Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Original Male Character(s)

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Original Male Character(s), Zane Boodram, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Hayden Pike, Wyatt Hayes, Harris Drover, Troy Barrett, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Svetlana Vetrova, Roger Crowell

Additional Tags:

Gay Shane Hollander, BAMF Shane Hollander, Confident Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Boys in Love, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Supportive Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), POV Alternating, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone is team Ottawa, Ottawa Centaurs for the cup, Implied/Referenced Abuse

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-21 Completed: 2026-06-19 Words: 83,047 Chapters: 19/19

All My Roads, They Lead to You

Summary

All Shane wanted to do was to play hockey.
He knew he was pretty much the best at it.

What he didn't know, being the best was not enough.

Being a gay Asian-Canadian hockey player didn't help anything at all.

Nor did the fact that he got drafted to Ottawa, the team where Ilya Rozanov was already the biggest star.

Or,
An alternate universe where Shane is openly out as gay. Ilya is still closeted bisexual. And they both play for the same team- ie, Ottawa Centaurs.

Notes

Few things to keep in mind-

Ilya is a year older than Shane. He got drafted to Ottawa last year.

They had met once in world junior hockey championship, in 2009. Where Canada beat Russia and won the cup.

Everybody, including Cliff Marleu and Hayden Pike play for the Ottawa Centaurs. They just do.

Also, my hockey knowledge is based on internet searches. Please blame any inaccuracies on the internet.
Ok, some to my ignorant self, but it isn't a popular sport in my country. So... Yeah.

Chapter 1: First Look

NHL DRAFT, 2010

 

“ The first draft of the season is… Michael Connors. Everybody, give it up for Connors, who will be playing for the Montreal Metroes!”

Michael Connors - Shane thought numbly. Not Shane Hollander. But how can that be?

And yet, there was Connors - walking to the stage to tumultuous applause, cameras clicking away frantically- holding up the Montreal Metroes jersey.

What should have been mine, a voice said from the back of his mind.

Shane shook his head. It didn't matter anymore, what could have happened. What was happening was that Michael Connors had been drafted first.

Fine.

Surely, his number would be next. Soon.

 

But as time progressed, Shane’s name was nowhere to be called.

O Nelly got in Boston, Miller got in Philadelphia.

That was the top three.

He didn't even make it to the top three.

Feelings didn't come to Shane as readily as the others- or so everyone said. He had been called stoic, robotic sometimes, too serious, unsocializing.
His ex, Jessica, had even said that he kissed or made out like a machine, no emotions whatsoever..

But what Shane was acquainted with were- panic and anxiety. Oh, those were his regular friends.

And so, when his name refused to be called, they reared their ugly heads. What if Shane wasn't called at all? Now or never?
What if he kept on sitting there, camera flashing at every regular interval at his face, and never got called?
What if no other league , let alone NHL, refused to sign him? Would this be the end then?

Would it end his career, right there?

But he waited. And waited- putting on his hockey face, the face that betrayed no emotion. Neither panic nor anxiety. It was the face his opponents feared on ice, the reporters got disappointed without getting the proper reaction, and his previous teammates had laughed at, in general.

There were many other things about Shane that they laughed at.

Especially about yesterday.

Shane took a deep breath. Focus, Hollander, focus.

Do not think about yesterday now.

Do not think at all. Never.

 

David and Yuna, his parents,were sitting on both his sides, whispering consoling words, he was sure. Though he didn't listen to one word they were saying.

As the drafting progressed, the speculations grew. Some cameraman had the brilliant idea of focussing on his face among the audience when Shane could hear the commentators saying - “Still can't believe that Hollander's not been picked. Putting all personal information aside, this is the guy who won the Junior Hockey Championship. For Canada. Come on guys!”

 

But his turn still didn't come.

Six.

Seven.

Any minute now.

Shane felt like drifting, like it wasn't happening to him at all. With his face showing on the giant screen, he could easily dissociate. As if that guy was someone else, not him.
That guy on screen looked calm, composed just as Shane's mind was breaking, frantically thinking about what if’s–

 

Ultimately, after waiting for what seemed like an eternity –

The Ottawa Centaurs’ team representative got up to declare- “ The tenth overall draft pick of the season is Shane Hollander. We are very pleased to welcome him on board!”

He could hear his parents' relieved sighs from both his sides. Vaguely, he remembered being pulled into a hug by his mother, while his father clapped him on the back, saying - “Way to go, son! We are very proud of you!”

He ought to have been relieved too, he guessed. Relieved that he had been selected at all, after the incidents of the last 24 hours.

Instead, he felt bile rising up his throat.

Fucking tenth in the league..

Playing for Ottawa, who hadn't won a single game in the past five years.

Swallowing hard, he put on his hockey face, went forward and shook hands with the authorities. As he got handed the red and black jersey, with his number 24 written hugely in the back of it and an ugly centaur drawn across it - the thought that vaguely crossed his mind was, this was the team of Ilya Rozanov.

And now, this was his team too.

 

Shane went along with his parents, and mostly nodded and smiled and shook hands with people who were willing to shake his hands.

To congratulate him.

For future endorsements, as his Mum tried to say.

Crowell was there, the chairperson of NHL. Shane didn't know what to make of him. Intimidating, for sure, as he looked at Shane and smiled baring all his teeth- “Mr Hollander, We welcome you on board.”

“ Thank you,” Shane said, politely.

“Few years back, the league couldn't even believe that an Asian-Canadian player would make it to the top ten.
Especially since you are also, you know…”

Dread- with its cold, clammy hands- gripped the pit of his stomach. There it was, the first person he interacted from the league, and all his differences thrown right at his face.

Asian-Canadian.

And..

 

“... Homosexual.” Crowell said the last word as if it personally affronted him. He tried to smile through the sentence, but ended up grimacing.

Beside him, Shane could feel Yuna seething.

“Well, Shane’s here because he’s very good and passionate about hockey,” Yuna said, placing her hand on Shane's shoulders. “We knew he would be drafted, when he made the Canadian junior Hockey team win the Championship last year,” her tone was pleasant but cool.

“Come now, it was a team effort. Though I agree that Hollander has done exceptionally well. I hope he continues to make his team proud. We hear more of him for playing excellent hockey - especially now that he's such an inspiring representation.”

“Of course, sir.” Shane replied.

And there it was.

All his life, Shane had never been only the hockey player who excelled.

He had been the Asian-Canadian player, too intense, too much all-consumed by hockey.

That, continuously, had been the pressure. His Mum had said he needed to do well, for all the kids looking up to him. So that everybody knew that non- white people could be good at hockey too.

And now, another entity had been added to it.

Gay. Homosexual.

He was that thing, that was made fun of- in the locker room, he was the representative of the insults hurled at each other during the game.

A fucking faggot.

No worse possible insult for all the hypermasculine testosterone fuelled players apparently.

 

So now he was not only Shane Hollander, good at hockey. Like he wanted to be.

He was Shane Hollander, an Asian-Canadian gay representative, an inspiration for people of this ‘community’. And apparently, according to what Crowell had tried to imply, Shane had been selected to show that the NHL was now all inclusive.

Shane snorted. Right.

As if he deserved to be picked at ten.

He knew his place was number one, at the top of the league.
He knew it because he was also the fucking best.

But nothing more to prove now.

He had joined the Ottawa Centaurs.

 

Life so far for Shane Hollander–

 

Shane had always been a man of routine. He loved everything that came with it- the solid stability, the avoidance of unnecessary waste of time by thinking ‘what to do now’.

He woke up to his alarm at 6 a.m. sharp, made a protein shake, went for a run, came back to drink the shake, went for yoga, went for exercise in the building’s gym, came back to have his nutritionist approved lunch, went for practice. Worked rigorously for hours, came back, and had a nutritionist approved dinner. Went to bed.

The only exception to this routine was.. Joe.

Right from the beginning, Shane knew that he was not like the others.

Well , sure, he was Asian-Canadian.

But that was the least of his concerns.

He noticed that he couldn't understand every emotion very clearly. When his classmates would laugh at a joke, he would laugh without knowing why, or when his teachers got angry at him for flunking a test, he should feel bad, or scared, or something.

But he really didn't.

He just didn't care enough for these things. So whether he flunked a test or didn't get a joke, hardly bothered him.

It was different with his parents.

David was patient. And calm. Whenever Shane couldn't understand something and got upset about it, he would sit with him. Hold his hand, and watch hockey. He would make barbeques, and burgers, and chicken parmesan and serve Shane very carefully cut out, measured parts of them.

Shane always loved numbers- for they were concrete, solid. Not slippery. No two ways to interpret. He was good at Maths, where there was only one right answer.

Mostly like life should have been.

He loved the game calculations as well. He didn't have to write it on paper, he could study his opponents moves- which were fixed , like maths and try to form a solution around that.

Everything about hockey was good because it was a mixture of numbers and physical strength, and Shane loved both.

Yuna Hollander, on the other hand, was a powerhouse. She would stay up nights for Shane's practice, pushing him to be the best.

When Shane first expressed his interest in hockey at the tiny age of five, his Mum had thoroughly researched all the best leagues in the world, made her pros and cons, and decided that Shane would be in the NHL.

And she had pushed him every waking hour for that.

And Shane had jumped into the sport with his whole heart.

Both of them stayed awake with him, took him to practices, never missed a match, major or minor.
They were his greatest cheerleaders.

Shane was aware, however, that this was not the case with most of his classmates. They were cool at first, but when Shane started growing up, he saw others flinch when he approached and make excuses- “Not hockey again, man!” His teammate, Jack, from high school had said.
“Look, why don't you pick up chicks? Tell you what, we’ll go today on a date. My girlfriend will bring along a friend of hers, Jessica. Do you know her? From Holy High?
She’ll be mightily interested.”

Shane really didn't want to go on a date. He also, unlike his classmates or teammates, never felt any attraction to girls.

He liked girls just fine. Some were really funny, He laughed with them too, when included.

But he never wanted to hold one’s hand.
Or kiss them like his classmates did, or sneak off to God knows where after a party.

So he said , “No thanks,” and started to move on.

“I bet you aren't even interested in girls,” Jack hollered back, “or you wouldn't say no to Jessica.”

Not interested in girls? Was that… an option? For him?

No, surely that could not be it.

Shane was focussed on hockey. So he didn't have time for random girls, he told himself.

But what to do about Jessica, he couldn't understand.

So, taking it like a sour pill (or rather, one of his protein shakes), Shane agreed to go on the double date.

Jessica was- objectively- pretty.

She had large eyes, with silky straight strawberry blonde hair and very pretty dimples.

Shane felt terrified. And nauseated.

She sidled up to Shane, batting her eyelashes.

“Hi, Shane! Buy me a milkshake?”

And because he was polite, he bought her milkshake, along with burgers.
Then went to watch a movie, where she clutched his hand, and rubbed her cheek against him.
And after the movie, she kissed him on his cheek.

And just like that, Shane Hollander had a girlfriend in his junior year of school.

And he dreaded it.

It wasn't that he didn't like it.

He just found no point in having a girlfriend. He already had a full schedule with hockey.

And looking at Jessica or kissing her felt no different than brushing his teeth, or drinking his nutritious diet, or putting on his gear.

Even putting on his gear would be more interesting, because of the promise of the match that would follow.

Two months passed before Jessica invited him to her house.

“Well, I can't go because I have practice, obviously. Why don't you invite some of your friends?”

“But Shaaneee,” she said, in that singsong voice that he hated, “I will be all alone.”

He gritted his teeth- “ Then don't be.” And having said that, he stormed away from her.

 

That seemed to have done it. The indication of what she wanted was not lost on Shane. But he would rather fight with a bear empty handed, than spend a moment alone with her.
Kissing had been difficult enough, anything more…

No, impossible.

Needless to say, Jessica broke up with him after that. She also shouted a bunch of words - starting with ‘bad kisser’ and ending with ‘chickening out’.

Shane felt bad because Jessica might have thought that she wasn't good enough.

But in reality, it was Shane who wasn't interested in any girl.

And so, he started concentrating on hockey with double effort once again. The juniors were coming up, and Shane knew he was the best.
He just had to show it to the world.
And had to win Canada a cup.

 

That year, they won the cup. Against Russia.

 

And that's where he first met Ilya Rozanov, who was one year senior to him, arrogant with a capital A, and an excellent player.
Probably the only one to match his talent, Shane had thought.
It hadn't helped that he was extremely handsome- what with his golden brown curls, smirk always playing at the corner of his lips, icy blue eyes that could be warm and cold ar the same time, with a golden cross dangling between his pecs and a fuck-all attitude.

Shane had returned home after winning the cup, and jerked off to the image of Ilya Rozanov for a month.
A secret that he would take to his grave.

 

It was then, though, that he realized that he may not be completely straight.

He started noticing how a handsome guy caught his eyes more, how he could watch his classmate Simon as he played basketball, or how he would have butterflies in his stomach at the barest touch of the hot guy dating his friend, Gia.

It was on one such day, when Shane was going to practice his skating, did he suddenly see someone.

The ‘someone’ in question was tall, with messy dark curls, a lean figure that was now intent on skating with all his concentration. His body bent forward, hands outstretched, eyes screwed in concentration - like nobody existed other than him and the ice. There might have been some music which only this guy could hear, and he moved his body to the tune of that music. Then, suddenly- he threw his head back, his body moved in the same motion and Shane thought this was the most exquisite he had seen anyone being, on ice.

So he looked on, transfixed.

After what must have been about half an hour, or might have been no time at all, the figure on ice stopped his dance and skated gently towards the podium.

Shane wanted to shake himself awake, he was already late for practice.

But he couldn't leave without telling him how fantastic he had been.

 

After a few moments, the boy looked up- right at Shane. And smiled.

Shane felt his stomach drop. He tried to speak, but could not. He was mesmerized. The wires in his brain were going off in all directions as he struggled to string two words together.

The boy, it seemed, was unfazed. “Shane Hollander, right?” He asked, his smile reaching his eyes,throwing his face into a delightful scrunched up expression.

It was all Shane could do, to answer, “Yeah. You.. know me?”

“Who doesn't know you?” He said, laughing. “ I am Joe, by the way,” he said, walking up to him and holding out a hand.

Shane took it. The touch of the soft skin of the warm hand spread straight to his core, and he stared like an idiot, before saying- “Hi, Joe.”

“Would you like to skate?”

“I .. am being late for practice. Do you practice here often?”

There was a knowing smile in Joe’s lips as he looked Shane up.

“Everyday, this time. If you’d like to come and see ….”. His sentence trailed off suggestively.

And Shane panicked. “No, that's not what I… anyway, I am late…”

And he ran off towards his own practice area.

 

But he returned. The next day, and the next, and the next…

Until Joe came up one day, and before Shane could flee, dropped into the seat beside him.

“Would you probably like to ask me something?”

“Ask you?”

“Well, you have been coming here every evening since last week. So I thought maybe… you’d like to go have coffee someday? Maybe you didn't have a good enough coffee partner?”

“No.. I…” Shane closed his eyes and sighed, “Actually, that would be nice. I would like that.”

He offered Shane his phone. Shane took it, typed his number and gave it back to Joe, who just gave him a missed call.

“Give me a call when you are done, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Shane said. His heart flying like Joe did, on ice.

The date was… perfect. It was everything that Shane had thought he would never experience.

Even a pizza and Coke looked like heaven, because he was sharing it with Joe. Kind, attentive Joe, who laughed at his jokes, ruffled Shane’s hair once (his stomach swooped), asked the proper questions and looked so good doing every one of these things.

Shane felt that he was already on top of the world.

When the date ended, both of them walked out of the restaurant, hands in pockets, too scared to ask for what they wanted, to even look at each other.
Shane's heart was thumping against his ribcage, stealing furtive glances at Joe.

Finally, Joe indicated a side alley with a tilt of his head. Shane could feel himself turning a bright shade of red as he followed Joe there.

“So,” Joe said, smiling, “I had a really good time.”

Shane felt relieved, but could feel his blush deepening. “Thanks, me too.” He still found it difficult to look at Joe.

Joe gently tipped up his chin, and said - “Do you know how beautiful you are?” And Shane could feel his heart in his throat, as he said, “Not really.”

Joe laughed, and within seconds, his lips were on Shane.

The kiss was soft, not like the desperate ones. Just a touch of lips on his, and yet Shane felt alive at the very touch. Like his nerves were on fire. He returned the kiss, putting his hands on Joe's cheeks, and Joe pulled him closer into his chest.
He was just about an inch taller than Shane, and his arms went around Shane in a protective way.

It was the best kiss Shane had ever had in his 18 years of life.

When they parted after some time, Joe looked so good Shane couldn't look away from him- his lips swollen from the kiss, blush painting his cheeks red, his brown eyes swimming with mirth.

“Well, would you like to go out again, some time?”

“How about I go to your practice tomorrow, and we pick it up from there?”

“Sounds good.”

And so, it had started. Shane now had two things to pour all his efforts into- hockey, and Joe. When he wasn't practising, he was hanging out with Joe, stealing moments that were too good to be true.

Shane had felt nothing like it, when Joe kissed him, touched him, held his hand.

Soon, they were going over to each others' places, kisses turning to frantic touches, to desperate handjobs and getting each other off.

“Would you like to do, you know, something more?” Shane asked one day, a bit timidly. It had already been three months since they had started dating. And while they weren't really out officially as a couple, this was the closest that Shane had felt to being a part of one. They were both over in Shane's apartment, to which he had shifted this summer to be closer to practice.

Joe’s grin turned mischievous. “What do you have in mind, Hollander?”

“We could also, you know, maybe…”

“Maybe?”

“Have sex? I mean, if you want to… l …won't assume.”

“Shane, have you not had sex before?” Joe said, gently rubbing his back.

Shane went beet red.

“Not.. not really. Have you?”

“Yeah, before.”

“Oh,” Shane said, looking away. He felt dumb and inexperienced.

“Well, that's a problem we can't have now, can we? “ Joe said, his fingers tracing Shane's freckles.

Shane smiled, “No?”

“How about next weekend?”

“It's just, the day before my drafting.”

“ Well, let's make the NHL draft memorable, then.”

“Are you like, out to your family and friends?”

“To people who matter, yes.”

“And your coach and stuff?”

“Figure skating does not necessarily have a discrimination towards gays,” Joe said, smiling gently. “ One of the perks I guess. Have you told anyone?”

“No," Shane swallowed hard.

“Do you want to?”

“You know how it is with hockey. So maybe not right now.”

Joe looked a bit disappointed.

“Hey, listen.. Give me some time. I will tell my parents. Just, I need a few more months, please.”

“Okay.”

Joe pulled Shane into his arms, “I really like you, Hollander.”

“I really like you too, Anderson.”

Joe kissed his forehead once again and whispered in Shane's ear, “can't wait for next weekend. Do you know what you’ll be comfortable being?”

Shane had thought a bit about it, yet he felt himself reddening as he said, “ Not… not top, if that's fine with you.”

Joe laughed at the reply, kissing him patiently on the cheek, “ Yes, so that means bottom, yeah?”

Shane smiled a bit too, “Yeah.”

“Okay with me,” he said. Then he went down on his knees, and blew Shane off. He came in three seconds.

 

24 hours earlier

 

Finally, the weekend was there.

They had decided to have dinner outside, and go back to Shane's place. Shane had repeatedly turned down his parents’ offer to stay with him on the night before his drafting, citing routine.

Joe looked so handsome, in a burgundy shirt, tucked into black dress pants - Shane could not look away from him all through dinner. Thankfully, he seemed to be having the same effect on Joe too. Joe looked breathless, looking at Shane.

“You are staring,” Shane said, both amused and pleased.

“Would you rather I didn't? Stare at my beautiful boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?”

Joe tucked a strand of Shane's hair behind his ear, “Aren't you? My boyfriend?”

Something warm glowed inside Shane, that he had never felt before.

“Yes, I would like that very much.”

“I would, too.”

 

Their nerves were buzzing pleasantly, Joe had a beer, Shane his ginger ale. It was time for them to go back to Shane's place.

All throughout the journey, Shane found it extremely difficult to keep his hands to himself. As did Joe, apparently.
Shane couldn't wait to park his car.

As soon as they got down from the car, Joe's lips were on Shane, kissing hungrily. It usually was a secluded spot at the back of the apartment.
Shane gave in to the kiss completely, tongue and all.

Until, flashes.

They jumped apart.

“What the–?” Joe asked, scandalized.

“What are you doing?” Shane shouted, outraged.

But the damage had been done. A minute long footage of Shane kissing Joe frantically had been recorded and leaked to the media. Apparently, the news channels wanted to do a cover story on the possibly first NHL draft, Ottawa's own golden boy, Shane Hollander.

And instead, they got this.

All hell broke loose.

Within moments, both of their parents were calling. Joe looked embarrassed as he said, “ I think I should go home. My parents…”

Shane couldn't even look at him as he nodded his head.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think beyond the fact that this, possibly right now, might be the end of his career.

He had never heard of an openly gay NHL Player. And nothing told him that he could be an exception, however much good he had been.

He had no memory of when or how he reached his apartment, only that he couldn't breathe for a long, long time. And when his parents reached his place, it was to find him hyperventilating , head between his legs, room dark.

Shane had no clear memory of the details, except his mum calling some bigshot that she knew to pull down the video coverage.

Which was now trending at #1 on every news channel, even every facebook page.

Bits and pieces of conversation flowed to Shane. His coach saying he couldn't possibly go back to the team, as his teammates felt ‘unsafe’ with him being in the locker room, Reebok and Rolex pulling their deals off, Crowell calling his Mum to say it might be better for Shane to wait one more year for his drafting, his Mum doubling down on not taking a no for answer.

All the while his Dad sat beside him, rubbing his hands over the back of Shane's head, asking him to breathe. Finding his anxiety medicine and giving him one.
Saying that “It’ll be alright, son. You are Shane Hollander.”

Shane desperately tried to believe him.

Finally, at around 10 pm, his Mum's phone stopped ringing incessantly. He had a few missed calls from Joe, which he didn't feel like picking up.

“Look here, Shane,” Yuna said, sitting beside him.
“It will be okay. Do you hear me?”

“Do you .. also, want to tell us something?” David asked, gently. “Who was the guy?”

Yuna looked like she was about to shush David, but Shane said, “I.. I think that I am gay. That was Joe. Anderson. My.... boyfriend.”

“Is he on your team or something?”

“No… he’s a figure skater,” a half-smile crossed his lips, “He’s really good.”

Shane looked up just in time to see his Mum rubbing a tear away from her eyes. His dad was smiling.

“You guys are not mad? I won't be getting half the deals, it would be difficult to be drafted…”

“There will be a lot of things , for sure. But I am happy that my son doesn't have to live a life of lies. That's just… sad, Shane. We don't want that for you.” Yuna said, hugging him.

“It shouldn't have happened this way, son. You should have been given the chance to say all these on your own,” David said. “For that, I am sorry. But we will be on your side, no matter what. I hope you know that.”

And Shane cried.

 

Later that night, he dropped a text to Joe-

“I miss you.”

He thought he wouldn't get an answer, but it came within five minutes - “I miss you too. All the best for tomorrow ❤️”

And inspite of everything, Shane slept peacefully after a long, long time.

 

The Day of the Draft

 

So, Shane got to be the tenth overall pick, instead of the first. He knew that some people were actively avoiding him. A couple of folks had come around to congratulate him.

But it didn't matter.

He would be playing for Ottawa now, for better or for worse.

He promised one thing to himself that night. He would win Ottawa the Stanley Cup, this year or the next.

And then he would look that motherfucking Crowell right in the eyes, holding the cup high.

Chapter 2: First Race

Chapter Notes

Here is Ilya's Pov.

TW: this chapter explores Ilya's Moscow connections as well. Which are disturbing. There are certain parts that could mean domestic violence and/or sexual abuse. If these are topics you wish to avoid, don't read the Moscow part.

TW :for homophobic behaviour, but it's just the Ilya version of last chapter

This is the draft where Shane, Hayden and Marlow all get selected to Ottawa

Have fun!

“Hunter, if you don't go slow, you will break your bones. Too breakable for air,” Ilya said, his traditional shit-eating grin in place.

Sure, his English wasn't great. But he made sure to learn specific words to chirp. That was half the fun of the game.

He watched in delight as the puck soared past Hunter, who had turned an irritated face towards Ilya to shout, “Fuck off, Rozanov!” And the puck found its way to his stick.

He blew Hunter a kiss, before skating away with the puck.

Hunter scowled.

In the end, Ottawa did lose, but in overtime, 1-0 to New York.

Ilya was getting close.

 

When he had been drafted as the number 1 pick of 2009 to Ottawa, Ilya had been a bit disappointed. After all, from all he had heard, it was a boring Canadian city.
And Ilya had been a wild party animal.

No club of Moscow had escaped his shenanigans

He played hockey like a menace. He was the fucking beast.

And outside of hockey, he partied hard.

Clubs, alcohol, sex- Ilya lived and breathed that way.

