All I Want is Only You

Miami

“I washed your jersey. It’s not in the dryer. Did you take it?” Svetlana shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

“Is a fucking relic. Let it go!”

When Ilya washed his clothes after a collab yesterday, he saw that stupid jersey in her basket. He should have gotten rid of it a long time ago.

“Why do you still have it anyway?! It doesn’t mean anything to anyone!” He can’t control the irritation in his voice.

“Even if no one remembers it, I still do, Ilya.”

She sounds so gentle and true. It breaks his heart a little.

“Let it go, Svetlana. Just let it go.”

He hopes it doesn’t come off as too harsh. Svetlana has done so much — he can remain in this country because of her. She said yes when he came up with the crazy plan to get married to apply for citizenship. He cannot imagine what might have happened if he had gone back to Russia.

A useless former athlete who likes men. He would end up more miserable than his brother. That’s for sure. Forever disgraced and erased. Forgotten.

At least now he’s unforgettable. Why wouldn’t he be when he’s in the top 5 male creators on OnlyFans? Ilya takes this job seriously. OnlyFans is his livelihood. Although he’s made millions from sex work, he doesn’t care for it. He suspects that if he had played hockey all these years, he wouldn’t care much for hockey either.

He doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him. This apathy to everything. Only his love for Svetlana keeps him going, and her love for him. If God told him all his luck was spent on this friendship, he would believe it.

But she’s going places now. He can’t trap her in this fake marriage for the rest of their lives. With her new luxury car business, she finally gained complete autonomy from her father. They share this house outside of Miami. He can’t live in Boston. He loved it, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever have the courage to go there again. Boston would remind him of the life he could have lived. So he picked Florida. There is a lot of Boston’s crowd here. In this small way, he’s still connected to hockey. And a lot of creators live here. It’s convenient for collabs.

Ilya is a celebrity around here. Of course, he’s famous all over the world (or rather, his body). But people actually invite him to things, like his presence is a good idea. He’s been invited to weddings, birthdays, and even a christening. (He didn’t go to the christening. Svetlana went for him. It’s impossible not to like her at any social event. Unless the person is a prick like his brother.) For the most part, Ilya doesn’t go out — no late nights at bars. No clubs. Not much sex (other than work). Svetlana tries to take him out all the time, but he doesn’t see the point when he barely cares about his life.

Svetlana comes into the room without asking — they are like a real straight couple in many ways, and much more. It’s the main bedroom, but they haven’t had sex for years, not since he started OnlyFans. This bedroom has been their friendship-love nest.

“What’s for dinner?” She flops on the bed next to him.

“Sushi. And I made borscht this morning.”

Ilya opens YouTube on the TV. It’s Svetlana’s account, so most of the recommended videos are about hockey. He freezes. A sharp pain shoots through his leg. Quickly, it’s gone. It could have been his imagination. His injured leg hasn’t hurt like that for years.

One of the videos starts playing. It’s a recent game. Montreal versus San Francisco. The Montreal captain gracefully skates across the screen. Ilya doesn't know any players. Hockey doesn't exist for him now.

Then he feels the remote being pried from his hand. The screen goes black.

“Are you okay?” Svetlana asks softly.

“Fine.”

“Let’s eat dinner?”

I don’t need coaxing! I’m fine! He wants to scream. But he would never yell at her, even when he gets tired of the gentleness. Doesn’t she understand he’s fine? It’s been almost ten years. He shouldn’t care now. The injury. Those months in the hospital. The last time on ice.

“Ilya?”

She shakes his arm.

“Fine.” Then he remembers what she just said. “Yes, let’s eat.”

She smiles, though she looks uncertain.

“Uhm, have you seen Ksenia?”

Ksenia is his therapist. Well, she’s yet to be his therapist.

“No.” He doesn’t want to lie to Svetlana.

“She’s very good. One of the best who speaks Russian. And she’s in the area.”

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

He slips off the bed, avoiding her eyes.

His phone lights up with a message. Svetlana is closer to it, so she grabs it for him.

“Jesus Christ.” She glances at the screen. “It’s Jane again.”

Jane is one of his highest-paying subscribers on OnlyFans. Ilya likes to think of Jane as their username “janeislookingforaman.” Username is more detached. He prefers to keep things professional.

“What does Jane want now? Jane has spent $100,000 on you. At least. And it’s been how many years?”

“I don’t keep track.”

He unlocks his phone and reads the message.

“Well?” She looks at him expectantly.

“Well, what?”

“What does Jane want?”

“Nothing important.”

“Does Jane want to meet you in person?”

Svetlana is so good at reading him. This woman is psychic. Maybe this is why she can be his best friend. He doesn’t have to utter a single word, and she can still understand him as though she slept in his soul every night.

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t meet clients.”

She doesn’t argue with him about that. It’s his body. And his body has given enough.

Montreal

Shane casually scans the restaurant to make sure no one is watching him. Then he opens his chat with ROZANOV.

No reply.

Their conversation ends with Rozanov’s “Thank you, I do not meet any client,” and Shane’s crying emoji.

Shane scrolls up and down several times like he isn’t ready to let it go yet.

Three days have passed since he invited Rozanov to a restaurant opening in Miami. It’ll be in public. They won’t even interact — Shane isn’t that reckless. It’ll just be a one-way, furtive eye fucking from Shane. The Metros are playing in Miami next week. And Rose has come up with this bold but ingenious plan to ask Rozanov out. She gave Shane two seats for a super hyped restaurant opening. Shane isn’t a food expert, but Rozanov’s life updates on OnlyFans are all about food. Rozanov cooks for himself and his roommate. A girl, apparently.

“Still no news from him?”

Shane nearly drops his phone. “Jesus, Rose! Shush.”

Rose Landry sits down opposite him, her hair blown out like golden silk. She’s in town for a brand deal.

“I don’t think he’ll agree.” Shane puts his phone down with a defeating thud on the table.

“There’s still time. He might change his mind.” Rose sounds hopeful. Shane isn’t optimistic about this whole thing.

He groans. “I’m not sure, Rose. This is a terrible idea. It could just be a phase, right? I’ll probably get over him soon. An obsession can’t last forever, right?”

Rose rolls her eyes. “Do you believe that? How long has it been? Since your rookie season —“

“For the record, I didn’t really like him —“

“Because you never got the chance.” She gives me a sad smile. “Listen. This might be your only shot. It won’t hurt. Promise him that he will be safe, and you won’t harass him or try anything. Tell him you only want to meet him from a distance.“

Shane swallows. “Okay. Okay.” He picks up his phone, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. “How do I —“

Rose plucks his phone from him. “Oh my god, you’re hopeless.”

She quickly types something.

“Done.”

I just want to check in again. Please consider it? I promise I won’t bother you. You won’t even notice me. The restaurant is a totally safe place. Their food is excellent. You can take a friend if you like! — Jane

Panic hits Shane. “Rose, we don’t have a third seat!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

“Rose. You don’t have to —“

She heaves a dramatic sigh. “I do. You deserve happiness. When are you gonna let someone else in? Wait till you retire? I won’t let you live your youthful and successful years alone.”

“Lucky me, I have you.”

Sometimes he thinks being her best friend is the luckiest thing he’ll ever have.

“And you’ll always have me, Shane. But I wish you could have more.”

Miami

It’s in the middle of the afternoon. Ilya just finished a scene with another creator on OnlyFans. He built a studio on the house's ground floor. Since he’s one of the biggest names in the industry, people usually come to him. He doesn’t travel much.

“May I stay? I was such a good boy for you, yes?”

Ilya is not in the mood to move. Or respond. It’s not exhaustion. He feels empty. If someone tries to do things to him now, he won’t care. He’s surprised he can still get hard for work. So, when the guy takes him in the mouth, Ilya doesn’t react at all.

The guy is a lean, hairless twink with the most talented mouth Ilya has ever seen. Though not exactly Ilya’s type. But this guy has been gaining popularity on OnlyFans like he’s the Prince of Giving Head. Many prospects collab with Ilya to tell the world, “I’ve made it,” so naturally, this guy reached out to him.

Ilya shuts his eyes to relax into the blowjob. He’s not enjoying it. He’s not not enjoying it either. He’s floating. Svetlana once said to him she could feel that his language is touch. Not the rough kind in porn. Rather, the intimate, lingering kind after sex. Despite his career in this industry, Ilya has been a stranger to intimacy. It’s like he lost his most important language.

“You with me?”

The guy’s voice brings Ilya back to the present moment.

“Is it that bad?” The guy simpers. “You enjoyed it with the camera on. Does the camera turn you on then?”

“You should go.”

“Can we do this again? You were great. Now it makes sense to me why people throw money at you.”

The guy strokes Ilya’s thigh like he’s simply admiring the shape and strength of the muscles. There’s nothing sexual about this touch, but it somehow bothers Ilya. Ilya frowns in annoyance.

Then it drifts to Ilya’s shin. To where the scar is.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Ilya bounces off the couch.

“Sorry!” The guy jumps away from him, his eyes big and scared. Ilya forgets how scary he can be sometimes.

“I need to shower.” Ilya hesitates for a second. “There’s bread in the kitchen. And jam in the fridge. Don’t touch anything else. Eat and leave.”

The fear on the guy’s face dissolves into shock. Ilya ignores him and heads to the bathroom.

“You’re also the nicest.” The guy says after him. He sounds sincere. Ilya doesn’t give a shit.

Miami

“What do you think about the restaurant? Their seats are hard to get.”

Svetlana is calling him from her apartment downtown. Ilya just found out she has two invites to the restaurant opening that janeislookingforaman from OnlyFans also invited him to. It’s popular, and apparently, very fancy.

What a nightmare. Ilya can refuse a client, but Svetlana?

“I don’t know, Svetlana. No one is around?”

For some reason, he doesn’t want to tell her about janeislookingforaman’s invite.

“Everyone’s gone back.”

Back to Russia. It’s December, which means her friends will go back for Christmas and New Year’s.

Ilya stares out of the window.

Somewhere too far to see, his mother is buried there along with his father. He doesn’t remember much about her burial, and he couldn’t attend his father’s.

The house suddenly feels cold as a tomb. Ilya slowly drops to his knees, kneecaps against the frigid glass. A dull ache spreads in his injured leg. He thinks he’s imagining the pain again. His leg shouldn’t hurt like this.

“Ilya?”

“Right. OK.” Ilya rubs his forehead. “Is important to you? This restaurant.”

“You okay?”

Ilya quietly takes a deep breath.

“Yes.”

From her brief silence, he doesn’t think Svetlana believes him.

“People are saying it’s worth going.”

“Is a big event? I’ll have to show my face, Svetlana.”

“So what? Are you on the most wanted list or something? Ilya, it’ll be fine. And you need to meet new people.”

“You know me. Not interested in friends.”

janeislookingforaman’s profile picture flashes in his mind. It’s the picture of a ginger cat. This client would send him random scenery photos and disgusting diet food. And boring “good mornings” and “good nights.” Ilya usually responds with a positive comment. To keep janeislookingforaman happy. These relationships are business, but janeislookingforaman gives Ilya the impression that they actually care about him. Every time Ilya posts a new collab video, janeislookingforaman would ask him boring shit like how his day is, if he has eaten, and tell him to go to bed early like an auntie.

Maybe janeislookingforaman is a boring person who gets bored and overspends on Ilya. janeislookingforaman knows nothing about Ilya. If they meet him, Ilya will turn out to be a disappointment for them.

He’s too messed up to be friends with anyone. Svetlana is a miracle, and miracles do not happen to him twice.

“How about some time? Let me think about it.”

“I’ll take it as a yes!” She kisses him over the phone.

Miami - a week later

Rose’s voice is the only anchor Shane can latch onto as he steps out of the car. The street is packed with people who are here for the opening night. He darts through the congestion into the restaurant.

Ilya Rozanov didn’t say yes. But Shane still decided to come. He feels like he can’t think straight. What is he doing here?

“Are you in yet?”

“Yes. Yes. I’m inside.”

A waiter leads Shane to his seat while he lowers his head to not draw attention.

“Do you see him?”

“Rose, he didn’t even accept the invitation! There’s no reason he’s here tonight.”

Shane gestures for the waiter to come back later.

“Then why did you go?”

“I’m not sure. I just —“ he shakes his head, “This is the last thing I’ll try on him.”

Rose whistles, “We’ll see.”

“I got the feeling that he isn’t comfortable meeting clients. He might think I’m a freak.“

“If he shows up, do not approach him in —“

“Yes, I remember. Do not approach him. Observe from a distance. No long glances.”

He repeats it like a mantra.

“Okay. You should loosen up a little. Try their wine?”

“I can’t be drunk for this, Rose.”

Shane’s toes tingle.

“Holy shit.” He whispers.

Shane doesn’t know how many seconds have passed.

He realizes he has hung up the phone because the person who has occupied his mind for god knows how long is at the other side of the room. And with an exquisite woman at his side.

The pair looks like they’re dressed for an awards ceremony. A noticeable number of patrons have turned their heads at them. Shane is secretly relieved no one is looking his way; otherwise, they would find his cheeks in a shade of crimson that can’t just be the candlelight.

He takes a few sips of the iced water. But it just makes him thirstier.

He watches Ilya Rozanov walk toward a table with the girl. And he pulls out the chair for her.

Shane gets a much better view of Ilya’s side profile. The sculpted back. The curve of his ass. And the volume of the thighs. The skin is hidden underneath, but Shane finds this armored version of Ilya hotter than the naked one. Sure, Ilya’s OnlyFans videos can do all sorts of things to Shane. Yet if this Ilya — with all his immaculate clothes on — orders Shane to crawl over to him, Shane will obey the man faster than he can skate.

This is Shane’s first time seeing Ilya in person since the rookie year. Ilya is taller than he imagined. Slimmer — the camera adds ten pounds. He’s wearing a black suit with glitter all over. His hair has a wet texture, like he’s freshly showered. But this man’s face. It is so hardened. Shane can’t discern any emotion from his face, no smiles, no excitement for being here, no curiosity. The girl is gesticulating at Ilya, probably telling him a crazy story. Ilya reacts with small nods and doesn’t talk back. She seems to be used to Ilya’s stoic behavior.

“Would you like some water, sir?”

“No. That’s okay. Thanks.” Shane says to the waiter.

Once the waiter disappears, Shane’s eyes wander back to Ilya.

From Shane’s angle, Ilya’s jawline is sharp and defined. He remembers the winter when they first met so many years ago. Ilya was smoking. The line from the tip of that cigarette to his jaw was burned into Shane’s brain; it has visited Shane in countless dreams. Some nights between seasons, if Shane indulges in a glass or two, he would trace that line in the air, like a magic spell to conjure up Ilya by sheer lust. Shane even has a name for it — the Line of Ilya. What would it be like for them if Ilya hadn’t quit hockey? They were on the path to become arch rivals. If coming out was scandalous, then having a crush on his arch rival would be unimaginable.

As the food rolls out, Shane barely eats anything.

“Sir.” The waiter interrupts Shane’s muddled thoughts. He is holding a bottle of wine. “Our owner saw you here. She does not want to cause unnecessary stir, in case you prefer to dine peacefully tonight. But she is a huge fan of yours. This is from her.”

Shane’s heart stops for a few seconds.

He is recognized.

“Sorry. Excuse me. I — um, washroom.” Shane gets up and away from his seat. He doesn’t even know where the washroom is. He just keeps walking.

“Can I help you?” Another waiter stops him.

His throat constricts. “Um, yes. Where is the washroom?”

“Down the hallway, to your right.”

“Thank you.”

The hallway feels long. Shane nearly sprints into the washroom. He quickly checks the stalls to make sure he is alone.

This whole night has been unreal. Too unlike him. He does not recognize himself. He asked Ilya out because he could not get Ilya out of his head. This obsession has lasted for his entire career. To make it worse, Shane, the best hockey player of his generation, asked Ilya, a famous pornstar, to a public venue, in fucking Miami, before a fucking game, where many people can easily recognize Ilya and Shane. Someone might put one and two together, and his life would be ruined.

His hands are shaking. Shane turns on the tap and splashes cold water on his face.

A guy comes into the washroom. Not him. Not Ilya.

Shane quietly slips through the door back to the hallway.

The sound of heels echoes behind him. Then a female voice jolts him to a halt.

“Shane Hollander?”

Before he can flee, the woman catches up to him.

Fuck.

Ilya’s friend. By now, Shane is almost certain she is the friend Ilya mentions in his videos.

“Yes.” He manages to smile.

“You are one of my favorite players.” She offers her hand. “Svetlana. My father was a goaltender for the Russian national team. He would be your fan, but he only loves the country.” Her wide grin radiates warmth that makes Shane instantly like her. But he can’t talk to her and not think of Ilya. And he cannot think of Ilya. This is enough madness for one night.

“Thank you.” Shane points at the washroom. “Sorry, I need to —“

Without waiting for her answer, Shane dashes back into the washroom.

The washroom is empty again. This time, Shane is in no rush to leave. He’ll stay here the whole night if he can avoid running into another person.

As the anxiety melts away, he finally can digest the conversation with Ilya’s friend.

Svetlana. That’s her name. It is a beautiful name. Are Ilya and her a couple? Ilya’s profession won’t make any romantic relationship easy, but she doesn’t seem the type who cares about this sort of stuff.

Then a terrifying possibility occurs to him. She might tell Ilya she just met Montreal’s captain. She could be telling Ilya right now.

The thought of Ilya knowing Shane is also here strikes Shane like a boulder. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He needs to get out of this restaurant. Delete OnlyFans and forget that man.

But he should have known life is pulling a hat trick against him tonight. First, the restaurant owner. Then Svetlana.

And now, coming through the door, is Ilya.

Shane is not sure he is still breathing.

There are two sinks, so Ilya takes the other one. Why does this upscale restaurant only have two sinks? Shane fixes his eyes on the ground, his hands gripping the marble to steady himself. He’s going to be sick.

Then Ilya is closer to Shane as he leans into the space between them to reach the stack of towels.

Shane knows what comes after that. Ilya will walk out of the washroom, leave Shane’s life, and they will never see each other again.

He will never know what it feels like to touch Ilya, and to be touched by Ilya. He will spend the rest of his life wondering.

As Ilya turns away, Shane does the thing that breaks every fucking rule. But it feels like the only thing he has ever been sure of.

“Hi?”

Shane lifts his eyes to Ilya. He hates how weak that Hi sounded.

Ilya doesn’t respond. He pulls open the door — he is pretending he hasn’t heard Shane.

“Wait. Your friend — “ Shane doesn’t know what to say next, but mentioning Svetlana was enough to make Ilya pause.

Ilya shuts the door behind him.

He is so much more magnificent up close. Shane has to look away.

“What?”

Ilya’s voice is deep and rough. It still surprises Shane that this is Ilya’s natural voice. This voice with a Russian accent oozes sex. Anticipation shoots through Shane.

“Nothing. It’s just —“ Shane fumbles for the right words. “I was just chatting with your friend. She likes hockey? I’m in the NHL.”

Wrong thing to say.

Ilya visibly stiffens.

Shane bites his tongue. Fucking stupid. How could he forget how Ilya left hockey in the first place?

“You done?”

Shane stretches out a hand. “Wait. Please, wait.”

Ilya looks at him with a blank expression.

“Can I, can we — I, umm.” Shane closes his eyes. Fuck.

“You were looking at me,” Ilya said.

“What?”

Shane’s whole body trembles.

“Outside. At your table. You looked at me. I notice these things.”

All the blood must have drained from Shane’s face because Ilya asked, “You OK?”

Shane nodded mechanically. His heart is beating wildly against his ribs. A secret known only to a handful of people, which Shane has guarded for over a decade. It took Ilya less than one night to figure it out.

“Can I see you? Again. Soon?” Shane is practically gasping on each syllable. If Ilya says no, Shane won’t know what else he can do. He will be lost.

Ilya looks at Shane again. This time, he seems thoughtful. The difference is tiny, but there.

“Oh yeah?” Ilya says.

Shane doesn’t know what to say to that, so he remains silent.

Suddenly, Ilya is advancing towards him. Before Shane can move out of the way, Ilya has cornered him against the wall. They are not touching anywhere. But Shane can smell the champagne in Ilya’s breath and his cologne.

“I didn’t —“ Shane stammers.

“You didn’t…what?”

Ilya’s face is inches from him now.

“Didn’t…mean to look. At you.”

Shane breaks his gaze, defeated. If he stares at this man for too long, he won’t be able to conceal his dirty secret, all the fantasies he has about Ilya, what he would allow Ilya to do to him.

Ilya cocks his head, his curls flitting with the movement. It mesmerizes Shane.

“Lie,” Ilya whispers so close to Shane’s mouth.

Shane dips his head further, which doesn’t help because now he has a full view of Ilya’s crotch and thighs.

“You liked what you saw?” Ilya asks.

Shane doesn’t acknowledge it. To say yes would be an admission of guilt. To say no would be lying. Because Shane doesn’t want to forget every second of it.

“Look at yourself.” Shane hears Ilya say. “Like a scared kid. Does not know what he wants.”

“That’s not true,” Shane says breathlessly.

“Oh, you do know?”

Shane sees what Ilya is doing. He is making Shane admit it.

But Shane still says nothing.

Ilya huffs. “I thought so.”

Shane didn’t know Ilya would be so assertive, not letting Shane be ambiguous about what this is.

“You know what I want.” Shane tries. “Yes?”

Ilya examines Shane with those hazel eyes, his chin tilted up as to capture every detail of Shane’s face. He nods once.

“So —“

“No,” Ilya says.

Shane stills. “What?”

“Say it.” Ilya’s eyes are inscrutable. “Say what you want.”

“You don’t know me, and this is difficult for —“

“You don’t want it badly.”

“Yes.” Shane covers his face with his hands. “Yes. I do. I want —“

Shane doesn’t think he dares to say what Ilya wants him to say. Ilya is brave and beautiful, and doesn’t give a fuck about how the world sees him. He demands clarity from Shane.

“OK.” Ilya inhales loudly. “You waste my time. We are done here.”

Shane’s instinct takes over. He hurries to the door and locks it. The click unleashes something in the room. Shane hasn’t been more aware of Ilya’s perfect body in such proximity than he is now.

He detects a fleeting surprise on Ilya’s face.

Before he can stop himself, Shane buries his face in Ilya’s throat. He sniffs and tastes the skin there.

Ilya is scalding and heavenly on his tongue. It’s so good that it makes Shane question why he hasn’t asked Ilya out sooner. An OnlyFans video on a screen is tap water compared to this utter delicacy. Shane suppresses a moan.

“Stop.” Ilya lays a hand on Shane’s chest.

For a horrified moment, Shane thought Ilya was going to turn him down.

Ilya’s hand slides up to Shane’s face. Shane leans into the caress.

“You want this?” Ilya whispers into his ear.

Shane nods then says, “Yeah.”

“Here? In the bathroom.”

Shane blinks, “Where else?”

“You tell me.” Ilya studies Shane. His eyes are a little cold, but an intensity rumbles under them like thunder before a storm. “You look like I need a bed to fuck you properly.”

Shane feels his cheeks are burning.

Ilya twists Shane’s face towards the mirror. Shane can’t imagine what he must look like right now. Shaky and blushing just from Ilya’s words.

“Do not worry. I don’t need a bed to give you the best sex.”

Shane knows that.

“Maybe we could, um, use one of the stalls?” Shane suggests.

“What?”

“I don’t know. People might need to use the washroom? We locked the door.“

Confusion clouds Ilya’s face. “You worry about that? Are you serious?”

“I mean —“

“Are we going to fuck or not?”

“Yeah?” Shane says timidly.

“So don’t talk.”

Shane goes quiet.

“Good.” Ilya drags his lips along Shane’s jaw and licks the entire length of his neck, wet and languorous. Shane buckles violently as a scene from his dream is taking place.

