renewed vigour while rolling them over so he could take full control and start fucking him into the mattress. 

Shane could hardly recall his own name with how mind-numbingly good he felt. Ilya had found just the right angle to send them both hurtling towards the edge, driving into him hard until his thrusts grew erratic, descending into a desperate rut.

“Shane, moy dorogoy, I’m cumming, fuck, I can’t—”

He wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist, giving him no choice but to remain buried deep inside him. The insistent pressure paired with the drag of Ilya’s sweat-slick abs against his aching cock was suddenly all too much; Shane came with a sob, holding Ilya tight as he spurted hot cum between their stomachs, hole clenching around him.

Ilya was not far behind, stroking Shane through his orgasm before tumbling into his own, finishing with a deep groan he buried in the crook of Shane’s neck.

The comedown was a little hazy, every nerve vibrating with the intensity of all they’d just done. Ilya eased out of him, and Shane closed his eyes and relaxed further into the sheets as he caught his breath. He hummed at the pleasant feel of Ilya laying down atop him like a warm weighted blanket, lips ghosting over his clavicle.

Shane draped an arm lazily over his waist, sighing when the Ilya nosed a path up his neck to drop a kiss to his jugular, nuzzling further into him.

They just lay like that for a while, content to bask in the afterglow after such an intense round of sex. Ilya was tracing little circles and hearts into his cooling skin, an act so tender it made Shane want to take a bite out of him to see if he’d taste sweet, too. 

He angled his face into Ilya’s curls, inhaling his familiar pinewood scent. It reminded Shane of summers spent away from all the pressures of life and hockey, and it made him yearn to share that same escape with Ilya someday, nothing but surrounding forest for company while the two of them shacked up in his cottage.

Eventually Ilya brought a hand up to his cheek, pulling back so he could look at Shane properly. 

“Do you feel okay? You are not hurting anywhere?”

Shane leaned forwards to kiss him softly, watching that quiet concern melt away.

“Not hurt, I’ll just be a bit sore soon,” he admitted. It wasn’t cause for concern; Ilya knew Shane liked that lingering ache after they fucked, a reminder of how it felt to have Ilya inside him hours after he was already gone. “And I’m better than okay. God, that was probably the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Ilya exhaled a laugh, relieved, and then smiled a little at the unprompted compliment. “That good, huh?” Shane nodded, wanting to keep giving in to honesty while he still had the courage. “Was amazing for me too.”

The admission sent the butterflies in his stomach aflutter, especially in tandem with the delicate and open expression on Ilya’s face even after their minds had already cleared from the haze of orgasm. Shane gripped a hand in Ilya’s curls, the intensity of the love in his chest manifesting in an instinctual need to hold him in any capacity.

“It felt like forever, waiting to see you again.” Shane breathed, the words almost fragile in the resounding quiet of the bedroom. 

Ilya didn’t say anything for a while, but the look in his eyes spoke plenty. He traced his gaze all across Shane’s face like he couldn't believe he was real, then reached out to brush fingers over his freckles, the touch so feather-light he fought not to shiver with it. Shane flushed under the careful adoration. 

All of it felt a little like I love you, or at the very least an I missed you, I’m glad you’re here. 

Ilya brushed a kiss against Shane’s forehead when he’d gotten his fill of drinking him in, and it was the nail in the coffin of Shane’s sanity. Without words, he’d been reduced to a viscous puddle, simple physics demanding he would meld himself to Ilya’s every ministration until they fit perfectly, completing each other.  

“Will you stay tonight?”

If Ilya had asked him earlier that year, or even just before their last time together, Shane would easily have run, afraid that it would ruin them. He’d always craved this sort of intimacy, even if for most normal people it wasn’t a big deal to wake up the next day with a hookup still in their bed.

There was nothing normal about him and Ilya, though, so staying the night had always seemed a destructive temptation. The two of them had climbed a parallel path to the top of hockey stardom, barred from even a beautiful friendship for fear it would all crumble at the hands of the media's carefully curated rivalry.

They were never meant to know each other beyond the hatred of defeat or the rush of victory at each other's expense. But years of lying in hotel beds after pushing it all down had made Shane sick, ready to burst with all the love left to rot inside him. 

He would not let it fester any longer; he felt he would die if he didn’t expel it, exhaling every ounce of his affection and transforming it into air Ilya could suck down, a cough syrup for their lovesickness.

Shane cupped Ilya’s face and brushed their lips together, a not-quite kiss. 

“Of course I’ll stay.” He whispered. “I’m so fucking glad you asked.”

Ilya kissed him hard, like he hadn’t been entirely sure Shane would say yes, and was suddenly overcome with the reality that his fears were completely unfounded. Shane sunk further into the pillows and let it happen, Ilya’s wordless happiness at getting to keep him for even one night so pure it made Shane want to cry.

Because he was feeling it too, a growing elation that maybe should have been ridiculous for what a small step this was. It shouldn’t matter, though. Yuna had always told Shane growing up that over-comparison was pointless; it led to losing sight of what you truly wanted in favour of trying to become everyone else. 

Besides, there was no universal metric for a relationship like this, two competing athletes at the height of their careers choosing to be brave by conceding to their own hearts, even if only in small helpings at first.

Shane missed him immediately when Ilya eventually disentangled himself from their half-embrace, standing from the bed to tug on his boxers. Shane reached a lazy arm out for him, latching on to his wrist.

“Where are you going?” He whined, unable to mask his displeasure at being apart from Ilya for even a second longer than was necessary.

“I told you I want to take care of you again.” Ilya stepped closer to the bed and ran his unrestrained hand over Shane’s side, raising goosebumps all over his skin. “Lie down and relax for a few minutes while I run you a bath. Was nice last time, yes?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, closing his eyes when Ilya leaned down to kiss him again.

“Perfect. Let me make you feel good, solnyshko.”

~★~

Shane had barely registered Ilya’s return before he was being scooped up into his arms, just like when Shane’s injury meant he actually needed to be carried to the bathroom.

He liked that Ilya was doing it again anyways, waiting for Shane to wrap arms around his shoulder so he was secure in Ilya’s hold. Ilya kissed his temple as he walked them over to the ensuite, and Shane melted into it, always so easily put at ease with this man, his anxious brain gone blissfully quiet.

The bathroom was contemporary just like the rest of Ilya’s Boston home, all sleek white surfaces with metal accents, enhanced by the odd coloured furnishing or abstract art piece on the wall. It struck Shane as too sanitized for the fiery spirit he knew Ilya to be on the ice, and irreflective of the warmth his soul radiated whenever they were alone, his place not quite as homey or lived in as he would’ve imagined it to be.

As far as Shane knew, Ilya didn’t see his original home very often at all, only ever mentioning Russia when playoffs were coming to a close and he was readying to leave for the duration of summer. Shane wondered if he ever felt untethered having to live so far away from where he was raised, stuck in a place that didn’t accommodate his language or his culture, and with no one familiar to keep him company that first year they’d met in Saskatchewan.

Shane sighed as Ilya lowered him into the warm water, breathing in the pleasant notes of lavender and bergamot radiating from the tub. Ilya ran a hand through his hair, already lingering close for longer than he had last time. At least before Shane had begun flaying his heart open, Ilya finally unable to resist kissing him.

The atmospheric bliss that was emerging between them was interrupted by the sound of Ilya’s phone buzzing from somewhere deeper in the house.

Shane could see the internal conflict in his eyes; it was obvious Ilya was warring with whether to check who was calling, or to ignore it in favour of letting this moment remain unbroken.

Hit bit down his instinctual protest when Ilya apologized and stalked out of the ensuite to find his phone. It was probably only a spam call, or maybe one of his teammates ribbing Ilya about staying home when they could be drinking away the loss and picking up girls at the club.

The last option stung a little with how often Ilya used to get papped stumbling home with women on his arm. Shane pushed the thought out of his mind as quickly as it arrived. It was none of his business who Ilya fucked when they were still casual, when for all he knew there was absolutely no hope of them ever being something more.

Shane had heard less and less about Ilya’s flings as the years went on, to the point that he could barely recall any stories about him that had come up this season. If the intensity of Ilya’s feelings mirrored the trajectory of his own, then the exponential decline in other hookups made sense. They had grown closer the past few months, and all of it had come to a beautiful head during their last night together. 

If they treated this wonderful thing between them delicately, taking it slow so as not to stumble over the landmines that came with their very public careers, Shane suspected he might never have to worry about Ilya seeking out the warm body of a stranger ever again.

He was torn out of his racing thoughts by the sound of Ilya’s voice echoing through the house, his words mostly indiscernible from this far away. The bathroom door was left open, so Shane could make out the muffled strain in Ilya’s tone as spoke a rapid string of what sounded like Russian over the line.

Shane’s heart squeezed. This was a side of Ilya he’d never even glimpsed before, much more used to the showboating and cockiness he adorned on the ice or in front of the media. Whenever they were safely tucked away from the public eye, Ilya had shown himself to be an incredibly kind lover, his attentiveness and care always evident even during their earliest hookups when Shane was a bundle of nerves personified.

He strained to listen for any words he might be able to pick up, even with his nonexistent understanding of the language. Shane thought he could make out an exasperated papa in between more tense back-and-forth, the silences stretching out uncomfortably even from several rooms away. 

Shane had no way of seeing the tension wracking Ilya’s frame, but he could picture it anyways. There was a much longer, pointed silence than the rest. Shane braced himself for Ilya’s inevitable return to the ensuite, but then the Russian picked back up again. He must have dialled someone else after ending the presumable call with his father.

Ilya sounded angry this time, and it was awful. Shane had the ugly feeling that he was invading his privacy, listening to something he wasn’t meant to be around for, so he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tune it all out, focusing hard on the warm water soaking his skin.