The harder he partied, the harder he won matches- this was technically his own theory. But it worked for him every time.

And now he was drafted to Ottawa. He didn't think the word ‘club’ was very popular here, people were polite and well-mannered, and had barbeques and went to odd little houses called ‘cottages’ in summer- that looked nothing like actual cottages, He had obviously researched all of this in Google, before coming to the city.

No wonder, with Shane Hollander as their own poster-boy, the city would be just as boring,just as bland as the man himself.

 

Ilya met Hollander last year at the World Junior Championship. It had been held in Saskatchewan, cold as fuck, and Shane Hollander, all bundled up in beanie cap and jackets, with his face scrunched up in concentration, had tried to tell Ilya off for smoking at the wrong zone.
Ilya had mostly stared at the freckles that adorned Hollander's skin, as he moved his face animatedly - trying to let Ilya know that the smoking zone was somewhere else.

Ilya found it half-enchanting, half-amusing.
Fully captivating.

He didn't know how to answer to this law abiding, fucking polite guy, so he replied in the only way he possibly could-

“You would not be so nice when we beat you.”

And Hollander had turned around, with a glint of steel in his eyes and a smirk playing on his perfect lips -
“That won't be happening.” He had said.

And then went on to win the finals.

That's when Ilya had admitted to himself that he had probably found his match.

What was more disconcerting was the fact that, those damn freckles refused to leave his mind every time he went for a quick fuck.

They were etched in his mind as if with a permanent marker.

 

Day before the 2010 draft.

 

Bood clapped Ilya on the back- “What do you say to a party at my place today?”

“Will there be hot girls?”

“My wife will be there, so I am all set.”

“Boring,” Ilya said, scrunching his eyes.

“You’d be there.”

“Probably yes.”

“Good man,” said Bood, clapping him on the back.

“At least bring good vodka.”

“You bring good vodka, Rozy!”

“I will. Just to give you a taste of Russia.”

Just then, their social media manager, Harris, came in - “Isn't the country like, weirdly homophobic? I’ll pass on the ‘taste of Russia’, thank you.”

“You only drink your Apple cider.”

“Don't pretend that you don't like it,” Harris said.

“Bring your vodka, and your Apple cider, and haul your asses to my backyard.”

“Another party at Bood’s?” Hayes asked.

He and Troy entered the room, clearly in the middle of some discussion.

Ilya watched with mild amusement as Troy gave Harris an appreciative glance. One which was reciprocated.

They thought they were very subtle, they really weren't.

“Yes, party. Carry your own alcohol. Because Bood refuses to be fun.”

“You’ll be having plenty of fun in Russia soon. I still don't know why we are practising this late into summer.”

“Is good practice, for when we make the play-offs next year.”

“Like that's gonna happen,” said Hayes, scoffing.

“ It will, I am here.” Ilya said, simply.

“So humble, Rozy,” Troy said.

“What? What is humble?” Ilya said.

Everyone rolled their eyes and went their ways.

“See you later, assholes.”

 

True to their words, the Ottawa Centaurs were gathered in Bood’s backyard. And in true Centaurs traditions, their wives were also there.

Ilya sauntered in, with vodka in one hand.

“Is this the Russian vodka that you so talk about?” Cassie, Bood's wife, asked.

“The very same,” Ilya said, bowing.

“You might not see much remaining then,” she smiled.

“A woman of good taste, then. Why did you marry Bood?”

Cassie laughed and swatted at him, moving away with the vodka.

 

The evening flowed smoothly, with Cassie and Bood being the perfect hosts as ever.

It was when they were gathered round, talking about the upcoming draft, that Harris gasped.

“No freaking way, dude.”

“What happened?”

Harris didn't say anything, just turned his phone around.

And right there, in every breaking news, was Shane Hollander, going right at it with some tall brunette guy- looking glued to the lips.

Ilya felt sick.

There was pin drop silence around the yard, as it kept on playing on repeat mode, with captions now visible beneath it- “Canada's own golden boy, gay?”

Ilya took out his own phone. Sure enough, as soon as he opened his phone, there was a video of Hollander, kissing the guy as if his life depended on it.

Ilya turned away from it. The video was bad enough as it is.
What made him feel sick was the fact that Hollander seemed to be completely unaware of this filming.

Ilya was an asshole, but he wasn't indecent. It seemed indecent, to watch Hollander make out with someone without his permission.

“Shut it,” he said.

His teammates didn't need saying twice.

After a long silence, Bood said finally, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“ What do you think of it?”

“What's there to think of it?” Asked Harris. He looked indignant. “ Hollander should sue the media channels for outing his privacy.”

“What do you think would happen to him?” Whispered Troy. He looked scared, Ilya thought.

“What would happen? He is Shane Hollander, best only after me. He’ll be okay.”

“It's not so simple,” Dykstara said, “you don't know Crowell at all, do you?”

Ilya vaguely remembered seeing that aged wrinkled old fucker, who liked to talk like he owned them. He and his Dad would fit right in, and that's never a compliment - in Ilya's opinion.

“That guy’s a racist, homophobic dumbass. We already had heard that Hollander was receiving a few slurs for, you know, being Asian-Canadian. This would .. I don't know,worsen the situation. Definitely.”

“Do you think he would be drafted at all?” Wyatt asked.

Ilya snorted. Surely, Hollander could not go undrafted? The sheer nerve and foolishness to keep Hollander undrafted, because he was gay, or bi- was laughable.

But others were not scoffing off at the idea.

“Even if he gets drafted, it might be some extremely homophobic team, like Toronto,” Troy said. He had been drafted there his first year. It was an experience that he didn't often talk about, but Ilya didn't miss the look of mild terror that crossed his face while speaking of that team.

“Or Montreal,” Bood added. “That team’s full of assholes.”

“Surely Montreal, that ended up at the bottom of the league, can not afford to NOT choose Hollander?” Ilya said incredulously.

“A lot of teams will prefer losing than to having him play for them,” Hayes said darkly.

“Then that's their bloody fault!”

“Rozy, I am not saying that that should be! But this is unprecedented. I don't think we have one openly gay player in NHL. And you see the slurs they throw around. You have to admit, our league is not as inclusive as it should be.”

Though long sentences still wore Ilya off, he understood what Hayes meant.

The mood turned sombre after that, Ilya didn't talk much. Nor did anyone else.

As he was leaving, he saw a shooting star in the distant sky.

His Mum had always said that what you wish, might come true- if you prayed to the shooting star.

So, Ilya prayed that night for Shane Hollander in Ottawa. Not knowing why he hoped with all his might for it to come true.

 

2010 NHL DRAFT

 

They were all gathered around the big TV Ilya had bought last year in his apartment.

It was time for the draft, and the following morning they would each leave for their individual summers.

“Who do you think we’ll get?” Bood asked absently , popping open a can of beer.

“Dunno, Connors won't be too bad, we could do with a decent right wing,” Hayes said.

“Connors would not come at number 10, come on. Be real,” Ilya rolled his eyes. “How about that guy, Cliff Marlow?”

“Decent right wing, good strength . Though some of his interviews didn't give the impression that he was the brightest…” Troy said, with a laugh.

“Oh, come now. A lot of us are too confused to be intelligent too,” Hayes said.

“Good player is all we need,” Ilya said.

Bood had been the Alternate Captain for the team. Their Captain, Muller, would be retiring this year.
Talk of the town was maybe Ilya and Bood could both keep playing as alternate captains. At least for the next year.

There was no confirmation, but their Coach, Brandon Wiebe, was both fair and good. They trusted him.

“Where do you think Hollander will fit in?” Dykstra asked.

“Maybe Montreal or Boston,” Ilya said.

“We might also get him, I heard coach say,” Bood said, thinking aloud.

“When did you hear this?” Ilya asked. His voice had suddenly gone hoarse. He thought about the shooting star last night. Could it really be….?

“ I was just passing by his door, went to pick up my equipments. Apparently there had been a lot of refusals, the league had been bent on not selecting Hollander for any of their teams.
Wiebe was talking to Crowell, asking him to not waste the opportunity - Ottawa will have him, if others didn't.”

“And what did Crowell say?”

“Couldn't hear the fucker, but at least Wiebe seemed to agree with him. So he might have accepted.”

“Wiebe’s a good sort, putting up a fight,” Dykstra said.

“Well, if this means Ottawa can ever dream of bagging both me and Hollander….” Ilya shrugged.

“Rozy is right. Who gives a fuck he’s gay, have you seen the guy on ice?” Hayes said.

“I hope he comes to Ottawa,” Troy said. “ It would be a team that the league hasn't even seen yet.”

“Hell, yeah!” Ilya said, raising his beer and toasting.

 

Soon, the draft started.

Michael Connors got drafted to Montreal Metroes in the first place. Followed by O Nelly for Boston, then , Chris Miller in Philadelphia.

They watched in shock as Hollander didn't even make it to the top three.

Ilya closed his eyes. He remembered thinking last year at draft, how him being the first didn't even surprise him. He had wanted a tough competition, like Hollander, to actually make the first position seem earned.

And here, on the TV screen was Hollander's face. Though he didn't get picked yet, the news reporters seemed more focussed on him than on the actual top three.

Ilya thought if he had been at that position, he might have raged through half the room by now, suing everyone within ten fucking feet of him.

But here was Hollander, looking as calm as ever. Face sculpted out of ice, looking straight ahead. There was no anger, no emotion, no expression. Only on distant shots, Ilya could make out his fingers tightly curled in on themselves.

But that's about it.

When the seventh pick was Evan Mercer for Minnesota, Troy exclaimed - “ Holy hell. They are really not picking Hollander.”

“It's like the guy doesn't even feel it, how is he so calm?” Bood said, aghast. “If it had been me, I would have raised hell by now!”

“He is not calm. Look at his hands,” Ilya said, quietly. He, too, felt indignant on Hollander’s behalf. Only one person had the right to beat Hollander, and that was Ilya Rozanov.

But not like a coward, not in a prejudiced competition. Fair and square, on the ice.

Finally, their team representative, the manager brothers for Ottawa got on the stage - “The tenth overall draft pick of the season is Shane Hollander. We are very pleased to welcome him on board!”

Silence, and then an incredulous applause rocked Ilya's apartment. No one could believe that-

“We really got Hollander!” Dykstra said.

They really did, Ilya thought. He could see Hollander walk up to the managers, shaking their hands. Those fucking freckles highlighting his face as he smiled perfunctorily.

Game on, he thought. Now he could have his best competitor on the same team.

And also, make sure that no one messed with him. Or they would have to face the full wrath of him and his team.

Ilya didn't know why, but that thought seemed really important to him.

 

The Next Day

 

Ilya’s flight was scheduled for the evening. To Moscow.

He wasn't really looking forward to it.

In spite of what he had thought, Moscow didn't hold the old attraction for him any more.

Sure, this was the first time he was going there after joining the NHL. And he was aware that he could once again stay out all night, partying. Especially since now, he earned much, much more.

And of course, Sveta would be there. She was flying in from Boston. They would probably get shit drunk and hook-up in all the unlikely and dangerous places. That thought cheered him up a bit.

But Russia also meant his Dad and incessant criticisms. He was sure to be criticized on not winning enough games, notwithstanding the fact that Ottawa did not have any power players and the team was rebuilding itself.

His dad mostly didn't even watch his games, just commented on how bad he played. Even on the day he got drafted first- that was all that he could say, that Ilya lacked discipline.

He hated his brother, who only cared about the money Ilya sent him. Not a question about how he felt, how he lived, how he was doing.. no, nothing. It was as if looking at Ilya made him sick. Andrei didn't care to admit that he existed most of the time.

And Polina, his stepmother. Who was closer to his age than his dad's. The thought of Polina made him sick- stepping in his mother's shoes, using his mother's stuff, sleeping on her side of the bed. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate her completely.

Mostly because she had to sleep with his father for it. A bitter, cold, broke man- who ruined the lives he touched.

Maybe he would gradually turn into his father.

A man devoid of love. After all, that's what he had been taught. To show love, was to show weakness.

Deep in his thoughts, he was going to meet Wiebe who had called him for a last minute discussion.

Just as he took a turn, he bumped into someone- a solid wall of muscles.

“Watch it!” The voice said.

Ilya looked up, to look into the deep brown eyes of Shane Hollander.

The first thing he noticed was how his eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, his eyes flicking to Ilya's face, lips set in a straight line.

And the freckles. There was one at the top of his nose, even. Ilya wanted to flick it.

Ilya also wanted to say a lot of things, like- “welcome to the team,” or “I hope we become good friends,” or “ whatever happened, that really sucked.”

Instead what he could manage to say was , “Hollander”, in his tell-tale drawl.

Never before, in his life, had Ilya not said what he had wanted to. Russians did not hide behind words, thought Ilya.

“Rozanov,” Hollander said, tilting his head. He made to go about his way, not looking at Ilya.

Ilya desperately wanted Hollander to look at him. Once. For a second. With those eyes, with that expression of frustration, challenge, hunger.

So he said, “Wanna bet?”

This really got Hollander to stop, “On what?”

“You will now play for Ottawa, yes?”

“That's the impression that I got, you know, from the draft yesterday,” Shane said dryly.

Was Hollander being sarcastic with him?

“So let's bet on whoever can score the maximum goals this year.”

“You didn't score as many last year,” Hollander said, matter-of-factly.

Ah, damn.

“I will, this year. I say 50 goals before February. Can you beat that?”

“We will be on the same team, Rozanov,” Shane said. He was now looking at him, half amused, half confused.

“Then we don't let the other team score.”

A beat of silence, then Hollander gave a smile-
“You're on. What does the winner get?”

Ilya looked at Hollander, at his genuine smile and eager eyes- “Whatever he wants.” He said.

Hollander smiled more brightly at that, and said, “I guess I’ll see you around after summer.”

And as Ilya nodded, he found himself thinking of how this summer couldn't be over fast enough.

 

Moscow, 2010. Summers.

 

He had been back for three days, and Ilya felt like banging his head against the wall already.

True to his imagination, his Dad had called him immediately to his office upon arrival. And for all his chirps, and arrogance, and ferocity on ice, Ilya had felt like a miscreant child, been caught in act- standing in front of his father.

“Sit”, Grigori Rozanov said, pouring a drink for Ilya as well as for himself, “Drink.”

Ilya dutifully took a sip.

“How many matches did you win last year?”

There it was, not even a pre-amble on how he had been missed at home.

Was he supposed to answer that?

“Answer me!” Grigori said, his ice cold eyes boring into Ilya's.

“Five, father.”

“And he answers. What a disgrace. Did you get sent to America for five goals a fucking year?”

Ilya felt small. Insignificant. He wanted to be anywhere, not at his home.

“Do you think your Mama will be proud when she hears?”

Ilya looked up, this was new- even for his dad . This was cruelty to the next level, bringing up his dead Mum, when all he did was push her to his death.

“Where is that .. woman, I can't say. Have you seen her?”

“Papa, Mama is dead. It has been seven years.” Ilya said, staring at him.

A missed beat. Then, “I meant Polina, of course. Go seek her.”

And Ilya got up and scuttled out of the room, not wanting to spend a single moment more in the presence of his father.
But also, really confused.

What was happening?

 

Outside, he ran into Polina. Ilya had never spent much time with her, she got married to his Dad when Ilya was in world hockey juniors.
He didn't really bother to get to know her.

“Papa’s looking for you.” He said, not even pretending to look at her. A lot of people might say that she wasn't to be blamed for anything, but she took Irina’s place, and that was a crime enough.

“Me, or Irina?” She said. She also didn't pretend to look at Ilya. Maybe the feeling was mutual, then.
They didn't have to like each other, Ilya assumed.

He kept quiet. Polina had almost left, almost. When he asked the question that had kept bugging him. Polina was, after all, almost 40 years younger than his Dad. He wasn't even that rich.

Then – “ Why? Why did you marry him?”

“Why do you think?” Polina said, now looking directly at him.

Ilya was taken aback. There wasn't one decent reply that came to his mind.

“ I got pregnant,” she said- the same distant expression on her face returning once again, “then had a spontaneous abortion after marriage.”

The thought was equally disgusting to Ilya. He didn't want to think about it one more second than he absolutely had to.

He turned around, went to his room, shut the door and threw up.

The golden cross of his mother lay heavy on his chest, his only source of warmth in this cold, cruel house.

 

Svetlana was waiting for him, as usual, by their usual meeting place. She was wearing a tiny, tiny dress that left absolutely nothing to imagination.

Not that he had to imagine anything anyway.

She jumped into his arms the moment she saw him, “Ilyusha!” And gave him a kiss.

“At least someone's happy to see me,” he said, kissing her back.

“ Oh, there are lots of people waiting for you. Come onnn,” and dragging him halfway through the bar, she brought him to his usual group of people- his ‘party folks.’ Some of them were their school friends, some were friends of friends, all of them were high.

“Heyy, man,” Dmitry said, “what a life you are leading in Ottawa, yeah?”

“Fuckers got two girls hanging from both arms on most of the papers,” Anthony said.

“You didn't see the third one hanging behind. Or the one holding the camera,” Ilya said, winking.

“Yeah, that's the spirit!” Dmitry said, slapping his thigh again.

The booze flowed then. Ilya buying a round for everyone, with a pair of very pretty girls looking at him from the bar.

“Can we ask one of them to join?” Sveta asked.

Ilya looked over, tilted his head. A blonde girl in a silver dress came over to them both. She looked at Ilya , and Sveta draped over him, and bent forward to kiss him nevertheless.

He ended up having the best welcome home sex of his life. Till date.

At least there was that.

 

Two weeks passed in booze and sleepless nights and sex. Ilya still hadn't met Andrei, nor did he want to meet.

Ultimately, thankfully - it was the eve of his leaving. He wanted to leave a week early, mostly because he wanted to leave Moscow, and also because he wanted to burn all these unnecessary calories by working out more.

A knock on his door.

Nobody in this house was polite enough to knock.

“Come in,” he said, feeling curious.

Polina came in, holding something.

She extended her arm- it was an album. Of Ilya's childhood.

Ilya looked incredulously at her, then at the album. “Where did you find it?”

“There's a…loose floorboard. Below the bed. Irina kept it there.”

“Why didn't you give it to Papa? Or Andrei?”

“These are your pictures. Your and Irina's, mostly. You look … so happy, like I have never seen you look here,” she said. “ Like I never saw anyone look here.” She added quietly.
“I kept thinking if I had the child, he would look at least as happy as you do in these pictures, but maybe.. that was never to be.”

There was a tremor in her voice, a catch in her breath. Ilya looked right at her, but tears didn't come. She placed the album firmly in Ilya's hands.

“It's yours. It's a piece of your mother. Don't lose it,” she said, and turned to leave.

“What's wrong with him, Polina?”

“Doctors say it's dementia. He is losing his memory, and sense of self. We.. don't know how long it'll be.” Again, that flat emotionless voice. She might as well have been talking about the weather.

“For how long?”

“Five months now.”

“Why did nobody ever tell me?”

“Would you have come here, leaving hockey?”

That got Ilya to be quiet.

Polina was leaving, when Ilya asked softly- “Did he ever hurt you?”

Polina looked back, thinking. Then replied, “Not when he thought I was your mother.” And turning back, her head held high, her back straight- she left the room.

Ilya was left thinking again, that he might have mis-judged Polina a lot.
But he had never mis-judged his Dad.

The hatred he felt for his Dad, his absent brother, this house- was unparalleled.

 

Next day, he left for Ottawa early in the morning, and didn't look back.

 

3 days later

 

Ilya had returned from Moscow, but in spite of jet lag, he slept fretfully. Going over the album again and again.

The ghost of his mother's smile etched in his mind.

Finally, giving up any attempt to sleep after the third night, he hit the gym at 6 am.
An ungodly hour for him.

Instead of using his building’s gym, which was under repair, he went to the one at their rink, since that was the closest.

Only to find someone already working over there.

Head bent, earphones on, his vest and body drenched in sweat, Hollander was cycling away at a high speed.
Sweat trickled down his body, shaking their way between his back muscles and pecs, his hair was tied up in a pony, and was that an.. earring? Dangling from his left ear.

Fucking god…

Ilya realized after a minute, that he was staring.

So instead, he jumped onto the next electric cycle and started pedaling.

Hollander didn't notice him at first, but even he couldn't ignore Ilya for long, who had increased his speed to match Hollander’s.

A smile played upon his lips, as he looked straight ahead and increased his own speed.

So that's how it was to be. Okay.

Ilya further increased the speed, and this continued till they were one-upping the other.

After five minutes, Hollander was the first to give up. He slammed the emergency button, laughing and sunk down to the floor.

Ilya sat down facing him.

Both of them were breathless for some time.

Then Ilya broke the silence.

“I like Ottawa,” he said.

“That's good for you.”

“Your home's here, yes?”

“Yeah, though away from the rink.”

“Ah, so you renting?”

“Yeah, a place nearby. Small apartment.”

Ilya nodded his head, eyes not leaving Hollander.
He picked up his water bottle, and gulped down some water.

He could see Hollander’s eyes dropping to his mouth, to his Adam's apple for a fraction of a second, before looking away hastily.

But Ilya didn't look away. Instead, he offered the bottle to Hollander.

Hollander looked at the bottle, as if going through some dilemma. Then took out his own from the backpack he had slung across the floor.
His lips went round the bottle’s mouth, as he drank the water, looking straight at Ilya.

He got up, poured the rest of the water down on himself.

Ilya watched, mesmerized as each droplet followed the curvature of his lips, his neck- into the hollow of his throat, before pooling between his pecs.

Hollander pulled up his vest to rub his face, and Ilya could see the droplets of water on his rock hard abs.

Ilya wanted to run his tongue over that body, to follow the water droplets further down.

But right at that moment, Hollander turned and said, “I better get going. Got to meet Joe for breakfast. See you later, Rozanov.”

And before he could say another word, Hollander had left- leaving only one question behind.

Who the hell was Joe?

Chapter End Notes

Next chapter: Shane's Pov. Maybeee his first time , with Joe ( I did want it to be with Ilya, but joe is so sweet, and Ilya is getting plenty of action anyway, so 💁)

Your kudos and comments are what's keeping these chapters going!

Chapter 3: First Time

Chapter Notes

I thought about covering the entire Shane POV in one chapter, but it was getting out of hand.

So this one, and the next one will both be Shane's POV.

TW : for explicit scene ahead, although it's an HR fanfiction, so it's kind of expected, i think.

Day after the Draft

 

Shane woke up at the first ring of his alarm. It was 5.30 am sharp. He couldn't be late for the first day of the rest of his life!

His parents were still asleep in the guest bedroom. He got up, made his protein shake, and went for that run.

He was supposed to meet Coach Wiebe at 9. So he still had plenty of time for the run and some exercise.

He decided to take a new route today, the one that went around the opposite side of the rink. Earphones in place, he started jogging at a slow pace - loosening his arms and legs.

He had hardly broken into a light run, when a very familiar figure emerged from the building in front- he would recognise that mass of golden brown hair, that particular role of the shoulders, the casual toss of his head- anywhere.

Ilya Rozanov, by some very odd co-incidence, had also decided to go on a run at that exact moment, Shane realized.

Well, maybe not so strange, since Ilya was such a fit player( Shane blushed a little, remembering the details).

With equal measures of dread and anticipation, he realized that Rozanov would be playing with him, for Ottawa.

He was nervous about his new team, of course. But he was even more nervous about this man- who he had thought would be his archrival- being on the same team as him.
What was worse was, he had been there for a year. Did he influence their views on Shane?
Was he a homophobe?

What if he refused to share the locker room with him? What if everyone else did too?

Well, the cat's out of the bag, thought Shane. No good crying over it.

With a small sigh, he realised he would have to face his problems when they came. But for now, a huge weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulder- a weight he hadn't even realized he had been carrying.

With a lighter mind than ever in his life, Shane increased the volume of his music, turned back and returned to his original path for running.

 

He reached Wiebe's office sharp at 9, and knocked.

“Come in,” said a voice from inside.

He entered to see Coach Wiebe sitting at his desk, drinking coffee.

Wiebe was not at all what Shane had expected. For one, he was quite young for a coach. In fact, he seemed to be of the age group of playing hockey, not coaching…for one. Hardly in his forties.
Also, he had longish hair that seemed to stand on ends, and a boyish charm about him. He smiled at Shane, indicating the seat in front.

“Please have a seat, Hollander.”

Shane sat down and looked at him. He noticed that none of the other rookies, like Cliff Marlow or Hayden Pike or any of the others had been called except him.

With a sense of dread, Shane sat down.

“Do not show any emotion, not panic, nor anger,” he told himself. “Don't let this go wrong.”

“You can guess why you are here, right?” Wiebe asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Is this .. because of the video?” Shane said, not quite sure what was expected of him.

“ That, and whatever followed after that yesterday.”

Shane stiffened. What did he mean?

“Look, Hollander, there's no need to pretend. We both know you don't belong at tenth in the league. That number one spot should have been yours, just like it had been Rozanov's last year,” Wiebe continued.