Then Ilya is tugging at Shane’s belt. Shane releases a long sigh as he grips Ilya’s ass. The next thing he knows, Ilya is stroking Shane in a way that melts his brain and lets him think Ilya is already fucking him because nothing else can be this good.

“OK for you?” Ilya is breathing heavily against Shane’s hair, their bodies pressed into each other.

“Yes.”

Ilya says, “I don’t do this. Usually. But exception tonight.”

Shane is momentarily bemused. Don’t do what usually? Then Ilya drops to his knees. He drops to his fucking knees.

“You don’t do this a lot, yes? I will do this. You watch. And do it back for me. OK?” Ilya says, his tone flat and almost instructional.

“Okay.” Shane closes his eyes. “Okay.”

Ilya does some swift work with Shane’s pants — there is something methodical about it, like Ilya is completing a task rather than having fun. But Shane is too lightheaded to analyze it.

The moment Ilya swallows Shane to an insane depth in one go, Shane has to hold back his urge to fuck deeper into Ilya’s warm throat. Ilya is sucking on Shane’s cock like it’s his first meal after starving for days. Shane looks down — Ilya’s mouth is wrapped around his cock, those eyes half-lidded like he’s savoring it. This sight is going to play over and over again in Shane’s head into the new year.

“Fuck!”

Ilya hums, and his throat tightens.

Shane gasps. “Fuck! How did you do that?”

He won’t last long at this rate. Ilya seems to know this as he pulls away when Shane’s whimper grows into frantic moans.

“I don’t want you to come yet.” Ilya claps Shane’s face. “Now you.”

Shane clumsily takes off Ilya’s pants, the zipper getting stuck a few times.

“Careful. Is expensive.” Ilya warns.

“Sorry.”

“Is a joke.”

“Right.”

“Now suck my cock.”

Shane doesn’t need the order. He has been dreaming this for too fucking long. What Ilya said is true. Shane has less experience than Ilya, but he has watched enough videos of other men going down on Ilya that he is a sort of an expert on what Ilya likes.

Ilya grabs Shane’s hair with both hands as Shane stares at his cock. He’s seen it many times in videos. It being so close is intoxicating, like you can’t believe you get to worship a precious and beautiful thing you’ve only admired faraway. Shane is certain he will do everything he can to fit this cock in his throat.

“Fuck.” Ilya murmurs. “You really want this, hmm?”

Giddiness bubbles up in Shane. When Ilya swears in this low, smooth voice, it means he is very much pleased.

“Yeah.” Shane smiles.

“Is big. Don’t force yourself.”

Shane chuckles. “I want to try.”

Ilya is mostly silent as Shane applies every skill he knows. He doesn’t know if Ilya would consider his performance passable. Since Ilya’s sexual history is filled with people who knew what the fuck they were doing, Shane isn’t super confident.

“OK, that’s enough.” Ilya pats him on the shoulder.

“That horrible, uh?” Shane laughs nervously.

Ilya shakes his head. “No. Is not that.” His knuckles graze Shane’s cheek, and Ilya rests his thumb on Shane’s mouth. Shane sucks on it without a second thought.

“Is your…enthusiasm? Is strong.”

“I don’t …Is that bad?”

“No.” Ilya’s eyes darken.

“Hello? Someone there? Open the door, please!” The sound of the lock rattling follows the voice.

Shit.

“Nononono…” Shane is panting rapidly. Air is like a solid mass. His vision blurs and comes into focus, then blurs again.

“Hey.” Ilya runs a hand over his back, massaging his spine. “Breathe.”

Ilya’s voice is distorted. Shane hears it, but it doesn’t make sense. Oh my god, this is a nightmare. Someone is going to find out. Will find out.

“Listen to me. Nothing else. Focus on my voice.”

Too many words. Shane can’t understand. What is happening?

“Breathe. Do this for me.” The voice grows commanding. “Be good and do this for me.”

Everything slows down. Ilya’s body is so warm and unbreakable against him. Shane lets the voice fill him. He heaves his chest. Once. Twice.

“Good. You are safe. I am here.” Ilya reassures him.

Shane drops his head on Ilya’s shoulder, taking in Ilya’s scent. Earlier, he detected Ilya’s cologne and champagne, but this time, he can also smell a hint of sweetness. Not sweet like a woman’s perfume. Sweet in a clean, personal way. Maybe it’s body wash.

“You’re doing so well,” Ilya coos.

Another string of rattling from the door.

Shane instinctively clings to Ilya. He doesn’t look at Ilya — he doesn’t think he can face Ilya without facing his own humiliation reflected in Ilya’s eyes.

“Okay. You go into a stall. I deal with the person outside.” Ilya says. “Alright?”

Shane just nods. He doesn’t know how he ends up in the stall. Only when the lock falls does he remember Ilya helped him get here, as though he needed help walking. This stall is the furthest one from the door. Ilya has made sure Shane can hide in the safest spot.

Then he hears voices — Ilya talking with whoever that interrupted…whatever that was. An intense hookup? “Hookup” isn’t enough to describe what he did with Ilya. It feels like he just ingested a drug that hurled him above the clouds, and he saw all the stars, an entire universe he didn’t know existed.

The talking dies down. After waiting for an extra ten minutes, Shane steps out of the stall. He already knows what he’ll find, but it still wrecks him as he stands in the middle of the room, alone.

“What took you so long?” Svetlana glances at him as she starts the engine.

Ilya keeps scrolling his phone, “Nothing.”

“When I went to the bathroom, I ran into Shane Hollander.” She goes silent for a moment. “He’s Montreal’s captain.”

“OK.”

“So, nothing?”

“What do you want to say?”

“Nothing.” She shrugs. “It’s just you went to the bathroom right after me, and Shane Hollander didn’t come out when you both were…there.”

“Svetlana…”

She holds up a hand in surrender, “Fine. I won’t say anything else.”

“He is hot, though.” She muses. “And those hands.”

Ilya ignores her. There are a handful of emails that have been sitting in his inbox for days. One of them is an invitation from a popular podcast. It is the fifth podcast invitation this year. Going on a podcast would be a great advertisement. He isn’t stressed about using English. It’s only that he’s never done a lengthy interview, and he’ll probably turn it into a fucking therapy session if he can’t control it. He typed a short reply, thanking them for the invitation and declining it.

“Look! Someone needs a ride,” Svetlana chirps.

Ilya looks up. At the restaurant entrance is Shane Hollander, frowning at his phone. The screen glows in the dark and illuminates his face.

Svetlana presses a button to lower the window.

“What are you doing?” Ilya’s eyes snap to her.

“Shane Hollander?” She calls out.

Hollander squints at their car. Then he waves at Svetlana with a grin, “Hi. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

His black, sparkling eyes connect with Ilya’s. Very briefly.

“My pleasure. Would you like a ride? I promise my friend and I won’t murder you,” She beams at Hollander. It’s impossible to resist her charm.

Hollander shuffles a bit and says his address. It’s a hotel. His team is here for a game.

Svetlana unlocks the door. Ilya doesn’t have to look to know Hollander is trying his best to act like they didn’t just suck each other off in the bathroom.

Hollander would stay a mile away from this car if there were only Ilya in it. Now, even if Hollander was photographed, it would be boring news for a hockey star to ride a beautiful lady’s car.

“Thank you for…this. You know where the hotel is?” Hollander asks Svetlana. His voice is slightly unsteady.

Ilya inwardly winces at Hollander’s effort at nonchalance. He doesn’t know how Hollander had the nerve to hook up with him in a bathroom — he really doesn’t see that sort of courage in Hollander. Hollander must have wanted it badly.

Svetlana says, “Oh, of course! I never use navigation in this city.”

“You’re from Miami?”

“No. We are from Russia.” Svetlana places a hand on Ilya’s arm. “This is my friend, Ilya. Ilya, say hi.”

Ilya almost rolls his eyes at her, but he obliges. “Ilya Rozanov. Nice to meet you.”

He turns to look at Hollander. Hollander’s mouth twitches into something resembling a smile. He offers his hand to Ilya, “Shane Hollander.”

Ilya’s gaze flicks to the mouth that took him so well. Hollander clearly knows what Ilya is thinking because his cheeks redden, visible even in the darkened car. Ilya takes his hand, which is cool and clammy.

The three of them don’t talk much for the rest of the ride. Svetlana occasionally points at a restaurant she likes, or a tourist attraction she laments that Hollander doesn’t have the time to go to. Hollander is polite, if not too boring.

Ilya just checks emails. He doesn’t want to open OnlyFans or Twitter with Hollander behind him in the car. He isn’t ashamed of his work, but Hollander doesn’t need to know that part of him. Hollander doesn’t need to know anything about him. They won’t see each other again. The thought is like a tiny ice cube in his stomach, stinging him from the inside. The blowjob from Hollander was below average, but Hollander was so into it. Ilya hasn’t had sex like that in a while — being genuinely worshipped. That terrible blowjob seems to prove he is still capable of feeling something intimate and real.

Same Night

Svetlana decides to sleep over. Ilya loves having her around. Sleeping alongside another person makes her sleep worse, but by some miracle, she still wants to do it with him. His sleep is always better afterwards. He’s told her she is like his sleeping pills, but in many ways, she is his life-saving medicine. They’re lying in bed now. The lights are dimmed. Svetlana has lit candles that envelop them in soft florals. Ilya hopes they could do this forever, but of course, it’s impossible. She’ll have her own life one day.

“I got an email from Alexei,” she says.

Ilya doesn’t immediately respond. He forces himself to say, “What does he want?”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him up now. Tomorrow?”

She grabs his wrist and draws soothing little circles with her thumb.

“Is OK. Tell me.”

“Well, he wants to travel here. To America, next summer. With his wife and your niece.”

Ilya sits up. He needs a cigarette.

“Ilya —“

He rummages in the bedside drawer. “Where is it?”

“In the trash can downstairs.”

Every time she comes, she throws away his cigarettes. It’s unfair because she smokes more than he does, and he only smokes a few times a month. But like how she can predict the next Stanley Cup winner, she magically knows where the cigarettes are in this house.

She says, “I will email him to tell him to fuck off.”

“No.”

“Ilya, this is the reason I’m dealing with him, not you, yes? He doesn’t give a shit about your life, or mine.”

“It’s not him.” He rests his head against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. A knot tightens in his chest. “My niece, she’s young. She shouldn’t suffer because of this.”

Svetlana is quiet for a second. “That’s her life, Ilya. You can’t live her life for her, and she has the trust fund. She will know you care.”

“So, she just…what? Spends eighteen years with him?”

“Let’s discuss this in the morning, okay?” She cuddles up to him. “I’m tired.”

Ilya folds an arm around her.

“How was Shane Hollander?” She asks as she fiddles with her hair.

“Nothing will happen.”

He knows that she knows.

“But did you like him? I think he likes you very much.”

“Blowjob was bad.”

She laughs.

“You can teach him,” she teases. “He has my business card. If he reaches out…”

“I don’t think so. He was scared.”

“I mean, that’s not surprising, right? Hunter is the only openly gay player, and he’s as old as my grandfather.”

The name Hunter sounds familiar. But Ilya isn’t sure he can let hockey be a part of his life again, and Shane Hollander is hockey personified.

After a long silence, Ilya says, “I’m gonna sleep.”

It is midnight or early morning. Ilya wakes up from a dream, his eyes wet. He doesn’t remember the dream. He thinks his mother was in it. It must have been a sad dream because once he is fully awake, he sobs uncontrollably, like the sadness still affects his body but has left his mind. Maybe it is in his mind, and it hides from him.

His movements wake Svetlana. With his back turned, she can’t see him.

“Ilya?”

He bites into the pillow to muffle the sobs. Tears flow down his face like there’s too much to contain inside, and what’s worse is that he can’t seem to make his body stop.

“Sor — sorry.”

It is so faint and loud at the same time. He hates this.

Svetlana doesn’t say anything. She leans forward so her forehead touches his neck. He calms down minute by minute. Soon, the bedroom is peaceful again.

“You have cigarettes?” He asks her, his voice coarse but even.

She doesn’t argue with him.

Ilya doesn’t get any sleep after that. He has two cigarettes outside. The cold clears his mind a bit, but since nothing occupies his mind these days, his thoughts plunge into places he keeps going back to. What if he ends everything? Would that be nicer? Alexei won’t give a shit. His niece will have the trust fund; Ilya prays she will learn to know what’s good for herself. Only Svetlana. She will be sad, but she’s a strong woman like his mother. She will pull through. Once she meets someone who can love her better, Ilya will become a memory she might even think fondly of in old age. It’s just that he won’t be here to see who that lucky person is; he will protect her from anyone who could hurt her. While he is still with her. That leaves his customers from social media. Ilya doesn’t feel any obligation towards them. They pay him for a service. Maybe a few of them will mourn him, or more like the idea of him. janeislookingforaman will be one of those people. They are a very boring customer who likes sending “how are you doing” and “have a good day.” But janeislookingforaman will also move on, eventually. Everyone has moved on; his father moved on from his mother’s death; his brother seems to have moved on from their father; the hockey world moved on from the fallen teenage star Ilya Rozanov. Only Ilya doesn’t feel “moved on.” If he does this, if — he doesn’t believe he will, but if he makes a plan, he can’t do it in Miami. Svetlana has many good memories here; Ilya can’t ruin it for her. Not in Russia, definitely not. He swore he would never go back. Perhaps Boston, where his life went upside down after the injury. Ilya takes another long drag on the cigarette. Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with him?

After the cigarette is done, Ilya takes out his phone to distract himself. He clicks on random posts before typing “Shane Hollander” in the search bar. The whole bathroom thing was pretty wild — Ilya doesn’t hook up with strangers in a bathroom; maybe when he was younger, but not now. And for Shane Hollander to initiate it, that was a new level of craziness. Didn’t Hollander think through the consequences? What if Ilya had outed him? Hollander seems to trust Ilya, which makes no sense. Tonight was their first time meeting each other. They might have met many years ago in their rookie season, but it still wouldn’t explain why Hollander trusts him. Then there was the blowjob. Ilya replays it in his head. Hollander sucked Ilya’s dick as if his next Stanley Cup win depended on it. The thought of Shane Hollander, the most talented player of his generation, pleasuring Ilya with his knees on the floor, stirs something in Ilya. A clean and beloved man is willing to kneel for Ilya and open up his throat to fit Ilya so well.

He scrolls over a page of articles on Hollander. Cosmopolitan calls Hollander “the hottest man on ice.” Vogue has an article titled “A Timeline of Shane Hollander and Rose Landry’s Relationship.” They used to date, but according to sources close to the X Squad actress, the two are no longer in a romantic relationship and have been best friends. No shit. The feel of Hollander’s tongue on his dick still lingers. Ilya opens another article. This one is from a smaller news website. It’s about Hollander’s childhood and family. Under the title is a photo of Hollander and his parents. Father, mother, and son stood in front of a cottage, all smiling. The article says Hollander’s parents supported him when he discovered his love for hockey. They try to go to all of their son’s games. His mom is also his manager. She is Hollander’s “greatest fan.” Ilya freezes. He doesn’t need to know how perfect Hollander’s family is. Hollander is like an angel surrounded by love and with a bright future ahead of him. And Ilya is not. He’s not anything close to that. It would be stupid to assume there can be more between them. More than what they have already done — hooking up for ten minutes in a bathroom. Ilya puts down his phone. The screen goes black. He vanishes into the silence and stillness of the room.

Shane cannot stop thinking about the blowjob. Not the one he gave Ilya. He loved it, but it isn’t the best Ilya has had. Probably the worst. So Shane has mixed feelings about it.

No, it was Ilya’s mouth on him that Shane thinks about every three minutes. The way Ilya kneeled, one knee touching the floor and the other bumping into Shane with a raunchy rhythm. How Ilya’s throat tightened like his body was making itself slutty for Shane’s dick. Normally, Shane would go onto Ilya’s OnlyFans to quench the burning need inside. But after that night, watching Ilya on a screen is like drinking plain water. He needs to touch Ilya. This need will consume him if he doesn’t get to touch Ilya again.

He texts Ilya’s friend, the girl named Svetlana.

She knows she’s not the reason Shane accepted her business card. And thank god he doesn’t have to talk in riddles to her. She sends him Ilya’s number, with a message that says, “Treat him well, Mr. Hollander, or I will jinx your team’s chances at the cup. I’m a witch.”

Shane smiles at that. She sounds like she loves Ilya a lot, and she and Ilya are not a couple.

The team is flying back to Canada the morning after the game. Shane has one night.

They win against New York. When the clock hits zero, Shane’s mind immediately switches to the man he has to see again.

Back at the hotel, Shane showers one more time and changes into fresh clothes. He books a room at a better hotel nearby. There, alone in the room, he pours half a glass of vodka and gulps it down.

Ilya should still be up because he has replied to Shane on OnlyFans around this hour, so Shane hopes it is the case right now. He double-checks the number and presses the dial button. His heart beats faster with each passing second.

Thankfully, luck is on his side tonight.

“Rozanov.” Ilya’s rumbly voice is unmistakable.

Shane squeezes his eyes shut.

“Hi, umm, it’s me.” Shane takes a quick breath. “Shane. Hollander.”

Ilya is silent.

“Hello?”

“Why do you call me?”

“I think you know why. Please don’t hang up!” Shane begs. “Look, I’m leaving in the morning. I don’t know when we’re gonna see each other again. The other day at the restaurant, I really, I mean, it was good, right? I’m trying to say, could we…do it again?”

Shane covers his face as though Ilya could see him. He can sense Ilya is seeing right through him — a closeted man with so much to lose, too terrified to ask for a hookup in one coherent sentence.

“What would you do for me?” Ilya suddenly asks.

“What do you mean?”

“What would you do to show me how much you want my cock, Shane Hollander?” Ilya says each word slowly.

Shane’s breathing quickens. “Not on the phone, please.”

“Are you begging?”

“Yes.” Shane lets go. He lets it all go. This is so fucked up. But Shane will be weeping in joy when Ilya’s cock fucks so deep into him that Shane knows nothing else. “Yes. I need you. I will be so good. Will you please…come to my bed?”

Ilya isn’t thinking at all when he says yes to Hollander. “Hockey star Shane Hollander spotted with pornstar Ilya Rozanov,” Ilya can think of a dozen scandalous titles. He doesn’t have the same kind of fame as Hollander, but he is at Hollander’s level within the world of porn. Websites have published “unconfirmed rumors” about Ilya’s relationships. He is rumored to date people he has met only once — actors, influencers, and his coworkers from OnlyFans. Shane Hollander would be so out of Ilya’s world that no one would believe they had fucked and are going to do it again. Hollander is too pristine to be near someone like Ilya. But this is also why Hollander begging Ilya to fuck him turns Ilya on. The hockey star, the golden boy, on his knees for Ilya. From Hollander’s needy confession…I need you. I will be so good. Will you please…come to my bed? It sounds like Hollander is still desperate for a cock.

When Ilya knocks on the hotel room door, Hollander answers it right away. Ilya strolls into the room, taking his time. Hollander looks like he’s going to drag Ilya inside. He’s gripping the doorframe; the veins on the back of his hand are popping out. The second Ilya is in, Hollander immediately shuts the door and locks it. Then bolts it.

“Umm, hi.”

Hollander crosses his arms, then drops them like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, as if he were the one who just got a booty call in the middle of the night.

Ilya doesn’t speak. He shortens the distance between them, his footsteps unhurried and loud in the too quiet room. His hands come up to Hollander’s shoulders. Hollander doesn’t resist. He’s as rigid as a mannequin. Ilya kisses the corner of his lips, nipping at it.

“Wait. Wait.”

Hollander finally looks into his eyes. Ilya stays silent.

“Would you, umm, like anything to drink? If you didn’t have time to shower, you can do that first — if you want. You don’t have to. Obviously.”

Ilya tries not to laugh. Hollander is cuter than he anticipated. Ilya can’t wait to teach Hollander how begging is done properly.

“No. And no.” Ilya says.

Hollander seems to be caught off guard by Ilya’s responses — Ilya just snuffed out his hope of more boring talk. He wiggles his eyebrows at Hollander to ask “you done?” Hollander smiles in resignation. Those freckles dance on the beautiful blush rising in his cheeks. Ilya has a strange urge to kiss every one of them.

“No more talking, yes?” Ilya says.

Hollander nods, the smile still tugging at his lips.

Ilya shrugs, “Or we can talk, but it will be dirty.”

“Oh yeah?”

“This mouth…” Ilya rubs Hollander’s lips, nudging two fingers inside. Hollander sucks on his fingers and lets out a satisfying grunt. Ilya murmurs, “Look at you. A mouth like this shouldn’t talk. You agree? It should only know how to take a cock.”

Hollander shudders against Ilya’s body. The possibility that Hollander likes humiliation makes Ilya’s blood simmer.

“You like it? Me humiliating you?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Hollander bites on his lower lip. “I’ve never tried it.”

Ilya closes his eyes as his teeth scrape Hollander’s throat. He laps and kisses the vulnerable flesh with increasing force. Hollander has to tilt his body as Ilya buries his face deeper into Hollander. Hollander must have used a body wash that is a blend of milk and almond.

“Fuck, you smell good here.” Ilya’s breathing grows erratic.

Hollander sniffs at his own arm, suddenly serious, “Really? It’s just the hotel stuff.”

Ilya can’t hold back his laughter this time. “Why are you like this?”

Hollander stares at him with those glassy eyes. “Like what?”

“Like…” Ilya pretends to think. “Clueless, but you need cock so much that you want to be my little slut.”

Ilya feels Hollander’s dick harden against him. This reaction is incredible.

“Ah.” Ilya looks down with a crooked smile.

“For the one who said no talking, you talk too much,” Hollander says in a challenging tone.

Ilya’s eyes snap back at him. He knows his eyes must have turned feral because Hollander swallows very hard. “I was just preparing you,” Ilya says.

“Preparing me for what?”

“The most unforgettable sex you will ever have,” Ilya says, their lips brushing. He holds Hollander’s hand as they go to the bedroom. It’s weirdly intimate. They aren’t tearing each other’s clothes off; they aren’t kissing and stumbling. Ilya doesn’t know why, but he wants to make this formal and dirty. He will make Hollander scream and beg. He will also make Hollander remember. He needs Hollander to have the best sex with him, a man with more darkness and filth than Hollander can imagine. Ilya wants Hollander dripping with his cum. Maybe this is why he came here. This has nothing to do with Hollander. Just another sexual conquest for Ilya.

“Clothes off,” Ilya says, as he unbuttons his shirt.

Hollander peels off his shirt, his pants, and after a pause, his briefs. He folds them neatly on the couch.

Ilya pushes him onto the bed. They clutch each other, trying to touch every inch of the other’s skin. The bed sinks with their weight. Hollander spreads his legs for Ilya. His black eyes are slowly but surely filled with desire. He looks at Ilya like he trusts him. Trusts Ilya to take care of him. For some reason, it breaks a small part of Ilya. Ilya has to look away. He can’t think too much about all of this.

Hollander’s body is in a gorgeous flush. Ilya worships those strong pecs and abs, which gleam like a fucking bronze sculpture. He suckles a nipple and does a motion with his tongue that he knows will drive Hollander crazy.

“Ilya!”

Ilya stills.

Hollander looks down at him, sex pouring out of those eyes.

“Why did you stop?”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name.”

Hollander doesn’t know, but Ilya always asks coworkers to call him Rozanov during a scene. Hearing his first name from Hollander felt strange and…endearing. Hollander said Ilya's name like having Ilya in his bed is finally being at home.

“Oh.” Hollander has that silly expression on his face again. “Ilya.”

Ilya carefully traces Hollander’s lips with his thumb before crashing their lips together. Hollander is pressing into him everywhere. All the hard muscles undulate like water on fire.