He didn’t open his eyes for anything, not even when footsteps trailed back into the bathroom. Shane focused on his breathing, not the curling pit of shame in his stomach at having witnessed a part of Ilya he hadn’t known existed, and all without meaning to. He could pretend not to have heard, but he got the feeling that if he looked at Ilya right now and saw even an inkling of sadness in his eyes, he’d fall apart and give it all away.

Shane sensed his presence more than heard it when Ilya came closer, knees hitting the floor next to the tub. When he felt marginally steadier inside, soothed back into calmness by the flowery soap and watery warmth engulfing his senses, he cracked his eyes open to find Ilya much closer than expected.

It instantly soothed him, seeing Ilya with his arms crossed over the edge of the tub, chin nestled atop them so he could gaze at Shane while being near enough to touch, that need for closeness and comfort understandable after how ragged he’d sounded on the phone.

Their gazes met, Ilya giving the impression he wanted to be consumed by Shane, tired eyes seeming to beg for absolution as he melded further into the porcelain without realizing it.

Shane couldn’t bear seeing him like this any longer, strung-out and not knowing how to ask for the affection he clearly needed. It was breaking his fucking heart.

He lifted a hand out of the water, shaking off some of the wetness, then threaded fingers through Ilya’s hair, watching his eyes fall immediately shut at the touch. Shane radiated achy fondness as he slowly worked through detangling knots in his curls, scratching at his scalp a bit when he learned it earned him tiny sighs or hums of pleasure from Ilya.

When he was done, the quiet minutes stretching into a little eternity, he slipped his hand from Ilya’s hair to instead take hold of his hand, their fingers easily intertwining. 

Shane leaned in closer to kiss over his knuckles, hoping the gesture conveyed both gentle adoration and steadying comfort. He finished with a kiss against Ilya’s mouth still drawn up in a little pout. It worked to get Ilya looking at him again, curls darkened and loosening up with the remnants of water drug through them.

Maybe it wasn’t the right move, but Shane couldn’t shake the sense that they needed to try and talk about this. Ilya still seemed rattled by whatever altercation he’d gotten into on the phone, and they weren’t going to revert back to their happy bubble of intimacy without addressing it.

Ilya looked like he knew what was coming, but did nothing to try to stop it. He nuzzled into their intertwined hands, never breaking from Shane’s gaze.

There was no easy way to do this.

“You know you can talk to me about anything.” Shane said, squeezing his palm tighter. “I want to be there for you when you’re hurting.”

Shane felt his heart kick up when tears sprung to Ilya’s eyes at the words, stopped just before spilling over. He swallowed against the lump in his throat at seeing Ilya so vulnerable, his own similar need to cry sudden and intense.

Ilya was looking at him like he hung the fucking moon, his next words escaping in breathy Russian, voice cracking with emotion by the end.

“Inogda mne kazhetsya, chto ty — moy angel.”

Sometimes I think you’re my angel.

Oh god. Shane couldn’t stop the first few tears from falling, because even if he didn’t understand any of the beginning of what Ilya had said, he could recognize all of what he’d stumbled over. Moy angel. My angel. 

It was obvious by his reaction that he’d figured most of it out, but he had to ask anyway: “What does that mean?”

“It is not important.” Ilya brushed his tears away with his thumb, pointedly avoiding his eyes.

“Please, Ilya.” Shane whispered, lip wobbling with the effort to suppress the brunt of emotion that was still trying to claw its way out of him. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He knew he wasn’t going to get the answers he sought when Ilya leaned in to kiss him, delaying any further questioning even if only temporarily. Shane closed his eyes and allowed the distraction, always weak to him. It wasn’t until Shane tasted salt on his lips that he pulled back. 

He was surprised to learn the tears weren't his own.

Shane stared at Ilya’s torn open expression as more rolled down his face. There didn’t seem anything left to say when they were both flayed open, neither of them able to form proper words. 

Shane leaned his temple against Ilya’s shoulder, water from his chest dripping onto Ilya’s torso where they touched. Like clockwork, Ilya started tracing delicate fingers over his freckles, ghosting constellations over his skin and secretly committing them to memory.

“You are very beautiful.” Ilya murmured.

Shane felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wrapped both arms around Ilya’s shoulders, wishing he could burrow under his skin.

“I don’t know what to say when you tell me things like that.”

Another kiss to his hair, and then Ilya’s hands were caressing over his spine, all the way from the base of his neck, dipped down into the water and back up again.

“You don’t need to say anything, lyubimyy.” Shane felt his palm still against the base of his spine. “It’s just nice to say it out loud, when I have been stuck thinking it for years.”

“Ilya,” He didn’t even really register saying it, face still buried in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, Ilya.”

Ilya tugged him closer, as close as was possible with the porcelain ledge still between them. “I know, Shane.”

“I can’t do this anymore. The– the pretending. There’s so many things I want to tell you. I–” He choked on it. That I love you that would change what they were to each other forever. “Even if it’s only in secret, I want you to be mine.”

Shane felt the way Ilya’s breath shook in his chest. He removing himself from their embrace to take a delicate hold of Shane’s chin.

“I have already been yours for a long time, sweetheart.” He brought their lips together in a barely-there kiss. “Now come. Let me help you out of the bath, then I am going to cook us dinner. Is up to you if you want to stay up and watch a movie together or go to bed straight after.”

So that was what they did. Ilya drained the water and left Shane with plaid pyjama pants and one of his old Raiders shirts, then kissed him breathless once he emerged from the bedroom and into the kitchen. The sight of Shane in his clothes seemed to be making Ilya oddly possessive, hands wrapped around his waist and chin hooked over his shoulder while they hobbled around the kitchen like a four-legged creature, and Shane loved it.

They ate tuna melts for dinner, and Shane didn’t even have it in him to be particular about sandwiches usually only being something he had for lunch. The warm bread and lemon-pepper fish were a more homey variation of the salmon and rice he often meal-prepped, and it tasted even better because Ilya had made it for him, buying all the ingredients in advance hoping Shane would agree to stay the night.

Ilya put on a movie once they were done, letting Shane snuggle up under a throw blanket while he did the dishes and took a quick shower. He returned in sweats and a faded t-shirt, maneuvering them both so he was lying down with Shane’s head on his chest, the blanket strewn atop them both, their legs intertwined.

Shane fell asleep halfway through the movie, lulled into a dreamlike state while cocooned in warmth between the cozy fabric and the man he loved who he could now call his. Shane vaguely recalled hands petting through his hair and lips brushing his temple, though Ilya never actually woke him, equally as uninterested in the movie but willing to stay up so he could watch Shane instead.

Shane blinked awake when Ilya started murmuring his name, jostling his shoulder gently. He half registered that the credits were rolling before Ilya was sliding out from under him, turning off the TV and lamp, quieting the house for the night.

Shane whined when Ilya removed the blanket from his huddled up frame, murmuring whispered apologies all throughout. Ilya was quickly forgiven when the wool was replaced by strong arms around him, carrying him for the second time that evening. 

When they were finally back in bed together, Shane shifted to face Ilya in the darkness. The hands resting on his waist were constant reassurance that he was wanted here, Ilya happy to hold him until morning.

“I like it when you’re sweet to me.” He murmured, parroting the words he'd said much earlier that evening, before all of this new rawness and affection had spilled into the space between them.

It felt even weightier this time, now that they’d admitted to wanting something real with each other. Ilya tugged him closer, hooking his chin over Shane’s hair. “You deserve everything, solnyshko. If being sweet is what keeps you happy, then I am the luckiest man in the world. It is just natural with you.”

Shane didn’t know how to properly respond to such beautiful honestly when his mind was already half-mush with sleep.  The words cooled over his skin like a soothing balm; he snuggled further into Ilya’s chest and pressed a kiss over his heart, a wordless thanks for all that unfolded to get them here.

He found comfort in knowing they would be doing this again, staying the night together, rather than just meeting up to fuck. It was still surreal to think about the fact that Ilya wanted him back, and had apparently held onto his feelings for years.

I have already been yours for a long time, sweetheart. 

It was those words that he clung onto as sleep found him, the promise of Ilya Rozanov’s heart entrusted to him for safekeeping better than any dream.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter was a lot more fun to write than the first one, since I stopped picking apart my writing style for long enough to just enoy the process. These boys are unbelievably sweet to each other in all my fics, but this might be their worse offense yet... they make me sick (affectionate) and I just looooove writing them being in love.

Let me know what you thought of this chapter!! All of your comments on the the first have been so lovely (I'm still working through replying to them all). A million kisses if you made it this far ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡ one more chap to go!

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

If you waited a million years for this chapter, my apologies and a big hug to you for actually returning here to read the ending (ily seriously). My absense can be explained by me making like Shane Hollander and road-tripping to Montreal for a bit, then hibernating from writing for a little, and accidentally taking almost a month off to recharge my creative juices.

I made the finale extra sweet to make up for it. Enjoy! ʕ￫ᴥ￩ʔ

Ilya woke the next morning to a small sunburst, a minor miracle. 

Shane was remarkably beautiful like this, lashes fanned over his freckles, cheek mashed against Ilya’s pec as if he were the most comfortable pillow. His hand not resting in the sheets was curled loosely over Ilya’s heart, his little huffs of breath ghosting the bare skin above Ilya’s tee.

Ilya wished he could slow time so he could exist longer in this moment, savouring the quiet solace of waking up with Shane relaxed into him in sleep, the world outside for once unable to encroach on them. It was a taste of the comfort and domesticity they could maybe someday forever have, and Ilya burned with it.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d lingered this way, up before his alarm yet content to remain unmoving, absorbing this precious soon-to-be memory of Shane in his most naturally relaxed state. He didn’t think it mattered, though. He wasn’t going to give thought to how much time was ticking away until the buzz of his phone ripped him out of this unfiltered bliss. 