Whatever Shane had expected, it hadn't been this.
He stared, nonplussed.

“I know Ottawa is not Montreal Metroes, where I am sure you had hoped on ending up. But Rozanov's been working really hard to make it a team. I have been working really hard, this last year- since I had been made coach. True, it hadn't been many of our first choices, but you’ll like it over here. I promise you, the team is good,” a smile played upon his lips, “ they called me after your draft yesterday, asking me to let you know they have your back.”

Shane somehow unstuck his voice to say, “Even Rozanov?”

Wiebe really smiled this time, “ Even Rozanov. Especially Rozanov. I know how your rivalry had been blown out of proportion in the World Junior Championship, but he's mostly a good sort. Most of the team is. I can't say about the other rookies, but I feel they should be honoured to play with you.
So what I mean to say, I guess, is put your anger into your game, and let's make it to the play-offs the next year. And don't worry, we got your back.”

Shane couldn't believe it. He had thought to be lectured on inappropriate behaviour, or at least some sort of telling of. But he hadn't expected… this.

“Thank you, Coach. I won't let you regret it,” he said, really meaning it.

“I know.”

“One more thing, my previous team… well, pulled out when the news broke. Can I use the gym here? My apartment’s gym isn't that great…”

“Yes, of course. You are welcome. Talk to Assistant Coach Wheeler, and he will give you the keys.”

After a pause, he said- “so that's it, I guess. Welcome to the team. I’ll see you after summer.”

“Thank you, Coach,” Shane said, getting up.

 

He was just leaving the office, texting Joe - who was waiting outside, about how it had been incredible, and thinking that this was the last thing that he expected- when he rounded the corner and …

Bumped right into Rozanov.

He didn't notice it was him, at first. Till a string of Russian profanities followed the collision.

When he looked up, Rozanov was rubbing his head, confused.
Then Rozanov noticed it was him.

Something odd happened, Rozanov's eyes went warm- like he wanted to smile, but wasn't sure how. Instead, he fixed Shane with that gaze that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, and said, “Hollander” - in a bored drawl.

Oh, well. He was still his biggest competitor.

“Rozanov,” he greeted, unsure of what to do next. And started to leave. Joe said he would be waiting outside the office to know how it had gone.

He was almost halfway through the hallway, when he heard - “Wanna bet?”

He stopped and turned, surprised. What could they be even betting about? They were on the same team!
Should he brave himself for something bad?

Instead, Rozanov said, “You will now play for Ottawa, yes?”

“That's the impression that I got, you know, from the draft yesterday,” Shane said cautiously. What was this asshole up to now?

“So let's bet on whoever can score the maximum goals this year.”

Rozanov was insane. How much ice time would Shane even be getting as a rookie? How could they score without assisting each other?
Why was he thinking about the statistics? This was an impossible bet. Instead he said- “You didn't score as many last year.”

It was true. Shane wanted to rub it in his face, though he knew Rozanov had tried his best. But the team had needed serious reform, and a one-man army couldn't win.

It was getting better, though.

That didn't mean Shane couldn't be a little shit about it.

Rozanov's eyes glinted with the challenge. He said - “I will, this year. I say 50 goals before February. Can you beat that?”

50 goals! As if! That little shit, he couldn't go two steps without trying to rile Shane up!

“We will be on the same team, Rozanov,” Shane said. If any of them could score 50 goals, Ottawa would be a happier team, he figured.

With a shit-eating grin, Rozanov replied - “Then we don't let the other teams8 score.”

For the first time since all hell broke loose, Shane felt he was getting himself back. This challenge, this promise that they would flatten the other teams, this hunger was what he needed.

He didn't know whether Rozanov had done that knowingly, but Coach Wiebe’s voice echoed in his head - “Even Rozanov. Especially Rozanov.”

Maybe this was his way of showing that all was okay, between them. Shane was still his biggest rival, nothing had changed.

And Shane was so grateful for that, he actually smiled.

“You're on. What does the winner get?”he asked, casually.

Rozanov's eyes looked right at Shane as he said , “Whatever he wants.” The heat, the intensity of this small statement, said in heavily accented Russian, somehow raised goosebumps all along his arms.

Feeling uncharacteristically happy and giddy, for reasons unknown to even himself, Shane said - “I guess I’ll see you around after summer.”

He turned to leave, to meet up with Joe outside. But even then, he knew that this last bit with Rozanov was not for him to share. Not even with Joe.

 

“ So, how did it go?” Joe asked. He looked unfairly handsome, the warm sunlight of the morning lighting up his dark curls.

“Good morning to you too,” Shane said, leaning in, and giving him a kiss.
Well, as it always happened with them, the kiss escalated quickly enough. Just as things were getting a bit too hot for a morning car ride, Joe gently pulled apart.

“Hey,” he said, “it went that well?”

“Coach is pretty great. He said that the team's got my back, and to put my heart into winning. Just the way I like it,” Shane said, smiling.

“Wow, that does seem great!” Joe said, “Did you meet any of the other players?”

“No, it's summer time. Team will meet after that, I guess.”

“Well, that's okay. Great in fact,” Joe gently rubbed his back, “Does that mean we get to pick up from where we left?” He said with a mischievous smile.

“This kiss?” Shane asked, feigning surprise.

“Nope, the other night. With the… date, you know.”

“Mmm .. I have been thinking about it.”

“Me too,” Joe said, “So?”

“Tomorrow, your place? I don't really feel good in mine after…”

“No, you're right. My place sounds good. Tomorrow sounds good,” Joe said, grinning and dropping a kiss on his cheeks.
“Time for breakfast now?”

“You’ll have something gross?”

“Just some regular gross. Like a sandwich,” Joe said, laughing, “No where near your level of gross.”

“It's healthy!” Shane rolled his eyes, and arguing amicably, they started their day.

 

The Date Night.

 

Shane was nervous. He couldn't decide on what to wear. In his mind, anything remotely resembling the last date was jinxed. But that didn't leave many options , other than his regular polos, which even he knew wasn't what one word to a date.

“What do I wear?” He texted Joe.

“How does it matter? 😉” Joe texted back within seconds.

Shane blushed at the implication. His nerves were almost tingling with the anticipation. Last time, the nerves were there. But having been interrupted had made him more nervous. He felt like anything would make him jump.

His phone rang just then- Joe.

“Are you fretting again?” Joe’s voice asked.

“No?”

“Shane, sweetheart, it's just me. Take a deep breath.”

Shane's heart melted, at how thoughtful Joe always was with him. He wasn't the most easy person to hang out with, he was aware.

“Okay,” he said.

“You know that black shirt you have? You know how much I love to see you in it?”

Shane smiled, “yeah?”

“Yeah. Wear that. With anything. I am picking you up in ten, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

Sure enough, ten minutes later, his bell rang. Shane went to open the door.
Standing at his doorstep, there was Joe- looking perfect as usual. And carrying a - crate of ginger ale?

“That's weird,” Shane said, kissing him, smiling into the kiss.

“It's perfect for my boyfriend, who loves ginger ale. Didn't you know?”

“Oh god, you're the best.”

“I know, i bring the best gifts, don't I?”

“Let's get going then!”

 

Needless to say, none of them could eat much. They held hands throughout, their fingertips intertwined. Each time Shane started feeling nervous, and started fidgeting - Joe would grip his hand tighter and smile at him.

Shane had never had anyone who understood each twitch of his shoulders, each restless movement like Joe did.

He felt, for the hundredth time that day, that he didn't deserve him.

 

Finally the time came, when they reached Joe’s apartment uneventfully.

“Well, thank god for that, eh?” Joe said, closing his doors.

“Oh, last time was so horrible..i couldn't believe they would do that!”

“Hey, hey… that's over and done with. And we are here, yeah?” Joe asked.

Now that Shane was there, he didn't really know what to do. He had been to Joe's apartment before, obviously. But now that the promise of something more was there, he didn't know what to do. Should he go get a shower? Get to the bedroom? Get undressed?

There were no guidelines as to what to do upon reaching your boyfriend's home. Shane knew there was none, Because he had already searched.

Joe seemed to be amused. He came closer to Shane, and said- “I can hear you thinking.”

“Oh, well,” Shane said, a bit embarrassed but mostly resigned.

“Come here,” Joe said, opening his arms.

Shane collapsed in there.

Joe was still smiling, as he gently placed a kiss at the nape of his neck, “Bed, do you think?”

Shane nodded, not finding the right word.

Joe held his hand and led him to the bed. He sat down, pulling Shane in with him.

“So, what do you think?” He asked.

“About?”

“You are thinking a lot..what are you thinking about?” Joe said, tapping Shane's forehead.

“I dunno, I dont really know what to do now, I guess,” Shane said, truthfully.

“Shane, you know we really don't have to have sex, right? If you don't want, it's okay. We have plenty of fun anyway.”

“No.. no I want to,” Shane added, hastily.

“You know I’ll stop anytime you want to, right? Even in the… middle of things?” Joe was kissing his neck now. Shane could feel his anxiety melting away, little by little.

“Even in the middle?” He asked.

“Like, you know, even maybe when we are doing it and you don't like it, or it hurts, or anything. You know I will stop, right?”

“Oh.”

“Tell me that you’ll ask me to stop if you don't like it?”

“I will, I promise.”

Joe looked up from kissing his neck and picked up Shane's chin to look into his eyes.

“Nothing to worry about then, is there?”

And Shane already believed it. This was his Joe, his sweet, sweet guy.. his boyfriend.

And Shane kissed him.

Joe kissed him back, gently at first lowering Shane to the bed. His hands untucked Shane's shirt, and made contact with his abs.

Shane thought his world would explode at that first touch, he moaned.

Joe deepened the kiss, his hands now trailing everywhere under the shirt- feeling Shane up, up the muscles of his abdomen, up to his chest. His fingertips traced and flicked his left nipple gently. Shane moaned again, louder.

“Off with the shirt, i think,” Joe said.

Shane didn't need telling twice. Both of them opened their shirts, Shane folding it neatly. Joe’s eyes traced him, amused once again.

“What?” Shane asked, defensively.

“Nothing, come here,” he said, pulling him in once more into a searing kiss.

It was like magic, Joe's bare skin against Shane. His skin was silky smooth, not a bump in it- as Shane drag his hands through his body. He was much leaner than Shane, athletic in an artistic way. Shane loved it.

The contact with the bare skin, hot and feverish, was more than either of them could bear. Shane could feel his dick straining against his jeans. Joe rubbed his own dick against him, above the clothes.

Shane didn't know it would go straight to his core.

Shane tugged desperately at their belts, wanting to do away with every bit of clothing. Suddenly just this much of bare skin was not enough.

Frantic fingers pulled off the jeans, and their underwear as they kissed and laughed through it. Shane did fold his clothes though, not as meticulously as he used to generally.

“Very neat, Shane,” Joe chuckled, before missing his lips and kissing his chest instead. His lips went lower and lower, following the curve of his abdomen, the trail of hair that finally led to his dick.

But instead, Joe kissed the back of his thigh, working upwards. Shane couldnt possibly be expected to think anything, when Joe said, “ you know you have a bunch of freckles here too?” And kissed the fold of his groin.

Shane was too far gone to answer. He lifted his hips in response, as he moaned Joe's name.

“Shane,” Joe said, “You’re so beautiful.”

Gently pushing his legs apart, Joe licked his balls, taking one in his mouth. Shane felt his dick would explode, quite literally, from the simple touch.

“Joe, Joe… i…it's getting too good,” he panted.

Joe rubbed away a bid of precum from his dick, “ So I see,” he said, mock frowning a little.

As soon as the torture on his dick stopped, Shane got up on his elbows. Joe was hard, and that sight alone could send Shane off.

Instead , he said, “Come here.”

Joe went over. Shane eagerly took his dick in his mouth, it was something that he loved doing, and loved doing it perfectly for his Joe.

He flicked his tongue over the top, dragging it down the length, as he took him in his mouth. His mouth salivated, he wanted more, more, more…

“Shane, stop, stop,” Joe said, out of breath and huffing. “There's more that we’d like to do tonight, won't we?”

Shane nodded eagerly, way past the stage of blushing or being conscious, “You got the lube and condom?”

Joe fished it out from his side desk in less than a second , looking proud of himself.

Shane laughed, “Very well prepared, Mr Anderson.”

Joe bore down on him with a wolfish grin, kissing his ears and his lips, “ can't wait.” He whispered in a voice that went straight to his dick.

“Have you ever touched yourself there?” Joe asked, kissing his forehead.

Shane felt himself turning red, “A few times, yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah, a bit” he said truthfully.

“Okay, tell me what you like and what you don't, okay?” Kissing the tip of his nose, Joe sat up and spread Shane's legs gently.

Shane felt so vulnerable, spread out like that in front of Joe, but needing him beyond words. He wanted to be fucked. Even the thought made his dick twitch.

“So eager for me, sweetheart,” Joe said. He poured some lube on his fingers, gently rubbing the entrance to his hole. He inserted one finger- just the tip at first.

Shane wanted more. It wasn't anything like he had experienced before, another person touching him so intimately.

“More, Joe, please,” he said, bearing down on that finger.

Joe’s breath hitched, he inserted one finger upto the knuckle, fucking him with it. Shane started moving his hips, he needed more from Joe, one finger was not enough.

“Joe, please,” Shane said, thoughts weren't coherent anymore.

Joe inserted another finger at that, then another…

Shane was moaning his name, it was getting unbearable. Three fingers but still not enough.

“Joe, Joe I think I am ready.”

And Joe was pouring lube over his own dick, his pupils blown wide , breath coming in gasps.

He lined himself up , but bent down to kiss Shane, “you can say no, anytime you want. Okay?”

“I don't .. please, please fuck me.”

Shane could see the exact moment when Joe lost it at his request. He pressed his dick, gently at first, one inch at a time before pressing in hard and fast.

“Oh Shane, you .. feel so good around me,” he said, kissing his fingers, sucking them one by one.

Shane was beyond the point of replying. No amount of fingers or his secret dildo had felt this way. He wanted Joe to move, desperately. More, more, more…

“Please move Joe. Don't stop.”

Joe didn't need telling twice. He started fucking, hard and fast, and Shane near about lost his mind.

Joe started touching his dick then, rubbing it with lube - up and down. The rhythmic motion, the frantic breathing, the feeling of himself being fucked - Shane thought that he would lose it, right at any moment.

But as Shane closed his eyes, the image of a smirk, of warm blue eyes , a gold crucifix and the sound of a Russian accent calling out - “Hollander” crossed his mind.

He came, spilling all over his chest and stomach.

He opened his eyes, confused when Joe called out “Shane!” Continuing to fuck him for all of five seconds, before coming inside Shane with a loud gasp.

The knot of anticipation gradually fading from the back of his stomach, it was replaced by a horrible feeling.

As Joe kissed him, smiling and saying how good it had been, Shane couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt - first time he ever had sex with his boyfriend, first time he had had sex ever- and he had come to the memory of Ilya Rozanov.

What the actual fuck.

Chapter End Notes

Next up, is the first barbeque of the season, with Joe and a somewhat jealous, irritated Ilya.

I love that version of Ilya tbh. 🤣

Russians absolutely do that!

Chapter 4: First Hint

Chapter Notes

Here is our Bood's barbeque as promised!

Do comment on how you like it!

“So, my Mum seems to think we are kind of joined at the hip now,” Joe said, idly scrolling YouTube, headphones on.

Shane looked up from where he was reading the book of “The Legacy of Hockey: Past, present and future.”

“And what did you say?” He asked.

“What was there to say?”

Shane closed the book, folded his glasses and looked at Joe- “Did you ask, at the front, back or sideways?”

Joe laughed, “God, Shane, you’re insatiable.”

“You like it!”

Joe removed his headphones and dropped his phone, “I do,” he said, kissing him on the forehead. When Shane moaned a little at the touch, Joe dropped another kiss on his lips “I really, really do.”

And then proceeded to show Shane just how much.

 

To Shane's relief, the ‘Appearance of Ilya Rozanov at Unwanted Places’ as he called it, had stopped after that one incident. In fact, he thought , it was just Rozanov fucking with his head, as he did with everyone else.

And Shane was determined to Not let Rozanov mess with him. Not happening again.

So when Rozanov offered him that bottle to drink from, on the gym floor- he took out his own. There, that was a cool refusal for friendship. (He might have stared just a little, but that's okay because well.. it was harmless!).

And then, just to one up Rozanov, he had drenched himself with water. But the damn water droplets got right in his eyes, so he had to rub his face with his sweaty vest. Ughh. Another shower was needed.

And if he could feel Rozanov’s eyes on himself, he decided he didn't mind because Shane was stronger, fitter and better any day than him. That was just athletic competition, wasn't it?

So, he went about his day as usual, and absolutely did not think about Rozanov while jerking himself off that night.

He never went back to that gym though.

 

“Hi,” Joe said, as Shane arrived at his rink, “Practice running late?”

“Oh it's the ice conditioning, they said I had to stay up late 'cause i joined a bit late, you know. I had my trainers all planned in Montreal.”

“Sucks,” Joe said, rubbing his back.

“How was your practice? I am sorry I missed it!”

“Don't worry, Tina’s got my back. We did a new routine today. Next time, come early for a show!”

“Wouldn't miss it.”

“If not for hockey!” Joe teased.

“Hey,” Shane said indignantly, as Joe laughed. “So listen, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah?” Joe said, putting his hands in his jeans pockets.

He looked so adorable like that, especially with a smudge of kohl he seemed to have applied today- Shane thought he could bundle Joe up. He probably could.

“You are staring,” Joe said, smiling.

“It's a crime now? You look beautiful,” Shane said, smudging the kohl just a little.

“You noticed?”

“I always notice.”

Joe smiled at that, “ So, you were saying?”

“Well, my team's sort of invited me to a barbeque tomorrow. And asked to bring you along as well. Will you come?”

“Are you… sure? It's your first team outing, shouldn't you go there to get to know everyone first?”

“Hayden's a rookie, he is bringing his wife,” Shane said, shrugging. “Besides, I would really love a familiar face there. The most beautiful familiar face, I mean,” he said, smiling.

Joe laughed, “ you sound so earnest when you say that, Shane.”

“I never say anything in a half-hearted way, ever.”

“Yeah, Shane Hollander is never cool.”

“Never.”

 

The following evening saw Shane and Joe driving to Zane Boodram’s house. It was a well-decorated house, thought Shane. Lived in, happy. The kind of vibes his parents' is place always gave off.

His Mum had insisted on him taking red wine, though Shane absolutely didn't drink during the season. But he guessed it could never hurt!

“You sure you want me to come?” Joe said. Shane could tell that he was a bit nervous, from the way he kept fidgeting with the seat belt. Shane took his hand anyway.

“Joe, we are both going in,” he said.

“ But they should like you, they are your teammates.”

“Then you being there shouldn't change that, okay?”

He kissed Joe's hand, rubbing his lips over his knuckles gently. Then said, “Shall we?”

“Who are you and what have you done with the Shane who waited a week to ask for my number?”
Joe laughed.

“That's because you mattered. I didn't want to fuck it up. But the entire hockey World already has opinions about me anyway. You being or not being here isn't going to change a thing,” Shane said.

“You're very brave, Shane.”

Shane smiled a little sadly, “I don't have any other option.”

 

The first thing they noticed upon entering the house was.. that it was nearly full. There were just so many people! On the porch, in the drawing room and Shane guessed, probably in the backyard, where the actual barbeque was being cooked.

“Shane Hollander?” Shane turned to the sound of his name. A pretty woman with auburn hair, and very kind eyes, greeted them with a smile. The smile lit up her whole face, as she said, “ I am Cassie Boodram. Welcome to your first ever barbeque at our place!”

“Oh, hi. It's a .. very nice place you have here,” Shane said, smiling. He handed over the wine, “Thank you for having us over.”

“Oh, aren't you a charmer,” she said, smiling. She then turned to Joe, “and you must be…?”

“Joe Anderson,” Joe said politely.

“My boyfriend,” Shane offered, bracing himself.

“Of course he is!” Cassie said, smiling again. “ You two look great together. Now, go right ahead to the back, most of the team's there already.”

“Oh . Is it, like, a lot of people there?” Shane asked. He still didn't do parties, or people. For all his new-found bravery, he really was glad that Joe was there.

“Oh, if you want to escape the crowd anytime, you could go ahead upstairs to the roof, I guess. These things can be a bit overwhelming,” patting his arms, Cassie went ahead to greet another group of people.

Shane looked at Joe to say, thank god it went well. But Joe was smiling. “She was pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah, it's only .. a lot of crowd, isn't it?”

“We’ll just stay an hour, at max. If you want to leave, you have to just tap my shoulders, okay?”

Shane nodded, and facing it like a warzone, he went inside. The drawing room was already full, with some people whom Shane recognised from the Ottawa team. Others must be friends or girlfriends, he had no idea.

There was Coach Wiebe, talking to Wyatt Hayes and what Shane presumed to be his wife.

The coach nodded at him, and Hayes also turned to look at him. He smiled and nodded once, and continued with the conversation.

Shane felt his anxiety melting away a little bit.

He nodded at some of the rookies that he recognized- D’Souza and Thomas were already there, with a group of very drunk girls, and looking too busy feeding them beer, or any alcohol really. The girls weren't too bothered about it.

He saw the social media and PR manager - Harris at a far corner, but he didn't see Shane.

They continued walking towards the gate to the backyard. It was difficult, but they finally made it.

“Hollander,” Boodram exclaimed, “You made it! Please come join. And you brought a date too! “

“This is Joe,” he said.

“Hi, Joe. The barbeque has just been started, but some of the food and drinks are inside. If you want a tour…” he looked around, searching for a volunteer.

“I can show them around,” a highly accented Russian voice said.

Shane's stomach clenched.

He turned around. There was Ilya Rozanov, shirt hanging off half open, hair toussled, arms spread wide as if he didn't have a better thing to do.

“Isn't it too early to get laid yet?” Another voice asked. Troy Barrett, Shane immediately recognised him.

“For you sad fuckers, maybe,” Ilya said, shrugging.
“Come, Hollander, you want me to show around?”

“I think I will find my way just fine,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

“Come now, you are scaring the Rookie off,” Dykstra said, as he introduced himself.

Ilya snorted.

“Yes, it will be good to scare Hollander. We have a bet, yes? I can scare him into losing.”

“In your dreams, Rozanov.”

“I have more interesting dreams.”

“Suit yourself,” Shane said, shrugging.

“No, I show you Bood's house, come on.”

Joe raised his eyes at Shane, who rolled his eyes and said, “Come on then.”

“Whoa, who is this? Another rookie?”

“This is my boyfriend, Joe.”

Was it Shane's imagination, or did Rozanov actually go a little stiff at that?
Really, if he turned out to be a secret homophobe….

“It's just a one man tour,” Rozanov said.

“What difference does it make?” Shane said, frowning.

“It's customised,” Rozanov said, that little shit.

“Fine, you take Joe on the tour then. He will tell me later,” Shane said, huffing and turning to find a place to sit. Any corner away from this asshole.

“Come on, Shane,” Joe tugged at his hands.

“Yeah, go on,” Rozanov said, rolling his head.

“Is that how you greet the rookies?” Bood asked.

“Okay. I will give you a tour. That's the house, the drawing room- where the food is, this is the backyard where the barbeque is, and upwards are the very many rooms where Sir Bood and Lady Bood get on with it. Any problem in understanding?”

Shane rolled his eyes, “ Nope.” Holding Joe's hand, he said, “thank you Rozanov. I have been enlightened.”

Rozanov's expression said he didn't quite grasp the meaning, but to hell with Shane if he waited up for him.

He had already spotted Hayden at a far corner, who had waved him over enthusiastically, and told Joe, “Lets get over there.”

Out of earshot, Joe said, “I thought you said you haven't met anyone from the team yet?”

“Huh?” Said Shane, searching for Hayden.

“You did meet Rozanov, long enough to bet,” Joe said.

Somehow, it irritated Shane - “He is just an asshole. It's in his nature to try to get under everybody’s skin. Don't let it bother you.”

Joe looked like he wanted to say something, but let it slide, as he followed Shane to meet the Pikes.

 

“Shane, over here!” Hayden waved him over. He had met Hayden during the draft, and somehow Hayden had taken it upon himself to be Shane's social rescue. One that Shane wasn't much interested in, but he liked Hayden.

“Hey man, you made it. And you must be Joe?” He said, shaking Joe’s hand, “I heard a lot about you from Shane, we met at the draft, you know?”

A lot would be exaggerating, thought Shane, as he turned to the lady standing beside him. She waved too, warm and friendly, and Shane said, “Jackie, right?”

“Yeah, how are you doing?”

“I am very well, thank you!”

“How are you guys finding Ottawa?” Joe asked.

“Oh it's very nice, a bit away from the city rustles like Montreal or New York maybe. But…” Hayden said, smiling warmly.

“Babe,” Jackie rolled her eyes.