Hollander is fully hard, precum leaking from the tip of his cock.

“I have this oil.” Hollander gestures at the nightstand. Ilya isn’t surprised Hollander has a fancy oil, not the cheap shit. He spreads the oil on Hollander and takes it into his throat.

“Ilya!”

Ilya really likes that Hollander learns fast. After some shallow bobbing, Ilya can fit the full length to the back of his throat. Then he falls into a quicker rhythm. Hollander’s moans are the most impressive reward Ilya has gotten for sucking a cock. The moans are shattered and mixed with “EE-LYAAAAA.” Ilya has to keep himself from fucking into that ass right now. But very soon.

Before Hollander is near the edge, Ilya lets him go. “On all fours,” Ilya says. A few condoms are next to the jar of oil. He puts one on with a generous amount of that oil.

With a dazed look, Hollander flips over, his face in the pillow, sticking his ass out to Ilya. Like a fucking offering.

“Is good?” Ilya clasps Hollander’s hips.

Hollander says something. It’s muffled.

“Say that again.”

“I said —” Hollander lies down again. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me.”

Ilya threads his fingers into Hollander’s hair to encourage him. It’s a reassuring caress. Hollander looks back at him, though not quite meeting his eyes. “Can I ride you?”

Well, Ilya didn’t expect that. He leans forward and plants a kiss on Hollander’s neck. “Of course.”

He settles down as Hollander straddles him. “Have you done this before? Riding.”

“No. But I’ve seen it.”

“OK.” Ilya says helpfully, “You can do it in reverse, also.”

“Yeah, I know. Not this time.” The blush on Hollander’s face is redder now.

He places one hand on Ilya’s chest and the other on Ilya’s thigh. Ilya chuckles. “Don’t worry. I can steady you.”

“Shut up.”

“Use your fingers. Show me,” Ilya orders him.

Hollander dips two fingers into the oil jar and applies the oil all over his crack.

“Let me see, Hollander. I need to see how much you want to be ready for me.”

Hollander turns his back to Ilya to display his ass. He slips a finger into the tight hole, now shimmering with the oil.

“Ilya,” Hollander sighs his name. And he starts fucking his finger. Every thrust makes an obscene little noise. The rise and fall of his muscles radiates sex. His hole opens up like it needs more.

“Fuck, Hollander.” Ilya rasps.

Hollander adds another finger. And a third. His body gradually relaxes, his eyes half closed like he’s in a sweet dream.

Ilya’s cock slides over the hole, wet and ready for him.

“I will fuck you so good,” Ilya says.

Ilya runs a hand along Hollander’s back, all the way down to his tempting ass. The touch is slow and territorial, as if Ilya is branding this beautiful slab of muscle. He slaps one ass cheek.

Hollander yelps.

“Do your teammates know their captain wants his ass fucked? On a cock.”

“Can you shut up?” Hollander says, though his wanting eyes betray him. “They don’t know this…about me.” Hollander’s voice is faint, if not a tad distant. Ilya feels bad for people like Hollander; with all the things this world has gifted them, living openly in their true skin is not one of those things.

Ilya wipes some oil on his dick and smears the rest on Hollander’s face. Hollander doesn’t shy away — he leans into Ilya’s hand coated in oil. Hollander could have walked straight out of a pornographic dream, a bad boy eager to please.

“OK.” Ilya says, “Can we fuck now?”

Hollander has a great torso. Ilya wonders what it would look like if it’s covered in hickeys. Where did that idea come from? Ilya is never into marking the person in his bed. It just feels unnecessary. But with Hollander, Ilya would enjoy the sight of his traces on this body — a fresh, timid body. This body, which hasn’t seen much sex, would be Ilya’s to open up. To mold into something ripe and thirsting for his cock.

Ilya gasps from the thought of it.

“Hollander, now.”

“Yeah.” Hollander rides Ilya with his ass a few times. His hole grazes Ilya’s dick in a torturous way, like inviting him to fuck into it. “Yes…Ilya, hmmm.”

“Fuck.” Ilya tightens his grip on Hollander.

Finally, Hollander swallows Ilya’s dick with his drenched hole as he pants and whimpers.

Fucking finally.

Hollander withdraws maybe twice to adjust his position. But he can fit Ilya with no problem, like he was made just for this.

“Is this okay?” Hollander asks.

Ilya doesn’t want to seem too high on sex. He simply nods.

Then Hollander starts to ride him.

For a second, Ilya thinks Hollander must have lied about not having done it before. Because Ilya feels Hollander’s whole body is becoming the motion itself, the forward and backward. Like he has forgotten his body is here, and his existence is wrapped around Ilya’s dick and making it the center of him.

Ilya groans. He palms Hollander’s ass, almost digging into the flesh to bring the ass closer. Hollander practically bounces on his dick with each thrust.

“Ilya…Ilya. I need…”

Ilya is sure he would give Hollander anything he needs. After years of sex work, he still doesn’t understand why, in the old days, kings would make stupid decisions just because of a good fuck. But now, he does. For a very brief moment, he would forgive every shit he’s been through as Hollander rides him deep and fast. A tiny part of him that can still think is blaring in alarm — this is dangerous territory. He won’t get attached after just one night. But he can’t deny this is already the most mind-blowing sex he’s had in a very long time.

“Ilya? You good?”

“Yeah.” Ilya sighs deeply. Yeah, too good.

Hollander closes his eyes again. He has a pretty neck — Ilya hasn’t noticed anyone’s neck before, but Hollander would look sexy with some chains around that neck. Something for the nipples, too. Instincts tell Ilya that Hollander would be open to kinks. Another day. Tonight, it will be raw, wild sex.

Ilya needs to fuck him. More directly.

“Can we flip now?” Ilya says through his shallow breath.

Hollander pauses, “Am I —“

“No. I want to fuck you. My way.”

“Yeah.” Hollander’s smile is so affectionate compared to the rough fucking they’ve been doing.

He lifts his ass. Ilya watches as his dick comes out of that pretty hole. It creates a noise that almost makes Ilya pounce on Hollander.

“Hands on the headboard,” Ilya instructs.

“Oh my god.” Hollander’s voice shakes.

“Legs. Wider.”

Hollander does it without hesitation.

Ilya throws the condom on the floor and puts on a new one. He grabs the entire jar of oil, inspecting the label. “Hmm, how much was this?”

“Really? Now?” Hollander glances back at him.

“Come on. I want to know.”

“I don’t remember. Like, 100 dollars? It’s made in France. Okay? Good for the skin, too.”

Ilya dissolves into laughter. 100 dollars for a lube. Somehow, it is what Ilya expects from Hollander. He spreads the oil all over his dick, sliding a finger into the hole.

“Fuck!” Hollander growls, “Can’t we just fuck?”

“Beg.”

“What?”

“I said, beg.” Ilya bends down to lick Hollander’s ass while his finger explores the hole that just rode him so well. “Beg for my cock, Hollander. I want to hear it.”

“No, I…I’m not familiar with the kinky stuff.” Hollander says, though he doesn’t sound sure.

Ilya lets out a quiet laugh. “Is our first time, so we are not getting into that. Use words, Hollander. Not difficult. Like this —“ Ilya twirls his finger, looking for that spot. When Hollander shudders violently, Ilya knows he’s found it. “Shane Hollander, you are always perfect in front of people. Your friends, your teammates, your fans. Everyone loves you, but that’s less important than what you secretly want. To feel good. My cock made you feel good. You should have seen yourself in a mirror. You looked incredible on my cock. I like how your ass is perfect for riding me. I like how that tight hole is so good for taking me in. So good. Now, beg. We both know how much you want it.”

Hollander was shaking while Ilya spoke.

“Please…” Hollander whispers.

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me.”

“Is all of your vocabulary?”

“No! I don’t know how…”

“Yes, you do. Say it to me.”

“Please…My ass likes to — I don’t know. I don’t know, Ilya! Please, I just…need you.“

“OK. You’re terrible at this, Hollander. Are you trying to turn me off?”

Hollander takes a shaky breath, his eyes more determined. Then, he says, “Ilya, I’m begging you. I…I give you my ass, my….my hole, the deepest part of me, and I want you to do deeper than anyone else has ever gone. And I will make you feel so good, like you’ll…fucking want to ruin me completely, so that no one can ever put me back together, but you can, and you will make me whole again. So please, fuck me.”

Ilya can’t breathe for a second. What he said to Hollander was filthy, if not humiliating. But what Hollander just said was so honest, like he really meant every word. Hollander really beats him on this one. So competitive. He just has to be better, and surprisingly, this doesn’t upset Ilya. If anything, it’s hot as fuck. Ilya doesn’t know how to react to it. It feels so big and impossible to understand. But it solidifies something in him. This gorgeous man under him is wholly, perfectly his tonight. His to take care of.

Hollander seems to lose the ability to speak after that, as if those words of shameless desire have drained him. But Ilya doesn’t need him to speak.

Ilya draws out his finger. He slowly pushes in his dick.

“You’re getting what you want, Hollander,” Ilya says, his chest heaving. Hollander still doesn’t speak. He makes a desperate noise, almost like a sob.

There isn’t much friction, so it isn’t long before Ilya starts plunging into him. Their bodies move together so well that they could be in some sort of dance. Hollander is moaning his name beautifully; for a delirious moment, Ilya thinks he could make Hollander into a singer just by using his cock.

“Your mouth is so good. Want that mouth on my cock again. Must learn how to take me all the way, yes?”

Ilya goes really deep in one long thrust. Hollander cries out. His knees wobble. Ilya clasps Hollander’s thighs to support him. The headboard creaks as Hollander hangs onto it. Hollander frees a hand to stroke himself. Ilya bats it away. He seizes Hollander’s dick and snarls in his ear, “You come when I say so. Mine to ruin. Is what you said, remember?”

A hoarse sound rips from Hollander’s throat as Ilya fucks into him even deeper, and in a punishing way. Hollander drops his hands from the headboard as he collapses into the bed. His body is a flushed, sweaty mess, thoroughly fucked and giving off sex. His hole dilates like it needs more.

“Water?” Ilya asks.

Hollander shakes his head.

“OK. We are not done.”

This could go on til morning, Ilya thinks as he lowers Hollander’s legs from his shoulders. Hollander looks like he can’t move on his own; his whole body is a steaming puddle — Ilya would drink every drop and get drunk on Shane Hollander. It would be smoother than any vodka.

Ilya rearranges Hollander’s body to make space for him to lie next to Hollander.

“You good?” Ilya says, staring mindlessly at the ceiling.

“Hmmm.”

Hollander’s voice is raspy. He still doesn’t move. As the room quiets down, coldness prickles Ilya’s naked body. Maybe the air conditioning is cold. Maybe something else. He can’t think right now. He doesn’t understand why the sex felt good, or why he felt good. He also doesn’t understand Hollander. Why did Hollander go after him? Ilya is attractive, but if Hollander wanted a fun night, many qualified men would be better options for Hollander. Ilya doesn’t know about these hockey stars, but Hollander is closeted and just slept with Ilya, so shouldn’t Hollander demand that Ilya sign an NDA or some shit? He could be taking pictures of Hollander right now and posting them all over the internet. And fuck, Hollander doesn’t know about Ilya’s job. This fucking careless hockey player. Stop thinking. Ilya grits his teeth, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. A wave of dizziness overtakes him, his heart beating louder. Fuck. Fucking great. He can’t stay here anymore. And he needs cigarettes.

Ilya slides out of bed. He starts to gather his clothes on the floor.

“You are leaving?” Hollander finally stirs. He sits up a bit but flops down with a sigh.

“Yes.”

Hollander watches as Ilya swiftly puts on his clothes. Ilya keeps his eyes on the floor, as though he were ashamed of what they did. Of course, he isn’t — he has never been ashamed of sex. But sex with Hollander feels like something that shouldn’t have happened. An error in his judgment. Ilya likes how good they both were together, and he isn’t sure he likes that.

After Ilya gets dressed, he makes the mistake of looking at Hollander. Oh.

Hollander is pointedly not looking at Ilya, his hands twisting in his lap like jumbled thoughts are racing through him. Seeing Hollander like this makes Ilya feel like a jerk. Ilya has treated his coworkers with more care — offering them food, a shower, even the guest bedroom if the person needs time to unwind after an intense scene. Now, he’s leaving Hollander like some irresponsible teenage boy. But Hollander isn’t a coworker; this isn’t work. It’s not Ilya’s job to offer the same treatment to Hollander, right?

“Um, do you have a ride?” Hollander asks.

“Yeah, I drove.”

“Okay. That was, umm, was that…good?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, okay.”

Ilya knows what Hollander wants to say. They both know what is brewing in the silence of the room.

“Would you—“ “I’m gonna—“

“Sorry,” Hollander purses his lips.

“Is OK.”

Hollander straightens up again the headboard, scratching a shoulder, his eyes downcast. “I have a game in two months. In Tampa.”

“OK.”

“Do you think you’ll—“

“Yes, Hollander.”

Ilya is going to explode if they dance around like this for another minute. Hollander perks up. Sparkles fill his eyes.

“‘Yes’ you mean…”

“‘Yes,’ we can fuck. Again.”

“Oh.” Hollander blinks.

Ilya frowns. “What? Is that not what you want?”

“No, no. I do. It’s just, I haven’t planned it.” Hollander swallows. He grabs his phone, holds it for a second, then puts it down. “Should I come here? I don’t know if I have time to fly here after the game. If you want, I can buy the tickets—“

“Hollander.” Ilya pinches his brow. Sex never stresses him out. But Hollander has successfully made Ilya stressed twice in one night. “I will go to you. OK?”

“Okay. Okay.” Hollander’s eyes dart toward him. “You will remember?”

Ilya suppresses a groan. “Yes. Should I send you a calendar invite? ‘Hookup in Tampa?’”

A beautiful bush spread over Hollander’s freckles. “That’s not…”

“I know, Hollander. I was kidding.”

Miami - a month later

It’s one of those nights again.

Svetlana hasn’t come to their house for a while. She’s in Europe for business. She also said something about sorting things out with Alexei. Ilya doesn’t want to think about that. He knows he’s a fucking coward when Alexei is involved. That son of a bitch has no respect for Svetlana. Yet she’s willing to take that shit for Ilya. And there’s the matter of Svetlana’s father. Last year, her father found out she married Ilya. Ilya overheard him yelling at her on the phone and said she disgraced him by “marrying a shameless fag.”

Ilya lights a cigarette and inhales deeply. He probably should take sleeping pills, though they don’t always work.

Work has been slow. The holiday season is in full swing. People go back to their families. Usually, he and Svetlana have a party, just the two of them. But it will be in late January this time, so Ilya spent Christmas and New Year’s like any other day. He tries to recall what he did on those days. Did he finish a movie? Cooked a fancy meal? He can’t seem to remember; everything is foggy. Perhaps there wasn’t anything to remember. Christ. Is he having dementia like his father?

He checks his socials. No new collab requests. No messages he has to answer right away. OnlyFans is also quiet. janeislookingforaman hasn’t texted him for weeks. Not since the dinner invitation. It seems that janeislookingforaman might have found a man. Ilya isn’t really worried about losing this customer. Customers come and go like tides. He would be worried if a customer got too obsessed with him. An obsessive customer can cause trouble. For some time, janeislookingforaman was heading in that direction. Now this customer will forget about Ilya soon. It’s good. Ilya almost got used to the “good morning” and “how are you doing?” He has to admit, janeislookingforaman is a sweetheart.

It will be two more weeks before his next scene. Two more weeks of this empty, silent house. He will try not to spiral. Groceries can be delivered; he doesn’t even have to step outside. Ilya pictures himself haunting this house like a ghost. No. Two weeks of this, he can’t promise he won’t do anything extreme. He doesn’t want to call Svetlana for an emergency. The last time he had to call her because he was too close to the edge…She called an ambulance. The whole thing turned into a clusterfuck. He didn’t need the ambulance in the end, but it still cost him a thousand dollars. With insurance. This country sucks.

He should go out and get laid. But he knows how it will go. Sex hasn’t been enjoyable for years. He can put on a good show for OnlyFans, though in private, his sex life is largely nonexistent. He suspects it has to do with his mental state, but he’s not going to fix that problem right now, if ever. He fucking deserves it.

Hollander is unexpected. Ilya still can’t figure out this new development. He hasn’t reached out to Ilya after that night. If Ilya doesn’t text him, Hollander will act like a turtle with its head hidden in the shell, pretending Ilya doesn’t exist. Beneath the fame and glamour, Hollander is adorable in a way that’s only possible if a person is surrounded by love. The kind of love that Ilya knows little about. It could be the reason Ilya liked the sex. When he was inside Hollander, he tasted a bit of that love, too. Not Hollander’s love for him, that would be nonsense. Ilya can’t describe it. It’s like a fire suddenly being lit in a cold night in Moscow. A homeless man instinctively goes near it.

Ilya opens the calendar app. He taps on the text that says “Flight to Tampa,” a small smile tugging at his lips. At least one thing to look forward to.

Tampa - a month later

Hollander is waiting for him at the hotel. He told Ilya it’s not the same hotel his team stays at. Ilya can’t care less. He wonders if Hollander will ask him to sign an NDA. A slight dread is rolling in his stomach. What if Hollander brings up Ilya’s profession? Should Ilya tell him the truth? Hollander is already scared. Would he accept that he’s sleeping with a famous sex worker?

When Hollander invites him into the room, he seems more relaxed than last time. The room has a great view, with a living room and a dining room. Hollander must have spent a fortune.

“You bought your tickets, so I thought I should, you know.” Hollander waves a hand to encompass the room.

Ilya takes a brief look around and gazes at Hollander. “Know what?”

“Return the favor, I guess.”

Ilya doesn’t respond. He steadily walks over to Hollander and backs him against the dining table.

“Turn around, please,” Ilya says.

Hollander obeys with a shuddering breath.

Ilya presses his crotch into Hollander’s ass. Hollander gasps.

“Do you miss my cock?”

Hollander swears as Ilya grinds against him harder.

“Hmm?”

“Yuh, yes.”

“Is a big room. I think I will fuck you on every surface. Starting with this table.” Ilya strokes the table. The motion makes Hollander shudder again. “You will be the tastiest thing this table has seen.”

“Get some pillows,” Ilya says.

“I can stand,” Hollander insists.

“OK, if you wish. Clothes off.”

Hollander strips off his clothes and takes some time to fold them. Ilya leans back to appreciate the view, not missing a second. This gorgeous body needs Ilya so much. Ilya’s dick twitches at the memory of their last time together. If cock riding were a sport, Hollander would be a fucking star. Ilya hasn’t watched hockey since his injury, but he bets Hollander can ride him better than he can play hockey. Ilya isn’t being rational about it all. The good thing is that Hollander seems to have lost his mind, too.

“You, you aren’t going to —“

“My clothes stay on. For now.”

Hollander turns his back to Ilya and grips the edge of the table. Ilya feels his breathing speed up; his blood sings in anticipation.

“Can’t wait, hmm?” Ilya glides his hand over Hollander’s back, tracing the dips and curvature. He knows he can’t wait.

He hums, “You’re so beautiful.”

Hollander makes a whining noise. The muscles in his arms go taut as he grips the table more tightly. Ilya covers Hollander’s hand with his, their fingers interlocked. “Like me praising you?” Ilya asks confidently.

Hollander steals a glance at him but doesn’t speak. But the glint in his eyes can’t lie.

“Too bad. My English is not so good. I can try my best.” Ilya kisses the nape of his neck, drawing a breathy moan from Hollander. “Beautiful.” Ilya’s lips brush his shoulder blade. “Handsome.” Ilya trails the kisses down the spine and quietly kneels. “Pretty.” Ilya kisses the dimples above Hollander’s ass. He munches the hollow there like he was eating a fruit. Hollander is panting now. “Stunning,” Ilya says, opening the ass cheeks. He slides his tongue over the hole he’s been thinking of all night.

“Fu—“ Hollander’s voice is strangled as Ilya starts devouring his hole ferociously.

“Hollander, you…” Ilya wants to say you are so good, so perfect, but he can’t get a word out before burying his face into Hollander’s ass again. Hollander drives his ass into Ilya’s face like it isn’t enough.

Fuck.

It’s too much. Ilya thinks he could choke from eating Hollander’s ass. The notion almost has him giggle.

“Ilya…oh fuck.”

Ilya has never been so glad he’s good at sex. Professionally good at it. His tongue is a valuable asset. (He has insurance on parts of his body.) Now, Hollander gets to enjoy top-quality sex from one of the best. Ilya can’t help but feel weirdly jealous of Hollander. While Hollander is living in his wet dream, he’s far from skilled. But Ilya is more than okay with it. Hollander is completely, exactly, the way Ilya wants him to be.

“Will you come just from my tongue, Hollander?”

Ilya pulls back for air. The hole is now rosy, clenching like it wants something. Ilya will fuck into this hole. He can’t imagine the awful hunger on his face right now. If Hollander looks back, he will be terrified of Ilya, but maybe excited too, considering how much his hole needs to fill itself like Ilya’s mouth is some buttplug.

“Why did you stop?” Hollander’s back is in an unbelievable arch, with his ass jutting out towards Ilya. Ilya is dizzy all of a sudden. This arch is going to kill him.

Ilya clears his throat. “I asked you a question.”

“Wuh-what?” Hollander stammers.

“Hollander, you OK? You can hear me?”

“Fuck you.”

“I asked, can you come from my tongue?”

“No…I’m not sure? No one has tried. On me.”

Ilya eyes that hole, his thumb flicking around it. “Such a precious little mouth here. Took me so well.”

“Ilya…”

“Patience, yes?” Ilya yanks out a condom from his back pocket. “Will you be patient for me? You will get it, Hollander.”

Hollander nods with eagerness.

“So good.” Ilya closes his eyes, pressing soft kisses along the crack. Hollander buckles with a low cry. “Those fucking eyelashes—” Hollander murmurs, “Make me go crazy.”

Ilya feels a smile on his lips.

Hollander fists Ilya’s hair and gives Ilya a gentle tug. He says, “Please, more. Anything.”

Ilya doesn’t plan to sleep in Hollander’s bed, and he really needs a bath. This hotel room has a ginormous bathtub. He won’t say no to that.

Hollander is still in bed, not asleep. He says he’ll clean up after Ilya like they can’t share the bathtub, though not long ago, Ilya was so deep inside Hollander that his hole will always remember the shape of Ilya’s dick.

What a night.

The sex was as fantastic as their first time. Better. It doesn’t feel like they will get tired of each other anytime soon. Ilya doesn’t know what that means. Sex shouldn’t mean anything. He has great chemistry with a handful of his coworkers on screen. But that’s work chemistry. This thing with Hollander is something else. Ilya has no idea how he can have this without ruining it.

He slips into the water for a minute, blocking out his senses.

The water is getting cold. Most of the bubbles have disappeared. But Ilya wants to stay in the water. Cold water will take away the heat that seared through his body tonight. Maybe a small part of him isn’t ready to leave. But he can’t deal with Hollander, so he’s been in the bathroom for nearly an hour.

The door swings open. Hollander stands in the middle of the doorway, looking a bit lost.

“Can I, umm, can I come in?”

Ilya nods silently, turning his eyes away.

Hollander stops a few paces from the bathtub. He scans the water. “Is it still warm?”

Ilya looks up at him. “No. What do you want?”

“Nothing, I’m just checking how you’re doing.” Hollander hugs his robe.

“I’m doing fine.” Ilya shrugs. A silence passes between them. He asks, “What else?”

“No. Yeah, that’s it.”

“OK.”

Hollander shifts his weight, his slippers rustling on the marble. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it then.”

The sound of Hollander’s footsteps gets fainter and further away from Ilya. A sorrow seizes him. The water around him suddenly feels suffocating, like it’s crushing his lungs.

“Hollander.”

“Yeah?”