There was no room now in his mind for anything but Shane, this beautiful man that had held him close again in the face of more tears last night, so distraught by Ilya’s mystery troubles with his family he’d shed some of his own in tandem.

Every added minute with Shane since their last game in Montreal had the effect of a chisel against his heart, cracking it further open to allow for a freedom of emotion Ilya hadn’t felt since his mother was still alive. It was a lightness that somehow carried with it an assured heaviness, the relief of releasing some of what had been weighing him down—the expelling of a lonely sadness that had lived in him for years—coming with a good sort of exhaustion.

Ilya ghosted a kiss against Shane’s brow, cupping a hand against the back of his neck. He played lightly with the hair growing longer now than Shane usually tended to let it, and felt a surge of aggressive fondness when Shane mumbled unintelligibly in his sleep, nuzzling further into Ilya’s chest.

“You do not know how much I love you.” He whispered in Russian.

His language was an easy layer of protection even when there was less need for it with Shane still deep in slumber. The thought came out of nowhere, more of the heart than of the mind, though it suddenly needed to be let out, a truth-turned-confession that had lived within Ilya for ages without even being properly acknowledged to himself. 

The depth of his love had become completely undeniable last night. The relief of being able to fuck Shane in his own bed, then to bathe him and make food for him with the knowledge that he’d be staying over rather than walking out the door as the sun set had solidified it for him. 

No one had ever touched Ilya this deeply; it was a once in a lifetime occurrence. His heart would not attach to anyone else this irreversibly again.

Ilya was so caught up in breathing Shane’s air, existing in his space, he’d hardly noticed the moment when Shane had started to blink awake, those beautiful umber eyes mixing with the morning light spilling across the sheets to make honey gold.

Ilya wrapped arms around his waist as Shane groaned and stretched against him like a cat, clingy and content. He pressed a kiss to Shane’s forehead, then pulled back enough to watch the way Shane gazed up at him, still sleep-ruffled and soft.

There was no sight more wondrous to wake up to, not in this life where Ilya loved Shane more than he would ever love another. 

The instinct to hold his breath, to wait for Shane’s reaction to this unfamiliar closeness and see if he’d run, dissipated after those first few unhurried blinks of wakefulless. Shane was completely comfortable in arms, and if last night was any indication, would be comfortable rising this way again and again, body draped over Ilya in a sweet enveloping of his tender warmth.

Even if it’s only in secret, I want you to be mine.

The memory of last night came back to him as it had in his dreams. Ilya couldn’t help the way his breath caught as Shane hugged him close and confessed those words, tears thick in his voice like it was ruining him not to have something more meaningful with someone as undeserving as Ilya. Like he wanted to scratch their clandestine hookups and mutually guardrailed hearts for the seemingly impossible alternative.

Ilya had given what he could back to him in the moment, admitting that he’d very much been Shane’s for a long time. A time that entailed all the years they’d known each other, maybe even from that very first handshake at world juniors.

It had taken them years, but they’d made so many strides in the right direction lately. That was why it frustrated Ilya more than usual that he was still unable to bring voice to the more consequential things he still longed to say. 

He wanted to tell Shane he loved him. Was close enough to believing, even, that Shane would welcome hearing the confession without it stifling him or igniting panic, convincing him that he had to cut loose now that this had become too real. 

Ilya couldn’t yet admit it, though, the fear built up from a life of rejection and never being enough for the people he most wanted to keep close a lingering thing. 

Ilya knew not to overwater the flower that was growing from his and Shane’s delicate unspoken love, drowning it in a good thing when dosing out his affections was the much more assured path to flourishing. 

So he would choke down his greater confession for now, and be responsible with what they’d slowly let sprout between them. He would ease Shane into the enormity of what lived in his heart until it was safe to reveal in full. 

He would not be reckless with such a precious gift as this, Shane leaning up for a kiss after having just woken in his arms for the first time.

“Good morning, lyubimyy,” he murmured.

“G’morning,” Shane’s voice was sleep-rough and sweet. “...what does that mean?”

Ilya cupped a hand against the back of his neck again, rubbing a thumb over the shell of his ear. The denial rose up instinctively on his tongue, his words feeling weightier, more consequential in the light of the morning hour, but Shane was watching him with eyes still half-glazed and tired, reaching for Ilya’s affections as if they could be made a blanket to keep him warm.

“Please,” Shane pouted, a weapon Ilya was no match against. “You wouldn’t tell me what your Russian meant last night. I want to know all the mushy things you secretly say to me.”

It almost got a smile out of him, the earnestness in Shane’s voice, and the absolute confidence that what he’d said would be tender.

He was right, after all, and Ilya wanted to give him something if he couldn’t yet admit to the full extent of his feelings. He swallowed hard and made himself hold Shane’s gaze, kissing his nose chastely before wading into honesty.

“It can have many meanings… it is how you say, endearing?”

“A term of endearment?” Shane supplied, small smile on his face from where he was still snuggled into his chest.

“Yes, that. It translates to something like darling, beloved.” Or much more damningly, my love. “Sometimes it can also mean ‘my favourite’, but this is not right for you.”

“I’m not your favourite…?” Shane asked. It was said quietly, a touch playful, though there was a faint undertone of doubt laced through it, too.

Ilya shook his head. “Don’t be stupid. There is no ‘favourite’ when it comes to you.” 

Shane’s eyes were intense, burning into him as he clung to whatever words would be next out of his mouth. Ilya kissed him, hoping that alone would start to soothe his unfounded worries. 

“You are not like anyone else I have been with, Shane. I have never compared another person to you, because none of them meant anything to me after they left. It has always been different with you.”

“You mean it?” Shane whispered, hints of disbelief and wonder twined through it. 

As if Ilya could feel even a fraction of this all-consuming want towards a random hookup after a game. As if the bodies that had warmed his bed over the years weren’t all just desperate attempts to scratch his fiery need for release, when Shane was the ever-present unreachable itch along his spine.

“I have never meant anything more, probably.”

Shane wrapped both arms around his shoulders and buried his smile in Ilya’s neck. “I’m really fucking glad.” He murmured, the bright edge in his tone quickly fading into something somber. “I was jealous of them, sometimes. All the girls in the tabloids you’d take home. I didn’t want to admit to myself how much I liked you yet and it… it just hurt.” 

Ilya was running a hand along his spine while he spoke through these vulnerabilities, pressing gentle kisses to Shane’s hair in both an apology and wordless comfort. 

He wished with sudden ferocity he’d never touched anyone else after that impossible night of the CCM shoot nearly six years ago, if only it had spared Shane some of this pain. 

Shane nosed against the skin of his throat before continuing. 

“I didn’t think think we could be anything more than two people who fucked and found the door, like it was supposed to be easy to forget you each time- just waiting around for our next game to do it all over again. All those years of weeks and months waiting for you… I could barely take it.”

“Shane,” Ilya consoled, running a careful thumb across his cheek. “I never stopped thinking about you either in the time between. I miss you so much, always.”

Shane smiled and turned into Ilya’s palm, leaving a kiss there. “It’s so fucking crazy hearing you say that now. I never wanna stop hearing it.”

“Mm, good, because I will not stop reminding you. It will get very annoying over the phone after a while… I’ll say it so much you will have to come back and see me again to make me stop.”

Shane laughed and pulled him into a more passionate kiss, grinning against him. “Shut up, idiot.” He murmured, not meaning any of it. “Now get out of bed. I’m not kissing you anymore until we’ve both brushed our teeth.” 

Ilya huffed in faux annoyance, but got up and trailed after him to the bathroom without protest. 

For the rest of the morning he let their unfamiliar domesticity play out, understanding that it was temporary for now, but that they both wanted something like it again next time.

Ilya didn’t know how they’d move forward from here, tending to this enormous affection in the shadows. He didn’t know where to begin digging to bury the core of his love for Shane, keeping it hidden whenever the bright lights of hockey stardom shone down on them.

He needed to learn fast, though. Ilya would do anything to keep Shane’s heart safe, and to somehow also give him the loving he deserved without being able to reveal it unless they were alone.

Now, though, they couldn’t stop looking at each other, shy smiles cracking through their expressions even as they brushed their teeth and lathered their faces with facewash. Ilya clung to Shane as much as possible in the kitchen without being stifling, arms wrapped around his middle and chin hooked over his shoulder while Shane rummaged through his pantry and fridge for adequate breakfast materials.

Shane only started huffing and shoving at him when Ilya started kissing all over his cheek and down his neck, muttering about the food and I can’t make breakfast when you’re trying to eat me, Ilya. 

Ilya bit back his grin at how cute Shane’s annoyance was in response to his teasing, then moved to help him, cutting up strawberries as Shane scooped greek yogurt and protein granola clusters into two bowls.

They ate together at the island mostly in silence, glancing up at each other with unconcealed fondness between bites. Ilya occasionally leaned over the corner of the counter to kiss Shane’s shoulder or brush a stray piece of his bangs back, loving the flush it brought to Shane’s cheeks to be openly adored in the light of day like this.

When Ilya’s spoon started scraping the bottom of the bowl, time finally started to creep back up on him, suddenly impossible to keep ignoring. A glance at his phone confirmed what he’d hoped would never come: Shane had to leave for his hotel in another half hour, still not packed for his flight to Chicago.

Shane seemed to be accepting the same thing, swallowing around his last spoonful of yogurt and then reaching for Ilya’s hand that’d gone limp against the granite, a betrayal of his helplessness. 