Shane looked on, bemused , at the scene played out before him. They did seem a bit too much to him, but in a good way.

“Jackie’s pregnant, you know!” Hayden stage- whispered.

“Oh, congratulations!” Shane said. He hadn't really expected that.

“How wonderful,” Joe asked. “How far along?”

“Just about two months,” Jackie said. She was glowing, but then again that might be make-up.

“That means no drinks for this one,” Hayden said, slinging an arm around her.

“Don't worry, I don't drink too,” Shane said, “not this close to the season.”

“Or during the season,” said Joe, smiling.

“Or during the season,” Shane repeated, earnestly.

“ You guys are so cute together. Will you tell us how you met ?” Jackie asked.

“First, a drink,” Hayden said.

“I’ll get those,” Shane said, tapping Joe lightly on the shoulder, “what will you have?”

“Beer,” he said. And Shane and Hayden went out to grab the drinks.

 

Shane had just taken a ginger ale from the fridge, when a familiar voice sounded behind him, “ Not drinking?”

Sure enough, Rozanov was standing there, arms folded. What looked like down by another two or three drinks, though he was standing up admirably.

“I don't drink.”

Rozanov blew a raspberry, “Boring.”

“Okay," Shane shrugged.

Hayden looked suspiciously at Rozanov, “ You are Ilya Rozanov,” he said.

“Am I?” Rozanov sneered.

Shane didn't have a good feeling towards this. He said, “Why don't you grab the beer, Hayden. I’ll catch up with you.”

“Okay,” Hayden was still frowning as he left.

“I fucked that girl, and the one in pink over there,” Rozanov said, nodding towards a group of girls.

Of course he did, a voice in Shane's mind said. Aloud, he just said, “Okay, so?”

“They are pretty, yes?”

“I guess.”

“Yes, or no?”

“Yes?” Shane hazarded a guess. He didn't have a clue where this conversation was going.

“You could do better than Hayden then,” he said.

Shane stared.

“That's Hayden Pike, our teammate.”

“No he isn't.”

“He got drafted with me.”

Comprehension dawned on Rozanov’s face, “A rookie.”

“Yes.”

“I met Marly over there,also a rookie. He is fun. Is Hayden fun?”

Blown off track, Shane again didn't know what to answer.

“Umm..” he said, intelligently.

Rozanov rolled his eyes, “your boring friend then.”

“Yeah, okay. May I leave now, or are you going to just keep repeating how boring I am?”

Rozanov seemed to find it funny, “Does that make you angry?”

By now, Shane just wanted this grating conversation to end. He had no clue what kind of socialization this was, but nothing that he had ever done before..and it was exhausting.

“Nope. See , those two girls are waving you over. Why don't you join them?”

“They are waving to the two of us, we both are very good-looking, yes?”

“I am gay,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

“Completely?”

What the fuck question was that?

“Yes.”

Rozanov again blew a raspberry, “Well, the ladies are stuck with me, then.”

“ Tragic, but true. Bye, I guess Hayden's calling.”

“Is Hayden your mother?” Rozanov said.

Shane flipped him off, but as he was leaving, he found himself smiling despite everything.

 

“What kept you guys so long?” Jackie asked.

Shane handed her a Coke, as Hayden said, “Rozanov.”

“That guy's just weird,” Joe said , rolling his eyes. “ I don't know what his problem is.”

“I beat him at the World Junior Championship last year.”

Joe's eyes went round for a bit, “So you did. That's why I know the face.”

“I’ve heard he’s really good, though,” Jackie said.

“Second best,” Shane said, smiling.

Hayden snorted, “you go show him!”

“We all are on the same team, Hayden,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

“Won't stop that fucker from competing,” Hayden said.

With a sigh, Shane realized it was probably true.
And he loved the thrill of competing.

 

Shane looked over at the food in dismay. Nothing suited his diet, everything was mostly fried or barbecued. Which was the point of a barbeque, he knew. But still.

He felt an arm go around his waist.

“Thinking about what to eat?” Joe said, dropping a kiss on his cheek, dragging it to his ear.

Shane squirmed a bit, public display of affection was not generally his cup of tea. But people seemed to be too far gone drinking, and wildly making out with random people anyway.

Also, Joe looked smoking hot in a black tank top, and kohl smeared eyes. Shane felt a bit guilty, he had been so wound up - trying to meet his new team, that he had probably ignored Joe a bit. Not complimented him enough anyway.

So he relaxed into his touch, “ You know me now.” He said, smiling a little.

“How about, you grab some chicken and veggies from there, and I make sure you burn the extra calories when we go home?”

Shane put on his mock thinking face, “It’ll need at least one extra hour of workout, I think.”

“At least,” Joe agreed.

Just then, music like Shane had never heard, started blowing at full blast.

“What the–?”

Joe looked startled too, “Are those actual songs?”

Sure enough, Rozanov had clambered on to the top of a – table? Couch? Shane couldn't see. Rozanov though, apparently found it to be an absolutely perfect stage.

He held an empty beer bottle like a mic, and said, “Give a big round of applause for our DJ Dykstra of the night!”

The crowd hollered.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Shane said under his breath.

“What's he up to now?” Joe wondered aloud, resigned.

“ There is a famous saying in Russian,” he spoke some jumbled up words, then asked, “You know what it means?”

There seemed to be a small group of ardent followers of Rozanov, who actually answered these questions.

“It means while the DJs music is playing, no couple should leave the house, or they break up.” Shane could swear Rozanov's eyes flickered towards him.
“And no single person should leave the house, or Ottawa loses! Do we want that?”

“NO!”

“Then do we let anyone leave?”

“NO!”

“Good lord!” Shane said.

“It's like they are in a cult,” Joe said, awed.

Shane couldn't even reply to that.

 

Finally Shane found himself seated around a bonfire at the backyard, having been unable to leave. At least this place was a bit quieter than the inside of the house.

He and Joe were joined by Barrett, Hayden and Jackie, Wyatt and his wife Lisa, with Harris occasionally dropping in. Shane wasn't sure, but he thought Harris seemed a bit too interested in Barrett.

Oh well. Not that he was any expert in any of these things.

“So, how do you like the team so far?” Hayes asked.

“Seems pretty good,” Shane said.

“Rozanov though,” Hayden said, rolling his eyes.

“Ah he’s an asshole,” Barrett said, laughing.

“But he’s funny,” Lisa said, “ kinda grows on you.”

“Don't let him hear that,” Hayes said.

“Talking about me, gentle ladies and men?”

“Ah fuck off, Rozy,” Hayes said, rolling his eyes, “Gonna get unpopular with the rookies, at this rate.”

“Unpopular? What is that word? English is so difficult sometimes,” Rozy said, taking a sip of whatever the fuck he was drinking.

Jackie giggled.

Rozanov turned to her, “And you must be lady Pike?”

“ I am Jackie,” she said, extending a hand, still smiling.

“How a lady as charming as you can end up with Pike?” he said, looking genuinely surprised.

“Leave her alone,” Hayden said, as Jackie laughed.

“That really scared me, Pike.” Rozanov said seriously, “ I guess I should have gone away, but I can't let myself get unpopular with the rookies.” His eyes found Shane, who rolled his eyes.

“Come on, we wanted to ask Hollzy about how it feels, being out,” Barrett said. He hadn't really asked that before, but Shane thought he had been meaning to ask so, for a long time.

It turned quiet, as Shane realized people were looking at him for answers. He was never very good at the talking part of anything.

He shrugged. “It wasn't like it was on my terms. I didn't want to be like.. out or anything, not to my parents even.” He felt Joe's hand on his shoulders, squeezing hard.

“You don't have to talk about it,” Joe said, gently. “Sorry guys. It wasn't a good …time.”

“No, I.. I just want to say that after that initial part was over, it was really freeing. There was no more lying - to anyone. And I am here with Joe. Thanks for making it happen though, guys. Coach told me about you all.”

“Of course, Hollzy, anytime,” said Hayes.

“Yeah, we got your back,” Barrett said.

Rozanov, Shane noticed, didn't say anything during the entire altercation. He was looking intently at the fire burning, not joking around or even looking at Shane.

“Anyway, enough being sombre,” Lisa said, “ We are very very glad that ultimately you ended up being a Centaurs. It's your hometown isn't it?”

“Oh yes, it’ll be good to play for Ottawa,” Shane said sincerely.

“And I’ll be in Ottawa too,” Joe said, smiling.

“That too.”

“There will be away games, though,” Rozanov said, suddenly.

“Yes, I am aware of that,” Shane said.

“And we will make it to play-offs this year, so it will be difficult,” Rozanov said, again.

“We will make it to the play-offs,” Shane said, nodding, “And we will win.”

“Aye, let's drink to that,” Hayes said.

Shane could swear, as they all raised their drinks to toast, Rozanov tilted his glass towards him, just a bit.
The ice cold ginger ale poured warmth down Shane's throat after that.

 

Finally it was time for them to leave.

“How did you like the evening?” He asked Joe.

“Your teammates are really good,” Joe said, kissing his forehead, “I’ll worry less when you're with them.”

“So, you worry about me?” Shane said, wrapping his arms around Joe in the parking lot. It was quite empty.

“We are getting bold in the parking lot again?” Joe asked, though he was smiling.

“With all due respect, everyone can fuck off,” he said. They were kissing when they reached their car, and Shane tried to reach the driver's side but-

An obnoxiously orange Rolls-Royce was parked, blocking the entire path, so that Shane couldn't even back the car off.

It left no doubt as to who the car belonged to, especially since he had seen the same car in those sports documentaries that the news channels made.

“Rozanov,” he groaned.

“What is the dude’s problem?” Joe asked. Shane didn't even know what to answer.

Instead, he called the number he had just taken.

A drunk voice answered, “Why so impatient, Hollzy. We just talked.”

“Get your damn car out of our way,” Shane said.

“I don't know what you are saying.”

“Come to the parking lot.”

“If I want someone to do something for me, I say please. Is polite, no?”

“Come. Remove. Your. Car. PLEASE.” Shane said.
It was already getting late, and he wanted to go home with Joe. Rozanov was seriously pissing him off.

“Since you ask so nicely.” He cut the call.

Sure enough, in five minutes, Rozanov came sauntering in.

“ Problem?” He asked mildly.

“Will you remove your car, so we may leave?”

“But Dykstra’s music is still playing. I wouldn't want you two to break up,” Rozanov said, pouting.

“We’ll risk it,” said Joe, dryly. “Now if you please may.”

“I don't like that tone.”

“Rozanov,” Shane said, in a warning voice.

“I don't like that tone either,” Rozanov said.

“You don't have to. I will call the tow-truckers and remove this orange monster if I have to,” Shane said, now on the verge of losing it.

“That's Laila for you. She has feelings. Don't be rude,” he said.

Shane stared.

“Okay, I am removing my car so you can go get laid.”

“Yes, please!” Shane said. He didn't even care what Rozanov thought. He really wanted to go home with Joe now.

Finally, Rozanov removed the car from their way, leaving a clear passage.

As they were leaving, Rozanov said, “Hollander, a word?”

Joe looked ready to pick a fight. Shane said, “Go on, I’ll be there in a second.”

When Joe left, Shane asked, “Yes?”

Rozanov, all of a sudden, looked lost for words. He, in fact, looked like a child struggling to say something. Maybe it was the English?

“Practice is from 9 am sharp. Day after tomorrow. Don't be late,” he finally said.

“Okay. Is that all?” Shane asked.

Rozanov stared a bit at him, on the verge of saying something, it seemed. Then clamped up and said, “Yes, that is all. Goodnight.”

“ ‘Night,” Shane said, and got into the car.

“What did he want?”

“ Some shit about practice,” Shane said, shrugging.

As he drove out of the parking lot, he felt like his puck just somehow missed the goal by a huge margin. He wasn't even sure what he did wrong.

Chapter End Notes

Next up: Ilya's pov of their first game.

It'll take some time for the next part, because it's Sunday 🥹🥹
Enjoy the barbeque till then. Hopefully jealous Ilya served!

Also, thoughts on Laila please!

Chapter 5: First Game

Chapter Notes

Here's their first game of the season!

Please forgive any inaccuracies as they don't really even stream hockey in any good OTT in my country. I just had to go through the rules and who should be who at least three times to make much sense.

TW: for homophobic slurs. That's just Toronto being Toronto ( from the GC universe, of course). You can skip the match if you want.

Ilya had never slept with a guy.

That was, he thought, never what he had wanted. There had been a few who had offered. His Coach's son, back in Russia, had been eager enough to want to kiss him at the least.

But in the end, he hadn't done it.

Had he been tempted to? Ilya didn't know. But the temptations certainly were never enough, to risk even a hint of gossip. No, he had wanted to make it big. He had wanted, desperately, to escape home.

To escape Russia.

And he couldn't let such a thing as having sex with anyone on this planet, come in between him and that ambition.

It wasn't like he lacked attention anyway. Girls, more than he could count, threw themselves at him. He had even a few regulars by now- in different cities. They were more than happy for a quick fuck on days when he needed that. Nothing more.

Then of course there was Svetlana. Half the people back home thought they were a couple anyway. And even though he didn't like her that way at all, he wasn't sometimes so sure about her.

Not that she would ever admit to that.

But he knew if he ever needed it, for a citizenship, or even just for companionship - she would marry him. They could fuck and get bored together, till the end of their days without any regrets.
He did love her, though maybe never in love with her.

That, Ilya was certain, would never happen.

He never wanted to fall in love. He never would- he had promised himself.

His Mum had fallen in love with his dad, so she had said. And look at what his dad did– never a moment of peace, or appreciation. Never a kind word. And in the end, it had been too much for her.

His Mum had supposedly loved him as well, but she still had left him for good. In the hands of a cruel man who made him regret his life everyday. In the end, even she hadn't loved him enough to stay.

So Ilya didn't set much store by love. It was simply a thing that didn't happen to him. Nobody ever loved him truly. Not long enough, not deep enough, ever, to stay.
And he was accustomed to that.
He had accepted that.

Now, he didn't even want anyone to stay.

But curiosity, that was another thing altogether.

And Shane Hollander made him.. curious.

His too serious expression, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, puffs of breath as he worked out, the constellation of freckles splattered across his face, the way his cheeks reddened on a compliment - Ilya was, in a word, transfixed.

He didn't know why but Hollander made him wonder, how it would feel to press his lips against those, make him moan, touch those pecs and those abs- get them under him, to have him on his knees before Ilya, to have those lips around his dick…

He had felt an inkling of this when he first saw Hollander back in Saskatchewan. And a year from that, now, when they were playing on the same team- that feeling of this particular type of curiosity mixed with admiration- grew.

And maybe it was precisely because of this reason, this weird combination of feelings, that seeing Hollander with someone else, especially another fucking polite Canadian, did something to him.

The thought that that guy- Joe or John or whatever - could kiss Hollander, take Hollander home, fuck him, hold him, make him moan- made Ilya see blue. It might not be the most appropriate, given he himself had slept with two beautiful women that night in itself, but seeing him that close to Hollander on the night of Bood's party, the way Hollander had smiled at him as he kissed his neck - no, Ilya wanted to forget about it.

Or murder the guy, at the very least, for eliciting that response, that expression in Hollander.

Fuck. What was happening to him?

He jerked off instead, coming back home that night. He thought about Hollander instead- pressed under him, his body writhing, his strong fingers scratching against his back, his eyes blissed out as he looked at Ilya and moaned his name as Ilya fucked him.
He came in two seconds.

And then felt disgusted with himself because Hollander was probably doing just those things with someone else right then.

It was perhaps the first time in his twenty years of life, when getting off made him feel empty. Drained. Hollow. And even more tired.

 

The day of the start of the practice session arrived. Ilya always went at least half an hour earlier, to get some extra practice in. He loved the quiet of the rink before it got crowded, loved the sound of the stick striking the puck, loved how the puck soared right into the goal in the silence of the rink.

Changing into his gear he proceeded to the rink, only to find another figure skating across it.
A line of pucks neat inside the goal already.

The figure looked up, “You’re half an hour late,” Hollander said, the shadow of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“I thought you were early,” he huffed.

“I expected you to be too, but maybe all the smoking and junk food’s making you slack, eh?”

So, he wanted a match.

“I am still the fastest skater,” he said, smugly.

Hollander skated right up to him, and staring into his eyes, said, “Prove it. Five rounds. We time each other. Best of five, wins.”

Ilya felt the ridiculous thrill of competition start to form at the back of his stomach. It had been a long time since he had felt this. Never since that junior championship.

“Oh, you're on.”

Ilya started the timer on the stopwatch. Hollander looked like he fucking owned the ice. He moved like it was as easy as walking, as smooth as running- his hair flying behind, his eyes razor-sharp, each breath calculating.

Quick as anything, Hollander made a lap and stopped before him.

“Well?” He asked.

13.57 seconds. Damn. That was faster than Ilya's record indeed.

 

They did the best of five. Ilya lost by just one match.

Hollander looked at him, and said very seriously, “This is why you shouldn't smoke.”

“I don't, not regularly anyway.” Ilya said, trying to sound angry.

“Well, that's worse because then I am just more skilled than you are,” Hollander said, smiling cheekily before leaving for the locker room.

As Ilya followed him to the locker room, he thought that this part of Hollander would never be shared with anyone else. Not the world, not with his boyfriend.
The thought gave him a weird satisfaction as he returned to the locker room.

And for some reason, he couldn't stop smiling.

 

“Yo, Rozy, had a good night?” Marlow said, smirking.

Ilya looked at him.

“Got a big smile on your face,” he said, winking elaborately.

“Can be a joke.”

“That you were sharing with… Hollander?” Marlow asked, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Shut your idiot face, and let's go for practice.”

“Aye Captain!” He said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Hollander, you take Rozanov's right wing in the first line,” Coach Wiebe said. “I know you are usually the centre, but let's try this for now.”

Ilya chanced a glance at him.

Hollander's eyes were set, no hint of any tension in them.
He looked at his hands. They were holding the puck steadily.

Not tensed then.

Good.

The puck dropped.

It was a practice, the likes of which Ilya had never had. When he and Hollander were on ice, for him, the rest of the team didn't exist. It was as if Hollander anticipated his every move, and was there in a telepathic connection, by his side.

They scored. And scored.

Even the other players were extremely good, and all in all Ilya felt it would be a great season. If they could play this way, no one could stop them from making it to the play-offs.

 

Quickly, things fell into a routine. Everyday he would go to the rink one hour early. Hollander would be there, he knew. They would place some absurd bet, on scoring most goals, fastest goals, and a number of things Hollander came up with.

Nothing ever came off those bets, whoever lost or won.

Ilya soon found himself looking forward to that particular hour everyday..

He didn't want that hour to be up, ever.

 

The day of their first match arrived. It was a home game against Toronto.

It wasn't the opening anyone wanted. For one, the Toronto team was ruthless, and very good. They had almost won the finals last year, and this year would be hell bent on taking it.

For the second thing, they were a homophobic bunch. Their Captain, Dallas Kent, was one the worst pieces of shit Ilya had ever seen. When Troy had left Toronto and joined Ottawa last year, he had looked traumatized at the mere mention of the team.

Others thought it was because he was good of heart, that homophobic slurs affected him. But Ilya saw the way he looked at Harris. He had no doubt as to the fact that Troy was gay. Or at least liked guys.

So, the condition wasn't ideal. But they had to face Toronto some day, he figured.

 

The environment in the locker room was tense. You could hear the pin drop in there. Troy was sitting with his head in his hands- a common stance he took, Ilya had realized, when faced with Toronto.

Hayes was chewing his lips as if they had personally offended him. Dykstra had his earphones on.
Marlow was trying to hold a conversation with the rookies, Thomas and D’Souza, who looked ready to throw up.

Pike was there, talking with Hollander. He was the only fucking guy who looked like he got his shit together. He was even smiling at something Pike was showing him.

Bood came up to him.

“You give the speech,” he said.

Ilya nodded, and stood up. It was time.

“Listen up you motherfuckers. Toronto is a shit team. They are too full of themselves and think they are the best.”

He looked at everyone sitting in the room.

“So we just go out there, and prove them wrong. We keep playing like we kept practising. They don't stand a chance.”

Everybody cheered. Bood said, “Let's go!”

And it was time.

 

Ilya was surprised to see Ottawa's stands almost full. It had never been so, given how they more often lost the matches than not.

But as Hollander entered the rink, the crowd simply went crazy cheering for him. Hollander looked at the crowd, gave a nod and looked straight ahead.

Ilya smiled, feeling a sense of pride that he didn't deserve.

He took his position at the ice centre, Kent in front of him. They bent low, waiting for the puck to drop.

“How does it feel, to play with someone who would like to fuck you?” Kent said, baring his teeth and looking at Ilya.

“Something that you won't know, because nobody wants to fuck you, team or not,” Ilya said, and he got the puck.

 

The play was brutal. Even in the first period, they looked like they had some personal vendetta against Ottawa.

Ilya was flying towards the goal, puck in possession, and Hollander appeared right by his side.

He passed the puck, which Hollander took smoothly and started moving.

“Oi, Hollander, why don't you pass the puck here? No good pretending a faggot can play now, is there?” Trevor Flint, their defender, shouted.

Hollander didn't respond, he soared past them.

But Flint was hot on his trail, trying to block desperately.

“Go off kissing your fairy boyfriend now, I am asking politely,” Flint sneered.

Hollander was still too fast for him to catch up. Ilya saw Troy move forward from his position on the left, ready for the puck to be passed.

Kent was also now trailing Hollander. They were close, very close to making their first goal.

“We know Ottawa's a shit team, but we didn't know that they could be okay with a fag. Do they take it in turn, to fuck you? Or Barrett over there?” Kent shouted.

Ilya wanted to punch the teeth off his face, he was seeing red.

But Hollander increased his speed, went left, moving his stick to the left. He was almost upon the goalie, Graves- who looked at Hollander, and if Ilya was not mistaken, Hollander winked.

Graves looked confused, then enraged.

That split second of confusion was enough for Hollander to drive the puck straight past him.

And they had scored. The first goal of the season.

Grinning like an idiot, he, along with the team, piled on Hollander.

But not before he heard Hollander shout, “If you want the puck, maybe you learn to play hockey next time.”

 

Toronto was enraged, and kept making one mistake after another.
And Ottawa, inspired by the early lead, worked as if they could make no mistake.

Hollander scored a hat-trick, two with assists from Ilya. Ilya scored too, Bood scored, Marlow scored.

So that at the end, the result was a 6-2, in favour of Ottawa.

 

The locker room that day was something else. It was a new season, it was THEIR season.

Marlow clapped Hollander on the shoulders - “You fucking beautician, Hollzy! They’re going to have nightmares about those goals!”

“Did you look at Kent? He looked furious!” Dykstra said with glee.

“Guy’s got his head so far up his ass with ego he forgot how to play.” Pike said, shaking his head.

Hollander was smiling, ear to ear. His eyes crinkled as he took in the celebration, his freckles seemed to glow.
Ilya looked away, he felt like he was looking at something too bright, too pure.

Suddenly, he felt a movement by his side, “ That's 3-1 for you,” Hollander said, smiling.

For a moment Ilya didn't realize.

Then his face split in a smile too, “ Are we not counting assists?”

“ I don't need to count assists. 47 more to go,” Hollander said, smirking.

He still was an asshole.

 

Just then, someone knocked at the locker room door. Ilya looked up.

It was Joe. Or John. Or Jack. He didn't care what his name was. That guy was wearing a Hollander 24 jersey.

What he cared about was, how Hollander’s eyes lit up when he saw him. If he had been smiling before, he was positively beaming now, walking towards that guy.

“Hi,” he seemed to say.

Then Joe or Jack or John said “Good game” and kissed him.

Ilya had never been against any kind of display of affection, himself having fucked one unnamed girl in the locker room once (though admittedly nobody else had been present), but as he saw Hollander glued to the lips with that guy, he wanted to rip them apart and give them some lecture about locker room decency.

Instead, he just took out his phone to look at it. There were no notifications.

Several people wolf- whistled, Marlow shouting “Yo, got to keep your game up, Hollzy!”

They had broken apart, it seemed. Feeling relatively safe to look up, Ilya did so.

He wished he hadn't, because he never thought that he could ever hyperventilate to the sight of Hollander blushing red.

Maybe he ought to go and get checked. Surely this wasn't normal? Everyone else around him were acting pretty normal anyway.

Bood said, “ Come on, we're having a party. Join us, Anderson.”

Ilya felt hugely relieved when Anderson (Joe?) said “No, thanks a lot. But you guys have fun!”

“Hollzy would be coming, right?” Hayes asked.

“No guys, you go and have fun.”

“Oh, come on. You gotta have fun sometimes,” Troy insisted.

“I really don't do parties,” Hollander said, “It's not my scene at all.”

“Yes. Hollander is never cool,” Anderson said with a laugh. It seemed to be some kind of an inside joke, as Hollander looked up at him and nodded, a gooey smile on his face, “ I really am never.”