Hollander is coming back now. Closer.

“You can join.”

“What?” Hollander says, hesitation brimmed in those startled eyes.

Ilya sighs and lifts an arm from the water. He crooks a finger.

Still hesitant, Hollander walks over to Ilya. Ilya undoes the robe with one single pull. Hollander lets it drop and steps out of his slippers, totally naked. He eases into the water.

“It’s cold.” Hollander hisses, sitting opposite Ilya.

Hollander stretches his legs, and Ilya parts his legs so Hollander’s feet almost touch Ilya’s crotch. Neither of them moves. The stillness feels uneasy because they’re not still when together. Hollander begins to massage Ilya’s knee. The touch isn’t sexual. It is a steady, calming pressure. His hand travels down. To Ilya’s shin.

Ilya flinches.

“Sorry.” Hollander retracts his hand.

Ilya shakes his head, gazing away. “Is OK.”

“Did I…did it hurt?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me.”

A moment later, Ilya hears him say, “I mean the injury.”

Ilya’s eyes flash. He gnaws at the inside of his mouth. Hollander saw the scar.

Ilya pushes himself up.

“Ilya.”

Ilya wraps a towel around his waist, his back to Hollander. “What?”

“Can you, can you just come over for a second?” Hollander’s voice is careful, as if it would physically bruise Ilya if it were too loud or stony.

Ilya doesn’t know why he listens, but he goes back to Hollander, who is holding out his hand.

Hollander takes Ilya’s wrist and kisses the center of his palm. Ilya thinks his insides just shivered. It’s a strange feeling.

What does it feel like?

Hollander’s lips are so soft. Ilya didn’t notice before, even though Hollander had kissed him and sucked his dick.

“Ilya…” Hollander doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t let Ilya go either. They stay like that for a while.

What does it…

It feels like all the softness in the world.

“Mama! How did I do? How did I dooo!”

“You were so wonderful, my little star.”

The woman’s face is blurry, but Ilya will never forget Irina’s voice and how she liked to call him “my little star.” He just won a game. She came, and his father wasn’t there — Ilya preferred it this way. All his father would do was to scold, even when the other parents would say to their children, “Look at the Rozanov boy!“

“You make me proud. So proud.” Irina is brushing his hair with her fingers. It’s warm and holy, and Ilya is dozing off.

“Sleep, my little star. Sweet dreams.”

Her lips tingle his forehead. The cross hanging around her neck ghosts over his skin.

“Where’re you going, mama?” He mumbles with drowsiness.

“I’ll be back. Right back with you.”

“Promise?”

“I’m always with you.”

“Pinky promise, pleeease.”

“Mama?”

“Mama?”

“Mama…”

Two days before Svetlana is supposed to come back from Europe, she calls Ilya. She needs more time to work things out with his brother. Her explanation is vague, but she mentions Alexei is adamant about a trip to the U.S. this summer. He also demands another deposit in her daughter’s fund after he found out Ilya donated to a charity. That is a surprise to Ilya. He can’t imagine Alexei still keeping tabs on him, but of course, Alexei is, only to extort more money.

Svetlana looks tired when they FaceTime. She’s been on the road for a month, hopping between cities, meeting investors and clients. Moscow is her last stop. Ilya can tell this whole thing with Alexei has exhausted her.

Ilya should have cut ties with his brother after he decided not to go back to Russia. Logically, he knows it is wise to remove Alexei from his life. It would be good for him and Svetlana. But Ilya needs to be reminded — whenever Alexei yaps at him, Ilya is reminded of everything he didn’t do when their father was dying. And his mother. Ilya couldn’t have changed anything, but he could have done something. He didn’t. Dumb as his brother is, he knows about Ilya’s guilt, so he rams it through Ilya like a knife.

“Rozanov?”

Ilya blinks. He looks down at the source of the voice. One of Ilya’s longtime costars has his mouth on him; Ilya is half-hard.

The guy sighs, popping himself up. “Another take?”

Ilya blinks again. “Sorry.” He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Don’t worry, Rozanov.” The guy smoothly rolls off the bed and walks over to the phone stand. He has the body of a fashion model and is an expressive lover. Early on in their collaboration, Ilya learned this guy didn’t like bottoming, but he bottoms with Ilya. Their fans love them together.

“Okay, we’re on!”

Ilya doesn’t reply right away. He clutches the sheets for a few seconds, getting into work mode.

“Rozanov, you good?”

“Sure.”

The guy leans against the wall. He narrows his eyes on Ilya. “Let’s take a breather.”

“No, I can do it.”

“Fifteenth minutes?” The guy sticks a thumb out at the door. “I need water anyway. Can I use the kitchen?”

“There’s bottled water here.”

“Jesus man, I’m not gonna rob you. Do you want anything? Tea?”

Ilya casts him a look that says What’s the matter with you?

“Look, Rozanov. I’m not a telepath. But you ain’t here today. Either we hang for a bit, drink tea, or whatever fancy shit you have. Or, we reschedule.”

Ilya sits up. The simple motion feels like a toil. He collapses heavily into the headboard and gazes at the view outside. Although he’s naked, with layers of makeup and body oil, the sunlight coloring the bed golden, sex is the last thing on his mind.

“Reschedule.”

“No problem.” The guy laments, “The sun is so good today, though, such a waste. Can I post the pictures? The ones with us behind the curtains. They’ll love it.”

Ilya doesn’t want to be in this room anymore. He can’t wait to go upstairs, curl up in his bed, and…do what? Then he realizes how stupid that was — he’s just going from one bed to another.

“And you.” The guy climbs onto the bed and rests his chin on Ilya’s shoulder, his hand snaking down to Ilya’s dick. “You are always so fabulous, Rozanov. But you don’t know it yourself.”

Ilya glances down at him. If it had been a new colleague, Ilya would have told the person to fuck off. “Get your hand off me. Go to the kitchen and make your tea.”

“Ouch.” The guy instantly backs off. “Fine, you scared me. Just trying to get you into the right mood, Rozanov. I see that’s not happening today.”

The guy collects his clothes and waves at Ilya on his way out. “Bye! Oh, by the way, you have a missed call!”

Ilya doesn’t check it. He lies there, not moving, and stares out of the window. At one point, he has to shut his eyes because the sunset is too bright. As the sun sinks below the horizon and the room darkens, Ilya still doesn’t move. The darkness lets him feel close to his mama, like she’s watching over him right by his side, only that Ilya can’t see her in the dark.

“Mama.”

He covers the cross directly above his heart, as if protecting it from the world.

Are you here?

She wouldn’t judge his profession, Ilya thinks. But would she be okay with…everything that’s fucked up about him?

Forgive me.

Ilya brings his knees up to his chest, rocking gently and clinging to the warmth.

The missed call is from Hollander. This is unusual because they don’t call. Their chat has been mostly single lines of “when” and “which room.” Hollander likes to use emojis that Ilya hasn’t seen anyone use, which makes it difficult for Ilya to guess the actual meaning behind the emojis. But those quirky emojis are like little surprises, and Ilya has grown fond of them.

When an incoming call lights up his phone, Hollander’s blown-up profile photo takes over the screen — a portrait of him with a black turtleneck that hugs his body in all the right places.

Ilya hesitates for a second — he still has his makeup on. The makeup is not heavy, but it’s noticeable. What if Hollander asks? He hurries to the bathroom.

He turns the shower on and splashes water on his face. Examining himself in the mirror, Ilya fixes the tangled curls. Rivulets of water trickle down his face — he doesn’t need to dry it. Ilya presses Accept.

“Hello?” comes Hollander’s voice.

Hollander is wearing a suit. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, displaying the hollow of his throat. He seems to be in a bathroom.

“You called me?”

For a moment, Hollander doesn’t speak, his eyes widening. Ilya holds back a smirk.

“Um, yes.” Hollander says roughly, “Yes, I did.”

Ilya lifts his eyebrows. “Well?”

“Right. Are you, um, busy right now? I can call you later.”

“Is OK.”

Hollander adjusts his collar like it’s too tight. Ilya can’t restrain his smile any longer. “Like what you see, Hollander?”

“You’re an asshole,” Hollander mutters.

“I need to fuck you in the shower next.”

Hollander glares at him, though Ilya sees it as a “come and fuck me” sort of glare.

“Look, this is not why I called,” Hollander says, his tone slightly more serious. “I have a brand deal with Rolex. They send me gifts, and I already have too many watches.”

Hollander pauses.

“OK…?”

“Yeah.” Hollander wets his lips. “I’m wondering if you’re into, you know, watches and stuff, or your friend, Svetlana? It’s free, like…an overpriced swag?”

Well, Ilya didn’t expect that. He chews on it for a while. Hollander adds, “I can have it mailed to you, and if you don’t like it, you can sell it, or give it away.”

Ilya sighs. “OK.”

He doesn’t have watches. The fancy things he has are larger, like cars and expensive beds. But saying yes will make Hollander happy. Ilya wants to know what Hollander looks like when he’s happy.

“Great! You’ll like it.”

Hollander smiles, his eyes full of delight. They talk for a few more minutes. That smile doesn’t leave Hollander’s face. Ilya carefully traces that smile on Hollander’s lips, his eyes. Over and over.

The day after the anniversary of his father’s death, Ilya realizes he totally forgot about it this year. This could mean he has finally stopped caring about that man. Or is his memory getting worse? Dementia can pass on from parents to children, so maybe that old man is doing Ilya a last favor — make Ilya forget; it would save him a lot of loneliness and pain. Ilya knows he’s too young to be sick, but he searches his memory anyway to recall something memorable. He comes up with nothing. Nothing recent. There are things he’ll never forget, but this is not the time to dig them up; they should remain buried. He searches harder.

There’s Svetlana. She finally came back from Europe. Ilya picked her up from the airport. He liked how she hugged him, like she needed him badly and couldn’t bear the months of separation from him. People were looking at them — he and Svetlana would make a handsome couple. But what they have right now is already perfect. His mind wanders to Hollander. Hollander thinks he’s hiding his emotions, but Ilya is in the sex industry long enough to read people well. The hockey player might be straighter than a flagpole in public, but in private, he’s not afraid to be his true self. He can be very demanding of Ilya in bed. If Ilya had been five years younger, Hollander wouldn’t have been able to walk after a night with Ilya. But Hollander would have a spark in his eyes as he stared up at Ilya, as if Ilya were precious to him and he had yearned for Ilya all his life. This is not new to Ilya; Hollander might be catching feelings for him. Ilya should stop this before it’s too late. Because their thing is not going anywhere — impossible to end up anywhere good. Even if they…one in a million… No. It’s impossible. Not done. Even if it happens, it won’t happen to you.

The day after, Ilya can’t find Irina’s cross. He remembers leaving it on the bathroom vanity. He rarely takes it off, in case he loses it; he even wears it during filming. (His subscribers all know Irina’s cross. It always appears in his videos and posts, and it’s become a token for ROZANOV.) Now it’s missing. Shit. He cannot lose it. It is the only thing he has of his mother. In the past, he almost lost it a few times, but he found it right away. But now, he has looked everywhere — bathrooms (including the one in the guest bedroom, which he hasn’t stepped into for days), bedrooms (in a mess after he ransacked the closets). He works through the entire house as if a billion dollars were hidden somewhere. But Irina’s cross is worth more than that. He would trade anything for it.

Then, tiredness punches him in the gut. Looking for something invaluable is a workout while the air is being sucked out. The cross is a piece of his mother. All of her. It is a piece of him, too. Or, was a piece of him…fuck. How can he still breathe when a piece of him has died?

Ilya doesn’t know what time it is. He can’t see. The floor is cold, like the snow in Moscow. He squints. Right, it’s night. Is it midnight? Early morning? Not important. He can sit here until he dies. When Ilya can’t feel his legs and the cold is piercing into his skin, he struggles to his feet, fumbling for something to hold onto.

Light explodes in the room. Blinking hard, Ilya straightens up with both hands firmly braced on the vanity. The man looking back at him in the mirror is half-dead. He doesn’t understand why he hasn’t put an end to this. He’s amazed he’s lasted for these years. Oddly, the cross disappears two days after Ilya forgot about the anniversary of his father’s death. Is this meant to be a punishment? For his negligence. Is this a sign that Irina doesn’t forgive him for how little he did when his father was dying?

“I’m sorry, mama.” Ilya whispers in Russian, “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…”

Ilya is shaking and barely standing up. The scar on his leg is burning. Why does it hurt so much? It’s an old injury. It shouldn’t hurt at all. He asked a physician to check on it, but they said the pain is in his head. But it’s so real. How can it be just in his head? It fucking hurts. It’s ripping him apart. He screams.

When his throat starts to throb, he crumples on the floor, his shoulders still convulsing. He needs…he needs…control. He needs control over his body. Because everything else seems to be beyond his control. He knows what he has to do.

He used to do it. Decades ago, when he didn’t know much about the mechanics of it. He would pinch his thigh until it bruised — that was as severe as his younger self could think of, and sharp objects were a little scary. But he’s not a child anymore. As he rifles through the cabinet, a delirium surges through him. He will do it.

A voice from the back of his head warns, You should call Svetlana.

She would be so disappointed. And heartbroken. He would have to confess to her — she always knows. Her face if he does this…It would break him all over again.

Ilya snatches his phone before he can change his mind. He’s gripping the phone against his ear.

A ringtone later, it’s connected.

“Svetlana, please. Can you come over, please?” He says in Russian.

“Jees —” Shane scrubs his face with a loud yawn.

What time is it? This can’t be good.

As he blindly reaches for his phone, he grumbles, “Hayden, I swear to god…” Hayden called Shane one night because he couldn’t put his daughter to bed, and Jackie was away. Shane has zero experience with babies, so he provided emotional support while Hayden tried a million different methods. It was torture.

Shane prays this isn’t a parental crisis tonight.

A string of a foreign language flows into his ear.

Then Shane is wide awake.

It takes him a moment to register. But he can’t mistake this voice.

It’s Ilya’s.

His heart pounding, Shane checks the caller ID. It is him.

“Svetlana?”

Svetlana. Ilya’s friend. Ilya called Shane by accident.

There is a fleeting silence.

“Wait, Ilya? Please stay on the line. Stay on the line with me.”

Only now can Shane react to Ilya’s voice. It’s scratchy and weak, like he’s sick. Shane doesn’t need to speak Russian to tell the desperation in that voice. He can't let Ilya go like this.

There’s no sound from Ilya. Shane almost asked “are you okay?” But somehow, he knows Ilya won’t answer that question. “You don’t have to say anything. Just…be here?”

Still nothing from the other man.

“You know, I’m glad it’s you.” Shane laughs nervously, scrambling for words. “I thought it was Hayden. Last time, he — anyway. It’s a boring story.”

“No.”

Shane’s heart skips a beat.

“No…?”

“I will listen. Anything,” Ilya says. His voice is still rough, but it’s steadier now.

“Okay,” Shane says with uncertainty. He breathes out a tense laugh. “Well, I’ll try not to bore you. Let me think. Hmmm. My friend, Rose. She’s super cool. You might have heard of her. Rose Landry. She’s a famous actress. I dated her for several months. She had to be the one to tell me it didn’t work between us. I was so hard on myself, you know, to be with a woman. So she’s like, the first person that I came out to.” He pauses. “Um, should I keep talking? Was that okay?”

“No, Hollander. Is good.” Ilya sniffles. “But still boring. Calmed me down.”

Shane snorts. “Asshole.”

Neither of them speaks, as though they were trying to listen to each other breathe.  It’s a comfortable silence.

“I’m going to New York next month. Rose is letting me stay at her apartment — she’ll be in Canada. Would you want to come to New York? Maybe we’ll have more time together.” Shane says each word deliberately, his body taut like a bowstring.

Ilya doesn’t immediately respond.

“You want me to fly six hours to fuck you?”

The memory of himself in an embarrassing position flashes across his mind. Shane musters up his bravado, “As if you didn’t want to.”

New York - a month later

After their call last month, Shane wanted to make sure Ilya was going to be okay. But Ilya might just ignore his messages. Shane did it in a way Ilya couldn’t refuse.

Shane asked Ilya on their OnlyFans chat. He couldn’t be too obvious as to rouse suspicion, so he simply sent ROZANOV a “how are you” and pictures of the nature around his cottage. The water, trees, and Canadian geese. ROZANOV replied an hour later with “I’m doing well,” “beautiful view,” and a winking emoji.

Now, waking up in Rose’s apartment, Shane snuggles closer to the other man — the other side of the bed is empty. Shane frowns. Then he sees Ilya's phone on the nightstand. He blows out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

A door somewhere in the apartment shuts with a thud. Is Ilya going out without his phone? He’ll need the key.

Shane quickly pulls on his shirt and pants, wincing at the dull ache in his muscles. “Fuck you, Rozanov,” he moans.

He rushes to the living room. To his horror, Rose and a fully naked Ilya stare at each other. They turn their heads toward Shane. Rose glances between them. She lays a hand over her chest. “Oh!” Ilya, who’s utterly unabashed by his own nudity, gives her a polite smile, “Hi.”

“Oh my god.” Shane covers his face.

“Honestly, I didn’t expect you to come,” Svetlana says.

They are lounging on the beach, sunset spreading on the horizon like wings on fire. Growing up in Russia, Ilya never cared for the ocean or the beach; if he wanted to unwind, he’d take a long walk in the snow or steal his father’s vodka, depending on whether he was feeling reflective or depressed. But after moving to Miami, Ilya has learned to appreciate the warm weather. And the coast.

Ilya is covering his face with a book Svetlana brought with her. Four people have recognized him and asked for selfies. Three of them are his subscribers. One boy didn’t look old enough to have an OnlyFans account. When Ilya asked how old he was, the boy replied that his dads loved Ilya’s content. Ilya couldn’t tell if this kid was telling the truth or was too good at lying. Ilya didn’t take a photo with him; he doesn’t want his face next to a minor. Years ago, before his injury, he had dreamed of earning enough money to raise his children here. Now, he isn’t sure he wants his children to have a pornstar as their father.

Svetlana lifts the book off his face. Sunlight momentarily blinds him. Ilya glares at her.

“You have better moods lately,” she says.

“If you say so.”

“Work is going well, then? How are your regular customers?”

“Some of them are still around. New ones come. You know what it’s like.”

“Is Jane still around?”

Ilya casts a glance at her. “Yeah. I mean, not every day. But yeah.”

“Any new person I should know about?”

“On OnlyFans? No.”

Svetlana sighs, “Not OnlyFans, Ilya. Your life.”

Ilya shrugs with a neutral expression. “No one you don’t already know.”

“Oh?” She hums thoughtfully. Her face splits into a conspiratorial smile. “I think I know where this is coming from.”

“What is?”

“Your good mood! Since Christmas, I haven’t been able to convince you to go anywhere. Look at you now, enjoying yourself out here. Somebody is helping me do my work. Is this ‘someone’ the Montreal captain?”

Ilya stares at her, his heart thumping against his ribs. He quickly looks away. But that reaction is more than enough to confirm her suspicion.

“Yes!” She squeals. “I’m so glad this is working out for you, Ilya.”

“Shush. People can’t find out about him,” Ilya says, fingers twitching. He might need a cigarette.

“I understand, but oh my god, Ilya. When we drove him back to his hotel that night, he just seemed so infatuated with you. He was shy, and you’re always unmoved. I thought he wouldn’t stand a chance, but at least he could be a friend for you. This is wonderful.”

Ilya tries to remember what Hollander was like in that restaurant — an easily startled bird. He wouldn’t believe Hollander had a chance either.

“That is all there is to it, Sveta.”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“We fuck. Maybe four, six times a year. Is all.”

“But he makes you happy.”

He winks. “So we will keep fucking.”

“See, even your humor is back.” She chortles. “But he’s good for you. Why not…make it last?”

Ilya squints at the horizon where the sky and ocean merge. The sun has leaped over, leaving behind a pool of yellow, orange, and red. Within the hour, night will paint the world black.

“I’m not good for him,” he says quietly.

Svetlana rolls over to him, her hair tickling his shoulder. “Don’t say that. It is a great honor to love you. If Hollander is worthy of you, he would agree with me.”

Ilya presses a hand over his eyes to block the sunlight, though the sun has disappeared. His jaw starts to shake. He bites down on his inner lip, rhythmically breathing in and out. She pulls the blanket over them. Warmth seeps into him. The laps of the waves are soft like a lullaby.

“I have an idea,” she whispers.

He makes a hoarse mm-hmm.

“Next month, Montreal plays in Boston. I’m planning to go. I haven’t gone to any of Boston’s games this season.” She sounds uncertain. “Would you like to go with me?”

Boston - One Month Later

For the short time Ilya lived in Boston, he loved it so much that he purchased a house in the suburbs. When he left the NHL, he got rid of everything that would remind him of hockey — he sold the house and cars; he donated the things he didn’t bother selling, like the furniture and his hockey gear.

Ilya wants to come back at some point. He thought he wasn’t ready yet. Before every break and holiday, Boston would float around in his head. But every time, he’d tell himself, not yet.

The arena is buzzing with excitement. As he steps down the stairs to get to their seats, his body feels heavy. Svetlana is leading the way and holding his hand as they navigate through the crowd. What if someone recognizes him? He’s not sure what he would be recognized by. ROZANOV or the fallen hockey star. No one probably remembers Ilya Rozanov, the hockey player. As for ROZANOV, he’s known for the gay content, and this place doesn’t exactly welcome people like him with open arms, especially a pornstar.

Before they arrived, he was afraid he couldn’t even look at a rink. But now, he is feeling…stable, and this baffles him.

“We’re here.”

Their seats are very close to the rink. Ilya nudges the sunglasses.

“The sunglasses only attract more attention,” Svetlana says.

Ilya takes them off. He inspects the arena. People are milling about, some wearing jerseys. Blue and black for Montreal and Boston. He can feel coldness twirling around him. But the scar on his leg is silent.

When the players file out, his eyes immediately land on Hollander. He didn’t tell Hollander he’s here. They aren’t meeting.

Svetlana says in a barely audible voice, “He’s better this season. The best I’ve seen him. Maybe you’re also helping him.”

It takes Ilya a full second to understand what she’s talking about. Heat rises to his cheeks.

The game is about to begin. Ilya eyeballs the distance between their seats and the front row. “Will he see us?” He asks. He doesn’t want to distract Hollander. If Hollander sees Ilya, he might panic in the middle of the game.

“Do you want him to?”

“No.” Ilya shakes his head. He says with firmness one more time, “No. If he sees me and loses his shit, it’ll be my fault.”

She reaches out for him, her grasp fierce and steady.

In the final twenty minutes, when Hollander skates to Ilya’s section for a third time, he senses something is off.

His worry is validated as Hollander skates away, his helmeted head tilted in the exact angle that allows them to make eye contact.

The noise and everything else in the arena fall away as their eyes meet and hold. There’s no fear or panic from Hollander. Hollander’s movements might even be a little lighter, more graceful in that instant. But the moment is gone before Ilya can analyze it.

Shit.

“I must go,” Ilya springs up.

“What? It’s almost done.”

“I think he just saw me.”

“You sure?” Svetlana doesn’t let go of him. Ilya breaks free and climbs up the stairs.

He waits outside. Coming to this game was a bad idea. He hopes Montreal wins so Hollander can’t say Ilya has caused trouble. Harmed his performance today. When Svetlana comes out, Ilya drops the cigarette and stamps it out.

“So?”

Svetlana looks at him fixedly, her lips pursed. “So what?”

“Who won?”

“Montreal.”

Ilya nods. “Sorry, you came for Boston.”

“No.” She strokes his face and says softly, “I came for you. You’re here for him. That’s why we are here.”

Ilya can’t stop shaking his head. “It’s done. We should go.”

“Ilya…”

His phone rings. The screen is lit up by Hollander’s boring headshot.

“Hello?” Hollander says, his breathing quick and ragged.