There didn’t seem anything that could make Ilya feel better, but his sweet Shane tried anyway, always one for planning and dates and facts.

“It’ll be a couple weeks, but then we have back-to-back games in Montreal. That’s two or three nights together, not just one, depending on when the Raiders fly in. And after those games there’s just a little more waiting before All-Stars Weekend in Tampa. It’ll be almost like a vacation together, if we’re careful enough.”

Ilya nodded, trying to convince himself that yes, that was all well and good. It would be more than a month until he could see Shane again, but he should be grateful for the extra day or two tacked on from the consecutive Boston game against Montreal.

Maybe Ilya was too greedy then, because the thought of holding out weeks for a mere few more hours together between games, just to return to a comparatively endless absence of Shane was agonizing. It was like scrabbling at twigs while falling down a steep cliffside, convinced the small things would be enough to stop the fatal drop.

Ilya felt something start to crack inside him. He didn’t know how he’d survive it.

He was so caught up in his head he hardly noticed Shane moving, pushing aside his empty bowl to cross the space between them. It took him by surprise when Shane wrapped arms tight around him, head buried in his curls.

“I don’t know how we’re gonna do it,” Shane breathed, hands bunched in the back of his well-worn tee. “I’ve only been able to call you mine for one night, and I already forgot how to let you go.”

“Shane,” Ilya croaked, the word practically all he could muster up. “Don’t leave me.”

“God, I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Call me every day. I don’t care what you’re doing with Hayden or your team.”

“I’ll call. Video call when I can. Gonna miss you so fucking much.”

He didn’t know how much time passed after that, the two of them clinging to each other in Ilya’s kitchen, though logically it couldn’t’ve been more than a few minutes since Shane had to be ready to leave soon.

Ilya followed Shane to the bedroom with a hand bunched in the back of his shirt, needing to maintain any kind of contact to convince himself this was still real for now, and that Shane hadn’t yet gone away.

Shane let him linger by the doorframe while he stripped out of his pyjamas, folding them carefully on the bed and setting them aside to start pressing out the creases in his clothes from last night. 

The bare swaths of Shane’s beautifully freckled skin didn’t inspire a lustful hunger in Ilya like his nakedness tended to any time he and Shane were together in this way. Instead, the golden morning light spread all over the room and curving delicately over Shane’s muscled back—his quiet presence soaking into Ilya’s home for the first time—was opening up a deep pit of longing in his chest. 

Ilya was mourning the loss of Shane before he’d even stepped foot towards the door, not knowing how to preserve the echoes of him once he left, making them last long past having faded. 

He wanted a life with Shane, something like this taste of domesticity but longer, made forever. Ilya was being given a brief glimpse of heaven, and instead of taking in its everlasting beauty, standing stuck with the knowledge that he would not for a long time get to glimpse it again.

He felt the need to bring the world to a halt, quieting every sound that was not the song made from this memory, the harp-strum of his heart to Shane’s tune.

He was so enraptured by the last waning moments of Shane moving through his space like he belonged, he hadn’t realized he’d been caught in his admiration. 

Shane glanced over his shoulder with shirt in hand, doe eyes taking on a sad sort of softness at whatever unbridled misery had mixed with Ilya’s love and bled to the surface of his expression.

Instead of coming to Ilya right away, Shane finished dressing himself, then rummaged through his drawers until he found a pen and scrap paper ripped from a notebook he never used. 

Ilya walked up to him as Shane placed the page on the nightstand and started drawing. He was no artist, but that made the act even more unbearably winsome. It looked to be a messy scrawling of stick figures, a childish rendition of the two of them smiling while holding hands.

Ilya watched Shane’s own hand rather than the paper as he picasso-ed Ilya’s swirly curls, then tracked the flick of Shane’s wrist when he moved on to the lines of his choppy bangs.

By the end of it Ilya was fixed on Shane’s profile, watching the little furrow in his brow and scrunch of his nose while he scratched over something he hadn’t quite gotten right, then fixed over it. 

There were no trademark clothespieces to the innocuous Shane and Ilya, their Boston and Montreal jerseys conveniently traded for typical stick-people attire, but he would recognize the two of them anyways. 

He would know the pretty dots of Shane’s freckles, and the exaggerated cupids bow of his own lips. He would know the ‘I’ll miss you’ written next to a heart at the bottom of the page, same as the final few words Shane said to him last time in Montreal, changing the course of what they were to each other for good.

Ilya wrapped arms around Shane from behind and buried his face in his shoulder, wanting to believe for even one last moment that hockey wasn’t their immediate reality, and that he could keep Shane here for another day, month, year without needing to perform for the outside world.

Shane twisted around to kiss him, a chaste yet passionate press of lips, but Ilya wanted more than just a taste—he needed this to feed him for weeks.

Ilya turned Shane in his arms until he was pressed back against the nightstand he’d been writing on. He brushed their noses together, a brief reintroduction before licking at Shane’s bottom lip, kissing and sucking on the pretty pink thing. As soon as Shane opened for him, Ilya slipped his tongue into his mouth, greedy with all that he took.

Shane gave the same enthusiasm right back, sighing in relief at Ilya’s sudden intensity while threading fingers through his hair to keep him close. Ilya was kissing him so hard it prompted Shane to move his picture to the bed so he could sit up on the nightstand, spreading his thighs to accommodate Ilya pressing in closer.

They made out like that until they were both moaning into each other's mouths, hands starting to wander under shirt hems and waistbands when there wasn’t enough time for what Ilya wanted to do to him. At least not all of it.

Ilya decided to press his luck when Shane began to rut up against him, already partly hard from just the messy slide of their tongues against each other. His body was draped over Shane’s as best he could from the cramped position; he grabbed Shane’s hips and ground against him more firmly, giving him the friction they both needed. 

He was fucking desperate for this. Would take anything Shane was still willing to give him before leaving, if Shane giving him something was actually just an allowal of Ilya’s own worship.

Shane was radiating a similar unspoken desperation, confirmed by his lack of protest when Ilya went to his knees and looked up at him for permission to offer up this last piece of his adoration. 

There was no time. They both knew there wasn’t, but Shane but his lip and nodded anyway, bracing hands on the nightstand to lift his hips and help Ilya pull his boxers and pants just far enough down his ass to free his leaking cock. 

Without preamble Ilya got to work, swallowing Shane down and quickly building up a punishing rhythm. The sound of Shane’s immediate cries paired with his hand gripping hard into Ilya’s curls was intoxicating, encouraging him to relax his throat and take Shane further, until his nose bumped against Shane’s taut belly. 

“Oh god, Ilya,” Shane moaned, already starting to guide him down at a fixed pace while bucking up into his mouth. “Love the way you suck my cock. Fuck, it feels so good.”

Ilya hummed around Shane’s throbbing length, an acknowledgment that sent another wave of pleasure through him. He was rubbing his palms across Shane’s thighs, feeling the way they tensed and relaxed with the rest of his body as he remembered not to hold out.

He loved it when Shane lost control, mindless enough to use Ilya like he was Shane’s fucking slut, made to swallow his cock. It made Ilya’s own dick start to ache in his boxers, begging for release that today wouldn’t come. All that mattered with the time they had left was Shane.

Maybe the minutes ticking away was good for something after all, if it was responsible for making Shane this immediately frantic. By now Shane was guiding Ilya down hard onto him, moaning debauchedly at the rhythmic drag of Ilya’s tongue against his cock with each stroke. 

Ilya swallowed Shane’s cum gratefully when he finished, the force of Shane’s orgasm so intense he’d hunched over Ilya and kept him in place at the base until he’d ridden out the aftershocks. 

Ilya’s throat was appropriately raw once he pulled off, sliding up off the floor to kiss Shane and make him taste himself. Shane only allowed the distraction because Ilya was efficient, sucking on his tongue while pulling his jeans back up over his ass, zipping and buttoning them up. 

Ilya took a step back when he was done, eyes heavy as he drank in the painfully gorgeous sight of Shane sated and sprawled across his furniture. Shane was looking back at him with a subdued sort of hunger while he finished catching his breath, knowing they’d stretched out their time together as much as possible, but that this was the inevitable end.

Eventually he slid down off the nightstand, stepping up close to Ilya again. Their kiss this time was soft, almost nostalgic, seeping into Ilya like sweet poison.

He pulled back and brushed a thumb across Shane’s freckles one last time.

“It is time for you to go, lyubimyy.”

“Yeah.” Shane agreed, the curtness betraying his attempt to tamp down any lingering vulnerability.

Ilya thought he could cry, if there was still room left for it.

He kissed Shane goodbye, memorizing the flutter of his eyelashes when he pulled away.

“I will stay here in my room while you leave. I can lock the door after.”

“What?” Shane furrowed his brows, not understanding. “Why won’t you come see me out?”

And oh, he should’ve realized how Shane might misinterpret this. Ilya had mused on their early hookups time and time again, with his coldness after their penthouse fuck in Vegas remaining one of his biggest regrets.

“No, sweetheart,” He brushed knuckles against Shane’s jaw. “It is not like Vegas. I was so bad to you that night because I didn’t know how to have this. I was scared, so I pushed you away when you tried to talk to me. I wish I never hurt you.” He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way Shane’s eyes had gone glassy, tears clinging to his lashline but stopped just short of spilling over. “It is different now. I just… I can’t watch you go. You will not make your flight if I do.”

Shane shook his head, quietly exasperated, then pulled Ilya to him tight. Ilya hugged him back with just as much force, burying his nose in Shane’s neck to breathe in his scent, cataloguing it for the near future.

“I fucking miss you already.” Shane admitted, the words muffled against his shoulder. “I’m gonna call you as soon as I get to Chicago. I’ll try to text you before that from the airport too if I can get away from the team for a bit.”