“You guys are gross, man! Jackie would kill me if they saw you two together,” Pike said, shaking his head.

“Don't worry, we won't tell your wife how gross we are,” Anderson said with a wink.

That guy had the audacity to walk into Ilya's locker room, and wink at Ilya's teammate!

Thankfully, Hollander turned to him, “ You wait outside, I'll shower and join you in 15.”

Anderson nodded, “Yuna and David are waiting outside. Come soon, or I think Yuna will come here herself!”

Hollander chuckled, shaking his head and pushing him off towards the exit.

“Meeting the parents, Hollzy. Way to go!” Bood said.

“Shut up,” he said, and went on to the locker room to get changed.

Ilya turned back again towards his locker. He wished he hadn't heard the last part of the conversation, or any part of it at all.

He had always surrounded himself with people, but no one who knew anything about him. He had never felt the need to- he didn't want their pity, or their sympathy in anything.
But as he watched this little exchange, he hoped he had someone with whom he was as comfortable as this- sharing jokes , meeting their parents, or just hanging out in general.

It seemed lovely.

Chapter End Notes

Oh, my poor baby Ilya. Hold on tight, that's just the boyfriend.
But he is your future husband!

Your Shane will soon be singing 'Back to December' for you too! Hang on sweetheart!

Next up is Shane's POV, on their first away game, and sharing a room with Ilya.

Such a tragic ( not really) accident!

Also, i don't think there is any human being- men, women or otherwise, who can resist the power of Hudson / Shane's wink

Chapter 6: First Name

Chapter Notes

Okay, so this one is a long chapter. But those of us who had been waiting for genuine Hollanov moments, this one's for you guys (not the sex, though. Not just yet.)

TW: explicit scenes, of course. And mentions of autism.

I hope you love reading it!

Shane's eyes had glazed over. The sight of Joe, between his legs- sucking him, those perfect lips around his dick, those eyes seeking his permission for going ahead - would never cease to amaze him.

His hands gripped those black curls tightly , “Joe, that's so good, don't stop.” His words became incoherent as Joe doubled his efforts.

Soon, Shane was seeing stars as he came, moaning Joe's name.

His amazing boyfriend looked up at him, swallowed and grinned, then climbed up his body, his own cum drying on his stomach.

Joe nibbled at Shane's ears, “Good?”

Shane said, “Very” then kissed him on the top of his nose.

“Something you won't forget in a hurry?”

“Forget what?” Shane asked, his eyes glinting.

“Shane Hollander, such a tease,” Joe said, kissing him.

Shane kissed him back, he could still smell himself on his lips. It was a heady sensation.

“I’ll miss you,” Joe said.

“Hey, you keep practising hard, and in no time I will be back, okay?”

Joe sighed in his arms - “If you say so.”

Ottawa was leaving for their first away game the next day. For New York.

“It's a short trip. I hope that we win. Then I’ll return and we’ll have more of this, yeah?”

“Mm,” Joe said, kissing him again.

“Shower, do you think?” Shane asked.

“Or, we can shower after….” And he pressed his hardness against Shane.

“Now who is insatiable?” Shane asked, chuckling.

Before long, they were lost to the world.

 

The next day, the flight would be leaving at 2.

Shane got into the flight, took a window seat and started scrolling through the downloaded section of movies in his laptop. Flights were always a place of relaxation for him.

Hayden sat across the aisle from him. “All okay?” He asked.

“Going great. How's Jackie?”

“Oh she's sick to the core. Morning sickness and all. She contacted Yuna though, I think that would help.”

Shane nodded, his Mum would definitely help. There was nothing that she didn't know, thought Shane.

Just then, Marlow and Rozanov entered, followed by Barrett, who looked amused and irritated on equal parts.

Marlow seemed to have taken trailing Rozanov as his personal goal in life. He just exclaimed, “Make way, gentlemen, for the party people on this plane!”

“Don't tell me you guys got shit drunk yesterday again,” Bood said, rolling his eyes and scrolling his phone.

“Yeah, just us and some very hot chicks. We even lost the count, I think.”

Shane looked at Rozanov, who was wearing sunglasses and looking out. He just said, “ Ah, too much noise you are making, Marly. Let's go sit, yes?”

And they went ahead to the front of the flight to take their seats.

Shane always knew that Rozanov slept with people. Yet the mentions of him having casual sex with anyone irritated him to no extent. He was sure because he was hugely opposed to the idea. Casual meant nothing to him. He couldn't even think of kissing a guy if he had no emotional connection with him, just for the sake of it.

Anyway, to each his own, he guessed.

The flight was taking off. He dropped a quick message to Joe and his Mum, and turned to his laptop.

Where was the recent X squad movie that he had downloaded?
And who the hell had downloaded ‘Dirty Dancing’ on his laptop?

Must have been Joe. He groaned.

He didn't like to watch romcoms. There was something unrealistic and amusing about them- Shane never had set much store about all the pining, and yearning to be in each other's arms, and the romantic longing that seemed to be portrayed so gloriously. Truthfully, in his life, he had never had time for anything other than hockey.

Then Joe had come, and for him- that had been it.

And he was happy. There wasn't any melodrama in it, it was grounded, familiar, and safe.

But Joe wanted him to watch this god forbidden movie, and he couldn't find the movie he had downloaded anyway.

And Hayden was hinting on coming over to talk. He loved Hayden a lot, but if he had to see one more sonogram of his baby, and compliment on how good it looked (when Shane couldn't find the head or tail of it)....

Nope, he would rather at least pretend to watch this movie. Maybe get some sleep with headphones on.

He had just started the movie, when he felt someone drop on the seat beside him.

“What are we watching?”

He turned to find- who else? Of course Ilya Rozanov, sunglasses in place, chewing what seemed like his chain, shirt half untucked and looking eagerly at the screen of Shane's laptop.

“I am watching..” Shane winced, “ Dirty Dancing.”
He said in a whisper.

God, he didn't want the whole plane to hear. Or they'll take him to be a total sap.

“Why is it dirty? Is it like.. porn?”

“What? No! It's a romantic movie.”

“You like these? Romantic movies?”

Shane sighed. Rozanov was like a very yappy puppy who refused to let go.

“No,” he said simply

“But you are watching this movie.”

“Yes.”

“Then let's watch,” Rozanov took his headphones out.

God, when had Shane's life come to this, that he was watching Dirty Dancing with Rozanov?

Resigned, he nodded. Rozanov smiled like he got a birthday treat.

He turned out to be a good movie partner, not talking or commenting unnecessarily. Twenty minutes in, and Shane had to admit that the movie was kind of good.

“But Johnny really is not the child’s father, is he?” Rozanov asked him, his eyes a bit wide.

Rozanov was suddenly a bit closer. Shane found it difficult to breathe. Absurdly, he wanted to touch Rozanov- just swipe away those golden curls falling across his eyes.

“N…no,” he muttered.

Rozanov looked at him, “ You okay? Want water?”

“No I am fine,” Shane said, looking back at the screen. He was not. His heart was racing. Involuntarily, his fingers curled upon themselves.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Rozanov’s eyes flicker to his hands, and he leaned back a little.

“Let's watch the movie, yes?”

Shane hit ‘Play’ again.

When Baby started her dance rehearsals, Shane heard Rozanov laughing.

“You gotta say something?”

“I was imagining you.. dancing. You would be awkward, like her,” Rozanov said, chuckling.

“I don't dance,” he said flatly.

“No, I thought not.”

“It's not like I can't. I just .. don't.”

“Oh, so you can?” Rozanov was smiling an all-too-knowing smile.

“Fuck off,” Shane said. He had turned his head, but was smiling himself.

“One day, Hollander. I will get you on the dance floor.”

Shane rolled his eyes and hit play.

 

They sat quietly when the movie was over.

It had been a really good movie. Shane hadn't thought that he would like it, but he did. There was a charm, of finding your true identity, that resonated deeply within him.

“Did you like it? The movie?” Rozanov asked quietly.

Shane nodded, “ Yeah, it was good.”

“Freeing, to let the world know your true self, is it not? And to have someone by your side like that.”

Shane smiled. It truly was. Maybe that's why Joe had wanted him to watch the movie.
It was romantic, really.

Then Rozanov smiled widely. “ Also, the guy was very hot. Not unlike me, was he not?”

“He’s nothing like you!” Shane laughed, then said, “So he’s actually kinda hot.”

As they laughed together, Shane realized that he wanted to keep sharing these laughs with Rozanov.

 

When Shane got off the flight, he called Joe.

“Hi!”

“Hello Shane!” He could hear Joe's voice, smiling through the phone.

“We got off the flight. What are you doing?”

“Oh good. How's everyone there? I was just practicing.”

“Then i won't disturb you. Everyone's good. And by the way, I watched the movie that you had downloaded.”

“Movie? I didn't download anything, babe.”

“Wha–? Dirty Dancing?”

“Oh, I didn't think you’d like it. I wouldn't make you watch it, sweetheart. I am sorry if you watched it for my sake,” Joe said.

Joe sounded genuine.

“You didn't? Then –?”

Suddenly he remembered having handed his laptop over to Rozanov after the game last week. He had wanted to make some changes to the roster that the coach had asked him to, and apparently his own laptop wasn't working.

“Shane? You there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Must have been my mistake. Maybe I had downloaded and forgotten about it. Listen you go practice, I gotta go. Call me later, okay?”

“Okay, miss you!”

“You too!”

Shane hung up the phone and leaned on the wall. Did Rozanov just trick him into watching the movie?
The worst part was, he really liked it so much. The experience, more than the movie itself. He had already forgotten half of the movie.

 

They arrived at the hotel. Junior players and rookies had to share the rooms, only the Assistant Captains, Bood and Rozanov, got allotted single rooms.

“Hollander and Marlow, room number 502.” They took the allotted key cards, and went to their respective rooms.

“So listen up Hollzy. I got a … girl tonight,” Marlow said, looking a bit nervous, “ it's kind of a big deal, you know. Been trying to get her to date me… “

“Erm… so.. do you want me to go somewhere?” Shane asked. Maybe he could just shack in with Hayden and D’Souza, on the couch or something.

“No, Rozy will be here these two nights. Don't.. like.. kill each other, please!” He said hastily.

Shane gulped. He hadn't thought that this was a possibility. Sure, Marlow seemed very close to Rozanov, but never had he imagined that there would be a situation where that would lead to Shane sharing a room with him.

“Okay,” he said, “I won't if he wouldn't.”

Marlow’s face broke into a wide smile. “Knew you were a great dude, Hollzy. I owe you one .. if you ever need to bring your boy in, just say the word!”
Ruffling his hair and patting his shoulders, he left with his bag.

Shane was at a complete loss for words.

 

Unsure what to do, he thought he should at least unpack his bag and call his parents, and Joe.

He had heard that Rozanov was a big womanizer. What if he brought someone at the middle of the night and asked Shane to leave? Oh god… that would be .. uncomfortable? Humiliating?

Heart-breaking?

Shane wasn't sure where the last part had come from. But he wasn't sure of a lot of his feelings when it came to Rozanov- it was like going back to his high school years. Where people meant a lot of things, Shane understood just a few.

He didn't like that. He didn't like guessing, as well.

Or mess.

This last part at least, he could manage. He unpacked his duffle bag, and meticulously started unpacking. This was easy, this was routine.

He put on his noise-cancellation headphones, and started working on the unpacking. Toothbrush, toothpaste in the washroom, towels neatly folded. His own shampoo and soap in a corner. He made sure to leave enough space for Rozanov, though.

And then he came to his room to arrange his cupboard, to see Rozanov sitting on his bed, looking - confused.

His lips moved, but no sound came out.

“What? I am unpacking.”

Rozanov looked even more confused at that, and pointed to his headphones.

Oh, right.

Shane removed them. “ Were you telling me anything?”

“What are you doing?”

“Unpacking.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ll be staying here.”

“For two nights.”

“Even if it had been for two hours–”

“Have you ever stayed with anyone for two hours?” Rozanov asked, his lips twitching.

“That is so not the point,” Shane huffed. “And no, I don't do that.”

“Mr Gentleman,” Rozanov said, sarcastically.

“Well, I am.” Shane said, and started unpacking his bag as planned.

“Why have you got the same five t-shirts?” Rozanov asked, looking confused again.

“So that I don't have to choose, if one gets spoiled, somehow.”

“And they are all boring blue.”

“Not all of us have exciting fashion sense,” - he looked at Rozanov, who was wearing a leopard print shirt, with top two buttons open, and what seemed like a black leather pant.

It wasn't even practical.

Rozanov's smile widened, “Why? You don't like the print? This tiger would be very sad,” he pouted.

“You're a big baby,” Shane said, turning away and arranging his remaining clothes.

Behind him, he could hear Rozanov blow a raspberry.

Shane blamed the karma from his past life for this day. He just had to get through these two nights. He might even encourage Rozanov to go sleep with some random girl. As long as he didn't bring them back here, he thought hastily.

He took out his books and glasses, and kept them on the bedside table, and decided to go take a shower.

He had just picked up his phone to check the time and call Joe, maybe, when he heard Rozanov's voice- “The lives and times of the greatest hockey players.” - Hollander, I am right here. Ask me anything. Why read book?”

“Don't… that's a very informative book,” Shane said, scowling.

“Really, what information did you receive, Mr …” he even searched Google, for a minute, “Mr Bookworm?”

Shane had to hand it to him. Rozanov was relentless, coming up with stupid chirps that didn't even mean anything half the time. And yet got on his nerves.

“It says about good hockey practice, their routines, any innovative goals and how they came up with it…”

Rozanov started fake snoring.

Shane threw a pillow at him. He was infuriating.

“You don't have to read it, you know!”

“I am not even trying to read it!”

“Okay.” Shane picked up his phone and dialled Joe's number, trying to leave the room with at least one intact brain cell.

As Joe picked up the call, Rozanov shouted, “take your key, am not opening door for you.”

Glaring at him, as Joe said, “Was that Rozanov?” Shane left the room to go to the lobby.

“Yeah. I have to share the room with him tonight and tomorrow.”

Joe was silent for a moment. Then he said, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, “Try not to have a lot of fun.”

Shane didn't know what was happening, so he replied earnestly, “ You know I never have a lot of fun.”

Joe laughed at that, the weird tension gone from his voice.

“Yeah, Shane, I know.”

“How's your practice going?”

“Very good. They said today that I actually have a great chance of making it to the Sochi Olympics!”

“Oh, God Joe! You are telling me that now? That's … that's huge!”

“Come on, it's still more than three years away,” Joe said modestly.

“Joe, you just try to sell yourself short, you know!”
He said, meaning it really. “I am so, so proud of you..How would you like to celebrate?”

Joe was quiet for a bit, then said, “How about you go to your room, Hollander. You close the door of the bathroom, and FaceTime me?”

Shane swallowed. “ But Rozanov would be there, outside.”

“So you have to be really, really quiet. Can you do that for me?” Joe asked.

Could Shane do that? The thought seemed filthy, what if Rozanov heard him from outside?

But it was also… thrilling? He was already half hard. Whom was he kidding?

“When?”

“How about now?”

“It's 7.30 in the evening.”

“I’ll give you 15 minutes.”

Shane said, “See you in 15,” hung up the call and returned to his hotel room.

Rozanov was spread out on his bed, his shirt and jeans on the back of a chair, he was just wearing his shorts and a Ottawa Centaurs t-shirt.

He looked up as Shane entered the room.

“Phone sex over so quick? That too in the lobby?” He asked, eyes mischievous, “ I wouldn't have put you up for it.”

“Well, I don't think you know this side of me at all, so…” he just shrugged, picked up his towel and earphones, and entered the bathroom.

Rozanov's look of surprise at the answer remained etched behind his eyes, as he turned on the shower and called Joe.

 

“Hi” Joe was wearing the Hollander jersey. Fuck, Shane found it so hot.

Shane looked him over, “So, you are team Hollander now?”

“I was always, from the very beginning,” he said, smiling a little. Then he said, “show me what you are wearing.”

Shane winked as he turned the phone towards himself fully. He wasn't wearing a single piece of cloth, and was hard as fuck.

“So eager for me. Ten points to Team Hollander,” Joe said.

“You sound like Dumbledore from Harry Potter,” Shane said, laughing a little.

“God, Shane. Do you want to jerk off to that old dude?”

“No, no,” Shane said hastily. “Be your sexy self, please.”

Joe smiled once again, “This is killing me, being away from you. Wanna see how much?”

“Yeah, please.”

Joe wasn't wearing anything but a Hollander t-shirt. Seeing him so hard in nothing but his t-shirt… oh god, Shane was losing it already.

“Put the phone somewhere and wash yourself. Where's the soap?” Joe asked.

Shane put the phone on the small shelf where he had previously put his toiletries, checked that the earphone was still working and plugged in, and started rubbing the soap all over him.

“Don’t touch yourself yet, just the soap. Let me see.”

And Shane did, he put on a show of rubbing the soap- over his chest, stomach, back, armpits, down to his legs, thighs, ass. Finally he rubbed the junction between his dick and the thighs, and let a a soft moan involuntarily.

“God, Shane, you are so beautiful. You are perfect,” Joe said, as he touched himself. His dick was wet, and the obscene sound of him jerking off sent a ripple of excitement towards Shane's own dick.

“Please, let me touch myself,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Do it, Shane. Quietly.”

And that thought flashed another image, that of Rozanov sprawled half dressed in his bed, to Shane. He imagined Rozanov out there, knowing what was happening in here, and the thought almost made him come.

He bit his lips till he could taste blood.

Joe was far gone as well, eyes half lidded, his lips rounded in perfect ‘o’ s as he got himself closer and closer to the edge.

Shane opened his eyes and forced Rozanov's image out of his mind, looking instead at Joe, the sweat forming between his pecs, his hand working furiously, him moaning Shane's name.

And Shane jerked faster and faster, not making a sound, the feeling of lather bringing himself closer and closer…till he finally tipped off the edge, mouth opened in a silent moan.

Joe came too, looking at Shane.

“God, it was so sexy. Why ?” Shane asked, panting.

“Because you like being a little bad, isn't it?” Joe said, smirking.

“Huh, let me catch my breath, I'll talk to you later!”

“Give me a kiss, or I’ll think you're only using me for sex,” Joe said, feigning hurt.

Shane gave a little pouty kiss, said “I’ll talk to you later tonight” and hung up the FaceTime, smiling broadly.

 

He came out to find Rozanov watching something on his phone with his headphones on.

Thank God. He wasn't a hundred percent sure that he had been absolutely quiet. Now that the high was off, it was super embarrassing.

“Next time tell a guy that you are going to have sex with your boyfriend on shower,” Rozanov said darkly. “ Would have put my headphones on a long time back.”

Ah, damn.

“ Er.. sorry?” He said, tentatively.

Rozanov looked pissed off , as he turned away mumbling - “ No good being Assistant Captain if I get thrown out of each room for everyone having sex.”

“ I thought you partied wildly always? And had unlimited sex?”

“Yes,” he said. Not caring to elaborate. And turned his back to Shane.

Shane could never understand the many mysteries of Ilya Rozanov.

 

After dinner and quick phone calls to his parents and Joe, Shane settled on the bed with his glasses and the book, hoping to get some reading done before sleep. Rozanov had fucked off to God knew where, and he finally had the room to himself.

Suddenly, halfway through the chapter, he heard the keys of the room turning.

Rozanov entered. Heavy footsteps suddenly coming to a halt.

“You wear glasses?” Rozanov said in a quiet voice.

Shane looked up to see Rozanov looking at him, gaze unwavering.
The intensity of his gaze stirred something primal in Shane. He found himself blushing.

“Yeah, just for reading, though,” he said matter-of-factly.

Rozanov moved towards him- it was a tiny, involuntary movement that made it seem like he wanted to touch Shane, then he turned away and started digging in his bag for a change of clothes.

Shane couldn't help the blush that had crept in unnoticed, and stayed there.

 

After fifteen minutes, Ilya came back, showered and changed into nothing but his underwear.

“ I used your soap, I hope you didn't mind,” Rozanov said, shrugging, as he got into his bed.

“Not that you asked, but you're welcome,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

“Do you make your boyfriend unpack everything too?” Rozanov asked quietly.

The question was so unexpected that Shane really did look up from his book. Rozanov had wrapped his blanket around himself, like a child and was sitting cross-legged, looking at Shane.

Oh, he wanted to talk.

Odd topic, but Rozanov was odd.

“I haven't really been anywhere with him,” Shane shrugged.

“Not in this long time?”

“It's been six months?” Shane said.

Rozanov looked happy (?) at the answer. “Would you make him unpack everything?”

“Probably,” Shane said.

“And if he doesn't?”

“I will bribe him for it,” Shane said, “he would do it.”

“With sex?”

Shane shrugged, “Everybody wins, right? I win…twice!” He said, smirking.

Rozanov seemed to ponder that over. He turned away a little.

Shane felt a tug at his heart. Rozanov was really making an effort, to talk to him. He was the one kind of being a dick, he realized.

“So, you have a girlfriend?” He asked.

Rozanov jerked up at that. “ No, I don't do girlfriends.”

“Isn't there someone called Svetlana? Hayes was talking about her..”

“Sveta? You heard of her?” Rozanov said, sounding genuinely pleased.
“She isn't my girlfriend. My best friend whom I like to fuck, sometimes. Not always.”

Shane stared, “Isn't that what a girlfriend is?”

“I am not in love with her” Rozanov said, rolling his shoulders, “Will never be.”

“Why not?”

“It isn't like that.”

“Like what?”

Rozanov looked frustrated. “Look, Sveta and I are just friends. You’d be friends with her too, if you knew her. But not a relationship. No.”

“Okay, easy! I just asked.” Shane said, rolling his eyes. He was secretly glad that he was not this ‘Sveta’. Seemed a waste of time to invest in anyone only for a handful of words and meaningless sex.

“She ..she also doesn't feel that way about me. We are best friends. Since childhood.”

“Okay, suit yourself.”

“You had anyone like that growing up?”

The thought was actually laughable. So Shane laughed.

“What?”

“Do you think I had a friend with benefits, ever?”

“No, I just .. did you have a best friend?”

Shane was silent at that. Truth was, he never really had a friend, let alone a best friend. He was always too much for everyone, too intense, too stubborn, not understanding social cues. Hockey was his everything.

Joe was the closest thing to a best friend that he ever had. But that too wasn't a very comforting thought, because he had nowhere or no one to talk to when he and Joe argued.

It was lonely.

“Not really, no.”

“Why?”

Shane laughed at that too. “Have you looked at me?” He asked.

“Yes,” Rozanov said simply. “What's wrong, everything is okay. Why did you not have a friend?”

It was the first time probably, in his entire life, when someone had looked at him and said without blinking that he was quite alright.

“I don't know, I guess. I … have difficulties.”

“In making friends?”

“In understanding people. When… when someone says something and doesn't mean it, or I don't like to guess what people are thinking. I .. it's difficult for me.”

Rozanov looked at him, “Is when people are speaking too much English to me, yes?”

And that was just it. Something that Shane hadn't thought he could ever make anyone understand, but here was Rozanov - understanding him without even making it seem like an effort.

Involuntarily, Shane found himself opening up a little.

“I guess I was pretty intense, too. About hockey. There were people who were passionate, but I…it was the only thing that made sense, you know? My parents were also relieved, I think, that I found something to spend my time with. And so I played hockey. And I became good at it.”

Rozanov wasn't looking at him, he was again looking forward. When Shane stopped speaking, he said, “And your parents, they are good?”

“The very best,” Shane said, genuinely. He didn't think he deserved them, they were his pillars of strength any given day.

“Good,” Rozanov said.

“Did…did you have a lot of friends growing up?” Rozanov, too, seemed like a puzzle to him. He was like one of his father's jigsaws, a few pieces falling in place- others were there, just out of sight.

Shane wanted to find those pieces.

“Friends, yes” Rozanov said, not elaborating.

“And Sveta?”

“And her,” Rozanov was quiet for a minute, “She’s the only thing closest to family that I have.”

“And you said you are not in love?”

“No, that's not it, you don't understand,” he raked his fingers through his hair.

“She was there at a time when I didn't have anyone else. It was…a bad time in my life. We were very young. She's the only person who knows everything, and hasn't gone away from my life. Is still here, knowing everything.”

“Then maybe you didn't find the right kind of people. The right people should always stay, isn't it?”

“It's not as simple,” Rozanov said.

“I think it is,” Shane said with a finality.

There was a long silence, not uncomfortable - but heavily leaden. Shane thought how much he had opened up to Rozanov, he hadn't really said these aloud to anyone. Not even to Joe.

Joe was very good with him, but these things, he wouldn't get. He might try, like his parents did- to make life easier for him. But understanding Shane, that wasn't easy.

“Call me Ilya,” Rozanov said, not looking at him. Looking anywhere but at Shane.

It was… a permission, Shane understood. A permission into Rozanov… Ilya's personal life. Shane understood that Ilya wasn't comfortable talking about his childhood, there were parts that nobody knew. And here he was, giving Shane permission to know him.