Ilya heaves in a breath. “Yeah.”

“Why did you go?”

“No, I —“

“So that was you. I thought I hallucinated you.” Hollander laughs.

The heaviness in Ilya’s chest vanishes, a smile forming on his lips. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Ilya, can I see you? Right now. I’m sending you the address.”

“I have to…I mean, I’m here with Svetlana.”

Svetlana mouths to him, “Go, go.” She blows him a kiss as she heads off.

Hollander shows up on time at 11 PM. He asked Ilya to meet at the back door of this nondescript building.

“Hey.” Hollander greets him with a crushing hug. Ilya can smell the fresh shampoo in Hollander’s hair.

“Hey.”

“Let’s go in first.” Hollander inserts a key into the door. Then they’re inside.

“What is this place?” They pass through hallways and closed rooms. The lights are dim. A few don’t work.

“The owner lets me use it when I’m in town. Can you close your eyes? It’s a surprise.”

Ilya doesn’t resist. Hollander holds onto him. Their footsteps echo in the empty hallways. Two minutes later, they are somewhere else. The lights are brighter. The air is different. Hollander says, “Okay, open your eyes.”

Before them is a rink.

Ilya freezes.

“Skate with me,” Hollander says.

When Shane saw a man who looked like Ilya in the audience, he almost dropped his stick.

They played against San Francisco tonight. San Francisco is a strong contender this year. But Shane has been playing at a different level since Christmas. Last month, a commentator had observed, “Just when the Montreal captain has risen to the ranks of the world’s greatest players, on par with the likes of Wayne Gretzky and Bobby Orr, well, he raises the bar once again! Have we ever seen that? I don’t believe we have! We are witnessing history here.” Even Shane’s teammates are astonished at his performance this season. Once, Hayden had discreetly pulled him aside and said, “Hey, look, we’re best friends, right? And you’re my captain. I trust you one thousand percent. But…“ Hayden lowered his voice, “Be honest with me, dude — and please don’t take this the wrong way. Are you on drugs or something?” Shane had laughed out loud. He couldn’t blame Hayden for thinking that. The thing he’s on…is called sex with Ilya Rozanov, and it’s better than any performance-enhancing drugs.

They won tonight. 3-1. When the horn sounded, announcing their win, Shane searched the audience. Ilya was no longer there.

Shane has to see Ilya. He’s still high from the victory. Ilya can hurl him to the stratosphere and bring him down. But before that, he wants to take Ilya somewhere. Shane never expected Ilya to step into an arena again. Not after his career-ending injury. Yet Ilya came to his game. Maybe Ilya just needed someone to anchor him when he skates again.

As they stand before the rink, Shane starts to regret his decision. Ilya is looking at the ice, but his eyes are unfocused.

“Skate with me,” Shane says, offering his hand.

Ilya swallows audibly.

“Ilya.” Shane cradles his face. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. Okay? I won’t make you do it. But if you think you’re ready, I would like to help. Let me hold you. It would be my honor.”

Shane kisses the corner of his lips. It’s a tender, encouraging kiss. He murmurs, “No one is here. Just us.”

“Hollander, I can’t…I haven’t — it’s been years.” Ilya croaks.

“Okay, okay.” Shane nods, letting Ilya see open acceptance in his eyes. “Then we don’t do it. It’s your choice.”

“Why did you take me here, Hollander?” Ilya asks, his voice still shaking.

Shane gives him a tight smile. “You watched me play. I thought, I don’t know, maybe you’d be okay with skating again? Sorry, I just had this idea — I, I was thinking that I could be there for you. On ice. If you’ll have me. Anyway. Let’s go.” Shane chuckles. “Now we have more time for…well, I’ve missed you.”

Ilya grabs Shane’s arm. “Wait.” He shuts his eyes for a few seconds.

“Take me,” Ilya says quietly, and Shane thinks he might have imagined it.

“Take me,” Ilya repeats it, louder this time.

Shane grins. He kisses Ilya fully on the lips, smiling into the kiss. “Thank you for trusting me.”

They put on the skates that the owner left for them. “You good?” Shane glances at Ilya as they tie the laces.

“Yes, Hollander. I know how to make a knot.”

Shane snorts. “Just checking.”

When Ilya rises to his feet, Shane watches him closely, a hand hovering over Ilya’s shoulder.

“Still good?”

“Yeah,” Ilya sniffs.

“Take my hand,” Shane says, noticing Ilya hasn’t taken a step.

“I’m not a toddler.”

“Take my hand, Ilya.” Shane insists.

Without waiting for a response, Shane threads their fingers together. “Fucking stubborn.”

Ilya’s hand is clammy. Shane squeezes it as if he could physically pass encouragement to Ilya.

“Ready?”

The apprehension on Ilya’s face melts away. He’s loosening into Shane’s touch. “Yeah.”

Their first few steps are careful. Shane feels like he was teaching a toddler how to walk. When Ilya was in the NHL, Shane had studied his rival. He hasn’t forgotten Ilya’s moves, so expressive, like his whole personality was how he moved on blades.

“Hollander?”

“Hmmm?” Shane drags his mind back to the present. They’re gliding at a slow pace.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like if we were rivals?”

Shane breathes a soft laugh. “Of course. We’d probably hate each other.” He lowers his eyes to their joined hands, his voice more frightened than he’d like, “And this would never have happened.”

Ilya is silent for a long time. At last, he says, “This would still happen.”

Shane stares at Ilya intently, his heart nearly leaping out of his throat. “You think so?”

Ilya says something in Russian.

“What did that mean?”

“Is a secret.” Ilya releases his hands and drifts backwards away from Shane. The loss of their contact sends an icy jolt through Shane. But then Ilya turns his head back at Shane. A smile lights up Ilya’s face. It’s the most beautiful smile. In a fleeting moment, it breaks Shane’s heart and heals him over and over.

At the end, they only have an hour to go to Ilya’s hotel and fuck before Shane must go back to his team.

Shane will take however long they can get. He’s sure Ilya is the same. The second they are in Ilya’s room, Ilya is all over him. Ilya is tearing at Shane’s clothes like a vulture feasting on its prey. The hunger in Ilya’s eyes scares him a little. Ilya is always hungry for him, but there’s something else tonight. How Ilya clutches at Shane with desperation as though he needed this to live. Like every kiss is the only way Ilya can breathe. Ilya’s emotions are contagious. As Ilya dives into him fast and rough, Shane feels everything. He understands now why Ilya chose sex work. Sex is Ilya’s language to speak the unspeakable. Yet sex isn’t intimacy. They’ve had the most exhilarating sex, but right now, this doesn’t just feel like sex. Between shattered moans, Shane tries to think of a word for it. Not just sex. Intimacy. Is there more?

“More,” Shane whispers.

“You want more, Hollander?”

Shane nods frantically, his hands clawing at Ilya’s back.

“Good. You will get more.” Ilya says it like he swears on his life.

Ilya’s cock is so hard and feverish, like a branding iron that will leave a permanent mark on Shane. Shane always felt he needed this more than Ilya; after all, he approached Ilya first. Begged him for it. Now, Shane is finding out Ilya needs this as much as he does. Ilya fucks so deep that Shane wonders if he’ll have to visit a gastroenterologist in the morning.

“Focus, Hollander.” Ilya bites on each word, his hips rolling faster.

Shane almost weeps when Ilya slides out. He hears a wet, rubbery noise.

Ilya asks, “Are you clean?”

“Yes,” Shane says before he realizes what Ilya is asking.

“Same. Can I —“

If Shane can’t have Ilya back inside him, he will go insane. “Yes. Please.”

Then Ilya’s bare cock is filling him. A strangled cry rips from Shane.

“Oh fuuuuuck.” Ilya sounds like he’s completely lost control, and it floods Shane with pride.

Neither of them can utter anything coherent after that. When Ilya finally comes inside him, thick and hot, Shane has the right word for it.

He thinks they are making love.

When the first round is over, they still have thirty minutes. Shane thinks Ilya Rozanov could be an aphrodisiac drug because his body is spiraling through withdrawal. Ilya is freshly showered. He’s on his phone, one hand brushing Shane’s hair in a gentle, unconscious way. This short night is near the end. But Ilya hasn’t told him to leave, or said anything like “when do you have to go,” or “do you have a ride.” And Shane doesn’t want Ilya to say these things.

Do I really have to go back on time? Shane led the team to win a tough game tonight. The guys will understand if he cuts himself some slack. But they will know something is up if he doesn’t show up for breakfast. Hayden has hinted at “the girl” behind Shane’s stellar performance. It’s a matter of time before the guys conclude that their captain has finally found a girl and is hiding her. Yet. When that happens, Shane just needs to be more careful. He always prioritizes his schedule. Maybe now is the time to break the habit. For one night.

Shane is always a little terrified of clarity whenever his sexuality is involved; to the few men he hooked up with in the past, he probably never spoke a sentence longer than five words. But he wants more with Ilya, and for Ilya to want more back.

“Ilya?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I’m staying.” Shane immediately corrects, “I mean, can I stay?”

“Stay?” Ilya frowns as if he can’t comprehend the word.

Shane shifts in the bed and wraps an arm around him, “Yeah, for the night.”

“But you must go back to your team.”

“It’s not like I must. We just won. They’ll be okay with it if, you know, I meet them at the airport ten minutes before takeoff.” Shane says jokingly.

Ilya lowers his phone, his body tense, and he doesn’t look at Shane. The silence grows heavier. Shane slips his arm all the way around Ilya’s waist until they are as inseparable as two humans can possibly be.

“Can I ask you something?” Shane says.

Ilya nods, his expression guarded.

Shane taps a finger on Ilya’s chest where the cross used to be. He liked it when the cool metal would kiss his skin. “The necklace. You don’t wear it anymore?”

Ilya’s jaw tightens. “I lost it.”

“Oh.” Shane blinks. “Was it…important?”

“It was.”

Shane weighs his words. “Was it from someone important?”

Ilya nods again.

“Can you tell me…who this important person is?”

At that, Ilya squeezes his eyes shut. He whips his head away from Shane.

“Not right now, Hollander. I’m —“ He buries his face in both hands, his muscles spasming like a painful tangle of ropes.

Shane starts to kiss Ilya’s stomach, playing with the hair on his tongue.

“Hollander…“ It sounds like a warning and a plea.

“Let me take care of you?”

Ilya gasps when Shane undoes the towel and drives his face between those powerful thighs. “Hollander, we just—“

“I know. Are you up for round two?” Shane lets desire flood through him; he knows what Ilya is seeing right now — Shane sprawled on his lap, naked back and ass rising and falling, ready to be fucked. “You don’t have to do a thing. Trust me?”

Shane makes a deliberate, slutty moan while looking directly at Ilya. Ilya’s eyes are losing focus again, his dick already hard.

“Oh god.” Shane sighs into Ilya’s crotch. “You smell so good here. I want you so much.”

Ilya draws Shane’s head closer. Shane slides his hands up along Ilya’s arms like worshipping a god.

“Ilya?”

Ilya hums, his eyes half closed.

“Stop me if it gets too much. If you don’t stop me, I will keep going,” Shane says.

Ilya opens his eyes, his brow slightly furrowed.

I think I might be in love with you. I’m not sure I can stop myself from loving you. Shane presses a soft kiss on Ilya’s cock.

The confusion is still on Ilya’s face as Shane gets a good amount of oil in his palm. He lathers it on Ilya and lifts his face, their lips crashing together in the middle.

Holding Ilya’s cock, Shane sinks down in one swift thrust.

Ilya seethes as though being burned.

“Good?”

Ilya dips his chin in a half-nod and half-drunken stupor, his eyes dark with lust. This Ilya is different from ROZANOV on OnlyFans. On screen, even when Ilya is close to climax, he still commands the action; there are always sharp edges, his emotions strong like tidal waves. But this version of Ilya, panting and about to shed tears, is so soft. And breakable. Like ice crumbling.

He cradles Ilya’s face as he rides Ilya. Incoherent noises spill out of his mouth. But he keeps his eyes open for every second of it, staring into Ilya’s eyes. I think I’ve been waiting all my life just to see myself in your eyes.

Then something stirs in the air.

Maybe Ilya is realizing something. Maybe he sees the truth in Shane’s face, or the abandonment of each thrust. Shane doesn’t look away. Ilya reminds him of those beautiful, cataclysmic moments in a nature documentary; despite the devastation, it’s impossible to look away.

Shane picks up the speed, moaning into Ilya’s mouth. The clapping of their flesh is loud and wild. It’s mixed with the sound of firm thrusts of Ilya’s cock into his ass.

“Hollander, wait. I—“

“Should I stop?”

Ilya doesn’t answer, his eyes wide and — if Shane isn’t mistaken — scared.

“Tell me to stop. Or, I won’t.”

Shane fucks harder on Ilya’s cock.

He never knew his body had so much energy. It’s like Ilya’s cock is a fucking charger. When Shane is very close, he grips Ilya’s shoulders as he rides in two rough, final thrusts, then he comes.

They gasp into each other’s mouths. Ilya flips him over, their kiss not breaking for a second.

Then Ilya is fucking him like this still isn’t enough, and it never could be enough.

Shane looks at Ilya. Really look at the man on top of him.

“Hollander, I think I’m gonna —“

“I want it. Give me all of it.”

Ilya grunts against his mouth. Shane swallows the sound as Ilya pulses inside him. Ilya thrusts his softening dick a few more times as if to shove his cum deeper. Shane thinks he can feel every drop of it.

“Ilya.”He smiles up at Ilya. Ilya hasn’t pulled out, just resting inside Shane as though Shane’s body is a bed, safe and warm.

Shane says, “I’ve been thinking. About you. And me. Us. At the rink, I said…this wouldn’t have been possible if we were rivals. I don’t understand what you said in Russian, but I think I know what you meant. I would —” He takes a shuddering breath. “No matter what, I will always look for you, and find you, and…want you.”

Ilya has gone silent. The flitting of his eyelashes is the only sign that he’s not asleep.

“You don’t know me, Hollander.“ Ilya’s voice is almost flat. A slight quiver runs through it.

“Then let me know you. I want to know you.”

“Is not that simple. You have good family and friends. A good job. We are not the same.”

“That’s a bullshit reason, Ilya.”

“I don’t know how to explain. You just fucked my brains out.” Ilya attempts a laugh. “I can’t think right now. Can we not?”

“No. Give me one good reason. Help me understand.”

Ilya’s face hardens, his eyes blank. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.” Shane puts as much conviction in his voice as he can.

Ilya is quiet, gazing at Shane intensely. He raises two fingers to tug at the corner of Shane’s mouth. “Smile?”

Shane obeys, giving Ilya a confused, hesitant smile.

“Say my name again.”

“Why? What is this about?”

“Just do it, Hollander.”

“Right.” Shane sets his question aside. “Ilya. There.”

Ilya smiles. It’s a sad smile, and it breaks Shane’s heart and makes him forget what he wanted to know.

“Okay.” Ilya turns away, leaving his back to Shane. He grabs his phone, unlocks it, and tosses it to Shane. “See for yourself.”

On the screen, in full brightness, is Ilya’s OnlyFans page.

Shane glances up at Ilya. But Ilya already has a cigarette between his lips. He takes out a lighter from the pocket of his pants.

“Ilya?”

Ilya doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m going outside. For a smoke. Take your time with…” He gestures at his phone.

“So what, you are running away from me because you have OnlyFans? You think I will judge you? Get your ass back here, Rozanov."

Ilya just stares. A smile slowly brightens his entire face. He shakes his head in disbelief.

“I knew,” Shane says.

“You knew?”

“You were famous in the NHL. It’s not difficult to find out what you did after you left.” He hands Ilya the phone, looking down at it, “This is not a good enough reason. I knew about your OnlyFans. Your dick was inside me two minutes ago, and I want it inside me again.”

“Don’t, Hollander —“

Ilya is begging, his face raw and devastated.

Shane doesn’t care. He stalks toward Ilya, crowding Ilya against the wall. This might seem like a bossy move, him being forceful for once, but if anyone looks closely, they will see his hands are shaking. “I don’t care what you have, or don’t have, or how fucked up you think you are. Do you know why I don’t? Because —“

“Shane, stop!”

They both freeze.

Shane.

Ilya said Shane.

It sounds so tender and true. Shane didn’t know he needed to hear Ilya utter his name so much like it’s an unattainable thing. Ilya just said his name. It should make him happy. But Ilya also said stop.

He never expected stop in a moment like this. It’s supposed to be used when they were making love, when they were together in the most physical way. If it had gotten too much, Shane would stop and still kiss Ilya and comfort Ilya; maybe he’d still get to have Ilya inside him as he slowed down and made love to Ilya in a softer way. Not like now — standing up and apart from each other as the air gets cold. And not for Ilya to be like this, looking wrecked and sorry like he’d done something wrong.

“Hey, hey,” Shane says gingerly, his fingertips brushing against Ilya’s face.

Ilya just keeps shaking his head. His shoulders start to convulse like he’s trying to contain whatever’s inside him, but it’s tormenting him.

Shane presses their foreheads together. “Ilya, look at me. Hey.”

Ilya leans back to get away, but Shane clasps his face so he can look at Ilya directly.

“I stopped,” Shane says.

Ilya closes his eyes.

Tears flow down his cheeks. It’s hard to see in the dim light, but Shane can feel Ilya’s tears distinctly, as if each one of them hurts him in a different place. Hurting both of them. In this sense, Shane hopes to share Ilya’s pain so that Ilya can feel less of it.

Maybe stopping wasn’t the right way. Ilya wanted Shane to stop. Needed the time to breathe and to get this out. Shane is glad he did because, selfishly, he wanted this part of Ilya, too. The dark and painful part. His silent tears. But Shane also has to know —

“I’ll always stop if you say it, but I think…it almost killed me. Do you still want me to stop?”

Ilya’s eyes flutter open, shiny and red. But they’re clearer now.

“Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“Shane.”

“I’m here.”

“Shane.”

“That’s me.”A small laugh escapes from Shane. “What?”

Ilya shrugs, though his lips quiver in the barest shape of a smile. “Nothing.”

“You like saying my name?”

Ilya studies him for an intent moment and replies in Russian.

“Are you gonna tell me what it means this time? Come on, I let you say my name. I deserve to know.”

“Let me?” Ilya raises an eyebrow.

“Please.” Shane smiles, pulling his cheekbones just slightly so his freckles would do a little sauté like a ballerina. He knows Ilya won’t refuse those freckles.

Ilya gives Shane a non-threatening glare that says he sees what Shane is doing. But he still says, “It meant ‘I like you.’ I like saying your name, yes, and I like you.”

“Just like, huh?”

“Don’t be greedy, Hollander.” Ilya flicks Shane’s nose, breaking into a full smile. The smile Shane saw on ice a few hours ago. He made Ilya smile like that twice in one night, and it feels better than winning all those trophies displayed at home.

“So, how will this work?” Shane asks.

Ilya swallows audibly. “How has it worked for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“With your exes,” Ilya says, his voice nonchalant, but Shane doesn’t miss the sudden tension in his body. “You had…boyfriends? Or, whoever they were. I don’t know. How did it work?”

“Ilya, I’ve never had a boyfriend, not formally. I dated Rose. Well, that was, you know.”

“Oh.” Ilya blinks in surprise.

“Dating is hard for me, obviously. I’m a top pro hockey player, and —“ Shane stops. He peeks at Ilya carefully, praying he hasn’t upset Ilya.

“You can say hockey. Is OK, Shane.”

Shane examines him. “You sure?”

“I think…” Ilya runs a hand through his hair. “Hockey was just hockey. I happened to be good at it. It — I’m not sure. Is complicated. Another time.”

“Okay.” Shane sags in relief.

“And you are not top. I am your top.”

Shane blushes, scrunching his nose in defiance.

“Have a problem with that?” Ilya says playfully. “Who said he wants my cock inside him?”

“Shut up.”

Shane covers Ilya’s mouth with his own. Ilya’s response is fierce, sucking Shane’s tongue and lifting his ass to meet him.

“This mouth,” Ilya says roughly. He squeezes Shane’s ass cheeks. “And this ass. Mine.”

Shane nods, whimpering.

They hug like they were separated for too long and have finally returned to each other. They hug for minutes. It could go on for the rest of the night and every day. Just being close and physical. But also, it’s like their lives are coming together, pasts, presents, and futures. His life is whispering to Ilya’s “I see you; I hear you; I recognize you; I know you from a previous life.” And Ilya’s life whispers the same things back.

“You’re not alone, Ilya. Not anymore. You are mine,” Shane assures him.

Ilya only hugs him tighter. That’s all Shane needs.

Since Boston, there has been a shift in Ilya, and Ilya doesn’t know how to deal with it.

Shane Hollander.

He knows Shane thinks Ilya is the braver man between them. The night at that Boston hotel proved the opposite. Shane Hollander is not what Ilya imagined. He did something to Ilya that Ilya himself can’t pinpoint. But Ilya is okay with it. More than okay with it.

Maybe he can have this. He knows he’ll try his best to keep it. If one day Shane decides to…not have it anymore, Ilya will just try to move on. Like he always has — not that he’s had much success in the “moving on” department.

Shane doesn’t even mind Ilya’s OnlyFans. They had that conversation in the hotel room. OnlyFans is Ilya’s main source of income. He can’t just quit. Sex for OnlyFans is work. Shane said he’s totally fine with it. But Ilya isn’t so sure. There aren’t that many people who can share their boyfriend with strangers. After ten years of working in this industry, Ilya has seen enough; relationships mixed with sex work are short-lived. People either cheat, lose trust, or get tired of seeing their partners fucking someone else on screen, or flirting with customers in private chat. If it comes to that…should he quit? That question is too far ahead. For now, Ilya gets to have this unexpected miracle while it lasts. He would carve out a piece of him just to keep this miracle safe and forever. But that’s not up to him. It’s funny how this relationship has turned out. At the beginning, it was Shane who begged him. Now, maybe Shane doesn’t fully know it, but Ilya needs this more than anything. It should terrify Ilya, but this new thing is indescribably good, so good that Ilya will risk going through what had put him in those dark places. This is why Ilya is certain Shane matters to him. A lot more than he’ll ever admit.

Svetlana notices the shift in him. She visits him every week. Her apartment reminds her of work, so she comes to the house where they can cuddle and relax.

Ilya would wait for her in the bedroom with the TV — they always watch something together. Tonight, when she finds him browsing sports channels, she says, “Hollander’s game is tomorrow.”

“I know.”

Her eyebrows wiggle. “Oh.”

“I like sports. Hockey is not the only sport there is,“ Ilya explains.

“You like sports?”

“You know I like sports. We watched the World Cup.”

She chuckles. It has a disbelieving ring to it.

“What?”

“You—“ she stares at him as though he were an idiot. “Ilya, I want to know if my best friend is dating.”

Ilya scratches his chin. He sighs. “OK. I am. I guess.”

“That’s great! Ilya!” She looks genuinely happy. Of course, she would be. She invited Shane into her car and gave him her business card so he could get to Ilya.

“So what now?“

Ilya grumbles, “Is not that different from…before.”

“It is a big deal, Ilya.” Her tone becomes uncertain. “If it is a big deal for you?”

“I mean…yeah, but he has hockey. I have work, too.”

“So? Make plans,” she says, like it’s obvious and easy.

They are going to make plans. But playoffs are heating up, and Ilya’s work isn’t just making sexy poses and short videos. They are the best at what they do. Work is always prioritized.

Ilya recalls his last text message exchange with Shane.

Shane: Remember the Rolex swag I asked if you wanted?

Shane: It will be ready soooon!! They say it can have customization. An engraving.

Okay…?

Shane: Any ideas? If not, I can surprise you 😉

I have an idea

Shane: It can’t be too many words.