“Okay, solnysko.” 

I love you I love you I love you.

Shane pulled back to look at him curiously, their arms still wrapped around each other. “What does that one mean?”

“Means sunshine. No one else can know you make me this sappy, Hollander.”

Shane huffed a laugh, his bright smile always the most beautiful thing. They kissed again, coming up on their third or fourth kiss goodbye now, but Ilya was helplessly attached, still learning how to properly let go.

Eventually Shane left him the way he’d asked, trailing out of the bedroom while Ilya sat hollowed out on the mattress, not really all there as he listened for the last remnants of the man he loved stepping out into the winter cold.

He heard it faintly as Shane zipped up his coat, then felt it in his chest when the front door clicked shut with a resounding finality.

I love you I love you I love you, he thought again, picking up the drawing Shane had made of them together.

He traced a finger over where their little stick hands met, then tucked the paper into his top drawer, suddenly unable to look at it without hurting.

Ilya laid back down and stared up at the ceiling, team practice seeming a world away after all that had finally flourished with Shane and subsequently been taken away from him in the span of a few hours. 

Ilya thought back to his wonderful, eager Shane, here so early yesterday after their game he’d fallen asleep waiting for him on his porch. Ilya thought back to the passionate way they’d fucked and then the bath, Shane seeing his sadness and trying to comfort him through the pain without even knowing how his family was tearing him apart.

I love you so much, he thought for the last time that morning, and then finally let himself break.

~★~

Ilya got through his next dozen regular season games in a blur, every opponent and game-end score fading into unimportance when weighed against his wait for Shane.

They started out texting or calling almost every day, and it was good, really, but keeping connection solely by phone was no substitute for the real thing, having Shane in his arms, eating his food, and laying pleasantly fucked-out in his sheets. 

The ache of missing him transformed Ilya’s every waking hour into a ritual of discipline. He threw himself into hockey even harder than usual, hoping it would occupy every crevice of his mind in place of the anticipation. The more he thought about Shane’s absence, the worse it hurt not to have him, so Ilya pushed himself to exhaustion every time he hit the rink and let the burn consume him.

He was getting into violent fights more. 

When there was only about a week left until the Raiders played Montreal again, Ilya stopped being able to ignore the strange way Marlow was looking at him in the locker room. He’d been ejected in the third tonight for getting into a bloody scrap, his already threadbare composure fracturing in an instant at the first generic homophobic chirp hurled his way.

He fucking missed Shane. He hated that he had to keep such an intrinsic part of himself a secret, pretending like he wasn’t just as in love as all his teammates with their girlfriends and wives and fiancés they got to boast about. 

And Alexei wouldn’t stop calling. Ilya answered the phone sometimes, hoping it would make his brother leave him alone for longer intervals between voicemails, but it didn’t help. He sent whatever money was asked of him, then got into more screaming matches about his father who Alexei assured him was fine because he was definitely taking care of him. 

Ilya knew all of it was fucking lies.

“You okay, Roz?” Marlow asked, coming up on his cubby with a hand on his shoulder. 

“No,” Ilya admitted robotically, the honesty escaping him before he could think too hard about it. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m starting to worry about you, man. I know you get into scraps a lot, but you don’t usually go off on guys like that.”

Ilya tore off his shoulder pads and shoved them into his locker with unnecessary force. “He was a fucking bigot, okay Marly? I don’t like when cowards say slurs on the ice and expect not to get knocked out.”

Marlow was silent for an extended moment, thinking carefully about how to word what he wanted to say most inoffensively. Most of the team had already disappeared into the showers, leaving them practically alone as Ilya spiralled.

“Yeah, Rudolf’s a bitch, dude. He definitely deserved whatever you gave him. It’s just… we hear guys say crazy shit all the time, y’know? Usually you just let it go, or maybe chirp back and shove them around a little if they’re really out of line. What was different tonight?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Ilya murmured, slumping down on the bench. “Go shower, Marly.”

His friend looked over him with concern one more time. It was obvious Cliff didn’t want to listen, but after years of dealing with Ilya’s mood swings, he had to know he’d probably get chewed out or ignored if he didn’t. 

Resigned, Marlow nodded and turned to his locker, then stripped and left Ilya to his solitude.

Ilya ignored it when other teammates started returning back to the locker room and gave him playful shoves or muttered about what was wrong with him, still sitting at his cubby staring at nothing or opening up his text thread with ‘Jane’ without typing.

Most of them had already grabbed their bags and gone home by the time Marlow was done showering, his friend stopping in front of where Ilya still sat dead-eyed while towelling off his hair.

“You’re seriously not fucking okay, man.”

And that was how he’d let Marlow convince him to come over to his house that night. He’d pitched it as an evening of greasy takeout and video games, something to help him ‘chill out’ and lose whatever had him unusually high-strung tonight.

They’d been lazing around on Marlow’s couch for over an hour, playing NHL 16 on his Xbox when he finally paused the game and turned to look at Ilya, kicking his thigh to get his attention.

“Stopping the game when I am beating your ass, Marly? Turn it back on.”

“Shut up, Rozzy. You’ve been killing me every round. We played enough tonight, now I just wanna talk.”

“I did not agree to come here for that.”

“You’re my best friend, dude, I want to know what’s up with you.”

Realizing he wasn’t going to give this up, Ilya huffed and slumped further into the couch cushions, tossing his controller onto the coffee table.

“I’m fine. Better now that I’m away from stupid fucking Rudolf and his dirty mouth.”

“Is that really all it was…? Is it– is it your family? Are you having problems with Jane or something?”

Yes and yes. 

“No.”

“Tell me the truth, man.”

“Maybe.” 

He wasn’t looking at Marlow, instead chewing on his hoodie string while staring at the pause menu on the TV.

“You gotta give me more than that. I’ve been friends with you for how many years now? You know your secrets are safe with me.” He nudged his foot against Ilya’s thigh again, another attempt at getting Ilya to look at him. “I just want you to have someone you can vent to about your problems, that way when you’re upset you don’t try to kill someone on live tv.”

Ilya didn’t know what came over him then. 

Maybe it was all that he’d been struggling to keep down when it came to Shane, the secret starting to push up painfully in his throat. 

Maybe it was the fact that he’d already vented to Sveta about his family, and that still hadn’t made Alexei keep calling him with faux concern about him not being there, or the money not being enough. 

Maybe it was that he needed to release something about himself out into the open before he burst, no room left inside him for more hidden truths when his most important one was outgrowing his body.

He wouldn’t implicate Shane in any part of this—wouldn’t drag him into the fallout of his own inner turmoil. But Ilya was worn down and exhausted from years of never having said at least this part out loud, and he wanted to get it over with.

After all the nights of clubbing and picking up women he’d done with Marlow since his rookie year, he had to have slipped up at least a handful of times while drunk. Sure, Marly had never actually said anything to him about the way he sometimes looked at guys with hunger, but Ilya didn’t think the occurrences of his attraction to men were rare enough to escape at least a little suspicion. 

His eyes tended to wander away from women most pointedly when he was missing Shane worse than usual. He drank more to try and forget him, though the adverse effects made Ilya latch on to anyone with his resemblance, eyes drawn to short dark hair or smudges of freckles barely visible under the fluorescent lights.

Even if his sexuality was a surprise to Marlow, Ilya was pretty sure he wasn’t homophobic. His friend was such a slut he always grinned and politely turned down the guys who hit on him at nightclubs, his ego relishing any sort of attention regardless of whether he was interested in taking that person home and fucking them later.

Ilya took a breath, braced himself and admitted it.

“I’m bisexual.”

Marlow was quiet for a long time, much longer than he expected. Ilya had still been looking at the TV, but the silence prompted him to finally turn and face him, noting the undertone of shock in his expression. “Roz, that’s—”

Ilya barrelled on before he could get another word out, not yet wanting to face Marlow’s reaction until he’d confessed to everything he’d built up the resolve to say.

“Jane is a man. I’m in love with him just like half the team is in love with their women, and no one knows it. He does not even know it. It is fucking killing me to keep everything inside, but there is nothing else I can do. That is what’s wrong with me, okay?”

“So your Montreal Jane…” He seemed to be putting the pieces together in his head, coming up on an epiphany that made his whole body go still. “Jane. Oh fuck. You’re always so secretive about him, and only see him after games. Are you dating–”

Marlow was a dumb motherfucker most of the time, which made Ilya forget that on odd and usually inconvenient occasions, he could be really smart.“Don’t say anything else,” Ilya choked out, stopping him short. “I cannot tell you anything more. Even if you think you know, just… don’t say it. Please.” He tugged hard on his curls, already starting to regret ever opening his mouth. Shane would be so mad at him, maybe even leave him for good if he knew Ilya had accidentally outed him. “I should never have said anything. Fuck, fuck, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Hey, hey, take it easy. There’s nothing to worry about, buddy. I would never out you guys.” Marlow placed a placating hand on his shoulder. “And if your Jane is who I think he is, don’t you think he loves you too? Especially with how hard it must be to keep something like that going in secret. I swear I’ve seen you smiling at his texts for years. That kind of commitment is sort of fucking crazy.”

Ilya ignored the attempted comfort regarding whether Shane loved him or not. Ilya knew in his heart that they were both getting somewhere close to saying it, even if he sometimes doubted whether Shane felt the same when he was too deep in his head.

Ilya pivoted to something easier instead, needing to have his base worries explicitly alleviated first. 

“You are okay that I am not straight?”

“Roz. Ilya. Don’t be an idiot. I’ve seen you make fuck-me eyes at dudes in the club like… a million times. You’re lucky you always pick up when you’re alone with me and not any of the other guys, because they definitely would’ve noticed too. I don’t care that you like dick, man, I’m just surprised you never got any when I was around.”