Someday, he would know.

But for tonight, this little permission felt like a huge step. A victory.

Shane didn't know what he was hoping to win at, but said, “Then it's Shane for you too.”

Ilya looked at him and smiled. A real smile, not the cocky smiles he flashed in front of half the world, or a half hearted smirk.
It was a genuine smile that made him look younger. Shane suddenly realized that Ilya was just a year older than him, not really half as old as he behaved.

“Okay, Shane,” he said.

It made Shane immeasurably happy, just the sound of his name in that accent.

He realised he was smiling too, as he said, “Goodnight Ilya.”

“Goodnight, Shane.”

Chapter End Notes

Oh... My heart is so full. Ilya always wanted to ask Shane to call him by his name, that's what he was about to say after Bood's party. But he chickened out.

The timing wasn't right also, then.

They are getting closer, to all the yearning that's waiting for them.

It's gonna be a long ride, but they are the endgame!

Next chapter: Ilya's POV of their second night together ( Not Sex) and our beautiful Svetlana coming for a visit.

Enjoy!

Chapter 7: First Fight

Chapter Notes

Well, here's their second day in New York.

Won't say much , just

TW: no insults of any kind against Russians, okay?
It's just a banter between our two idiots. Shane doesn't mean it. Nor do I.

Also, sorry, no Svetlana here as this chapter was again getting too big to edit for me.

She'll be here in the next.

Ilya woke up early the next morning. It wasn't even proper daylight, he realized. But somewhere, he didn't know where, a tinny sound was going off.

It was fucking irritating, as he had hardly slept last night- the sound of Shane's half muffled moans echoing in his ears all through the night.

He had been horny, with no way for a release.

And now he had been awoken by this fucking alarm, which was not even his own.

“Cut it off,” he said, groggily.

“Sorry, sorry,” Shane's voice rushed from somewhere, as he shut off the alarm.

“Is middle of the night, why are you awake?” He asked, because it was true, and because he wanted to hear Shane's sleepy voice again.

“Go to sleep, Ilya. I wake up early,” he said.

Ilya closed his eyes, pretending to go back to sleep. It has been a long, long time since someone had said his name. No one in the states or Canada did. It was always ‘Rozanov' this or ‘Rozy’ that.

The way Shane said his name, it felt a little like home every time.

He could hear Shane's footsteps, soft and careful, going across the room. It then came to the side of Ilya's bed. He tried to stay very still.

A hand gently removed one of his curls away from his forehead. The fingers withdrew suddenly, but the touch lingered long after Shane left his bedside.

Ilya couldn't go back to sleep.

 

The game, as always with New York, was great. Ilya chirped and checked everyone within a ten feet radius. What he loved the most was playing against Scott Hunter. He said the same two insults unnecessarily, and Hunter would get angry every time.

It made him unabashedly happy, like playing a prank on a teacher.

Sure enough, there was Hunter with his too serious expression, scowling as he followed Shane with the puck, Ilya trailing behind.

“You are getting slow, old man!” He shouted.

Hunter didn't react, but skated a bit to the left, instead of right.
Troy moved forward, Shane assisted, and they scored.

They won the game 3-2. Ilya's favourite kind.

 

After the game, as they were about to board the bus, Ilya saw Shane talking to Hunter. Curious as to what the two of them could possibly talk about, Ilya went closer.

Shane was nodding very solemnly, saying, “Yes, of course, Mr Hunter.”

Mr Hunter- that sounded so unnatural to Ilya. He didn't think anybody called him Mr Hunter now, at least in the hockey world.

But nowadays his life was full of one polite fucking Canadian. So Mr Hunter it was.

“And what does Meester Hunter want?” He said, both his hands in his pockets.

“Fuck off, Rozanov.”

“You are just being rude now,” Ilya said. He could see Hunter both trying to control himself, and failing to do so spectacularly.

“Ilya,” Shane said in a warning voice.

Ilya had never been spell-bound, but he imagined this was what it must have felt like. One word in that voice, in that tone- and unable to speak after that, following its commands.

He would never grow tired of this. Never.

Hunter looked surprised at Ilya's sudden loss of words, eyes looking to and from between him and Shane.

“Well, you’re still coming to the Kingfisher, aren't you?” Hunter asked Ilya.

Ilya finally found his voice- “Yes, of course.” He meant it, he loved the place.

“Bring Hollander, it’ll be good,” Hunter said, then clapping Shane on the back, and nodding to Ilya, he left.

“First game and you're Hunter's fucking favourite,” Ilya said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, he’s good. He was, you know, telling me that I won't receive any homophobic slurs from New York, and like, they are glad that I am playing,” he smiled.

And he should have come up with a biting remark at that, but Shane's hopeful eyes and evident relief at being accepted, stopped him from doing so.

Instead, he said, “ He can be good when he wants to, yes.”

“It seems like you hang out with him as well,” Shane said, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“Is this bar that I go to, that Vaughn and Hunter also go to,” then after a bit, he added- “It's a gay bar.”

Shane looked startled at that.

“Why do you go to a gay bar?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

Why, indeed? He first went there to piss off Hunter. But it was a cool place, a normal restaurant really, if you didn't count the very gay and very sexy bartenders - Kip and Kyle.
He suspected Hunter to have a thing for Kip, but that was a secret he would take to his grave.

They liked him, and he liked them. And there was no expectation of being Ilya Rozanov - great player and womanizer. There, he could be just Rozy, sipping a drink and watching hockey, flirting with Kyle (Kip was too busy staring at an old man, ie , Hunter) and talking to Vaughn .

“It has a good vibe, plays hockey. You should come tonight. Hunter's invited you.”

“You know I don't do bars. What would I even do?”

“Watch TV, hang out, sip ginger ale. I don't know, Shane, just come.”

“I’ll pass, I think,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Hunter will be sad,” he said, making his best attempt to look sadly at Shane.

As Shane looked at him, he could see his eyes soften. Ultimately, he said, “Fine. For one hour. I will return to the hotel after that.”

Grinning like an idiot, Ilya boarded the return bus.

“You look like the party’s already started,” Troy said, dropping down on the seat beside him. "It's not until evening, I think.”

“I am not going.” He said, and laughing at the incredulous look on Troy’s face, he put on his earphones.

 

Ilya was nervous. Though, honestly, Hunter had asked him to take Shane to the Kingfisher’s, it still felt… a lot like a date.

Ilya had never been on a date.

Especially not one where he wouldn't get laid at the end of it.

And never with a guy.

Never with anyone as unimaginably hot and warm and kind and beautiful and nice …

Okay. He had to stop there. He was freaking the fuck out.

He went to the hotel bar, got two beers, downed one at a long gulp, then taking swigs from another bottle, he left for his room. He needed courage today. Beer wasn't strong enough, but he doubted Shane would look at him even, if he were to be three bottles of vodka down.

He entered the hotel room, Shane was still in the shower.

Ilya smiled to himself. He loved the feeling of someone being in the room, taking up his space when he returned. He wondered how he could deal with the quiet of his own home, after knowing how it felt to share his space with Shane.

Shane, and his insane habits. Every corner of the room was clean. He had, at some point, picked up Ilya's discarded clothes too and arranged them in the cupboard. His book was there, with glasses neatly folded above. Two protein shakes waiting by the bedside, covers of the bed made.

Shane had made him protein shake. Ilya didn't remember the last time when someone had even made him a cup of tea.

After that last time with his Mum…

Just then, the shower stopped. After some time, Shane - all dried and cleaned up, and wearing those boring clothes (fresh, he assumed), came out and smiled at him.

“Hi, I made a protein shake for you,” then his eyes moved over to the beer bottle in his hand- “but if you don't want to ..”

Suddenly, the beer was a waste of everything. Ilya hastily put it down and said, “ No, I was done with it anyway. Is not good. Not like .. in Russia.” He said, trying to sound disinterested, as if his heart wasn't racing at a hundred miles per second.

He picked up the protein shake, gave it a go. It tasted disgusting.

“Is good,” he said.

Shane laughed, “It's the worst, Ilya. There's nothing good about a protein shake,” as he took a sip of his own and grimaced.

“So, when are we going to this place?”

“The Kingfisher. Whenever you want. You want me to call Vaughn and know when they are going?”

“That would be good, I guess,” Shane said, shrugging. His phone rang. Shane looked at it, happy but also a bit… guiltily? Ilya couldn't read the expression on his face, but Shane said, “You ask Vaughn, I got to take this call. I’ll be back soon.”

As he was leaving the room, he could hear Shane pick up the call and say, “Hey, babe.. what's up.”

What the hell was Ilya doing?

 

In an hour, they were set to go.

Or as set as Shane would ever be.

“Ilya, what am I going to wear? I don't know what people wear to these places. I have never even been anywhere like this!”

“Wear anything, how does it matter?” Ilya asked, genuinely confused. At this point, he thought Shane looked good in that horrible boring t-shirt that would otherwise have Ilya crawling in shame to possess.

“You are wearing good clothes,” Shane said accusatorily.

Ilya was wearing a kind of see-through off-white shirt, with brown semi-formals. He knew he looked good.

“You can wear anything, nobody's judging,” he shrugged, “ You don't think Hunter will be looking more stylish than you, and he is going anyway.”

That brought out a laugh. Shane asked, “ Why does he go there in the first place? It's just so odd. And he doesn't seem very fond of you, but invited you anyway.”

“Is probably his friends who asked him to ask me. They are my friends as well, now.”

“Okay,” Shane had pulled on a beige coloured shirt with black pants, “Are these good?” He asked.

He looked beautiful.

“I did not know you wear anything other than sports clothes.”

“I didn't. Joe brought me these. I think I look ridiculous.” he finished, with his hands in his hips, looking exhaustedly at the mirror.

Joe. Right.

Ilya felt his heart twisting, but he said, “You look perfect. Now let's go.”

Shane's face lit up.

“Okay.”

 

They arrived at the Kingfisher's within half an hour. The familiar dark room with hockey playing on the big screen, and the smell of the place in general, made Ilya feel at ease.

He could see Shane taking in the place, a bit wary.

“We could go find a seat. We don't have to keep standing like idiots,” Ilya whispered.

“Yeah, yeah let's do that.”

“Hey, is a normal bar. Is okay. Relax, please?”

Shane's eyes darted to the seats closest to the TV, a bit away from the music and the dance floor.

Okay. He got this.

“Come on,” he said.And started walking towards the seat.

But before he could reach, he heard a loud cry of “Rozy, you came!” Kip was there, smiling at him, waving a little, with Kyle right by his side, mouthing “Wowzaa!”

Ilya wanted them to shut up.

Kip probably took a look at him and took pity.

“You were headed where?”

“Last one over there.”

Kip came out from behind the bar and led them. He looked at Shane and said, “You are Shane Hollander, right?”

“Yeah, I am,” Shane said, smiling politely.

“Oh I am Kip Grady. And that's Kyle over there. Scott told me that you might come tonight, and that it's not your scene at all,” he said, laughing.

“He did?” Shane asked. He sounded relieved.

“Of course. I asked him to invite you over, if you don't mind. I know I just met you, but will it be too much to say that I am very.. proud of you?”

Shane blinked. He wasn't expecting this, Ilya guessed. That's the thing he loved about Kip. He was very direct, without beating about the bush. It made a lot of things easier to deal with.

Scott Hunter was a lucky man, indeed.

Then Shane slowly said, “Well, my pleasure, I guess!”

Kip laughed, “I see I have made you uncomfortable. Your first drink’s on the house for that reason.”

“I don't drink,” Shane added hastily. “And we are underage here anyway.”

“Age is just a number, Hollander. Rozy's drunk out half of the bar," he said, winking and laughing . "But Kyle there makes amazing mocktails, and makes them sound real good too. I’ll ask him to whip something up for you, right?”

“Okay, that’ll be nice.”

“Scott and Carter will be here soon. You go seat.
The usual for you, Rozy?”

Ilya nodded.

“Come get the drink when we are done. We’ll call.” Kip said, before leaving.

That was odd, Kyle or Kip had no problem bringing the drinks about any other time.

“Okay,” he said, turning to his seat.

 

They took the couch facing the screen where Montreal vs Boston were playing. How ridiculous it seemed to see those guys fighting like anything on ice, like they hated each others' very existence.

“Who do you think will win?” Shane asked. The game had just started.

“Boston,” Ilya said promptly, to piss Shane off. He had been almost drafted to Montreal, so it was his second favourite team. That was common knowledge.

They watched the game in silence for five minutes, Shane occasionally commenting on some missed opportunity to get the puck or something. Ilya mostly basking in the company. Who cared about stupid Boston!

“So,” Shane said, “Is it a bit weird that Kip, there, keeps talking about Hunter as Scott?”

“They are good friends. You call me Ilya,” he said, shrugging.

“No, it's .. different. I can tell.” Shane said, scrunching his eyes a little.

Ilya shrugged, “Does it matter?”

Shane looked at him, and laughed. “Ilya, you think it would matter to me whom Hunter dates? What's wrong with you?” He said, still chuckling.
“But it's like, really crazy. I wouldn't have believed it.”

“And that's why Shane, we don't know about this. Okay?”

Shane understood. “Okay.”

After a bit, he said, “But it feels really good.”

Ilya smiled at that. “Wait till you see Hunter looking at him. Is like a prize dangling in front of his face,” he said conspiratorially.

“Can't wait to see.”

“You observed that quickly,” Ilya said.

“It wasn't that difficult, really. Look, they're calling you!” He said.

“Will be back in a minute.”

“Okay, I won't be scared,” Shane smiled.

 

Back at the bar counter, as soon as Ilya reached, Kyle said, “Okay, what?”

“What?” Ilya asked. He didn't have a good feeling towards this.

“Ilya Rozanov, you fuck half the girls in the States in one year, to be smitten over a boy?” Kyle said, stage whispering.

“What, no!” Ilya said indignantly.

Kip said, “ Oh, so you are denying that you like him.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, then he added, “he has a boyfriend.”

Kyle literally gave a little shriek of delight.

“Quietly, man. Are you trying to get me unfriended?”

Kip said, trying to keep a straight face- “Rozy, now listen to me. No person looks like Hollander's looking at you, and not be in love. I can confirm.”

“I can double confirm,” Kyle said, nodding solemnly.

“Shut up, you guys will always agree with each other to bring me down.”

“We’re saying what we're seeing.”

“No, you are not.”

“That boyfriend will go away, you don't worry, sweetheart,” Kyle added.

Ilya groaned.

“Tell us that you don't like him?”

“I am telling you nothing. Where are drinks?”

“Here,” Kyle handed him a vodka-water, and a red drink.

“What's this one?”

“It's non-alcoholic, don't worry. It's called a Tainted Rose,” Kyle said, smirking and winking.

“Fuck off,” said Ilya, and left as they laughed.

 

“What kept you so long?” Shane said, looking up at him. Ilya wanted nothing more than to take him home and kiss him stupid. The conversation with Kip and Kyle didn't help either.

Instead, he said, “Just catching up after last year.”

“Okay,” Shane said. His hands were on the table, near the remote, lying idly. They were so… strong, with long fingers like an artist. Ilya thought about how close they were. He just wanted to reach out, touch the tip of his pinkies to Shane's. He wanted to drag the finger up Shane's hand, and feel his pulse at his wrist. He wanted to see if his heart was racing like Ilya's, if he too, felt as alive by this proximity, as Ilya did.

“Ilya, are you okay? Is your drink too strong?”

Ilya's spell broke. He looked up to see a concerned pair of brown eyes peeking at him.

“No, no is nothing.”

“You look a bit sad.”

“I am not sad, Shane. Very far away from it.” And Ilya realized, as he said so, that every word of it was true.

 

Soon, Hunter and Vaughn arrived, and they started talking about hockey. Hunter more often than not, offered to bring them drinks, to which everyone agreed.

Shane looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, lips twitching a bit. But true to his words, he didn't comment.

“So, Shane, what does your boyfriend do?” Vaughn asked.

Shane choked on the drink.

Eyes watering, he asked, “What?

“Your boyfriend, what's his name again?”

“Oh, it's Joe. He’s a figure skater.”

Vaughn gave a low whistle- “Good catch, huh!”

“Yeah, he’s the best. He was just saying that he probably had a chance to make it to the next olympics!”

Vaughn and Hunter looked at each other at that.

"That's actually excellent," Vaughn said, "Give him our best."

Absolutely," Hunter said. Then asked, “But the next one’s in Sochi, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, ask him to be careful. Russia isn't like, very progressive, as far as homosexuality is concerned. Even amongst visiting athletes..Isn't that right, Rozanov?”

Ilya's drink had already turned sour in his mouth. He himself knew what Russia was. What his dad was. What his brother was. And they were in the Russian police.

“Is not a good country to be gay in, no.”

“Didn't you have any gay friends there?”

“I did, but they have all left. They don't want to return.”

“And do you?” Shane asked quietly, “want to return?”

Ilya couldn't look at Shane, but the truth was, if Shane asked him to stay, he felt that he probably would never go back.

Instead, he just shrugged and said, “Is home. can't help it.”

He thought Shane looked a bit disappointed, but nobody pressed the matter any further.

What they had thought would be an hour, passed into two.

Shane asked Hunter, “I thought you didn't like Ilya?”

Vaughn laughed, and Hunter said, “I think if I don't hear how I am an old man like a dinosaur at least five times a year, I wouldn't know myself anymore.”

“I do not know why you joke,” Ilya said very seriously, “Is very true. Planning retirement already, l think.”

“I don't,” Hunter said, scowling. “But I have thought of buying this bar, with Bennett.”

“Buying this bar?” Ilya said, surprised. Seemed a very big romantic gesture. Instead he said, “Your retirement plan?”

“Fuck off, Rozy!” He laughed, but his eyes darted towards Kip.

Ilya didn't miss it.

How good it must feel, he thought instead, to think of building a future with the person you loved. To be owning a bar, and owning it together.

“Is a good plan,” he said.

Hunter seemed surprised, but said, “You think so?”

“Of course, then we’ll have a drink called Scott Hunter with the oldest whiskeys. Would be very expensive, but not very good to taste,” he said, seriously.

“Sounds about right, Rozy,” Vaughn said, as everybody else laughed.

 

Ilya was quite a bit drunk by the time they decided to leave. He hadn't intended to, but Hunter kept buying drink after drink, to talk to his man. And now Ilya couldn't think clearly.

“Easy there,” Shane said, as Ilya swayed just a little.

“Damn Hunter,” he said under his breath.

“You could've just refused if you didn't want to drink anymore,” Shane said. That was reasonable, Ilya thought, because Shane was saying so. Shane- who had one arm around him at this point, holding him steady, looking for an Uber with the other.

“Russians do not refuse a drink.”

“Then they are bloody idiots.”

And maybe he was an idiot. But Shane had his arm around him, and was drawing soothing circles on his arm, and he smelled of his cinnamon aftershave, and the ‘Rose’ drink, and typically of Shane, that he had never smelled before.

It was far more intoxicating than anything else. Yet here he was, soaking it in, unable to refuse.

“Uber’ll be here in five minutes,” Shane said, “it's a bit cold outside, do you want to go back in?”

“No,” Ilya said, as he saw a part of the night sky reflected in Shane's eyes.

“Did you have fun?” He asked Shane instead.

“Know what? I actually did. They seem pretty cool.”

“Yes, Kip and Kyle loved you too, asked to tell you as they were busy.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Shane said, with that awkward shy smile of his.

Goddamn, Ilya was in deep shit.

 

They got back to their hotel pretty uneventfully, Ilya half bundled in his seat, Shane checking in every five minutes, until he said “Yes, Hollander, I can hold a few drinks.” Then retched as the car speeded up.

Shane didn't reply but kept rubbing his hand on Ilya's back.

 

As soon as he entered the room, Ilya fell back on his bed.

“At least remove your shoes,” Shane pleaded.

“Is a hotel, Shane.”

He turned to sleep on his stomach, and fell asleep within seconds.

He woke up after what seemed like an hour, but Shane had freshened up and was sitting with his book on his lap.

Ilya didn't think he was strong enough to resist that sight just yet, so decided to feign to be asleep.

“Change your clothes, Ilya,” Shane said.

Ilya grumbled.

“I kept your t-shirt over there,” Shane said, not looking up, but pointing towards the table by the side of his bed.

Good lord, what was he doing to Ilya?

Ilya got up and against his better, or rather any judgement, picked up the fresh clothes and dragged himself to the bathroom, feeling like a scolded school boy.

When he returned, Shane was fishing for something in the cupboard himself.

“I can't find my earphones. I don't know whether I kept it in here by mistake,” he grumbled.

“You want me to have a look?”

“You are drunk, Ilya. Go to sleep.”

But Ilya wanted to find those for Shane, if it meant Shane would stop fretting and sleep well.

He went up to the cupboard, as Shane turned, earphones finally in hand.

“Got the–” Shane said, words catching mid-sentence, as he almost knocked into Ilya.

Ilya saw his deep brown eyes widen a bit, as a blush crept into Shane's cheeks. And those freckles - they danced in front of Ilya, like fireflies in a night sky- they illuminated his entire face with a soft glow. Their breath hitched, as Ilya noticed how soft Shane's lips were- smooth, wet, perfect. They were just a fraction of space away, Ilya could bridge the gap in just a second, touch those lips with his.

And then, his delusion shattered.

Shane looked horror-struck, his eyes returning to normal, as he turned away and said in a voice sounding nothing like his own- “It's getting late, you should go to sleep.” And walked to his own bed.

Ilya kept standing there like an idiot- his heart still racing, but also, there was pain. He had seen the rejection in Shane's eyes, the guilt and horror there as he had realized that he had been about to cheat on his boyfriend.

And Ilya had made him do that.

He felt sick like he had never felt before. He never wanted to hurt Shane, or make him feel any of those things that he must be feeling now. But Ilya had put those thoughts there.

He had again pushed away the person whom he liked a lot. Maybe not just liked, but ..

No. This madness had to stop. What the hell had he been thinking? If Shane wanted to be with him, he would've been. The fact that he wasn't, he was with Joe, said everything about Shane's choice.

And Ilya was here, disrespecting it. And Shane was hurt, and probably disgusted with him- as he should be.

Ilya shuffled to his bed, falling there in a heap. Sleep would not come to him, as he listened to Shane's breathing.

He had messed it up again. Like every freaking time. And Shane would leave, surely, after this. And Ilya couldn't even blame him for leaving.

 

Sure enough, when he woke up the next morning after falling asleep at last, the room was empty, Shane's bed was made, and once again, he was all alone.

Chapter End Notes

So is your heart broken too?

Mine is, for sure 🥹🥹

But it's got to get worse before it gets better, so my Mum always says.

Let's see, what our Queen Svetlana drags in the next chapter. Ilya's POV there too.

Chapter 8: First Friend

Chapter Notes

Here comes our first king of self-loathing: Ilya Rozanov.

The aftermath of the fallout hit both of them hard.

This one is of Ilya, where finally Svetlana comes in to save the day.

Keep reading! ♥️

Shane didn't turn up for their one hour extra practice the next day.

When he arrived, an hour later with the rest of the team, he didn't look at Ilya.

There was a hickey covering his neck, which he had badly tried to cover up. Ilya averted his eyes. It hurt to watch.

“Looks like someone had been missed a lot,” Marlow said, clapping him on the back. That idiot couldn't keep quiet to save his life.
Ilya loved the guy more than his brother, at times.
This wasn't one of those times.

He tried to glare at Marly.

Shane was clearly a bit uncomfortable as he shrugged and asked Marlow, “You had any luck? With your girl?”

“Oh.. yes. I think we are gonna hit it again, soon.” Marlow couldn't even lie properly, Ilya had actually asked him to exchange rooms, bribing him with a single suite and no irritating roommates. And asked him to cook up a story for Hollander.

Marlow had been suspicious, but Ilya had fed him some cock and bull story about building team unity by bridging his gaps with Hollander.
In the end he had looked convinced enough to lie, but he wasn't good at it.

It looked painful to watch him bluff.

And that too, for what?

Ilya wanted to have never let this happen.

Shane had clearly left that room and walked straight to Joe. He probably felt disgusted by Ilya, by his proximity to him. It looked like they had more than made up for it.

Ilya had misread the entire situation. Shane was probably just kind, as a person- that he had cared for him, made protein shakes, done his bed, folded his clothes. And he had mistaken that for… love.

He could kick himself.

Ilya didn't want to be here at all today. He wouldn't be, if he knew that Shane would ignore him and walk in covered with hickeys.

It felt like a dagger through his heart.

Instead, he said nothing and left for the showers. To damn with Hollander and his speech about right people never leaving. There weren't any such people for him.

He didn't know why he had expected that.

He would practice today, and go get shit drunk, and get laid. And repeat.

He was Ilya Rozanov, one who would never belong here, or in Russia, or anywhere. He had no home, and no one to tie him down.
The world never forgot that, he would do well to remember it himself.

 

He stopped going for that extra practice after that day. He didn't need practice to fucking best Hollander at anything. He knew he was the best.