“My top, Ilya Rozanov”

Put it on the watch

Shane: NO

Or “My bottom, Shane Hollander”

Whichever

Shane replied “fine” a few hours later, as if he had gone through an excruciating inner battle.

Shane has missed Ilya.

Back then, if he missed Ilya, he only had to open Ilya’s OnlyFans page. Hundreds of pictures and videos of Ilya would fill his screen. Ilya in sexy underwear, Ilya looking at the camera like he’s about to fuck it, Ilya fucking a costar…Shane had options. It is different now.

That’s the confusing part. Shane doesn’t know how to feel about this new thing between them. Ilya Rozanov is my boyfriend sounds fucking unreal. Shane never thought he’d have a romantic partner. Not when he is in the NHL. He just started a relationship with Ilya Rozanov. The ROZANOV on OnlyFans. And no one gives a fuck.

Because no one knows, no one can know.

No one will understand.

Shane can imagine how the conversation would go —

“Hey mom, so uhm, I’ve met someone.”

“Oh! That’s sweet, honey! Do we know him?”

“No…he’s not hockey. Or, anyone you might know. I mean, you or dad wouldn’t have heard of him.”

“Would you like to tell me who he is? You don’t have to, of course. I’m so happy you allow yourself to have this, finally.”

“Yeah, just…please be normal about it? He’s kind of famous in his line of work. Like me, you know. But, it’s…somewhat unconventional.”

“It’s okay, honey. I’m not a fossil. My standards will be high, but for a start, if you like him, that makes me like him.”

“Right. So, he’s, umm, his job. Do you know OnlyFans?”

“The porn platform?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“This man I’m with, he works there. On this platform.”

“‘On this platform?’ You mean not at the company headquarters.”

“No. He makes, well, content on it.”

“He does sex work. You can say that, honey. Are you ashamed of it?”

“No! I was afraid you…might not be cool with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Don’t tell your dad just yet.”

“That’s why I’m telling you first. You think he’ll disapprove?”

“He’ll probably need some time. Shane, do the two of you have a long-term plan? If he has a successful career on OnlyFans, will you always accept that he sleeps with other people for work? You do right now. What about in a year? Three years? It’s hard to maintain a stable relationship in his profession. Will he be up for it? I’m not saying he’ll cheat on you. Do you really understand his work and how it might change your relationship?”

His mom is business-oriented. She would raise the hard questions.

Shane studies Ilya now. Ilya is asleep, one arm under Shane’s neck, the other around his chest.

The man looks peaceful.

At least this is something of him that I can fully own.

They stay at Rose’s apartment again. She’s in LA, doing voiceover for her new film.

Shane should ask her about this. If your partner makes a sexy movie with another actor, how will you feel? He’s not jealous of the coworkers that Ilya has fucked on screen. He knows it’s just work for Ilya. But it would be a lie to say Shane doesn’t care at all.

To think that Ilya sends things like “I miss you” to a fan or lets his fans decide what he should wear in his next video. This is the reason Shane hasn’t logged onto OnlyFans for weeks.

And what if Ilya wants more from him? Would Shane be open to a threesome?

No. Definitely not.

What about kinks? Watching Ilya fuck someone else.

Shane stops himself. Too many questions.

A kiss grazes the back of his ear.

“Morning,” Ilya says in a scratchy voice.

“Morning.”

Shane tilts his face to kiss Ilya. They kiss for a good minute. Soft kisses like they’re sipping each other’s lips.

“What were you thinking?” Ilya says.

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were thinking. Loud. Woke me up.”

“I really wasn’t.”

Ilya squints at him. He props his head up.

“Tell me.”

“Ilya —“

“Your eyes are terrible at lying. I read people. Especially people in my bed.” Shane stiffens, and it gives him away. Ilya nods. “What is it? Is it the other people?”

Shane timidly meets Ilya’s eyes, fisting the bed sheet as though he could draw strength from it.

“Not that. It’s not jealousy.“ Shane briefly looks away, but Ilya grips his chin so he can’t avoid Ilya. “It’s you. I think about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Like…is this enough for you? Do you need more?”

“More,” Ilya repeats the word like he can’t quite comprehend it. “More like what?”

Shane’s voice drops to a whisper, “Like intense stuff. BDSM. Another person? That sort of thing.”

Ilya just stares at him. Shane closes his eyes. His cheeks burn from the suggestion.

“Shane.” Ilya says deliberately, “I make porn. Not exactly the same.”

“But do you want to?”

“Kinks, maybe. Threesome, no. Is messy. Unless you want?”

Shane shakes his head. Thank god Ilya said no. Yet it doesn’t expel all the doubts in Shane’s head. If Shane weren’t so shy and closeted, would Ilya like it more? Instead, he says, “I’m just…I dunno.”

“Ah, I see.”

“What?”

“You need —” Ilya pauses to find the right word. “Transparency.”

Ilya unlocks his phone. “This is good. You must see for yourself.”

It dawns on Shane what Ilya is doing.

“No. I don’t — you have privacy. I’m not asking you to show me. Fuck, I don’t want to see it, Ilya.” Shane softens his tone. “I’m not sure how much I should know. If I don’t know anything, it’s gonna be like ignorance is bliss, but at the same time, I won’t understand anything. If you tell me about your work, it might be a rabbit hole I’m not ready for.”

Ilya says with certainty, “I know what you need.”

Shane blinks. “What do I need?”

“Reminder.”

Ilya yanks the duvet off the bed. They’re both completely naked. Shane is suddenly aware of the soreness in his legs and lower back — it still surprises him that fucking Ilya can be high intensity workout. Ilya climbs on top of him, pinning him on the mattress. His breathing hitches as Ilya starts to kiss his thighs. Shane parts his legs to give Ilya more access.

“Hmmmmm.” Ilya makes a satisfying noise. It vibrates through Shane’s body. “That’s it. Relax for me.”

“What’re you —“

“Feel me.” Ilya kisses the fold at Shane’s crotch, dragging his tongue over it. “Tell me how it feels. Not now. In a few minutes.”

Ilya nuzzles his face against Shane’s hardened dick, not to kiss it. Just breathing it in. He looks up at Shane like a supplicant, kneeling at the feet of his god, “I could be like this for days and months, if you ask me.”

Shane almost bursts at the words.

“Ohfuuuckkk.”

Ilya bends over to the nightstand for the lube.

“I am going to fuck you so good. No one else gets this. Do you understand? No one.”

Shane didn’t know how much he needed to hear it.

“Yes, please. Please.“

Ilya bites down on Shane’s shoulder. Shane cries out, but the pain is affirming. Like he’s special to Ilya.

“I’m not using fingers. You will take me now. Can you do that?”

No fingering. Shane has not tried it. He knows it can be done. “Would it be uncomfortable? For you?”

“Yes or no. Do not worry about me.”

If Ilya wants them to do something together, something to bring them to a greater height, he will always say it. Shane is learning this now. Learning to trust Ilya to communicate, to guide them.

“Yes. Yes, I want to do that with you.”

His words clearly affect Ilya, too, as Ilya shudders, hot desire flaring in his eyes.

Ilya slicks his cock in hurried strokes like he can’t wait for another second. He gets more lube to spread it all over Shane’s hole.

Then Ilya is pushing his cock into Shane. It’s agonizingly slow. It feels like being pried open.

“Oh my god, Ilya!”

Shane throws back his head. He doesn’t know if he can do this.

“Breathe.” Ilya rubs Shane’s ass reassuringly. In a haze, Shane sees the wildness in Ilya’s eyes. Ilya is not as calm as he tries to be. “Let me in. You want to let me in, yes?”

No words come out. Shane can only nod.

His breathing turns into frantic pants. It’s fucking painful. Hysterically, he wonders if this is as painful as childbirth. Being fucked in the ass can’t be as bad. But Ilya’s cock is a lot to take.

After what must be days, Ilya is all the way inside. Shane has never felt fulfilled as he does now.

“Remember what I said. Only you can have me like this.”

Ilya aims his cock at the spot that will knock Shane over the edge.

“ILYA!”

Ilya slams into that spot, teases it for a while, then back to quick thrusts. His balls clap against Shane’s ass. Shane doesn’t recognize the moans coming out of his own mouth. So loud and amorous and unlike him. He sounds as if he were made for sex and is finally receiving it for the first time. Ilya’s cock is so thick and hard. Shane clenches his ass to tell it that his hole is perfect for it.

They must have lost control over their bodies because this sex is savage in a terrifying way. He feels Ilya is splitting his ass in two.

“Say it,” Ilya grits out. “How this feels.”

Shane has forgotten what Ilya wants him to say.

How can Ilya expect him to think?

“Speak.”

Shane says the only thing he’s thinking of.

“Louder,” Ilya says.

“You,” Shane answers. Something wet rolls down his face. “Feels like you.”

Ilya stills for a second. Then he’s plunging into Shane so fast that Shane is shoved into the headboard. The headboard is leather, so it didn’t hurt. But Ilya immediately puts a hand around Shane’s head.

“Shane.” Ilya moans, coming in the deepest part of Shane. The cum is the final thing Shane needs to be whole. That, and Ilya above him, his cock inside him. A second later, Shane comes apart.

Ilya wakes up at 3 PM with the sound of the shower running in the bathroom.

He doesn’t remember the last time he woke up in the afternoon, not even the few times he went on vacation with Svetlana. And he has never felt more at peace. God, he could get used to this — waking up knowing Shane is coming back into his arms any moment.

Shane’s phone is vibrating on the nightstand.

Shane takes his time in the shower. It’ll be another fifteen minutes before Shane gets out.

The call could be urgent.

Ilya peeks at the screen.

Rose Landry.

Shane said she’s the only person in his life who knows about them. Ilya should be grateful to her. She was the first person Shane came out to. For people like them, sharing this with even one person can change their lives. She’s also been generous with her apartment. There’s no reason for Ilya to be jealous. That would be irrational. Yet. Maybe it’s because she’s technically Shane’s ex; maybe because she sees the parts of Shane that Ilya hasn’t. Maybe he just wants to mark up Shane and show her who her best friend now belongs to. It’s stupid and impulsive, but every cell in his body screams do it. Ilya picks up the phone.

“Shane? Did you see the fridge?” She says right away.

Ilya clears his throat, though his voice is still coarse, “Rose. This is Ilya. Rozanov.”

There’s a pause.

“Oh! Hi, Ilya. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you. Is Shane okay?”

“Yes, he’s in the shower.”

“Okay. How are you guys doing?“

“We are good.” He adds, “How are you?”

“Missing my pizzas and bagels. I’m on a diet for a new role. Otherwise, alive,” She says cheerfully. “Anyway, tell Shane to check the fridge. My assistant left some groceries there. There are games in the cabinet under that painting in the living room. I bought them last week. They’re unopened. Hockey games and some other popular games. I asked my stylist what games men like, so I hope I’m not too off the mark with those games.”

Ilya is momentarily stunned. She prepared food and entertainment? He and Shane didn’t even think about that.

“Thank you, Rose.” Ilya can’t thank her enough for this. It was so dumb of him to think that way when he picked up the phone, but he’s glad he did. “Really, is…incredible. I’ll let him know.”

“No worries. Enjoy, Mr. Rozanov!” She hangs up.

Ilya puts on Shane’s pants, which are more comfortable than Ilya’s jeans, and walks barefoot to the kitchen. He pulls open the fridge.

A sticky note is attached to a divider. It must be Rose’s handwriting because it says:

Shane & Ilya,

I really did my best to order everything you might need. (I lied. My assistant did that hehehe.) The top level is for Ilya (no pun intended, my assistant arranged it randomly). It has butter, filet mignon, takeout pizza (with pepperoni, the sauce is so good!!), charcuterie, and other meats and veggies. The level that looks like it’s from The Martian is for Shane. My assistant scoured Manhattan for the healthiest vegetables and beans. Shane, you should pay me back on this because they’re worth a pair of Jimmy Choo (just kidding). Don’t burn down my kitchen, try not to fuck on my couch, please. It’s Roche Bobois. Enjoy!! xoxo

Ilya smiles at that. He takes out the pizza and turns on the oven. While the oven is heating up, he catalogues his section in the fridge. Rose, or rather, Rose’s assistant, was pretty spot on about what Ilya likes. The steak looks tantalizing. The charcuterie is wrapped in a fancy box. But he’s lazy and hungry. A hot pizza will do.

“Hey.”

Shane has finished his shower. His black hair is brushed back, his eyes like an ocean in the sunlight. It does something to Ilya’s cock. They fucked last night and this morning. At the end, both of them were depleted and drowsy with happiness. It would be hard to fuck again right now. Ilya wishes he could. He never feels the effect of age on his body or stamina, but with Shane is the first time Ilya needs to be younger. Just so he can fuck Shane properly.

The oven beeps. Ilya pops in the pizza.

“Oh my god, did you just put it directly on the rack?” Shane says, horrified.

“Why not? Is clean. If it isn't, the temperature kills germs.”

“No, Ilya!” Shane pouts. He pouts. “Let’s find a tray and —”

Ilya grabs Shane’s face and swallows whatever Shane is going to say. Shane bites down on Ilya’s lips, but Ilya doesn’t budge. The break away only to breathe.

“Not another word, or I will eat you instead of the pizza,” Ilya says.

Shane’s face is red, his eyes so big, looking at Ilya like he already forgot what he said because he can think of nothing else but Ilya.

Ilya isn’t any better. He takes a second to orient himself. “Rose called. She said she bought games for us.”

“Oh.” Shane doesn’t seem to be bothered by Ilya using his phone. “That’s…great. I mean, we didn’t plan it well. It’s nice of her.”

“Yes.”

The pizza is ready. Ilya reaches into the oven for it.

“Careful.”

Ilya rolls his eyes, “Why are you like grandma?”

“Can’t I worry about you?”

Ilya hums. He gives Shane his back as he gets a plate from the cupboard, hiding his face, all the while smiling.

“Do you want anything?” Ilya asks. “I think I can make a stew. Or something.”

Shane does an almost-smile, an eyebrow arched, “You want to make me food?”

Ilya lifts a shoulder. “I mean. I’m eating. I feel bad if you are not.”

“It’s fine. I’ll eat later.” Shane glances at him. “And uh, your watch is here. The Rolex. Can I give you now so I don’t forget?”

“Sure.” Ilya sets down the slice he is gobbling down.

Shane fetches his backpack from the living room. He takes out a small box.

“Wash your hands,” he says.

Ilya snorts. He wags his greasy fingers at Shane’s face.  

Shane sidesteps him with the swiftness of a hockey player. He sounds exasperated but patient, “Come on. Try it on. After you’ve washed your hands.”

“Okay, okay.”

The watch is classic silver, with a ring of jewels that Ilya suspects is diamond. The dial is a glossy dark blue.

“A swag, you said?” Ilya looks at it closely and then at Shane.

“Yeah.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

“I have a partnership with them. They have nice gifts for me.”

Ilya stares at the watch. He has seen more expensive watches and jewelry before, but this just feels much more valuable. So valuable that he can’t possibly accept.

“This is…I can’t just take it.”

“Yes, you can. It’s yours. Flip it over.”

On the back, the engraving says —

Bottom of My Heart, Always

Shane coughs, “Uhm, so I promised to write the other thing on it, right? But I thought this might be better?”

“Bottom of my heart” can mean different things. It can be pure and wholesome. Perhaps Shane was thinking that if they…don’t work out, Ilya would still be able to keep it. Or, it can be a kind of declaration. The Bottom of my heart. It’s possession, and sex, and them.

“Anyway, it sounds a bit cheesy now I look at it. “ Shane rambles on, “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to have it.”

“I like it.” Ilya clasps it on his wrist. A tiny, deep part of him is almost scared that Shane was going to take it back. “Thank you.”

Shane’s eyes light up. Ilya wants to kiss him again.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah.” Shane chuckles. “Why?”

“I don’t know, maybe you don’t want my mouth on your mouth when it is covered in unhealthy oil? Your bird food diet can’t have that. So no kiss for Shane Hollander.”

Shane leans in and sucks on Ilya’s lips, laughing into the kiss. “Too bad. My diet has a new essential ingredient.”

“Essential? Hmm.”

The kiss lingers for a while.

“Alright. You probably should eat your pizza now. It’ll get cold.”

“What are you going to do? I can let you watch me eat. You know I have sexy videos of me eating.”

Shane blushes, his gaze shifting from Ilya’s mouth to the pizza like he’s trying to imagine what those sexy things might be.

“Actually, I wanted us to talk about this thing.” Shane straightens up a little. “So I’ll have, like, two weeks free this summer. I’m wondering if you have plans? Like, your other plans. If not, I don’t know, we could spend more time together?”

Spend more time together.

Ilya mulls it over. They never have enough time, don’t they? This season is going to be over soon. Shane’s schedule will repeat next season. Then again. They only have these stolen moments, two days at most, and they’ve decided not to stay in a hotel room because that’s not what a couple does. Rose’s apartment in New York is the best they can do — many games are in the northeast and Canada; Ilya is in Miami, so New York is a midway point. Her apartment is very private. The neighbors are all wealthy one way or another. They are discreet, though Ilya hasn’t run into anyone. Their nights in this sanctuary have been perfect. But it won’t be enough.

If they had a whole week to themselves, with no one around, maybe somewhere they could step outside and breathe some fresh…It sounds stupidly simple, but for them, they must think really hard and plan to make it possible.

He searches Shane’s face. “You want to spend more time together?”

“Of course,” Shane says, like it’s the most obvious thing.

Ilya nods. He takes a bite of the pizza and chews it slowly.

Shane is still waiting for an answer. Ilya should say yes right away. He will. But he doesn’t know why he’s stalling. He’s a little scared. If they do it, what would it mean for them? Will they be closer than they already are? What would that be?

“If you have other plans, you totally don’t have to.” Shane drops his gaze, his tone growing casual and businesslike. “I’m just planning for the break, so I wanted to, you know, ask you.”

Hearing Shane like this, dejected but pulling himself together, twists Ilya’s heart.

“Shane, I do want.” Ilya adds, “More time.”

“You do?” Shane still sounds unsteady.

“Yes.”

Shane gives him a wide grin, crinkling his eyes.

“Yes!” Shane kisses Ilya everywhere, on his face, neck, humming and giggling. “We’ll have a lot of time. Days of this.”

“Yes.” Ilya smiles, not exactly because of this plan that doesn’t have a concrete shape yet. He is simply happy to see Shane excited.

“I have a house two hours out of Ottawa, but it’s going through some renovations. They won’t be done by then. We have to find somewhere else.” Shane speaks as though he rehearsed it beforehand. Nothing is spontaneous here. Ilya doesn’t interrupt him.

Shane continues, “I’ve worked it out. One option is to come to this apartment, but I don’t know where Rose will be. I’ll have to check with her. Option two: She has a house in Hollywood. Super private. Or she can book a house for us. There are lots of houses like that in LA. Private. Has everything. That’s what I have for now.”

Ilya chuckles.

“What?”

“You really thought about these details?”

“It’s three months away. But I just want to have a solid plan.” Shane says quietly, “Because it’s with you.”

Something settles in Ilya’s chest. He tugs Shane into his arms. Shane snuggles his head into Ilya’s shoulder, making himself comfortable.

“Let me ask Svetlana. She might have more ideas.”

Ontario

Hayden’s home is a special kind of hell.

Shane likes certain things about it. The interior design is warm and family-friendly, unlike Shane’s apartment. Jackie’s cooking is as good as his mom’s. She’s the only other woman who has studied his diet. Shane really likes her bean soup. But the other things are…not so great.

Almost every time he’s here, his teammates are also invited. Not everyone on the team, but enough people that Shane has to act like the captain. It’s exhausting to pretend when he should be enjoying his time with Hayden and Jackie. Another thing is the kids. Hayden’s kids are little angels. They’re adorable when they are not yelling, or chasing each other like baby rockets, or asking Shane, “Uncle Shane, why are you eating blueberries?” (Shane: Because I like them), “Why do you like them?” (Shane: They are healthy), “Why are they healthy?” (Shane: Blueberries contain nutrients), “What are nuutriaants?” (Shane: Your body needs nutrients to grow)….”Why are blueberries blue?”

No man is strong enough for a child’s curiosity. Shane is desperate for an escape.

For some reason, Ilya’s voice pops into his head, chiding him affectionately.

You are terrible at this, Hollander.

Ilya would be great at this. A cool uncle.

Shane is sitting on the couch with two of Hayden’s kids. Jade, the oldest, is playing on an iPad. Amber, the youngest, who has been asking Shane whys, is eyeing her sister’s iPad with envy.

“It’s been ten minutes! My turn.” Amber complains to Jade in a cute voice that no adult would refuse.

“Today is my screen day!” Jade counters with no remorse.

An idea strikes him.

“Hey.” Shane tugs at Amber’s arm. She looks at him quizzically, a tiny crease in her brow. Maybe she doesn’t trust him anymore after he stopped answering her questions. “Do you want to play the game?”

Her eyes go round, now hanging on his every word. “Yeah.”

“Are you allowed to use an electronic device?”

“Yes. I’ve used mom’s phone to call dad.” She declares proudly.

“Okay, how about you use my phone? What’s the game called? I can download it.”

It turns out she’s smart and can handle it herself.

A minute later, Shane is outside in the courtyard, walking toward Jackie, who is unwrapping groceries for the barbecue.

She beams at him. “Honestly, I thought you would be quicker.”

“To do what?”

“To get away from the kids. Hayden and I have a bet. I said thirty minutes. He said an hour.”

Shane laughs. It’s been two hours since he sat down with Jade and Amber. “Well, you’re both wrong. I love them.”

Jackie gives him a knowing smile.

“So, I’ve heard a rumor,” she whispers.

Oh.

“Okay.”

He grabs a bottle of beer, scanning the courtyard. They are alone. The guys are always late. Hayden is in the house.

“Tell me about this rumored girlfriend.”

He knows her intentions are good, so he hates to lie to her. But today is not the day.

“It’s going well, I guess.”

“I’m so glad, Shane! I can finally tell all my friends you’re off the market. They can be so persistent.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He gulps down a third of the beer.

She winks at him. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know. You are the golden bachelor of the NHL. Were. Your girl is so lucky.”

Ilya’s face flashes in his mind. He wonders if Ilya would agree. There is so little Shane can promise him. No public outings. No introducing Ilya to his parents. It’s a miracle Ilya can tolerate these conditions.

“I am the lucky one,” he says.

Hayden is coming through the door, a plate balanced in his hand.

Jackie sighs. “It takes him forever to wash things.”

As Hayden approaches them, Shane sees what his friend is holding.

His phone.

He probably shouldn’t have listened to Amber and given her the phone. She could have lied about phone use.

“I was looking for you inside,” Hayden says and hands him the phone.

Shane pockets it. “Sorry. Is she not supposed to use a phone or something?”

Hayden opens his mouth, but no words come out, his eyes tracking where Shane has put away his phone.

“What is it?”

His friend still has the same half-confused, half-frozen expression.

“Hayden?” Jackie asks.

Hayden closes his mouth. He looks up at Shane. Confusion remains on his face. “Uhm, you have a new message. Amber accidentally clicked on it.”

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

Shane fumbles for his phone. It almost slips out.

He swipes several times before it’s unlocked, his hands sweating and shaking.

Ilya sent him a message.

A photo of his face and bare chest.

Oh fuck.

It could have been way worse.

But still. Fuck.

His grip falters as if he were handed the evidence of his crimes.

Can he explain it away? Every possible explanation runs through his head.

No. None of them would explain why a man would send him a photo like that without them being connected in all the wrong ways.

Up until now, an online alias and apartment walls have sheltered him. No one suspects him. He hasn’t changed in anyone’s eyes. But he’s gotten careless. They are one fucking stupid mistake away from a calamity.

“I’m sorry.”

Shane backs away from Hayden’s confused look and Jackie’s concerned eyes. He breaks into a faster pace, then he’s running to the washroom.