“It is not as easy as you think to be discreet. I get photographed with girls all the time.”

“Mm. I guess so.” Marlow sipped at his beer. “Sometimes you looked so pissed off you had to take a woman home that night it made me want to try guys just to see what I was missing out on.”

Ilya couldn’t help the hearty laugh that burst out of him then, all of the tension leaving his frame at Marlow’s ridiculousness. “You should try it then. Maybe you can never keep a woman because you are meant to have a husband.”

Marlow shrugged, smirking around the rim of his bottle. “Don’t think I’d ever actually date a dude, but I think I could try fucking one, just to see if I like it or not.”

“I cannot believe I was scared to come out to a bi-curious.”

Marlow laughed wolfishly and kicked him again. “You make that sound like a slur, dude. And hey, I think everyone should try both at least once! Can’t say you don’t like something you’ve never had, right?”

“You’re telling me. I have been fucking women and Shane for years.”

“So it is Hollander! I knew it. What a catch man, I’d totally hit that.”

Shit, the joking around had gotten Ilya so comfortable he’d accidentally confirmed it out loud. And what the fuck? No one got to talk about Shane like that.

“He is mine.” Ilya growled. 

“Down, boy. I wouldn’t dream of stealing your man. He’s gorgeous, though. I’m convinced half the guys in the league who say they’re straight would do anything for a night with Hollander.”

“I would kill any of them if they even tried to touch him.” 

“Jesus christ dude, you’re definitely in love. Or in deeply concerning obsession with him. Is Shane like that about you too? I can’t picture him being all possessive and shit.”

It was just more stupid banter, but the last bit made him go quiet, strangely pensive all of a sudden. “I don’t know. We are not… dating or anything yet. Maybe soon, I hope.”

Marlow thankfully picked up on the abrupt change in his tone, leaning over to sling an arm around Ilya’s shoulders. 

“I’m sure you guys’ll work it out if you’re still meeting up after all these years. How long have you been seeing him?”

Ilya should probably shut down the conversation; he’d already shared far too much. But Marlow was doing a really good job of getting Ilya comfortable enough to trust him, and it felt so good to finally have an outlet for this, the love like a living thing in him that had been caged and constrained for years.

“I’ve wanted him since before rookie year, when we met at World Juniors. I could tell he liked me even back then, but was too cute and shy to do anything about it. First time we fucked was after draft year when we filmed a commercial together.”

“The CCM one?” 

“Yes. It stayed casual like that for years and years, but I fell in love with him very fast. It is only recently that we started to maybe become something more.” Ilya took a swig of his own beer, letting his mind wander to the last time he had Shane. The reality that in one more week he would have him again. “It is hard to believe he wants to try for something with me. It makes me so happy it’s stupid, but I am also scared to ruin everything if I tell him I love him too fast.”

Marlow released him and shoved the back of his head playfully. “You’re worrying over nothing, seriously. Who wouldn’t want to be told ‘I love you’ by the dude they’ve been running back to since they were teenagers?”

“It is not so simple.”

“I really think it is, Roz.”

“You can’t know that, but yes. I am going to try.” He scrubbed a hand across his the day’s exhaustion finally starting to settle into his bones. “He is the best thing that has ever happened to me, Marly. I am going to tell him soon… maybe during All-Stars. I cannot keep it inside anymore.”

“Good. Now finish your beer and relax. We’re playing Montreal soon; you can go see him without having to make excuses anymore when I bother you about ditching us for Jane. I’ll get the team off your ass too if they bother you about it.”

“Thank you,” Ilya started, not sure why he was getting sappy all of a sudden. “For being good about this.”

“It’s nothing, seriously.” Marlow smiled and reached over for his controller, unpausing their game. “I’m just glad you finally told me.”

~★~

“I’m sorry, Shane.”

It was the first thing Ilya could think to say to him once Shane opened the door to his condo—his real one this time, not the top floor of the building he’d bought for them to fuck in while they were something much less serious.

The guilt had started eating away at him as soon as he’d left Marlow’s house last week. Someone besides just the two of them knew this precious thing existed now, and it was all because of Ilya’s reckless inability to keep his mouth shut.

Shane took his hand and pulled Ilya inside, locking the door behind him. “Hey, hey,” He started unzipping Ilya’s coat, helping take it off to hang on the rack behind him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Ilya nodded, unable to meet Shane’s eyes. “It is all my fault. Marlow noticed there was something wrong with me because I got more angry on the ice all of a sudden–”

“Against Washington?”

“What? Oh, yes.” Shane must have seen the game, and by nature also the fight that ensued. The thought of him keeping up with Ilya’s games even during the regular season was surprising, and endeared him to Shane even further. The details of these matches didn’t matter much until the last month or so before playoffs, when points got tight and teams began clinching their spots. “He realized I was more upset than usual, maybe. But Rudolf was being a fucking homophobe and I just really fucking missed you after weeks since the last time I saw you and–”

Shane cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss much gentler than his anxiousness could properly process. Ilya immediately sank into it. “Slow down, baby. Breathe.”

The unfamiliar pet name sent heat curling up Ilya’s spine. He loved it when Shane was soft with him, these fluffy edges serving as proof of them growing into something more permanent. He practically melted into Shane’s shoulder when he started scratching at Ilya’s curls to placate him.“He knows, Shane.”

Ilya felt him tense up, just a little. “Who, Rudolf?”

“Not him. Marly.” Ilya chewed on the inside of his cheek, burying his nose further into the juncture between Shane’s neck and shoulder. “It is all my fault. I just… needed someone to talk to about any of this. I was not going to mention you, so I just told him I was bisexual and that I had a man I am seeing.” I told him that I loved you, too. “Then he put the pieces together because he has seen me text "Montreal Jane” many times over the years. He knows I leave the team to be with this person only after we play the Metros.”

Shane didn’t say anything immediately, instead just continuing to tug at Ilya’s curls, running his other hand up and down the length of his back.

“Ilya I…” He shifted to look up at Shane without removing himself from their embrace, watching his pretty profile as he stared up at the ceiling, contemplative. “He’s good friends with you, right?” Ilya nodded against his shoulder, prompting Shane to turn down and kiss his temple. “Then I guess it’ll be alright. He didn’t react badly, did he?”

He could barely hide the relief that rushed into him at the lack of Shane’s immediate anger. Ilya sank even further into him. “Opposite of badly. He basically told me he is queer too, or at least curious…” 

Ilya felt Shane’s smile where his lips were still pressed against his temple, lightening completely. “Good. I’m almost… glad, I think. That someone else knows. It makes this—us—feel a little more real, maybe.”

Ilya shot up and kissed him hard at that, unable to contain the surge of joy that coursed through him hearing Shane acknowledge that there was in fact something tangible blossoming between them.

He went easily when Shane tugged him backwards, keeping their mouths connected to kiss him thoroughly even as they stumbled towards the bedroom.

Ilya was more at ease here than he ever had been during their years-long catalogue of hookups in hotel rooms and award show penthouse suites. This hockey season marked the first real season of change in their relationship itself, demarcated by first tradings of worship in their own sheets.

Ilya managed a glance around the room before Shane shoved him onto the bed, noting the favouring of blue hued furniture and fluffy blankets folded on counters or laid across his lounge chair next to a book nook. The last thing his eyes took in before he refocused on Shane made his heart lurch. 

Shane had a big calendar hung up on the wall next to the door, covered with event names and dates Ilya couldn’t properly read in the low lamplight from the bed. 

One thing stood out amongst it all, anyway. 

Carefully placed in the square Ilya assumed represented today’s date, there was a big sticker of a teddy bear wearing a Raiders jersey. A ridiculously cuddly thing to mark his homecoming.

It put a dopey smile on his face, leaving him very reasonably overtaken by joy. 

Shane held him down with hands around his wrists while straddling him, kissing him senseless while completely unaware of just how fucking fond Ilya had grown of him lately, the feeling surely too big to live inside a human chest without at least being incrementally exuded.

He opted to try pressing his swelling affection into Shane with his kisses, letting the overwhelming adoration pour out of him uninhibited. He knew Shane could take it. Knew that he wanted it, even, with the evidence of his anticipation for Ilya tacked onto the wall next to where he slept, a precious sticker over their love.

Ilya wanted to fucking devour him, if such a carnal want could be made into an act of gentleness. 

When Shane released his wrists to instead start pawing at his clothes, Ilya rolled them over and reversed their position, pinning him down against the sheets. A thrill of arousal shot through him at the way Shane purred and bared his throat for Ilya’s messy kisses, already starting to rut up against him with impatience while Ilya mouthed and licked at his skin.

“Missed you so much. I need you so bad, Ilya-” He felt the words rumble in Shane’s throat, and pulled back to meet his desperate eyes through the rest. “Need you inside me. Want you to open me up on your fingers and then with your cock. Please fuck me.”

Ilya stared down at him with hooded eyes, lust and love swirling through him and making a concoction of his blood more intoxicating than any alcohol he’d ever downed. Shane looked angelic underneath him, so beautiful and submissive while he laid out all his desires.

Ilya wanted to ruin him, to claim him. Wanted to make sweet love to Shane until he cried at the slow drag of his cock inside him, begging for release.

Ilya kissed him instead, murmuring praise against his lips. “Already so pretty for me, kotenok, begging me to fuck you the way you deserve.” He nipped at Shane’s chin, then trailed his mouth back down to his throat. “You waited a whole month for this, hm? No one else but me will do.” He felt Shane nod frantically above him, felt his adams apple bob heavily. “Such a good boy. What am I going to do with you when we have almost three days together?”