He worked like a beast on ice, checking everybody left, right and centre. Troy was surprised at his aggressiveness, but tried to keep up anyway. Hollander, on the other hand, showed no emotion and was right by his side- eyes calculating, never letting the guard down.

They scored, they won, they partied hard. It was almost bordering on two months since that trip to New York, and if his teammates had noticed his coldness with Hollander, they didn't comment upon it.

There were times when he was still captivated by the way Hollander moved, a quirky upturn of his lips, or a chirp that he threw. But each time, he could hear Hollander's voice saying, “but the right people shouldn't leave,” and then he had packed up his bag and left without a word.

That had conveyed enough. Ilya at least had a shred of self respect left.

 

But bad luck seemed to follow Ilya like a shadow.

Wiebe had asked him for a quick word after practice regarding their upcoming away games.

Bood had already left, he was just picking up his bag from the locker room and leaving, when he heard muffled voices from the corridor behind.

Thinking it might have been one of the kids always over-interested in sneaking in the rink after dark, and trying to get a break in,he rounded the corner , and came face to face with Hollander and his boyfriend, kissing like their life’s worth it. The guy was jerking Hollander off, and his eyes were closed off, a blissed out expression on his face.

Ilya felt sick. He turned to leave hastily, but not before-

“Ilya?”

Shit. He forgot Hollander still called him that. That voice wrecked him.

Without turning back, he paused to say, “ Sorry, didn't think. I was leaving.”

He didn't know how he rushed back home, threw up everything he had eaten for the day, and dialled the only number he could think of. He wasn't even aware that he was crying or hyperventilating, till he heard her voice.

“Ilyushka, what happened? Are you okay?”

And her voice was a bliss, Russian language was a bliss, that she still cared whether he was okay or not was a bliss.

“Sveta,” he said, and let it go. Like he only ever could in front of her.

 

After half an hour of incoherent rambling, she heard Sveta's irritated voice.

“ Ilyushka, FaceTime. Right now.”

“Okay.”

And there was Svetlana, gorgeous as ever, smiling a bit indulgently at him.

“Ilyushka, you are coming to Montreal tomorrow?”

“Coming to? Are you in Montreal?”

“Yes, I wanted to surprise you anyway. I’ll go to your game, okay? And then will have dinner. Do you think you can get through the day?”

And again Ilya was back to his childhood, Sveta telling him again and again, “Ilyushka, I’ll meet you for dinner. Please get through the day for me.”

It was conditioned in him, to do as she asked. So he just nodded and said, “Okay.”

 

He did just that. He survived the day.

The road trip of two hours was exhausting, as Hollander kept trying to catch his glance or want to talk to him.

He sat beside Troy. He didn't have energy for Marlow today.

Troy took a look at him, and with a smile a little bit too understanding for Ilya's comfort, said, “It’ll be all right, Rozy. You are a good man.”

He sincerely doubted it. But instead he just looked at Troy and feigning surprise, asked, “What will?”

Troy looked at where Hollander was trying, but failing to look away from their seat, and smiled and didn't say anything.

So even Troy could tell that his heart was getting broken.

 

Thankfully, no one said anything for the rest of the journey. And of course he had his own room, where he just dumped his bag before freshening up for the game.

Hollander tried to catch up with him before the game, “Ilya, can we talk?”

He said, “ No,” refusing to look him in the eyes. Then turned his back to him, raised his hands and said, “Let's go!”

 

He was absent the entire game. Half the time he didn't notice the puck, when he did, he refused to pass it to Hollander. Hollander, too, was getting frustrated - shouting something at him.

But fuck him. Fuck Montreal. Fuck every fucking Canadian city in this planet.

Troy lined up with him- “Whatever it is, just pass the puck to Hollander, Rozy. Then fight it out later,” he said angrily.

He was right. But this was just a game, and Ilya was petty. He would lose but not pass to Hollander.

Ultimately, they won but hardly, that too thanks to the single goal scored by Hayden Pike, and the innumerable ones saved by Hayes.

He returned to the locker room after the game, hardly talking to anybody. Well, Sveta had asked him to survive, so he had.

“Hey, are you okay?” Hayes asked, Marlow standing beside him, looking equal parts scared and concerned.

“Am okay.”

“Is it a breakup or something?” Marlow asked, “because if it is…”

‘I am okay.” He said, turning away. Where the hell was Sveta!

He could see Hollander looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He looked confused, and like a hurt puppy at having being ignored during the game.

Ilya knew Hollander, no, Shane. Shane would blame himself for this game, for that night, for everything. He hated that he was causing Shane so much pain.
But he couldn't let himself get close again anyway, precisely for this reason.

Just as Shane started moving towards him, he heard a voice. The voice.

“Ilyushka!”

He turned. There, in all her glory stood Svetlana Vetrova, daring to wear a Montreal Metroes t-shirt as she darted into the locker room and right into his arms.
With instincts of a lifetime, he picked her up, flung her around and planted a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek.

Then he looked at her, “Why” he asked in English “ Are you wearing Montreal jersey?”

“Because you played like shit you moron! You missed goals, you refused to pass, and you almost fucking lost! I am not supporting a losing team!”

“Hard, brother!” Dykstra said, and the tension in the locker room was broken.

The worst part was everything she said was true.

So when Bood said, “listen to your girl, Rozy!”

Sveta climbed down, and said “You too Bood! Give my love to Cassie!”

“Sveta!” Hayes exclaimed. Thankfully they had all at least partially finished dressing. Sveta sometimes knew no limit.

“Good game Hayes. Am sure my dad will say so too!”

“Such a pleasure always! And have you met Cliff here yet?”

“Cliff Marlow,” Sheta said, turning her full power on, and shaking Marlow's hand.

Ilya watched in amusement as Marlow blinked, then took her hand, and looking like the idiot he is, said, “Hi?”

Sveta laughed and said, “aren't you a sweetheart!”

Her English was remarkably better than Ilya's.

She hugged him, Marlow looked at Ilya, pleading.

“Leave the kid alone, Sveta!” He scolded her.

“You go get dressed instead of lecturing me,” she said. Then in Russian, she said - “Is he here, the one whom you had been talking about?”

“You got that much?”

“Thankfully, yes. Who?”

Ilya looked at Shane, who was looking dumbstruck and a little lost, trying to turn his back, but eyes not leaving Sveta and Ilya.

“Oh, him! I should have guessed!” She said, “You leave him to me, go get dressed..then come back, kiss me, and pretend we are about to fuck. Go, quickly.”

Ilya had raised his eyes at her, “pretend?”

“Don't push it. I am taken now! She has kindly allowed me to let me help you!”

Taken? She? Why hadnt Ilya known about this?

“What? You are dating? A girl? What?”

“Don't be dumb. Go get dressed, I’ll take you to her.”

“Oh, so this is how it's going to be! I have to pretend, I won't even get the girl, and instead crash on her date?”

“Yes, I am taking you along in our limited time, because you are my very favourite, and I have told her so. Don't push it.”

“Okay,” he said, and went to get dressed.

Seeing Sveta immediately made him feel better. He was half kidding about the fuck he won't get, truthfully neither his heart, not his dick was in it. Haven't been in it for a long time.

Either way, letting Sveta take over was the right thing to do. He finished dressing quickly, and returned to see Sveta holding Shane's hand, looking at him with that smile that noone could resist.

But he looked on bewildered, as Shane put on his ‘media face’ devoid of all emotions, and looked back at her.

“Oh, I didn't know your father's Sergei Vetrov,” he said, coolly.

Ilya distinctly remembered telling him so.

“He is, and he thinks you're very good,” she said, still smiling.

“It's a huge honour. Thank you.”

“So, how are you finding Ottawa?” Sveta tried again.

‘I’ve been born and brought up in Ottawa,” Shane said, without blinking or smiling.

Goodness, Ilya had never seen Sveta falter, but she did.

Thinking that the time was right, he walked in and wrapped an arm around Sveta.

“Enough talking, we should leave, yes?”

“You could just say that in Russian,” Shane said, rolling his eyes. Was that man smirking?

“Oh, so now I can't speak in English?” Ilya asked.

Shane looked right about to say something , it was so easy to fall into their banter, it was like a second habit to him.

“You can. Whatever. I just wanted to say sorry, for yesterday,” Shane wasn't looking at him. He wanted Shane to at least look at him.

He did, that fucker. And said, “Svetlana's right. You played like shit today. Up your game, or I am still winning our bet.” And having said that, Shane picked up his bag and walked out of the door.

Svetlana looked at Ilya, her eyes shining as she mouthed ‘wow’.

“Shut up,” he said, aware that everybody was watching.

“I like him, Ilyushka. He is the right person for you. The best person,” she said in Russian.
“Now come with me, let's go get your man!”

Chapter End Notes

Soo... Do you think Shane clocked it when Ilya tried to fake go out with Svetlana?
What do you think was going on in his mind this entire time?
And where does Joe fit in the mix?

Keep reading the next chapter for Shane's POV of these two months then!

Chapter 9: First Break

Chapter Notes

The past two months, in Shane's narrative.

There might have been some emotional cheating involved, but he did try to do right as soon as he understood. Only love for Shane 💕. My guy's going through so much!

It's only chaos inside. Poor baby.

End of New York Trip (two months back)

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

What had he done?

Shane couldn't believe it. He was Shane Hollander. Who had never done anything remotely without thinking through. He had always, always known what he wanted, when he wanted, whom he wanted.

And now, this.

He took a deep breath. He didn't know what made him worse. Well he knew, it was almost kissing Ilya.
While he was still with Joe.
And Ilya, who had trusted him enough to be his friend, who had passed out drunk- for god's sake, Shane had almost kissed him..

Ilya had probably just been lacking having sex when drunk. Either way, he was straight,he was drunk and Shane was neither.

And he was also in a relationship.

True, the said relationship wasn't going all right. Joe had been .. obsessed, after that party at Bood's. And knowing he had been staying with Ilya, hadn't calmed him down one single fuck.

And all for good reason too, it seemed, if Shane couldn't control his emotions around a drunk Ilya. Not only his emotions, even his instincts. He was ready to react upon lust, not caring whether Ilya actually was stable enough to consent or not.

He felt disgusted. Filthy. Dirty. He couldn't even look Ilya in the eye.

Nor could he look Joe in the eye, for that matter.

Could he refuse that his heart didn't skip a bit, every time he saw Ilya, or said his name, or smiled at him? Could he refuse anymore that he was gradually being engrossed, obsessed for a touch- as far as Ilya was concerned?

Ilya, his very straight friend who probably had a girlfriend but was still in denial of.

He hardly slept the entire night, listening to Ilya breathe. His every breath made Shane feel miserable. As if Ilya didn't have enough trouble, without him forcing himself upon him…

He left as soon as possible the next day, determined that he would come clean about everything to Joe. It was one thing when he didn't understand what he was feeling. But now that he was, he couldn't keep dating Joe or lying to him. He deserved better than a monster who liked him half-heartedly, or who almost kissed other drunk men without explicit content.

None of them deserved Shane. No one did.

“Need to talk to you. Meet me at 5pm, usual place.”
He texted Joe.

 

Their usual place was a milkshake joint near their practice rink. As Shane reached the place, millions of memories rushed one after the other- him and Joe, holding hands, or kissing, or Joe having a milkshake- disgustingly trying to feed Shane.

Why had he thrown it all away?

How horrible had he become, to do that?

Joe arrived, looking his usual handsome warm self. He took one look at Shane, and asked, “ Okay, what's up?”

“Can you please sit?”

“Is it Rozanov?” When Shane didn't reply, Joe asked, “Did you sleep with him?”

That surprised Shane. “What? No, of course not.”

“Then?”

“We…we almost kissed,” Shane said. He didn't know how to look at Joe even. He placed the heels of his hands on both his eyes, and rubbed hard. “ He was drunk, and I didn't know how he got there. I … don't deserve you, Joe.”

Joe was quiet for a long time, “Did you want to? Kiss him?”

Again, not looking up, he nodded his head.

“But you didn't?”

“No, Joe. I shouldn't have wanted in the first place. I feel …disgusted at myself. You don't deserve someone like me. Please leave.. please.”

Shane could hear the crack in his own voice. He wanted Joe to hate him, like he hated himself. To leave Shane and never come back.

Instead, Joe said, “Maybe it was just..a moment of attraction.”

What?

“Look, even in a relationship, we can look at a guy and think how handsome he is, we should just never let it come between us. Okay?”

“But…should we really find other people attractive?”

“There aren't any fixed rules, Shane. What happened was, you didn't follow it through. So it doesn't matter to me. As long as it was a one time attraction without any action following it through.”

Shane thought about it. Was it though? A one time attraction? Had he never really felt attracted to Ilya? What about those times when he had pictured his face while getting off? Wasn't that attraction as well?

He didn't know the truth from imagination anymore.

“I don't know,” he said, rubbing his face and his eyes with his hands.

Joe touched his wrist, pulling away his hand from his face. “Look at me,” he said.

Shane did.

“How about we let it go, and we go to your place and, you know….” His lips trailed along Shane's fingers. He sucked the last finger suggestively, and said- “Why don't we do that?”

Did Shane want to? Joe was absolutely the best- he still was being so patient, so understanding. But Shane needed someone to talk to now. Not fuck.

And lately, it has been a lot about that with Joe. Fucking, sucking, jerking off. Whenever Shane felt he needed to talk instead, Joe had listened patiently, true but didn't t ponder long enough.

How could he suggest sex, while Shane's world was breaking away?

“Shane?” Joe asked.

“Yeah,” and then, because he was a coward, or trying to avoid confrontation further, he said -, “Yes, let's do that.”

 

It was rough. Joe seemed to be in mood for that, as he sucked him off, and fucked him with a brutality that he hadn't experienced before.
He left hickeys throughout his body, though Shane had repeatedly asked him not to do so.

Shane enjoyed the roughness, though. He didn't need to be held and cuddled tonight.

Still, he didn't feel any better when it was all over.

 

Next morning, when he got up as usual, Joe’s fingers traced through his hair.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling.

He looked so soft like this, like a little boy- eyes sleepy, smile half dragging his lips. Shane kissed him.

“ Mmm. Last night was good, wasn't it?” Joe asked, kissing Shane's neck.

“Yeah, it was,” Shane said, melting in the morning kiss.

“So, I was thinking, you usually practice with Rozanov in the morning, don't you?”

“Yeah,” already knowing, but dreading where it was going.

“Could you maybe just, skip that?”

Shane had thought about it and already decided that he wasn't going. Still, it hurt in a way he couldn't explain.

“Of course.” He said aloud, smiling at Joe.

“Good, a really good morning then,” Joe said, going back to kissing him.

 

Practice that day was… torture. He saw Ilya, true. But Ilya's eyes darted right to the hickey and then to Shane's face.
The expression on it was raw, a flash- pain, hurt, disgust.

He ought to feel disgusted by Shane, he thought. He had tried to kiss a straight man when drunk. A man who he had called his friend, just the night before. And then he had gone and had wild sex with his boyfriend.

Shane couldn't look Ilya in the eyes. Not anymore.

 

That weekend, Joe asked him to go out on a date. It would be pretty romantic, he had said.

Shane, as usual, couldn't find anything to wear. All were just his polos and a few shirts that were maybe too flashy.

He ultimately pulled out the beige shirt that he had worn to the Kingfisher's. It reminded him of that night, too much Ilya - in all his senses. He could still smell him on the shirt, see his drunken eyes, hear his voice, feel his heart beating as he helped him into the car.

The memory was painful because it tugged at his heart, at how unguarded and relaxed Ilya had been- trusting him to guide him like a child.

Shane put the shirt back inside. Maybe not that one.

Joe came in. “Aren't you ready yet?”

“Can't understand what to wear.”

“What about that shirt l gifted you?”

“I have sent it for laundry. I didn't know we were going out.”

“Okay, then maybe –” he pulled out a see-through shirt. Shane cringed. He wasn't comfortable with people seeing his body like this.

But Joe said, oblivious, “this one? You’d look gorgeous.”

“I don't know, Joe. It's a bit much for me.” He said.

“Try something different for once, Shane. I am tired of those polo shirts,” Joe said, rolling his eyes.

But Shane didn't like different, or change at all. He actually liked having five same polo shirts, or t-shirt, not having to think further.
He didn't like this shirt.

When he didn't reply, Joe said, “I thought you could do this one thing for me, after last week,” and turned away.

There. That had been addressed - the elephant in the room. But Shane had asked him to break it off, hadn't he? He never wanted to be untruthful to Joe, or hoodwink him into staying. He knew he himself wouldn't have, if Joe had done something similar.

Or would he?

But this was Joe, giving him a chance he didn't deserve. So could he not just put on a shirt for his sake?

As he looked himself in the mirror, looking highly uncomfortable in that see-through shirt, he could hear a voice saying in Russian accent - “Wear whatever, who cares.” Or just plain simple- “ beautiful.”

He never wanted to hear that voice saying those things again.

He couldn't forget that voice for the rest of his life.

 

Shane was uncomfortable. He started fidgeting as soon as he got into the cab they had booked. But Joe said, “See, how gorgeous you look. Everybody's gonna look at you, and not look anywhere else.”

That made him even more uncomfortable, because he didn't want anybody to look at him.

He didn't say anything till the restaurant.

 

That night, he said, “Let's talk for a bit. We just always sleep after sex.”

Joe kissed him on the forehead and said, “That's because I do most of the work, and get sleepy. While you… pillow princess..”

“But I also do my part. Are you saying I don't put in any efforts for sex?”

“Whoa, that's not what I meant. Just that.. erm… it's not really as exhausting, being a bottom. Is it?”

Shane felt tears sting his eyes. He was doing his best, if Joe wanted something, he needed to only ask. Shane wouldnt turn him down, ever.
But Joe was the first guy he had slept with, so he didn't really have much experience as to what to do differently. And he also didn't like watching gay porn, so really his source of imagination was limited.

Instead, he just said quietly, “I guess it isn't.”
“Forget it. Goodnight.” He added.

But Joe was already asleep.

 

Games were getting difficult, what with Ilya, or should he go back to saying Rozanov? - ignoring him outside of passing the puck. Shane didn't text or contact him. Ilya wanted silence, and he looked like he was fucking his way through Ottawa, or any other city he was playing at, anyway.
He always arrived with one girl or two, kissing in a manner that didn't leave anything to imagination.

Shane tried not to think of it, except that he had never seen a guy more straight than Ilya.

The thought that he might have wanted to kiss Shane, even drunk, seemed like a figment of his imagination.

And anyway, it had already been a month. An almost kiss probably meant nothing to Ilya.

 

It shouldn't mean anything to him as well. He should move forward with Joe.

 

They went to the arcade once. Joe kept playing Pacman and winning.

When Shane said he didn't know how it worked, Joe looked incredulous.

“You haven't played Pacman while in school? With your friends?”

“No,” Shane simply said.

“What did you play then? We’ll go there.”

‘I didn't come to the arcade. Too many people, too much noise.”

Joe rolled his eyes, “But you play hockey for a profession.”

“It's different. The people are far away, and I don't think of anything beyond getting the puck through the goal…”

“Okay, I get it. Hockey or nothing for you,” Joe said, “Still .. never coming to the arcade?”

Shane shrugged, “I could learn- how to play Pacman?”

“No, forget about it. You go have fun somewhere, i’ll join you.”

 

Shane didn't know what to do, so he took a stroll around the Arcade. There was a park, not far off. He thought he could may be take a walk around.

He put on his earphones, the same meditative music he always did. He immediately felt better, his body relaxing, as he walked around the perimeter of the park.

It was a kids’ park. And for walking the dogs, it seemed. There were several children running around, their parents laughing at a distant, but always keeping a watch. A couple were walking their dogs , too.

Shane loved children, though he himself wasn't the most popular with them. Maybe because he was too uptight or something.

“ Everything is okay.” Damn that Russian voice.

No, really, damn that Russian voice. But he could hear it outside his brain as well, it seemed.

Sure enough, there was Ilya, crouched down beside two kids who wouldn't be more than four or five.

He was saying very seriously, “We race, but if I lose, I buy you both candies. Okay?”

The kids giggled.

“Three …two.. one.. Go,” and as the toddlers ran unsteadily on their feet, Ilya sank to the ground saying, “Ah, there are many ants. They bite me. I can't run!”

It looked like a drill that have been performed for a long time, because the kids fell to the ground, laughing.

One even fell on top of Ilya, whom he caught with deft hands and set up straight.

A few other kids had gathered around, wanting to play.

One girl, particularly small, maybe about two or three years old, waddled up to Ilya and pulled on his curls, giving a giggle.

“Oh, you find it funny, do you? You find my hair funny?” Ilya said. His cheeks were pink, tuft of hair sticking out, as he stuck his tongue out and rolled his eyes.

The little girl shrieked, then slapped Ilya's arms.

“Up,” she said.

“Up,” Ilya agreed, taking her in his arms and gently lifting her up.

“Do you want to go up on lift?” He asked seriously.

“Yes, lift,” the girl giggled.

“Okay,” Ilya put her down on the ground, “You press my hand, like this, we go up. Sounds right?”

An excited nod.

The girl pressed his hand. Ilya lifted her halfway.

“Ah, is only one floor, press again.”

The girl squealed and slapped Ilya's hand with her chubby little ones. Ilya lifted her higher and higher, till both of them were laughing.

The other kids started tugging at his shirt, wanting to get on the ‘lift’ too.

The scene playing out in front of him was so happy, so innocent that Shane wanted to stay in it forever. His eyes refused to budge an inch from Ilya's face, though there seemed to be a thousand people around.

 

Just then, his phone rang. His dream shattered.

It was Joe. It was time to leave.

 

Shane wasn't doing well. He had had three panic attacks in the last week alone, and the reasons weren't even that big.

These had become infrequent since his teenage years, and almost non-existent for the past year or two.

But now, even a slight change in routine, or a slight shift of his schedule made him clamp up.

He was at his Mum’s place, when the last one happened.

He was supposed to meet Joe for dinner, that's why he had asked his Mum to clear his schedule of his endorsement with Reebok for the day after.
His Mum had not been happy, since it was a deal she had gotten after a long time- when the company had actually seen him play.

Now, Joe called to reschedule it to the weekend. And that did it for Shane.

“But you said you would meet me,” he told Joe over the phone. He could feel his voice take on that whiny tone that he so hated.

“Well, I am sorry. This is really important, or I wouldn't be telling you,” Joe's voice was irritated.

“But did you tell them–?”

“Yes, I told my cousins who had come overseas for one night, that I can't meet them because I have a date with my boyfriend. Guess what, they didn't care!” Joe said, now voice impatient.

Shane guessed it was sarcasm.

“Well, can you at least tell when on the weekend? I have to reschedule my stuff… so.”

“Shane, I don't know. Let me meet them first, then I'll let you know exactly when on weekend,” and the phone went dead.

Shane felt the cold hands of panic taking over. He had already pushed one endorsement, if he rescheduled and it again collided with the date, he couldn't cancel. Then Joe would be angry. He wanted neither.

So it was almost twenty minutes after that, when his Mum found him like that, sitting with his head between his knees, trying to breathe.

“Shane, honey, what's wrong?” she asked, alarmed.

But Shane couldn't breathe.
He wanted to reach out to his mum, but couldn't.

“Shane, honey?” She asked again.

His dad came in, “Bud, what's this about? Okay just breathe. It will be okay.”

“Give me five minutes. Talk about something normal. Please.”

“Well, I can put on some hockey,” his Dad said, trying to touch his neck. Shane shirked away. “No, please no touching.”

“Okay, okay. Not touching, okay?” His dad said, putting on the Montreal vs Boston match of months ago. Not months. Just last month. In the Kingfisher's.

“Change it,” he said, between his breaths.

It was a request his parents had never heard.

His dad recovered quickly- “okay, i am bringing out my latest puzzle, your Mum's putting on some tea, and then we'll solve it, okay?”

Shane nodded.

After a while, when he had calmed down a bit, his Mum asked- “Shane, is everything okay?”

Shane thought about lying , but what good would it be? Besides, he was tired. Of his life, of putting up his front with Joe, who still refused to talk about any of the actual stuff that mattered. It was draining him.

“No, nothing is,” help said, and he broke down.

His parents listened attentively. Not questioning, nor stopping him.

“The problem is, he doesn't listen. He answers maybe, but that wasn't what I had been asking at all. If he could just take five minutes out- then I would tell him that I don't really want to be the Shane wearing a see-through shirt or playing games in the Arcade. If I had wanted to be, l would have been. But I am not. And I like it this way.”

“Shane,” his Mum said kindly, “I know this feels like a lot, but have you told him all these?”

“I wanted to, I really did. But he wouldn't listen, either say it's not a big deal, or I am over reacting, or laugh at me like I am joking.”

“This is a conversation you need to have with him, honey,” his Mum said. “But remember, even if it doesn't work out, it's okay. You are not even twenty yet. You’ll figure it out, eventually.”