Thankfully, he didn’t eat much. There are only blueberries and yogurt in his stomach. Now he’s vomiting up all of it.

Shane presses down on the toilet handle. He leans back against the tiles, his chest heaving rapidly.

Hayden saw it.

Did Amber see it?

Oh my god, what have I done?

Only now has Shane cooled down enough to think it through.

The photo isn’t R-rated, but it could have been. Ilya has sent him nudes before. Shane always saves the photos. He locks them away in a hidden folder, which feels like his private treasure trove. He thought about deleting the photos from their chat history, but no one can access his phone anyway, and he’s very careful when texting in public. But he should have known. A disaster is waiting to bury him alive. The moment he grows complacent will be the fucking end.

He grips his phone, not looking at it as though he can’t quite face it yet. The bones of his knuckles are deathly white — what he probably looks like right now. A slight tremor is running through his hands. He clutches one hand with the other, like he can physically contain the tremors.

It’s good that it was Hayden. Not someone else. Hayden won’t tell this to anyone…would he?

Of course he won’t, you idiot!

Hayden will respect it. Shane is spiraling so badly that he just suspected his friend. That was fucked up.

He hears commotion outside. The guys are here. Great. He almost forgot there is a whole meal to sit through.

“Fuck,” he groans into the ceiling.

His phone lights up.

Another message.

From Ilya.

Shane really wants to check it. He could shelter in this washroom until everyone leaves. Maybe then he’ll be able to face the outside world.

Ilya might be worrying about him. Whenever Ilya sends him revealing photos, Shane is always quick to respond. If he doesn’t respond soon, Ilya will know something is wrong.

Shane unlocks his phone, his fingers still shaky, and types, At Hayden’s, I’ll get back to you.

After he hits send, he realizes how mechanical it sounds. I’ll get back to you, like he was talking to an assistant rather than his boyfriend. Why didn’t he just reply with a heart? He needs time to process what happened. He can’t let himself feel whatever Ilya’s photo should make him feel.

It’s done. He will have to think about it later. He shuts down his phone — he wants to toss it on the mirror.

Shane rinses his mouth. He studies himself in the mirror to make sure nothing is out of place.

He steps out.

People have gathered in the dining room. Jackie is asking the kids if they’ve washed their hands. Hayden is fetching food from the kitchen. Shane gives him the most normal smile he can manage.

“You okay?” Hayden asks, his eyes warm.

Shane nods.

“Food is ready. We’re just about to start. You’re right on time.” He waves at Shane to join.

The guys cheer as Shane approaches the table. Jackie drags out the chair for him.

“You good, Shane?” She whispers.

Shane casts a glance at Hayden, who returns a defeated look. Jackie knows. She’s too smart not to figure it out after Shane bolted.

He latches onto the chair as his eyes travel around the table. His teammates are just talking shit with each other. No one is paying him any attention. They don’t know. He quietly sighs in relief.

Jackie passes him a ladle. “Try my new bean soup recipe. It’s sooo good. Amber loves it. I told her it’s from your diet, now she wants to diet, too!” She laughs heartily. “Hayden explained to her why she can’t do that. She still has so many questions about it.”

Shane can finally breathe a little. “Yeah, she keeps asking me about blueberries.”

She smiles, squeezing his hand reassuringly under the table.

Shane doesn’t have much appetite. He mostly listens to his teammates babble. His stomach feels empty, but he thinks he’ll throw up again if he eats.

Halfway through the meal, his phone rings.

It’s Ilya.

Shane stares at the screen, not sure what to do. He can simply get up. Tell everyone he has to answer the phone. But he can also answer it here. Why would he need to leave the table? That’s suspicious.

“Shane, is it time now? You said you have a meeting today?” Jackie winks at him.

Thank you so much, Jackie.

It’s a decent lie. “Yes, meeting. Uhm, I have a call with a sponsor. They need to run a few last-minute changes for the next commercial.”

“Let me pack some soup for you.”

“Thank you.”

Shane says goodbye to the guys. One of them grins conspiratorially, “Captain, when are you bringing the girl?”

“Okay!” Jackie comes back just in time. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Shane feels Hayden’s eyes on his back as he finally escapes this nightmare. He can’t see Hayden’s expression, but he will apologize to Hayden.

A deep part of him is sorry for another reason. Shane is not ready for it.

When Ilya calls again, it’s nearly midnight.

Shane picks up on the first ring.

“Ilya?”

Ilya is in his bed. He seems fresh out of the shower, his hair glossy and wet in the ambient light. This Ilya is so soft. There’s water along his hairline that looks so sexy that Shane wants to lick it off.

Ilya doesn’t speak. They stare at each other before Shane has to look away.

“You were at Hayden’s place?”

“Yes.”

They fall quiet again. This makes Shane think Ilya knows something. Like he committed a crime, and Ilya can see straight through his guilt.

“You didn’t get back to me,” Ilya says.

“What?”

“You said you would get back to me. Isn’t that what you texted me?”

Shane bites down on his inner lip, his throat dry.

“Shane?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“What’s going on?”

He thought about lying. It’d be easy to say nothing. Tonight, he ran this conversation in his head countless times. But he just couldn’t think of anything that would make it better.

“When you sent that photo, Hayden’s daughter was using my phone. He saw it.”

Ilya slowly nods. He doesn’t look sorry. Shane doesn’t want Ilya to be sorry either. He made the mistake, but he does want Ilya to understand this.

“And you? What did you do?”

“I freaked out.” Shane is losing his patience. “What else do you think?”

Ilya nods again.

“I do not want to go through that again, Ilya.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do?” Ilya is taking it well. Unruffled. But Shane knows Ilya isn’t feeling this way underneath that.

“Are you not going to say something to me?”

Ilya tears away his eyes, his facade cracking. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry I caused trouble? I’m sorry your friend found out you’re gay? I’m sorry you freaked out?”

“No, I —“ Shane whips up a hand to shield his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“You are tense.”

“No shit. My boyfriend’s naked chest pic just outed me to my friend’s family, including the youngest child.”

Ilya’s lips twitch.

“I hope it amuses you.” Shane glares at him, but he means it as a joke.

“You need to relax. It’s been a while.”

Shane knows what Ilya is saying.

“I’m not sure I wanna use my phone in that way. Not today.”

“You don’t have to show me anything, though I have missed it.”

“Ilya…”

“I have missed you.” Ilya drops his voice. “Every part of you.”

Ilya’s gaze dips like he’s trying to see the parts that he has missed.

“If you are comfortable, show it to me.”

Shane grits his teeth. He clicks the flip button. His crotch appears on the screen.

“Good. Now show me.”

He lowers his pants. After a moment of hesitation, he pulls down his boxers.

“Hmmm. See? Not that difficult.”

The hum is obscene, like Ilya is tasting a delicacy in his mouth. It vibrates through Shane in a tide.

“So sensitive. I think you will be very good at phone sex.”

“Can I see you?”

“No.” Ilya wags a finger, his mouth curved into a devilish smile. “Do you have a dildo?”

Shane swallows.

“Your fancy lube, too.”

Ilya puts a hand up behind his head, looking like he has all the time in the world to wait.

Shane gets the lube and the dildo, which is tucked away at the rear of the drawer. He blushes as he sets them beside him, just slightly out of frame.

“Very good.”

His toes curl at the praises.

“Touch yourself for me, please.” Ilya says in an encouraging tone, “Don’t be shy. You will be doing it for me.”

Shane wraps his hand around his cock, giving it a long stroke.

“Hmmm.” Ilya looks at him appreciatively. “So good. You are so beautiful like this. I wish my mouth were on you right now. I am taking you so deep, deeper than I have ever done.”

Shane gasps. He raises his hips and fucks hard into his hand.

“Stop.”

“No!” But Shane stops. He can’t believe the desperation in his own voice. “Ilya, please.”

“I want to be inside you, first. Show me your hole.”

“How do I get the angle right?”

Ilya is the professional; he knows about lightning and angles. Shane is clueless about any of this.

“I don’t care. Show me it. Is mine.”

Shane tries.

Finally, when he’s in the right position, he feels exposed.

“You good?”

“Yeah, just…takes time to get used to.”

Ilya stares at his hole, not speaking, like he’s mesmerized. It elicits a moan from Shane, precum dripping from his cock.

“I miss the taste of it.”

“Fuck, Ilya.”

“That is not how you should beg.”

“Please, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me. I want you to Fuck me.”

“You have such a needy hole. Look at you. Opened up and ready.” Ilya is breathing heavily. “Do it. I will be all the way in.”

“Yes.”

Shane pumps some oil in his hand, his finger teasing the rim. He plunges it into his hole as he hears a sharp inhale from Ilya.

Once his hole is loosened up, Shane is so hard that he could explode any moment. He lets out a string of short gasps as he pushes the dildo inside.

“So good. Eyes on me.”

Shane can barely make sense of it. He starts to move.

“Oh. Fuck.” Shane moans loudly as each thrust gets him closer to the edge.

“Do you feel me, babe?”

“Hnnngh–yeah, ah–”

White lights blaze before his eyes; everything is too much and spilling out, then he’s coming all over the sheets. His legs give out. He collapses into the bed.

Shane looks back up at his phone.

Ilya has a tender smile on his face, but his eyes are a little too calm.

Before Shane can open his mouth, Ilya says, “Good night, Shane,” and hangs up.

Ilya puts down his phone.

He was waiting for Shane’s call all night, but he knew something was wrong, so Shane might not call him of his own accord. Something was wrong. Apparently, that photo outed him to Hayden. And Hayden’s daughter. Ilya feels bad about the second part. It’s good he didn’t send anything more explicit than his chest. He can’t imagine how Shane would react if he’d sent a dick pic. At least Shane didn’t scream at him, but it would be…reasonable? Ilya can let Shane put him through worse if it means he gets to keep what they have. What they have is worth it, Ilya thinks. It’s worth a lot more. When his father was alive, the old man used to say he’d never be enough. For hockey, for their family, for the country.

“Where have you been?”

“The rink.”

“Why are you back early?”

“Our practice finished early today.”

“So you think that gave you permission to be lazy?”

“No, Sir.”

“Go back.”

But I hit my shoulder today. The doctor told me to rest.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Your mother thought you had the talent, but what would she say if she saw you now? You are wasting your talent and what I have provided for you. It’s a shame.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“There is no use in being sorry. Get out of my sight.”

Ilya looks at himself in the mirror. The old man turned out to be right after all. Ilya left hockey. He has become a man his family was ashamed of. After he started OnlyFans, the old man never spoke to him again, didn’t even pass a message through Alexei. Ilya knows what kind of man his father was, what kind of man his brother is. Nothing he does would make them see him differently.

When Shane told him what his photo had done, Ilya was paralyzed — he held it together, and Shane didn’t notice it. He knew Shane wasn’t angry at him, but Shane also said it could not happen again. Ilya doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do next. Maybe he should have asked. Will our texts be PG-13 from now on? But Shane sounded anxious and upset and probably wouldn’t know what to do either. Ilya could only apologize and comfort Shane in the way he couldn’t mess up. He isn’t the best at words, and if he had opened his mouth, he might have said what he truly felt — that the photo shouldn’t be a big deal. Hayden is your friend; he won’t tell people, and I’m sure he wants to support you, if he is a real friend, have you spoken to him afterwards? Instead, Ilya had stayed silent. Shane might have needed to hear these words because no one else knows, and no one is going to say it to him except Ilya. But Ilya was scared. I do not want to go through that again, Ilya.

Ilya never imagined their first phone sex to be under these circumstances. It was still intense, and Shane always has that effect on him. Ilya was hard from beginning to finish. But towards the end, he couldn’t wait to hang up because it didn’t feel right to pleasure Shane when he swallowed all the unsaid things, letting them rot in his stomach. At least Shane enjoyed the sex. That was the only good thing that came out of it.

His phone starts ringing. He pads back to the bedroom. For a second, he imagines it’s Shane calling. Their call was too short. He couldn’t even take in Shane properly.

But of course it’s Svetlana.

“You still awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Trouble sleeping again?”

“No. Just a late night. Did Alexei decide not to come?”

His brother is determined to visit the U.S. this summer. He’ll bring his wife and daughter, Ilya tells himself he’s only doing it for his sister-in-law and niece. Before Ilya agreed to arrange the visit, Alexei would accuse Ilya of the usual bullshit — dirty whore, heartless bastard, abandoning his closest family. The piece of shit has been quiet after seeing his plane tickets, which are enough to shut him up for a while. Ilya can’t help but feel he’s making a colossal mistake by having his brother here. He won’t do this kind of charity again.

Svetlana sighs. “Ilya, let’s not talk about it now. You need to sleep after this.”

“So, not that.”

“There’s an agreement, yes? I’ll find a tour guide to take care of them. We won’t have to meet him. If you don’t want to breathe the same air as him, I don’t know, go to California for two weeks.“

“I know.” Ilya glances down at the Rolex lying on the nightstand. He runs his thumb over the cold diamond around the dial. “Shane is planning a summer vacation. Not a vocation, more like…some time to be together. We’re looking for a place.”

“That’s perfect! Go somewhere else when your brother is here.“

“We are not sure where to go yet. His friend, Rose, has an apartment in New York and a house in LA. We could stay at one of her places.”

“Or, he could come along to our vocation.”

Shane’s face from their call flashes in his mind. I do not want to go through that again, Ilya.

“He must have privacy. We can’t go to a beach.”

“Oh.” Her voice falls. “He said that? I’m sure some beaches will be fine. You can even rent a beach, you know.”

Ilya rubs his eyes, resting his forehead on the glass, his legs losing strength. He’s suddenly exhausted. “It’s not about that. He…just doesn’t want to be outside, unless it’s totally private. A beach is too exposed.”

“But we always go to a beach.”

“I know.” Ilya bites his lips. “I am sorry. We can have separate plans. If you want to meet him, come with me to New York next time?”

“Don’t say sorry,” she says fiercely. “What’s going on, Ilya? You’re a little weird tonight.”

“Nothing. Tired.”

“Hmm. Can I stop by tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I will order takeout.”

“I’ll do it. It’s my turn!”

Columbus

Shane waves at Rose from the rink. She has a three-week break, and she’s gone full supportive best friend mode, coming to his playoff games. The first few times, the press went crazy. They aren’t dating anymore, but she’s still a big actress. Photos of her from every angle inside the arena were posted and reposted. Since then, people have been more normal about it. There are always dating rumors about them, a tweet or two that analyzes why Shane Hollander and Rose Landry are disguising their relationship as friendship, but most people had moved on when they publicly broke up. The most recent article about them is titled “Are there Better Exes than Rose Landry and Shane Hollander?” The article details how they’ve supported each other after their split, her going to his games, him going to her movie premieres. Shane finds it hilarious.

After the game, Shane has a reason to skip the celebration. Rose’s friend owns a restaurant in the city, and he has invited them to a twelve-course menu. Shane won’t say no to that. His teammates all have a curious expression as Shane leaves with her. They know he has a “girlfriend”, but they also know the “girlfriend” is not Rose. Shane knows what they’re thinking. Any girl would be jealous when he’s hanging out with Rose Landry all the time.

They have their table until the restaurant closes. Before the waiter can fill their cups, Rose asks him excitedly, “So, how’s it going with Mr. Rozanov?”

Shane fiddles with his phone. Since that night, Ilya hasn’t mentioned Hayden or the incident again. Ilya also hasn’t sent him anything other than pure texts. No photos, no videos. Well, there have been photos, just not of Ilya. Regular photos of Ilya’s meals, the view outside his windows.

“It’s okay. It’s, uhm, I think I—” He takes a deep breath. “I was at Hayden’s house, and I gave my phone to his daughter, Amber. Ilya sent me a…” He breaks off. Rose listens, her eyes squarely on him. “Hayden found out. About me.”

Rose leans across the table to hold his hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Hayden was…it was alright.”

She smiles warmly.

“It’s just…I think I said something to Ilya, maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“What did you say?”

“Something like I don’t want that to happen again.” As Shane says it out loud, a sour taste festers in his mouth.

“Oh, Shane.”

“I’m sorry—I.”

She squeezes his hand, her tone understanding. “I’m not the one you owe an apology to.”

New York

Shane’s summer break is starting earlier than expected — they lost the Cup. He has been very good this season, but it’s hard to defend the champion title three years in a row. If they had won, they would have made history. It takes him a few days to reorient his mind. After hockey obligations are done, his attention shifts to Ilya, who has been nothing but supportive through it all, which makes Shane feel like a massive asshole after what already happened. He will make up for it. They’re spending a weekend together at Rose’s again, and Shane has been preparing.

Rose, or her assistant, has been helping him. Shane has learned a great deal about how to procure the highest quality goods in this city. Bouquets, groceries, candles, wines. Before Rose flew to LA, she left a gift on the kitchen counter, with a note that says, “They are your size, washed, have fun,” and a wink. He rips open the package. Inside is a white, side-buttoned thong and a lace tank top that looks so tight that he doubts it’s gonna fit.

“Oh my god, Rose. What did you get me?” Shane tilts his head back, groaning into the empty apartment.

Ilya will arrive in the evening. Shane lights the candles, heats the food (he’s not cooking just in case something goes horribly wrong), and takes a long, thorough shower, all the while a single question is circling in his mind. Should I wear Rose’s gifts?

He is inwardly grateful that Rose got them for him because he would never go out of his way to buy lacy stuff. An image that’s been replaying in his head for the past few hours is from one of Ilya’s OnlyFans videos. In the video, Ilya was taking off the lacy underwear of a co-star. Shane imagines Ilya doing the same for him, kissing his cock as he licks the lace wet with that talented tongue. Shane’s legs shake in the shower from the imagery, his hand drifting downward. No. Shane presses his body against the glass just for some pathetic friction and tries to feel the man who isn’t here yet. He must wait.

When Shane opened the door for him, for a second, Ilya thought Rose’s apartment had undergone a remodel.

But as Ilya studies the living room, he realizes the only difference is the flowers, rose petals, candles, and very dim lamps. You would think this was the set of a romance movie.

“Welcome,” Shane opens his arms, then drops them like he isn’t sure how to greet Ilya. Ilya finally sees what this is. All the romantic shit in the apartment. He suppresses a smile, thinking how cute Shane must have looked when he frowned because he couldn’t decide which type of flowers or brand of candles to use. This alone is enough to make Ilya carve out more of himself and offer it to Shane on a platter.

But Shane’s efforts have delighted him so much that Ilya wants to play around a bit.

Ilya slides a neutral expression over his face. “What is this?”

“Oh, uhm.” Shane is visibly nervous now, fidgeting with the leaf of a rose resting in a vase. “I’ve been wanting to — after that day at Hayden’s house, what I said was…” He closes his eyes briefly and opens them, his gaze falling directly on Ilya, filled with regret and a tinge of sadness. “It wasn’t okay. I was scared and didn’t know what to do, but it wasn’t okay to treat you like that. I am sorry. And that night over the phone, you shouldn’t have apologized. It wasn’t your fault. When we…I was selfish. You made me feel good, and I didn’t know how you felt because I was being selfish.”

Well, Ilya wasn’t expecting that. This might be the first time Shane has said this many words to him, and it’s an apology. Honestly, if Shane hadn’t brought this up, Ilya would have forgotten about it. He told himself it shouldn’t be a big deal, that it was all part of the privacy Shane wanted. But deep down, Ilya is not sorry for it because he doesn’t want to hide who he is. In the weeks since the photo incident, Ilya hasn’t sent Shane any photos or videos of himself. He gave what Shane asked for, but sometimes he almost lost his restraint and contemplated whether he should just send Shane his entire nudity album just to make a point. He wouldn’t actually do it because he really believes Shane might never talk to him again. That’s the problem. Ilya isn’t sure how long Shane can take this relationship without a major breakdown. What if they are caught? Would that be the last straw for Shane?

Ilya mulls over what Shane just said. He slowly nods, and the tension leaves Shane’s body. Shane still looks unsure as he takes Ilya’s hands.

“I should have never said that. Please send me your sexy photos. I miss them.” Shane stares at Ilya, his gaze lowering to Ilya’s lips.

“Will it happen again?”

Shane’s eyes flutter in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You freaking out. If something worse happens, will you break up with me?”

“No, of course not.” Shane sounds as if he can’t believe Ilya would even suggest such a thing. His grip on Ilya tightens. “I mean, I would still freak out, but you’ll be just as important to me, no matter what happens. What made you think that?”

Ilya shrugs. “Secrecy is important to you, right? I don’t know. I’m doing my best to give you that, I guess.”

“Ilya.” Shane pulls him into his arms, burying his face in Ilya’s neck. “I’m so sorry. I’m — I,” He sniffles, his voice broken and rough. “I won’t let you feel this way again. I promise. But you must let me know, please?”

Ilya nods again. He fists Shane’s hair lightly, planting a tender kiss on his temple.

“I’ll go to your house this summer. In Miami. I want to be with you where you live,” Shane says.

He wants to come to my home, sleep in my bedroom, and share my shower. A wave of elation floods Ilya. Then he remembers Alexei is coming, and his house isn’t exactly a normal home. Several rooms are his workspace, with beds where he fucks other people.

“No pressure, though,” Shane adds. “I’m just curious, and I don’t think I know enough about you, so I would love to go, if you’ll have me.”

“Yes,” Ilya says without further hesitation. He’ll sort it out later. Move things around and maybe temporarily go to other shooting locations. Svetlana will be thrilled. “You’ll meet my best friend again. She asked about you.”

Shane smiles, his freckles dancing on his cheeks. “Let’s eat?”

“Yes, I am hungry.”

Ilya slams his mouth against Shane’s as his hands go under Shane’s hoodie to explore those powerful muscles.

His fingers come into contact with something soft. Lace.

Shane curses, suddenly flustered. “Oh god, I didn’t want you to find out right now! We’re going to have dinner first!”

Ilya is still too stunned to speak.

“Come, the food is getting cold.” Shane tugs at his hand, but Ilya isn’t listening.

“You are in lingerie. For me?”

Shane rolls his eyes like Ilya is overreacting. “Who else would it be for? We should eat now.”

They are not eating a stupid dinner.

Ilya crowds him against the back of the couch. Shane flops over, landing on the mountain of cushions, and Ilya maneuvers on top of him.

“The only thing I’m eating is your ass,” Ilya snarls.

Shane’s entire body shakes, humming in anticipation as Ilya lifts the hoodie and exhales loudly at what he’s seeing. A white, lacy, corset-shaped top tight around Shane’s muscular body.

“Fuck.” Ilya runs his hand over the material, feeling Shane’s muscles rippling underneath his touch.

“Do you like it?” Shane’s eyes are like saucers, glimmering in the candlelight.

Ilya has no words to describe how intoxicated he is at this moment. The sight of his man, always so strong and a force of nature on ice, but so pliant and sensitive underneath him, craving for his attention. It’s headier than any vodka.

He laps at the intricate patterns, doing what his tongue is best at. Shane groans as Ilya scrapes the lace with his teeth and pulls it up inch by inch.

“Who got you this?” Ilya asks. “Fancy brand. You wouldn’t know it.”

Shane glances away, blushing furiously. “Rose.”

“Only I get you lingerie next time,” Ilya says firmly, like there’s no room for negotiation. Shane has a dizzy look in his eyes. He repeats dumbly, “Yes, only you get me lingerie.”

Ilya growls as he tugs down Shane’s pants. To his delight, Shane has a matching thong tied around his waist and wrapping his cock like a gift.

He kisses the tip of Shane’s cock, twirling his tongue over it. “Mmmmphh, beautiful.”

“Ilya…Fuck.” Shane clenches Ilya’s hair, kicking his legs uselessly as though Ilya would easily give him what he wants.

Ilya breathes Shane in deeply. “You smell so good here. I will make you feel so good.”