It was a rhetorical question that made Shane whine and squirm against him, driving Ilya fucking crazy with want as if he wasn’t already well past the point of anything ordinarilly satiable.

He ground into Shane hard, rubbing their erections together and watching with predatory hunger as Shane’s pretty eyes rolled back, his first real moan of the night echoing into the room.

“You feel it? No one else has ever done this to me, Shane. I have never felt this way about anyone but you.”

“Ilya,” he moaned, scrabbling to reach up and bring him into a searing kiss. “Please, Ilya.”

Unable to resist anymore of Shane’s honey-sweet pleas, he stood up off the bed and stripped naked, then helped Shane out of his clothes too. 

When Ilya returned to lay atop him with their bodies finally bare against each other, he thought it might be possible to get off just like this. The sensation of Shane’s flushed skin transferring warmth to his own, that uselessly big cock twitching and leaking precum all over him.

Ilya relished the pleased sigh it elicited from Shane when he began kissing his way down his body, biting his meaty pecs and lapping at his hard nipples. He trailed his mouth down toned abs, then sucked what bruises he could into those gorgeous thick thighs before Shane batted him away, never one for marks even in more inconspicuous places.

Shane’s hands fisted in the sheets after that, always trying so hard to be good when the tension in his muscles betrayed the desperate need coursing through him.

Ilya forwent his usual teasing to reward Shane for his patience, similarly unable to find his own restraint after five weeks without this unique form of paradise. He took Shane in hand and gave him a few rough strokes, leaving wet kisses up the underside of his length.

Dragging things out was particularly appealing to Ilya when Shane was extra pent up and bratty from a tough loss against the Raiders. He liked to make Shane hold still and wait on those nights, taking pleasure in kissing the angry pout of his lips while Shane bit back at Ilya to hurry up and fuck him before he did it himself.

The energy was entirely different tonight in this moment, the bright white lights of hotel suites traded for the warm yellow-orange glow washing over them here in Shane’s real bed. They were still new to these weightier emotions being openly allowed to breathe, having sex for the first time with the understanding that they would have it again tomorrow, then maybe even a third time the morning after their second game, if there was time before Ilya's flight.

Ilya sucked the head of Shane’s dick into his mouth, grinding against the sheets while watching Shane throw his head back against the sheets and call out his name.

He hummed his approval when Shane’s hand found its resting place in the nest of his curls, not forceful, just there as if to remind himself that this was real, a tether keeping him tied to the moment. Ilya loved all the different flavours of Shane’s touch on him, but this awed gentleness while he worked his throat around Shane’s  dick with intense fervour was the most delicious juxtaposition.

Ilya moaned at the first hot burst of Shane’s cum against his tongue, drinking it all down until Shane was a writhing mess beneath him, tugging at Ilya’s hair in that wordlessly pleading way that spurred him to action.

Ilya slid up the bed to render him thoroughly kissed while Shane came down from his orgasm, pulling away only when Shane started to shift from the centre of the bed back further until he could lay properly against the pillows. 

“Come here, baby.” Shane breathed, the new returning use of that pet name mimicking the effect of electricity through his system. “Wanna do you now.” 

There was nothing Ilya wouldn’t do when Shane looked at him that way, all warm and openly wanting. He’d finally taken Ilya’s fondness for calling him Russian terms of endearment and wielded it to his own use, surely more confident after being able to see on Ilya’s face how much he loved feeling claimed by him. 

Ilya complied with his demand and crawled forwards until Shane pushed on his shoulders, encouraging him upwards. 

He braced a hand against the headboard, Shane pulling him forwards by the backs of his thighs until Ilya’s dick nudged against his fat bottom lip.  

God, Ilya knew what this entailed- they’d done it before when Shane wanted it rough, needing to be used and put out of his mind like his only purpose was to take cock. The memories of facefucking him used to be some of Ilya’s favourites to revisit, back before he’d accepted his feelings and used them as anecdotes to why they were definitely just fuckbuddies.

Now that Shane was his and he was Shane’s, all this would do was take him apart.

“You are seriously going to kill me tonight,” Ilya said, voice still a little roughened and raw from deepthroating. “Open your mouth for me, beautiful.”

Shane kept his burning gaze fixed on Ilya’s as he bared his tongue, perfectly slutty and obedient even after having an orgasm drawn out of him. 

Ilya squeezed his dick at the base and slapped it against Shane’s tongue, starting to ooze precum while rubbing the head hard against the flat of it. 

“This is what you want, hm? To suck my cock, getting it nice and wet for you before I stuff your tight hole.” Ilya murmured, starting to guide himself into Shane’s mouth with shallow thrusts. He watched with rapidly building hunger as Shane nodded, lips wrapped gratefully around what little he was being given.

When Ilya finally conceded to his wants and thrust in further, hitting the back of his throat, Shane moaned and swallowed around him, throat constricting in a way that made him throb. 

One hand still on the headboard, Ilya brought his other down to cup Shane’s cheek with a gentleness that betrayed the depravity of what they were doing. 

He built up a steady rhythm, fucking deep into Shane while petting against his jaw, then running fingers through his hair, tracing down and over his freckles. 

There was no world in which Ilya deserved this, Shane’s enthusiastic matching of his own hunger and worship. 

He had been made to supplicate at the altar of Shane Hollander, yet this impossible angel of a man had chosen to bestow Ilya with a lifetime of his grace instead.

Ilya was dangerously close now, murmuring praise in a mixture of English and Russian as his thrusts started to lose their rhythm. Shane was holding onto his thighs for leverage, using it to take Ilya deeper, make the slide wetter. 

His tongue was dragging along the underside of his cock in a way that was making Ilya fucking insane; it was maybe the hardest thing he’d ever done to thrust once, twice and then pull out, needing not to come before he gave Shane everything he wanted.

Shane whined at the sudden emptiness, leaning up to chase after his cock. Ilya moved out of reach despite how much his body screamed at him to sink back into Shane’s wonderful mouth, instead fumbling for a condom and lube. The pretty picture of Shane all wrecked did nothing to help settle the buzz of his nerves. His thighs were still tense, trembling faintly after being ruthlessly edged.

He opened Shane up on his fingers as carefully as possible when his fiery need was actively usurping any coherence left in him. Luckily Shane didn’t seem in the mood to take things slow either, which resulted in Ilya pushing inside him after much hastier prepping than he usually let himself get away with. 

Consent was most vital thing to him, and Shane had already given it, bucking against his fingers and assuring Ilya that he could take it, that he would tell him if anything hurt.

Shane seemed to enjoy the sting while he let himself adjust to the intrusion, occasionally wanting that roughness that would leave a lingering reminder of Ilya buried inside him like Shane was his.

Ilya brought a hand up to Shane’s throat, rubbing at it with the palm of his hand as if to say I was just in here. You took me so well.

Shane wrapped legs around Ilya's waist to encourage him deeper, baring his neck in further offering. Ilya growled and pushed down just a little, mouthing at his jaw while finally starting to move.

“You are okay, solnyshko? Feels good?” He couldn’t help himself from checking in at least once, needing that confirmation that Shane was into this.

“Really good,” Shane practically sighed. Ilya felt it against his palm when he swallowed. “Love it when you take me harder. Want you to fuck me like I’m yours, Rozanov.”

Ilya ground into him rougher at the earnest admission, the words igniting a possessiveness in him that he usually tried to keep mostly dormant. He squeezed Shane’s neck once, never hard enough to hurt, and watched from up close as Shane closed his eyes in silent pleasure.  “Say it again, sweetheart. Tell me who you belong to.”

Shane keened and strained up for a kiss. Ilya leaned down and soothed him with one slow and passionate, rolling his hips down more pointedly this time. Shane locked his legs even more tightly around him, ankles crossed against his back; Ilya released his throat to lace their hands together on the pillow instead, their bodies completely entwined.

“I’m all yours, Ilya. Always have been… even when we were teenagers.” The words were breathed half on a sob, seeming to take something from him as he confessed. “I only ever wanted you. I wish I was brave enough to tell you sooner.”

I love you, I love you, I love you.

The mantra had started up again, the roots of it growing so thick up his chest he was sure he couldn’t contain it any longer.

Ilya licked into Shane’s mouth to prevent any of it from spilling out in decipherable words, instead letting his love pour into Shane this way, through the sheer reverence in the way Ilya kissed him.

When Shane pleaded with him again, Ilya started fucking into him the way they both needed it. He sucked on Shane’s tongue while grinding down hard into him, finding his prostate and lapping up his desperate moans like the sweetest nectar. 

Ilya buried his face in the crook of Shane’s neck, moaning wildly as his thrusts started to lose their rhythm. Shane was clawing at his back, thick thighs squeezing Ilya to him until they were both coming, Ilya burying himself as deep as possible inside Shane while he filled the condom.

He was mostly unaware of himself for a hazy amount of time after that, floaty and out of sorts with only the feel of Shane’s peppered kisses over his face to keep him tethered to reality.

Quiet minutes went by with Shane content just to hold him, to rub his back. He couldn’t know that Ilya was warring to keep his biggest secret down—that he’d just lost the internal fight with it.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, Shanya.” Ilya whispered, clinging to him tight. “Ya tak sil’no tebya lyublyu.”

Shane didn’t ask him what the Russian meant this time. It was how Ilya figured he knew. 

There were some things that transcended the boundaries of language, the way a person shapes the words on their way into the world sometimes enough to convey their full meaning.

Shane cupped his face with enough care to make him cry, pulling Ilya’s face away from his shoulder to look at him. Ilya was surprised to see that he glassy eyed, betraying a well of deeper feeling he could never properly hide.