Shane catches Ilya’s chin and looks down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He murmurs, “I want to make you feel good, too.”

Ilya falls quiet for a while, just staring at Shane and absently rubbing the freckles over his hipbone.

At last, Ilya says, “You do.” You make me feel good every second. I am saved because of you.

“Uhm, we probably shouldn’t…on Rose’s couch,” Shane says, his breathing uneven.

Ilya groans.

“We’ll have to replace it if it gets dirty,” Shane adds.

Ilya eyes the couch for a moment. “If you come all over it, I’ll buy it from her.”

Shane looks exasperated.

“Fine.” Ilya pushes himself off the couch. Shane gasps as Ilya lifts him, carrying him in his arms.

“Put me down!” Shane protests, though his arms find their way around Ilya’s neck.

Ilya tips his head back and laughs, feeling like a king who’s carrying his beloved consort off to the bedroom. Shane is heavy with those hard muscles, but Ilya is strong enough to hold his man.

“Do not resist, or I will drop you,” Ilya whispers in Shane’s ear.

Shane snorts, turning his head away. But Ilya doesn’t miss the crimson rising on Shane’s cheeks.

Ilya walks steadily through the corridor to the guest bedroom. The lingerie teases Ilya with each step and bump. I’m going to ruin you, baby.

He kicks open the door, which bounces wildly. His grip on Shane tightens in anticipation.

“Shit, Ilya, the door!”

“You should worry about your ass right now,” Ilya growls as he takes three long steps and lays Shane on the bed.

Shane falls back on his elbows, the lingerie and naked skin on full display for Ilya. The top piece is rolled up, exposing his sculpted abs, but just low enough to hide his nipples like forbidden fruit. It’s chaste and obscene at the same time. Ilya makes a guttural sound as he crawls towards this beautiful man, opening his legs for Ilya to use and take.

Ilya stares down at Shane. His thighs are slightly parted in a kneeling position, his cock visibly bulging in his jeans. He pats his thigh and instructs, “Come. Take it out and make it nice and wet so I can properly fuck you.”

A tiny whine escapes Shane’s throat. But he instantly obeys like a man hungry for cock. Shane unzips Ilya’s jeans and pulls them down with the boxer.

“Nuh-uh.” Ilya gives him a crooked smile. “Just my cock. Is it not enough to satisfy you? So greedy.”

Shane glares at him, but it’s cute and not threatening at all, and it only makes Ilya want to fuck into that tight, warm throat right fucking now.

Ilya grabs Shane’s chin and brings it to his cock, a bead of precum hanging on the tip. Shane stares at it and licks his lips like he has been starving for it.

Seeing Shane like this floods Ilya with lust.

“Fuck.“ Ilya can’t wait any longer.

He pokes a thumb into Shane’s mouth to open it up and thrusts his cock inside. The first few thrusts are shallow as Shane loosens up, preparing to take Ilya deeper. All the while, Shane’s eyes are on him, unblinking, worshiping him with focus and desire.

“You —“ Ilya is momentarily lost for words. His brain is empty, but his body knows exactly what to do. His hips start to move faster, plunging into Shane’s perfect throat. Then Shane does a small squeezing motion, just as Ilya has done for him many times before.

“Fuck!” Ilya says breathlessly, “You have learned it.”

Shane swallows Ilya’s cock to the hilt, his eyes glassy and filled with surrender like he’s telling Ilya to do whatever he pleases with him. He feasts and slurps as though Ilya’s cock were his only meal in days.

“Okay. Okay.” Ilya has to pull away before he comes into this hungry little throat.

Ilya points at the pillows. “Get down and be good. I am going to prep you.”

He bends over to the nightstand to pump some oil into his hands. Shane watches as Ilya slicks his cock with oil, the rest of him still fully clothed.

“Can I see you now?” Shane asks as though the blowjob should have earned him the right. The lingerie is wet from the sweat and Shane’s precum. Ilya keeps stroking himself as he says in an unhurried voice, “I think we will do something different tonight. You will have the lingerie on — that’s your clothes — to cover your cock. And those nipples.” Ilya’s eyes slowly rake over Shane’s cock and nipples, hard under the thin fabric, with no intention to touch them yet. “My clothes stay on, too, except you just took out my cock, and I’m sure you want it the most. So, it stays out, also because I need to use that hot—tight—hole, to fuck you until you come.”

Shane grows more desperate with each word. Then he nods.

“Please,” Shane says. It doesn’t sound like begging, rather, an earnest invitation. He pulls up his legs to his chest, vulnerable and completely open for Ilya as Ilya slides his fingers into the crack, grazing the hole, which clenches a little as though it needs Ilya’s fingers inside right away, so hungry and sensitive. Ilya eases a finger into the hole, and Shane sighs, wrapping his arms around Ilya to get comfortable. It’s not meant to be a sexy thing, but it feels so natural and intimate. Ilya adds two more fingers and presses on the spot that he knows so well at this point. Shane’s entire body writhes, narrowing around the pleasure on Ilya’s fingertips.

“Ilya — Ilya…”

Shane is chanting his name like it’s sacred.

The thick tip of his cock pushes into Shane’s hole, oiled and wide open for him. There’s a brief silence when they look into each other’s eyes. As he sinks into Shane, Ilya thinks his heart stops for a second.

I love you. I love you so much.

Shane’s moan becomes breathy gasps. “Can…can you kiss me? Please.”

Ilya leans down, and their mouths crash into each other in the middle, Shane gasping into the kiss as Ilya starts to thrust inside him.

“Shane…you, ahhh —“ Ilya shoves his cock into the hole more roughly, all the way to the place that belongs to him, his balls smacking Shane’s ass in quick, wet noises. The tingling friction from the lingerie as his cock moves in and out is driving him crazy.

“Oh my god, you’re so — so perfect.” His mouth is all over Shane with savage kisses. “So fucking perfect.”

Shane drives his hips to meet Ilya on each thrust, and a little moan would slip out of his lips, his nails digging into the dimples on Ilya’s back. Then Shane’s eyes are losing focus, but the heat in them is burning hotter.

“Ahhhhh.” Shane moans into Ilya’s mouth when Ilya withdraws and dives into him in a single, powerful thrust. He kisses Ilya frantically, lapping and sucking Ilya’s throat, “Ilya, I’m — I think I’m —“

Shane’s cock is jutting out against the fabric that looks like it might snap any moment. Ilya changes his mind about what he said earlier. He rips the thong off.

Snap!

“Fuck!” Shane’s cock springs free, and a second later, hot, white cum spills everywhere between them. Ilya smears it on his finger and feeds them into Shane’s mouth, fucking that throat with the same rhythm as his cock.

Shane tries to take his fingers as much as he can, his body unwinding and losing strength after the orgasm. He whimpers and squirms as Ilya’s cock shows no signs of slowing down.

“Is good?” Ilya searches those dark eyes.

Shane nods, his face utterly trusting.

Ilya kisses him fully on the mouth, a thumb still inside, Shane’s mouth slack and receiving. Ilya glances at where they’re connected, his cock buried in Shane’s hole so perfectly like that’s where it should be. Shane’s cock has softened after he came, but his hole is taking Ilya like it has no limits and will give Ilya anything, such a talented hole, and it belongs to Ilya. His thrusts are getting unforgiving. It would be nice if his cock could stamp this hole somehow, tattoo his name on it. Ilya laughs at the insanity of it.

“What?” Shane asks, smiling dreamily at him.

“I want you to get a tattoo.” Ilya rubs at the rim, his voice raucous. “Here. Next to your hole. The tattoo should be my name.”

Shane’s eyes go wide and shift to where their bodies are joined. He flicks his eyes back to Ilya, and Ilya can hear Shane’s mind working and seriously considering it.

“Fuck. Is a joke.” Ilya can’t believe this. “You were going to say yes?”

Shane looks away as if caught red-handed. “No, of course not!”

“Yes, you were.” Oh my god, he wants my name stamped next to his hole.

Ilya devours that lying mouth because what it was really going to say yes, yes, as in “I want your name written next to my hole.” Fuck.

His cock twitches and fills Shane with thick, copious cum. Shane mewls, his hole clenching tighter like it’s keeping every drop inside.

“Fuck. Oh Fuck.” Ilya collapses on top of Shane, drizzling soft kisses along Shane’s jaw.

“That was —“ Shane titters.

“Fuck.”A raspy laughter bursts out of Ilya.

“Yeah, fuck.”

Shane cradles Ilya’s face, looking at Ilya intently. Those eyes have stars.

Miami

“Mr. Hollander, nice to finally meet you again.”

Shane smiles at Svetlana as she takes the backpack from him and pushes it into the trunk. He and Ilya have agreed that it’s safer for her to pick him up at the airport. Miami is Ilya’s home turf, and Ilya had warned him, “You’d be surprised how many people have recognized me in this city.” For two weeks, they’ll be staying strictly inside his house, but Shane doesn’t expect to get bored.

With his sunglasses on, Shane scans the traffic around them.

“Don’t worry. It’s normal for a beautiful lady to pick up her handsome boyfriend,” she teases.

“Oh.” He lets out an embarrassed laugh. “I’m not worried about that. It’s just — well, I’ve never done this before.”

“Visiting a boyfriend at his home?”

He nods, a little impressed that she can read him so well.

“There has to be a first, right? Ilya is really happy you decided to come here.” She smiles warmly at her friend’s name. “Let’s get inside the car.”

The car is a dark blue Cayenne. Shane doesn’t remember if this is the same car she invited him into months ago. This car smells like Ilya’s cologne—something about the simplicity of the interior that screams Ilya.

“Is this your car?”

“Oh no, it’s Ilya. He couldn’t come in person, but he wanted his car to be here.” She glances at him with a knowing, amused expression.

That’s really cute of Ilya.

Shane can’t help but smile. The tension in his body since boarding the flight in Toronto is slowly vanishing. They had called right before he got onto the plane. Ilya said he had a bad dream last night; in the dream, they were both in the NHL and secretly together, and Ilya’s team was in a plane crash, and he thought he was going to die. Ilya kept saying how the dream felt so real and wanted Shane to cancel his ticket. Shane promised him it was just a dream, whispering assurances to him through the phone and hating the vast distance between them. Now he’s here, and Ilya is waiting for him.

“So, did Ilya show you what he did with the house?” Svetlana’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

Svetlana hums thoughtfully, amusement sparkling in her eyes. Most of Ilya’s work is done in the house. There are rooms for filming. It’s like, you know, a normal workspace.”

Shane already knows, but acts surprised anyway. “Oh! That sounds like a good design choice. No commute.”

She laughs, though her eyes give him a scrutinizing look.

“You never wondered?” Her tone grows curious. “Have you seen his OnlyFans page?”

“I mean —“ He shakes his head on instinct. “I know it exists. Obviously. Ilya sends me too many pictures of himself naked. Isn’t that like having a premium subscription or something?” He groans, “Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. We’re together, and I don’t need—“

He waves a hand, not sure how to explain himself.

“It’s okay if watching him with other people turns you on,” she chimes in.

“No, we don’t want a threesome.”

“I’m talking about that. I said watching.”

She’s treading dangerously close to the truth. He contemplates whether he should just tell her he was probably one of Ilya’s highest-paying subscribers. He still hasn’t opened OnlyFans since the beginning of their relationship.

When they arrive, Ilya isn’t at the front door. Shane notices a familiar corner of the kitchen he’s seen in Ilya’s videos on OnlyFans. Shit.

“Ilya?” Svetlana shouts into the spacious house.

“Almost!” Ilya’s voice drifts from upstairs.

“Told you to make up your mind about clothes,” she murmurs.

“Clothes?” Is Ilya dressing up for him?

Svetlana releases a dramatic sigh. “You’ll see. Okay, my job is finished. He’s all yours, or you’re all his, I guess.”

She winks before closing the door behind her.

A moment later, Ilya is coming down the stairs and towards him in quicker steps, then swoops him up.

“Whoa!” Shane grapples with Ilya’s shoulders to steady himself.

“You’re here.”

Ilya puts him down, gripping his face tightly, which hurts a little, and Ilya realizes it when Shane winces.

“Sorry.” Ilya slides his hands down to Shane’s throat like he’s checking the pulse there.

“It’s okay.” Shane opens his arms. “See, I’m in one piece. It was just a dream.”

Ilya nods absently, the muscles in his neck tense. Then Shane notices Ilya’s clothes. Or, the lack of it. Ilya is only wearing a pair of drawstring sleep pants.

Shane tugs at Ilya’s pants, his eyebrows raised, “Took you a long time to put these on?”

Ilya grabs his chin to kiss him in a punishing way as if to say shut up.

“Other questions?” Ilya asks roughly, his mouth hovering over Shane’s parted lips.

Shane keeps nuzzling Ilya’s face, feeling his man’s solid and warm skin.

“Okay! Time for a house tour.” Ilya finds his hand, threading their fingers.

“Ilya.”

“Hmm?”

Shane swallows. A heaviness builds up in his stomach. “Before you do that, I — okay, I don’t know why I haven’t done this earlier, and I should have. But.” He holds onto Ilya more tightly, needing this physical connection. “So, before that night at the restaurant, I knew you when you played hockey. You were always in the back of my mind, and…”

Ilya’s expression shifts to alarm. “Shane, is this a speech? You’re not proposing to me, are you?” Mischief flickers in those hazel eyes.

“No. Wait, what? No, I wanna talk about what you just said later.” Shane is dizzy all of a sudden, and he can’t tell if it’s from nervousness or the whole proposal thing Ilya just threw at him. “What I wanted to say was, in between all those years ago and last year, I followed what you were doing. With OnlyFans.”

Ilya doesn’t blink, his eyes expectant.

“Uhm, I don’t think I ever made that super clear?” Shane says shakily.

“Okay, you liked my porn. So?” Ilya lifts a shoulder like this isn’t news to him. “I would be shocked if you had a crush on me and found out I did sex work, but didn’t check out my porn once.“

Shane grimaces. “I did. You looked so good back then. It was impossible not to like it. I mean, still do. You look better now.”

They chuckle, Ilya grinning confidently, though an adorable blush stains his cheeks.

“Right. But it was more than that.” The words just start tumbling out. “You see, I really, really liked you-and-I-think-I-must-have-been-obsessed-or-something-because…because I, uhm, I was a longtime…you know. Customer.”

Ilya remains quiet and still, his eyebrows going higher and higher.

“You paid for the porn?”

Shane doesn’t say yes, but his silence is enough.

Sudden laughter from Ilya gives him a jolt. Ilya is staring at him with a delight that comes from newfound knowledge.

“So you were one of my clients. Wait, I want to guess which one.” Ilya immediately pulls out his phone. After a few taps, he murmurs, “Let me see. Probably the most boring one. Not hard to find. Ah!”

Of course, Ilya would guess correctly right away. Shane must be the most chaste texter on Ilya’s phone.

“janeislookingforaman? Profile picture is a silly cat.”

“It’s not silly!”

“Yes, it is.” Ilya wipes his face, flushed from all the laughing. His gleeful expression slowly turns into a smile. “I was right.”

“About what?”

“When you stopped texting, I thought you found a man. And you did.”

Ilya rubs the freckles on Shane’s cheeks with the pad of his thumb. Shane leans into the touch, and Ilya tugs him into his arms.

“You didn’t have to tell me everything. We all have secrets,” Ilya says.

Shane pulls back a little to look at him. “Yes, I did. What do you mean?”

“I mean, some things are private.”

“But would you tell me? Those things.”

Ilya hasn’t told him everything. Any mention of Russia is always a conversation killer.

“Maybe.” Ilya hugs him again, so Shane can’t see his face. He says with a muffled sigh against Shane’s neck, “Maybe.”

Shane tightens his arms, silently telling Ilya he is safe to talk about those things to him.

“Now.” Ilya blows into Shane’s ear, his tone playful. “You will read out every text you sent as Jane. If you read a word wrong, you have to start the sentence again. And you will read all of them with your man’s cock in your ass, Jane.”

“Do you never fold your clothes?”

Shane examines the mess that is Ilya’s closet, hands on his hips. They just woke up ten minutes ago, and this is their third argument.

First, Shane becomes jealous after seeing the double sink, one side of which is lined with skincare products that clearly belong to a woman. Of course, it’s Svetlana, so his jealousy is misplaced, but it made Ilya very smug. Shane regrets not coming here sooner. He knows Ilya and Svetlana are close, but using the same sink! He didn’t have the same treatment until this morning!

Then, they had a debate about the placement of the trash can, which is next to the vanity. Ilya explained that Svetlana had moved it there because she wouldn’t have to walk across the massive washroom to throw away a face mask or some trash from her beauty products. Shane thinks the trash can is too far from the toilet. He argued, “If I take a shit, I have to throw the toilet paper into the trash can like a basketball?” Ilya demonstrated that he can make the shot from the toilet, and they almost had a competition to see who had better accuracy at throwing paper balls.

Now, Shane is contemplating whether his boyfriend knows how to fold clothes.

“If I fold them and need to find something, I’ll mess them up anyway!” Ilya comes out of the washroom and wraps his arms around him from behind.

“Then don’t mess them up?” Shane picks out a shirt. “You should hang your shirts. It’s all wrinkled.”

“Housekeeping does that. I tell them which ones to iron.”

Shane snorts. “They must think you’re a giant infant.”

“A giant infant can make you moan like that, hmm?” Ilya squeezes Shane’s ass, sucking on his earlobe.

Shane sinks further into Ilya’s arms. A tiny whine escapes from his throat.

“Okay, I’m going to make us breakfast.”

Ilya releases him, and Shane almost chases Ilya’s touch, but he perks up at the mention of breakfast.

“Breakfast?”

“What, don’t look so hungry like I didn’t feed you properly last night.” Ilya winks and gives his ass another squeeze as if to assert possession. “Get dressed. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Shane turns his attention to the pile of clothes spilling out of the closet. He needs a fresh shirt — he brought extra shirts with him, yet he just wants an excuse to wear one of Ilya’s shirts.

He gathers all the clothes in his arms and dumps them on the bed.

“Jesus, what am I doing?”

He’s making you breakfast while you fold his clothes.

Shane won’t have enough time to organize all of the clothes — the breakfast will be ready soon, but he can categorize them. Shirts, T-shirts, tank tops, and some tops in irregular shapes. As he shakes open one shirt, something made of metal falls out and clinks on the floor.

He squints his eyes.

It’s a necklace. With a cross.

Ilya’s necklace that he wore all the time.

Ilya had lost it. It belongs to someone important to Ilya.

Shane carefully folds it in his palm like it was the most precious thing he’s ever held.

He goes downstairs.

Ilya is getting bacon out of the oven. The bacon isn’t for Shane because Ilya will make two separate meals; he is learning Shane’s diet. On the counter is a blender with green juice in it. Shane smells the oats from the steaming pot.

“Ah, took you so long to put clothes on. Not an easy decision, yes?” Ilya glances at him, with a grin on his face and a tray of sizzling bacon in one hand. Like how Ilya greeted him yesterday, Shane decided not to wear a top. Not his usual way, but it feels right.

“I have a surprise for you,” Shane says.

Ilya seems genuinely surprised, arching his eyebrows. “Oh? Not another watch?”

“Nope. I think it’s better.” Shane slowly approaches him for a little suspense. He’ll be so happy that he didn’t lose it after all. “Close your eyes.”

Ilya hums. He pointedly looks at Shane’s closed fist. “Okay.”

Shane holds the cross as he fastens it around Ilya’s neck. Then he lets go of the cross.

The second the metal lands on Ilya’s skin, Ilya visibly trembles. His eyes snap open.

Ilya stares down at the cross with wonder and disbelief.

“Where, how…” Ilya scoops the cross into his hand and studies it intensely, like he’s really missed it and thought he would never see it again. He unconsciously cradles Shane’s neck as Shane steps even closer, their bare chests brushing together — he knows this means a lot to Ilya. Although Ilya hasn’t told him why, he still wants to feel this special moment with his man.

“It was in that closet. Must have gotten rolled up in those clothes,” Shane says.

Ilya simply stares at it for a long time. Then his eyes flick to Shane, the softest smile forming on his lips.

“Is a sign. I think,” Ilya murmurs.

“What sign?”

After a pause, Ilya says quietly, “This was my mother’s. I wore it every day after she passed. When it was my father’s death anniversary this year, I forgot about the date, and the next day, I lost it. It was like — the universe took it away to punish me. I looked everywhere…” Ilya closes his eyes briefly as though the memory hurts him. Shane silently vows he will do everything to wipe that pained expression from Ilya’s face forever. Ilya continues, “Remember when I accidentally called you, but I meant to call Svetlana? That was the day.”

Ilya breaks into a full smile, the darkness and pain vanishing. “Now, you found it for me. A sign that Irina approves of you.”

Shane can’t think of anything more elegant to say. The possibility that Ilya’s mom is watching over them is their version of being blessed by God. “Irina? It’s a beautiful name.”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask — how did she…” Shane gently runs his hands across Ilya’s chest to rest on his shoulders. It’s a comforting gesture, his way of saying to Ilya, I’m here with you, and you can tell me anything.

Ilya blinks spasmodically, his breathing heavy through his nose. There’s a grim but quiet light in his eyes.

“Suicide.”

Oh. Shane swallows. His hands come up to Ilya’s neck to provide an anchor.

“I’m sorry.”

Ilya shakes his head. “A long time ago.”

“What about your father?”

“He died several years ago. After I came here. I have a brother back in Russia. They are…not the best people. We don’t have to talk about them.”

Shane clenches his jaw. Why didn’t he ask Ilya sooner? Ilya has been dealing with this alone. Scorching anger rises inside Shane, anger at himself, anger at Ilya’s father and brother for making Ilya sound like he’s not loved.

“I want you to talk about them. To me. If you are comfortable. I want to know all of it.”

Ilya snuffles, a sad smile tugging at his lips. He turns away to the kitchen counter, ending the topic. “Nah. Not right now. It will ruin the whole day.”

“Hey.” Shane pulls him back. “Look at me.”

It takes Ilya a few seconds to do it. Ilya’s gaze is measured. Careful. Like he isn’t sure how Shane will react and doesn’t want Shane to think differently of him.

“Your mom loved you. She loves you now. At the place she has gone,” Shane says firmly.

Ilya freezes, his face crumbling just a fraction.

Shane looks directly into Ilya’s eyes. A tightness builds up in his throat at what he’s about to say. “She loved you. Just like how I love you.”

Ilya’s eyes widen before he collapses into Shane’s arms as though he can finally relax after many years.

“I love you,” Shane says again, like it will give Ilya even more relief. He’ll say it a million times if it can take away all the dark things Ilya had to keep while he was helpless and alone.

Ilya leans back slightly to look at him. Those hazel eyes shine with trust and tenderness. “I love you, too.”

That afternoon, Ilya is going out to buy more ingredients for Shane’s diet because apparently Shane prefers specific brands. Shane said those brands aren’t necessary, but Ilya wants it to be perfect.

As Ilya gets dressed, Shane walks into the bedroom. Irina’s necklace has found its way back to Ilya. Now, every time Ilya puts it on, he feels more weight on this small piece of metal. It always has Irina. But it also has Shane now. The two people he loves the most.

Shane comes up to him, holding the watch. Ilya hasn’t worn it a lot. It’s mostly a token he goes to whenever he’s thinking about Shane.

“Don’t forget this,” Shane says.

Ilya bares his wrist, and Shane straps on the watch for him.

“It won’t take long. I’ll try to be quick,” Ilya promises.

“Some of the brands might be hard to find on the shelves.” Shane sounds a bit embarrassed about it, like it’s a nuisance to get the right brands, though Ilya has said repeatedly that he wants to do this for him. He pecks Ilya on the mouth and says, “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

Ilya responds with a fiercer kiss. They kiss like the day is endless.

They have the rest of their lives.

THE END