Ilya stared at his freckles as Shane traced a finger over his own cheeks, running it then over his nose, eyebrows and lips. Eventually he brought their mouths together again, a delicate yet ardent reciprocation of Ilya’s secretly spoken love. 

~★~

Ilya left Shane sleepy and sated in bed again in favour of preparing him another bath. It was unusual, but he felt he needed to be alone all of a sudden, focused on menial tasks in an effort to calm his heart from actively trying to beat out of his chest.

He scanned Shane’s cabinets for all his best-smelling soaps, settling on something organic looking called citrus-sage. Ilya dimmed the lights and turned on all the LED candles Shane had scattered around the room, then sat on the toilet with head in his hands, letting the tub slowly fill.

There was no reason for Ilya to be this strung out and emotionally ragged after the really hot, otherwise rough sex they’d just had, but such was the effect Shane Hollander had on him. 

Time and time again now Shane had expertly found his weaknesses, sweetening Ilya’s insides with words that screamed forever. The problem was that nothing good in Ilya’s life had ever been permanent. He wanted to trust Shane, and did trust him, so maybe the problem was that Ilya didn’t understand what was fundamentally broken with himself. He didn’t know what to fix that made his mama leave him, then made the rest of his family hate him.

Shane found him like that, curled up on the toilet lid with arms wrapped around his knees, face buried in them. He hadn’t noticed the sound of Shane entering the bathroom, mind having settled but in a way that entailed eerie, empty quiet.

He’d only really snapped out of it when Shane started petting his hair, maneuvering him closer until Ilya wrapped arms around his waist, head now cradled against his stomach.

Shane didn’t ask him any questions, adapting to his silence and probably sensing that Ilya was in no state to answer, anyways. Instead he just stood there holding him for a few minutes, then walked over to the tub when the bath was done.

Ilya watched with rapt attention as Shane stopped the water, testing that the temperature wasn’t too hot. He was still naked, not like Ilya who’d thrown on boxers before stalking over to the ensuite, and he was so beautiful it hurt. 

Shane helped him out of the fabric and then into the water.

Ilya let himself go in an entirely different way the rest of that night. The warmth of the bath seeped into his skin and relaxed all the tension in his muscles, the scent of citrusy soap calming his senses into bliss. 

He nestled into Shane even further, his precious love who had arms wrapped around him from behind.

Ilya closed his eyes and leaned back against his shoulder, shivering with every slow, incremental kiss Shane pressed into his skin.

“Why did you keep doing this for me, after the first time?” Shane wondered aloud, nosing across Ilya’s temple and dropping another kiss there, too. “Before we admitted we wanted anything more with each other.”

Time felt unimportant in this little precious bubble of theirs, so Ilya let himself really think about it, playing with Shane’s hand where it rested against his stomach under the water.

“I like taking care of you,” he admitted plainly. “We had years to meet up and fuck and act like that was all it was. Just sex. So when you got hurt I thought… it was a chance to be good to you, without scaring you away if you did not feel the same.”

“Ilya…”

“And-” He thread their fingers together. “And my mama used to do the same for me when I was small, running me a bath when I was sad or hurt. It always felt nice, and I realized I like doing the same for you.”

Shane squeezed his hand a little tighter, kissing his cheek. “You’re so sweet, baby. I like it too, you taking such good care of me.”

Ilya turned to the side so they were almost chest to chest, the angle a little awkward in the tub definitely not made for two.

“Do you miss her when you’re not in Russia?”

Ilya went still. 

Memories of his mama were a strange thing; he often reached for what he could still remember of her when he was lonely, desperate to fill the void inside him with the happiness he had felt while she was still alive. Ilya almost never talked about her, though. Never even breathed her name around anyone besides Sveta, who’d witnessed how he’d suffered in all the years after her death.

But Ilya had offered up this piece of her voluntarily to Shane, maybe subconsciously hoping that he would ask more about her. For all that he sometimes believed himself to be unloveable, Ilya so badly wanted to at least be known.

“I miss her every day.” He croaked. “I found her dead when I was twelve. Too many pills. She was the only person in my family that loved me. I miss her so fucking much, but…” He fisted the cross hanging around his neck, shifting it to rest over his heart. “But she still lives right here with me.” 

He felt Shane’s breaths start to go a little shaky when he was done, ear still nestled close to Shane’s chest. It seemed like he was struggling to find the right words to say, nuzzling into Ilya’s hair and hugging him impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry,” Shane started slowly, tone soft so as not to shatter the fragility of the moment. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like, Ilya. Losing her so young… you’re so much fucking stronger than anyone realizes.”

“Not strong. I can’t handle it sometimes. It has been more than ten years and it still breaks me, mostly when I am alone. Lonely.” He was crying a little now, and there had to be something about baths, because Ilya had never been so lax as this with his emotions before making them routine. 

Shane was already swiping at his tears, gently kissing his lips. He was ever-attentive and painfully lovely. It was a tenderness that threatened to break Ilya, or make him anew. Maybe break him before rebuilding him better.

“You’re not alone anymore, understand?” Shane punctuated it by leaning their heads together, noses just barely brushing. “Any time you feel like that, you call me. You’re mine now, and I’m yours. ‘M always gonna be there for you.”

Ilya felt his expression crumble, overwhelmed by the force of this precious love he never thought could be willingly offered up to him.

“Okay,” Ilya whispered, knowing that if he spoke any louder, his voice would break. 

“Okay?” Shane confirmed, kissing him gently.

Ilya nodded, and Shane let him slump back into him, sleepy. “Good. Now relax. Tomorrow you can tell me all about her.”

~★~

On the shores of Tampa Bay, Shane let his mind drift and seep through into the sand, ebbing and flowing with the waves.

It had been almost a month again since he’d last been with Ilya, that night in the tub where he’d learned all that differentiated the image of Rozanov from Ilya attaching him even more irreversibly to him. The man Shane already didn’t think he could feel any more strongly about.

This weekend, this trip in general had been everything. The thrill of sharing a line with the man he loved had brought sharp clarity to any doubts Shane might’ve still had about their future, erasing them altogether.

He and Ilya Rozanov were made for each other. No one else would ever do. They were perfect together not just when they were alone, but also on the ice, too.

Shane hoped someday they might get to play for the same team, their chemistry in the game not just reserved as a rarity, but something they could wield on the regular, as two integral pillars of a new dynasty. 

Maybe, some years into the future, there was a reality where he and Ilya would hoist a cup together, cementing their victory with a kiss on the ice. Maybe it was possible, in a future where the world caught up to the reality that not everything was always so black and white.

Shane dug his feet into the sand, gazing off into the red-orange sunset as the final night of this temporary paradise faded in. He wished he could bottle up this weekend and pull it back out anytime he needed to relive it, not knowing if they’d get the chance to play together in their professional careers again. 

Not knowing if he’d ever be kissed the way Ilya had kissed him today again, on the cheek but nonetheless on the ice where the world could see.

Shane sensed it even before he spoke. Would know Ilya’s presence anywhere, by the way the breeze touched his skin and by the way his mind went suddenly quiet, wanting to be full of nothing but him.

“Found you,” Ilya said, toeing off his sandals to join Shane in the sand.

They waited until nightfall, the last dip of the sun below the horizon before walking far enough up the shore to escape any hotel lights, sure that here at this hour, no one would encroach on them. 

They’d ditched all their clothes save for their boxers before wading into the water, holding hands until they were chest-deep.

Shane swam up closer and wrapped arms around Ilya’s shoulders, bringing their heads together just as Ilya held tight to his waist. 

It felt like absolution, kissing Ilya alone in the ocean while bathing under blue moonlight.

It was incredibly passionate, the way their bodies met, an expression of deep love born from almost a decade of repression. The feeling was uniquely freeing, hiding away from civilization, yet nonetheless out in the open, their desire laid bare where all the stars in the sky could see.

Shane cupped his face and melted further into it, wrapping legs around Ilya’s waist as their mouths sought each other out again and again, never enough.

When they panted and broke apart, Ilya gazed at him for a long time, pupils blown wide in the lowlight, the reflections of stars in his eyes. 

“I love you,” Ilya said, like it was maybe the simplest thing in the world. 

Shane knew better, though. Knew how much hardship it had taken him to get here, every burden and doubt lifted from his shoulders until all that was left was this.

“I love you too,” Shane breathed, watching the way Ilya’s face broke beautifully at the words. “So much it’s crazy.”

He closed his eyes as Ilya leaned in close, leaving butterfly kisses all over his face, tracing over his freckles like he’d melt if he missed a single one.

Shane was sure he could die happy like this, held close by his love under the Tampa Bay moon. But now there was tomorrow to look forward to, a future where Ilya wanted everything with him, the most impossible option that they would do everything to make work.

Their path was bound to be filled with uncertainty, but what was life if not a series of random events, ones that led people off course or into each other, just like hockey had led him straight to the greatest person he knew.

Shane took one more long into Ilya’s eyes, and knew without a doubt, this is my forever.

Chapter End Notes

This fic has become super dear to me- I'm so grateful I never ended up scrapping that first chapter.

Thank you so, so much if you made it here °ʚ(*´꒳`*)ɞ°💗 The comments I've gotten on each chapter have been so lovely, and really reignited my love for writing (and my writing style, which I semi-often come to gripes with).

At the end of the day, sappy tender hollanov is my absolute favourite kind of hollanov, and this fic is somehow the biggest evidence of that yet on this ao3 acc that's full of all my other very sappy tender hollanov fics 😭 I don't know what took over me while writing this, but what can I say, Shane and Ilya are the loverboys of all time. This is totally 100% warranted for them

🛎 feel free to follow my twitter for more fic updates and hollanov content ʕ￫ᴥ￩ʔ