“Do you think it won't work out?” Shane asked, finally considering the possibility.

“Do you think it is?” Yuna asked, smiling sadly.

 

That Saturday, Joe picked up Shane as usual. God, he looked perfect. Shane could still remember the exact moment he had fallen for that smile, the grace, those curls, his boyish charm.

Where had they gone wrong?

“You're quiet today,” Joe said.

“Let's go. We will talk then.”

Joe looked at him, but didn't comment and started the car.

 

Dinner was sordid. Shane didn't know how to bring up everything without having a huge argument, and he hated confrontations. Especially in public places.

But he had to do it, or he would go mad. The silence would kill him.

“Joe, this is not working out,” he said, without beating about the bush.

Joe looked up, startled. “ What? What the hell are you saying?”

“Don't pretend like you didn't notice. We aren't just working out anymore!”

“When did that happen?”

“I have been trying to talk to you for so long- but you don't have time, or you don't think it's important enough, or whatever. I really can't do it anymore.”

“When did I even say that?” Joe asked, looking genuinely surprised.

And it was the fact that he didn't even remember having ignored or dismissed him, that hurt Shane the most. He realized that Joe wasn't bad, maybe, but he definitely wasn't the right person for him.

“Shane, don't do this to me. Tell me, what you wanna say?” He rubbed Shane's cheeks, tucked a bit of hair behind his ears.

Shane wanted to melt in it, but he also wanted to tell Joe about himself, about his childhood, about him being his first friend, and why it hurt so much more than just a break-up.

But he realised that Joe had probably been stopped being a friend for a long time, since he had shut him out for thinking too much. Shane couldn't help thinking too much. He just wanted someone to share the thoughts with.
Which Joe refused to do.

“I… it doesn't matter now.”

“No, no, it does. I promise, Shane, give me another chance, I will make it different, this time. I promise. Don't just leave like that. I think we deserve another chance, please. Like I gave you,. Don't I deserve a second one as well?”

And there it was, again. How he had forgiven Shane, how he had given him another chance. Shane was tired. Really. He didn't want to think of even looking at Joe.

True, he had felt guilty. But he had wanted to break it off, he had come clean to Joe, hadn't he? Offering him any outcome that he wanted. He himself had chosen Shane, and at every other opportunity he would rub it in Shane's face.

As if seeing Ilya' everyday wasn't punishment enough.

Sure enough, Joe asked, “ This isn't about Rozanov, is it? Have you two…?”

“God, no! This isn't about… about him! I haven't even talked to him for the two or three months.

Two months fourteen days seventeen hours.
His mind calculated.

Ugh. He hated his mind.

“Then what is the problem?”

“Look, Joe, we are leaving for Montreal on Tuesday. Maybe I will come back and see where it goes? Talk it out then?”

“Okay, okay you need a break. That's okay.”

‘On a break’ sounded about right, though Shane wasn't well versed with the terms. Still, he would take it. Then he would end it after coming back from Montreal.

 

Practice the next day was as usual. He and Ilya played like a team with a single mind, so more often than not, the others felt apart. .

He was also feeling a lot better today, having broken up, or gone on whatever this ‘on a break’ thing was.

His passes were smoother, and skating was sharper than last week. Ilya looked at him appreciatively, but didn't say anything.

Ilya wasn't his problem right now.

Instead, his mind cleared as he focused completely on the goal ahead.

All in all, it was a good practice.

“We’ll flatten Montreal,” Bood roared, as the others cheered loudly.

Shane left the locker room, having changed into his t-shirt and jeans. Just as he was leaving, he heard, “Hello, gorgeous.”

Turning around, he saw Joe, smiling suggestively, leaning against the wall. One arm reaching out for him.

“What are you doing?” Shane asked. Anyone could come out now, and see them like that.

But Joe kissed his lips, “I remember how turned on you were when we FaceTimed in that hotel room. So I think maybe here… we could.”

Unlike last time, Shane was deeply uncomfortable. This wasn't a hotel room with a friend..this was his official workplace,where anyone could come out and see him. He would be in trouble.

“Come on, I watched everybody leave. Don't you think it's this spark of adventure that was lacking? Maybe this is why you weren't feeling completely happy?”

Shane doubted it, but before he could think much, Joe's lips were on his, his hand had unbuttoned Shane's jeans and started jerking him off, and oh, this was Joe .. for a moment he could forget what had been unsettling him, or why he had asked Joe to break up in the first place…

Suddenly, a sound. Shane opened his eyes to see Ilya, a blank expression on his face, turning away from them and his mind registered the hundreds of emotions he had seen on that face, but never blank, and so he called out, “ Ilya”, not caring that he sounded close to tears, or Joe was still holding him, looking shocked and angry. Ilya only stopped, didn't turn around and said, “Sorry, I was leaving.”

And he left.

That was the first conversation he had had with Ilya after New York.

“Since when do you call him by his first name?” Joe asked.

Shane was so so tired of everything, that this insecurity was just the final straw.

He didn't even pretend to regret when he said, “since New York.”

“So you had lied when you said that you hadn't slept with him?” Joe said, expression turning cold.

But this time Shane stood his ground. He dressed up, and told Joe, “No, I hadn't slept with him. But we got to talking, we became friends. If you’d listened, you’d know. And I haven't talked to him since then, but it's up to you whether you believe it or not. I am done.”

And turning away, he left.

 

The Montreal game was pathetic. Shane didn't know why Ilya was reacting like this. A few of his teammates had definitely got on with it in the locker room. It wasn't ideal, true, but for Ilya to behave like Shane had personally offended him- that was a bit too much, considering how he groped half naked girls in front of everyone on most game days.

He had even tried to apologise, but Ilya had ignored him completely. He was now handling the puck, as Shane asked him to pass it, he had had a clear shot with the puck, but Ilya was stubborn.

In the end, Troy moved up to yell something at his face.

Ilya neither looked up, nor looked at Shane.

 

As he was getting ready to leave the locker room, a distraction arrived in the form of a very attractive, very …exotic young woman. Shane didn't set much store by anyone’s looks or attitude, unless –

“Ilyushka!” She exclaimed.

Ilya turned around, delighted.

So this was Svetlana Vetrova, Ilya's ‘not real’ girlfriend. She looked perfect, charming with eyes that smiled and a mouth that was ready to chirp, and put Ilya in his place (in more than one ways, it seemed).

She kissed Ilya unashamedly.

If only Shane had that confidence to kiss anyone!

Svetlana was interacting with everyone as if she knew them personally, which she probably did.

Shane turned around. He knew Ilya was straight, but seeing his girlfriend there woke something up in him. Here he was, kissing her in front of everyone, and when he had seen him with Joe the other night, he kept behaving like it was the worst thing in the world! So much so, that he couldn't even look at him in the practice. He definitely hadn't minded much, when, drunk or not, he had almost kissed Shane - all those months back.

Well, to hell with Rozanov. To hell with Joe. He was Shane Hollander, and he alone was enough.
Rest of the world could go fuck themselves.

So deeply had he been thinking that he didn't notice when Svetlana had come over.

“Shane Hollander,” she said, her accent wasn't like Ilya's Russian accent. In fact, there was almost no accent at all.

He turned and said, “ I definitely am. And you are?”

“ Svetlana. But everybody calls me Sveta. I am Ilya's friend.”

Shane carefully nodded. Media face. No emotion.
“Nice to meet you, Svetlana.”

“You are excellent to watch,” she beamed.

Shane supposed that beam could be sexy. But he was gay, and it didn't matter.

“Are you a big hockey fan?” He asked,to be polite.

“I am,” she laughed, “My father's Sergei Vetrov”

Shane blinked. Ilya had told him that, but who cared what Ilya had said.

“Oh, I didn't know your father's Sergei Vetrov” he said, coolly.

“He is, and he thinks you're very good,” she said, still smiling.

“It's a huge honour. Thank you.”

“So, how are you finding Ottawa?” Sveta tried again.

‘I’ve been born and brought up in Ottawa,” Shane said, without blinking or smiling.

 

Just then, Ilya sauntered in, freshly dressed and bathed. With an arm around Sveta, he said “Enough talking, we should leave, yes?”

And Shane smirked. Of course he was doing this in front of him to show Shane what he'd missed by being gay. This was it rubbing it on his face, all about yesterday.

He said, his voice sounding a bit rude to even himself…

“You could just say that in Russian.”

“Oh so now I can't speak in English?” Ilya asked.

But Shane wasn't rising to his bet after all of these. True, he had been wrecked by guilt for two months, but if Ilya had understood even one degree of how Shane had felt, he could have at least tried to talk. To at least say something, because he couldn't possibly think that Shane was okay with how things had ended between them?

So, he decided to suddenly talk to him with his girlfriend by his side.

To hell with it if Shane agreed to get into the banter.

“You can. Whatever. I just wanted to say sorry, for yesterday,” He really was. Then he looked Ilya straight in the eyes and said, “Svetlana's right. You played like shit today. Up your game, or I am still winning our bet.”

And lifting up his bag, he left the silent room.

It was only after coming outside, he felt all the emotions of the last moment tumbling inside him again- hurt, anger, despair, love- everything raised a storm inside of him.

For the first time in a long time, Shane felt properly awake again.

Chapter End Notes

So, finally, they broke up, and Shane woke up again.

I hated to do away with Joe, but he's honestly like just a young guy. He isn't that grown up to understand what Shane needs, or where he's going wrong.

I am feeling drained, having written this much in one go.

Let's see next, what Ilya and Sveta do, and whether these two idiots can finally communicate or not!

Chapter 10: First Attempt

Chapter Notes

So I hadn't thought I would be posting at all today, but this story is staying with me all through work and family obligations.

So here I am , on a working Sunday, with the next installment.

It's shorter than the others, but a bit on the sweeter side. Not so heavy on the angst at all.

Ilya entered a high-rise apartment building with Sveta, who looked quite comfortable in it.

“Do you live here, then?” He asked.

“Half the time, yes. As soon as I get something, maybe I’ll shift,” she smiled.

“Wow, moving in. Pretty big decision?”

“Wait till you meet her. You’ll know that she's the one.”

 

Eight floors up, and they entered an apartment - it was pretty well-decorated, neat. Kind of a place Ilya could picture Shane having, he thought.

“Babe, we’re home!” Sveta said, pulling Ilya in.

A minute later, a beautiful woman with straight black hair falling just below her shoulders, sparkling black eyes and a very confident smile, entered the room.
Ilya immediately knew why Sveta was drawn to her- she looked like she knew her worth.

“This is Yasmina,” Sveta said, “and you know all about Ilya, of course.”

Yasmina looked at Ilya for a second, then extended her hand. Neat, manicured. Practical.

Ilya liked her.

“Ilya Rozanov,” she said, smiling, “I have wanted to meet you for a very long time. Welcome!”

“Wow, she’s great,” he told Sveta in Russian. Turning to Yasmina, he said “ Is pleasure, though Sveta didn't give me any hint before.”

“Yeah, it's been a few months. But I really like her,” she said, looking at Sveta. They both looked lovestruck.

Ilya suddenly felt very glad that Sveta had found someone to look at her like that. Which he told them.

They both laughed, and Sveta said- “Sit. I’ll bring you our favourite vodka.”

“So,” Yasmina asked, turning to Ilya, “how did it go? The plan to get your guy?”

Ilya made a face. “She told you about that?”

Yasmina rolled her eyes, “I was sitting right here. And I am a pretty difficult woman to avoid.”

Ilya laughed at that, the thought of Svetlana Vetrova being with a difficult woman was kind of hilarious.

“Is good for her,” he said, still laughing.

Yasmina smiled too, but said, “don't avoid the conversation. Did anything get through to your man?”

Sveta entered the room just then, “ Even I couldn't tell,” she said, looking at Ilya, “He doesn't give anything away, does he?”

“He is angry at me,” Ilya said, shoulders drooping.

“And you got that from–?”

“I always know.”

“And this guy has a boyfriend?” Yasmina asked, curious.

“Shane. Shane Hollander,” Ilya said, dejected.

Yasmina stared- “The Shane Hollander? The NHL rookie who joined your team? He is good,” she nodded, “Really an excellent player.”
“Wait, you like him?”

“Do not know any other Shane Hollander.”

“Okay, first of, he is gorgeous,” Yasmina said. Ilya made a sound like a wounded animal.
“Second, he has a specific image. He’s very hard to read. I don't know why or how you can tell what he’s thinking.”

“Not to me,” Ilya said mournfully, “I read him like a paper. A book. Anything that can be read.”

Sveta stared- “What's wrong with you? You sound like a lovesick puppy!” She said in Russian. Yasmina looked amused.

“Okay, and does Hollander know you like him?” Sveta asked.

“Wait,” Yasmina asked, her eyebrows narrowing, “does he know that you like men?”

Ilya looked at her. Did Shane know? He certainly had never told anyone, and had never looked at another guy in front of Shane. And Shane himself said that he had difficulty understanding social cues.

Come to think of it, before Shane, he didn't know he liked men.

How would Shane know?

The answer hit him with embarrassing force. He hadn't told Shane, hadn't even hinted at it while he was with him, that he might like men.

“No,” he said quietly.

“So let me get this straight,” Yasmina said, “You like a man, who you claim is a good friend, and gay- and he doesn't even know that you like men, let alone him?”

“Is too many words, but he doesn't know I like men.”

“Ilyushka, tell us everything. This time, so that we can understand.”

And so he did, as much as possible without going into any details.

“So you guys almost kissed when you were drunk, and he doesn't know that you like men, and he has avoided you since then?” Sveta asked again.

“And he has a boyfriend.”

“But he was there, too. And he wasn't drunk.”

“He wouldn't cheat. That is why he was upset.”

“You don't know that's the only reason why,” Yasmina said logically. “If he thought that you were a straight drunk guy, whom he had tried to kiss, that may also be embarrassing for him.”

Had it really been the reason?

And Ilya could see that. That was kind of more probable, since Shane had been avoiding him like anything. Knowing Shane, he would have blamed himself.

“You are genius,” he told Yasmina seriously. He looked at Sveta and said, “ You should worship her everyday. She is good.”

Yasmina laughed again, and Sveta said- “you're just an idiot, Ilyushka.”

“Okay, so what do I do? Find a man and kiss him in front of Shane?” Ilya said enthusiastically.

“No,” Yasmina said firmly. Sveta shook her head too.

“Both of you have been kissing a lot of wrong people in front of each other,” she added.

“Talk to him,” Sveta added. “Be his friend.”

“Even if he has boyfriend?”

“You can always be a friend. He sounded lonely,” Yasmina said.

That part at least, was true. Ilya still had these two people whom he was sitting with and talking to. He felt better than he had in days. Also, they pointed out what an idiot he had been.

Shane didn't have anyone, other than that Hayden Pike maybe, to talk to. And Pike was not very sensible. He was younger than Ilya and was going to be a father- that said a lot about his life decisions.

“And then tell him, gently, that you like men too,” Sveta added.

“And if you see any sign of him leaving his boyfriend, or liking you back, you don't waste it.”

“Get your man like a normal person,” Sveta added, finally.

“I do not know how to get man, or woman. Never done that.”

Yasmina reached out and squeezed his hand, her smile was kind. “You’ll know.”

 

Topics shifted back to home, to Yasmina, to her childhood, to Sveta and his childhood after that. And before long, they were done with dinner and it was time to leave.

He hugged Sveta, who ruffled his hair and kissed him on the cheek. Then he hugged Yasmina, who said, “We will see you with Shane Hollander next time,” and laughing at the look on his face, kissed him too, before he got into his car.

 

They returned to Ottawa the next day, so it was an afternoon practice.

Ilya hoped he could talk to Shane. Anyhow, anything. Now that his friends had pointed out how stupid he had been, he didn't want to waste a single moment not talking to Shane, or listening to him ramble about how to score goals through the next twenty years, or something equally mundane.

It didn't matter what he was saying, as long as he was talking to Ilya.

But something impossible happened. Shane Hollander did not turn up for practice.

Ilya thought that the world must be falling apart, because Shane lived and breathed hockey. So if he wasn't in practice, something must be very wrong.

Should he call Shane? Or text him?

Seemed a bit drastic, after two months of not talking.

So he asked Pike- “Oi, Pike, you know what's up with Hollander? Why isn't he at practice.”

“He’s talked to the coach. Leave him alone,” Pike said, showing an unreasonable anger towards Ilya.

Ilya didn't get Pike, or why Shane was friends with him. He played average, and chirped below average.

“It's just that it's highly unlikely that he hasn't turned up for practice. We are worried about him,” Hayes said reasonably.

Thank god for his other less dense teammates.

Pike looked uncomfortable. “Well, it's not my place to say, though he didn't particularly say it was a secret…”

All kinds of negative thoughts piled up one after the other- could he be injured? No, he had been quite all right after the game last night. Did his parents get hospitalised? Might have been. Or maybe he fell down at his own home, and sprained an ankle or something? Or maybe he had met with an accident while coming to practice? Maybe he was really ill, on life support, and Ilya didn't know because fucking Pike was the closest friend he had. And Pike was dumb.

Ilya didn't know how he could make Pike say another word, till Troy approached from his other side and asked quietly, “Is it something to do with Anderson?”

Pike looked surprised, then relieved. “How did you know?”

“Anderson called Harris, apparently- asking to talk to Hollander. Said they had broken up, or something to that extent”- he looked knowingly towards Ilya.

Ilya's stomach dropped. They had broken up? Shane had broken up? Could Shane even do that? He had thought they were pretty solid- why all of a sudden? Then hadn't he seen them making out just the other day? Ilya's mind had more questions than answers. Answers he would not be getting right now, but that was okay.

For Shane, he could wait.

“Is he okay?”

“Seemed pretty bad. But he’ll get better,” Pike said, shrugging “I always thought he could do better.”

“You did?” Ilya asked, hiding a smile. Pike had always seemed so supportive of them.

“Yeah, it was getting on my nerves too. It was always Joe this and Joe that, as if he wasn't even his own person any more. He even played better yesterday,” Pike said, with a surprising insight that Ilya didn't know he possessed.

“Yes, should have been Hayden this and Hayden that. Why you jealous, Pike?” He asked.

Pike scowled. Ilya felt unreasonable happy.

“Fuck off, Rozanov. Don't give him shit, though. I shouldn't have told you at all.”

Ilya didn't reply, just rolled his eyes and moved on.

“You seem quite happy about it. Will you pass Hollzy the puck now?” Troy said, smirking.

“Did I ask how you got that news from Harris?” Ilya said, now laughing at the stricken look on Troy's face. Clapping him on the shoulder, he left the locker room, humming to himself.

Life definitely gets better after hitting the worst.

 

Now, the problem was, Ilya had absolutely no idea how to start talking to Shane. He realized that he also hadn't initiated any conversation at all, and that seemed to have been an extremely stupid thing to do, looking back.

Also, he had never really had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend. He didn't really know how to go about, if you wanted to have one.

So he did the most logical thing he could do, and searched Google for advice.

 

Ilya Rozanov’s search history

How to make a boyfriend?
How to impress a boy? (Being a boy)
10 easy steps to make a boyfriend
5 more steps because said boyfriend is very detailed, and neat freak.
What to gift someone (a boy) who doesn't like food, flowers, electronics, dresses
Who only likes hockey
Who has a lot of money, so has everything
How long can you wait to talk to someone and impress them after break-up
Their break-up, not with me
If the boy is Shane Hollander, what can I do?

 

Getting increasingly frustrated by all answers, Ilya decided that perhaps Google could not be trusted with life altering decisions.

So, thumbing the cross with his left hand, he prayed to all the gods that existed, and sent Shane a text - “Hi r u ok?”

 

Waiting for a while, he set about to make a tuna melt for himself. He didn't even know he had the ingredients, he had to make do with whatever he had. He was full of energy today, and waiting for Shane's reply was wrecking his nerves.

Every 5 minutes, he checked his phone. It showed ‘delivered’ but no unread messages.

Ultimately, he had given up hope. He switched the channels to watch something other than hockey. Hockey reminded him of Shane. So maybe not just now.

He suddenly stumbled upon “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.” He had heard a lot about the movie, but hadn't watched it.

He had just settled on his couch, grabbing the tuna melt, when his phone pinged.

It was a horrible sound.
It sounded like music to him.

 

Shane(😾) : Umm, I am okay. Kind of.

Ilya : ok. Practs @ 8 2morrw?

Shane (😾): typing ….
typing …..
typing ….. okay.
What kind of spellings are those?

Ilya : Is English. Y u din’t undrstand 😭😭

Shane(😾) : it's difficult to understand. But I did manage.

Ilya : den wat is problem 😭

Shane(😾) : typing….
Nothing. It's okay.

 

Ilya : 🫠

Ilya didn't know what else to say. He thought he had already pushed it. He read the text thread three times, grinning like an idiot, having his tuna melt.

As he was going to read it for a fourth time, a text appeared.

Shane (😾) : What are you doing?

Ilya couldn't believe it. Did Shane really want to talk to him?

Ilya snapped a photo of the tuna melt, sent it. Then snapped a picture of his TV screen, where a boy was talking to a snake (?). But maybe it made sense, because Shane was talking to him again, and that made much less sense.

So he sent the snap of the movie too.

Shane (😾): You made tuna melt?
typing .. is that Harry Potter?

Ilya : Yes. I mk 2na melt. D u lyk it?
Yes, is Hary Pottr. D u lyk it?

Damn. He sounded like a bot. Repeating the same question. But what should he ask him? He had zero idea on what Shane did like outside hockey. And maybe ginger ale.
A fact he found out after his Google search.

Shane(😾) : typing …. I actually follow a macrobiotic diet. But tuna melts are okay, I guess.

I love Harry Potter. Have seen the movies about 50 times, I think.

Ilya : Watz a macrobiotic dyt?
And y s the boy toking to a snake?

Shane (😾) : Find out what a macrobiotic diet is. Google it. You can see.

Have you not watched Harry Potter before?

Ilya : Ok.
N no. 🥺

Shane (😾): watch it, and tell me how you like it tomorrow.

Ilya: ok

Shane (😾): Goodnight, Ilya.

Ilya: Gdnyt Shane ☺️☺️☺️

And he watched the movie of a young wizard killing a two faced evil old fucker, with a big smile on his face. He didn't even mind that horrible guy who didn't shampoo his hair and drifted around the castle like an oversized bat.

Shane had asked him to watch it. Who cared what it was about.

 

They were supposed to meet for practice early the next day.
Ilya didn't sleep well, he couldn't think of what to ask Shane, how to make sure he was okay, how to make sure that they were okay.
He didn't want to sound like he was trying very hard, because Shane was single now. He wanted Shane to know that he had planned to talk to him before he had known that Shane had broken up.

He simply wanted to be there for him.

Everything else could come after.

But when he reached the rink, he could already hear the sounds of the puck. Thinking it would be Shane, he turned the corner to see- Hayden Pike and Marlow practising, and Hayes too, as goalie- of course.

“Hey, Rozy!” Marlow said, clapping him in the back, “Didn't know you came for extra practice!”

“Probably because he played like shit the last game,” Pike- the most excellent player of Ottawa, suggested very intelligently.

“Yes. I want to know all the tricks of scoring goal from you,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, we could start, couldn't we?” Marlow said.

And Ilya, against his better judgement, had to start practice.

 

It had barely been five minutes when Shane arrived, ready in his gear. He looked so adorably confused at all the people, that Ilya thought he could go ahead and kiss him right there.
Instead, he said nothing as Pike said, “Shane, I didn't know you were coming! Come, join us!”

Marlow clapped him on the shoulder, and asked “Allright there?”

Shane looked at him and nodded.

“Ah, these things happen, you know. I think I have been dumped five times. I swear the last time I was in love with Sonia.”

“Every time you are in love, Marly,” Ilya said. It was true, he had to console a crying Marly with his best vodka, and night long episodes of Friends.

“Yeah, Rozy helped, though. I just went to his place and watched Friends “

“Yes, we are five seasons through. All after your break-ups. Easier if I had broken up.”

“You don't even do relationships. How would you know?”

Dangerous waters, thought Ilya, as Shane started looking a bit uncomfortable again .

“Let us start practice- did you come here to gossip?”

He talked very little to Shane during the entire time.
After they were done though, he pulled Shane aside- “Can I have a word?”

Pike looked on suspiciously, as Shane said- “Go on, I'll catch up.”

As everybody else left, Shane looked at him expectantly.
Suddenly, Ilya felt he couldn't talk. Shane's eyes were on him, slightly furrowed, and he just wanted to keep looking into those, never make them sad.

Shane cleared his throat- “You were saying?”

“Are you okay? Really?”

Shane looked like nodding, then looking at Ilya, he seemed to think the better of it, and said, “Not really, no.”

“Take a walk?”

“Practice will start.”

“Is no matter.. This is more important.”

 

“Well?” Ilya prodded.

“It's not… good. I miss him.”

And there it was, maybe he’ll go back to Anderson. After all, the guy has asked after Shane.

“Do you.. want to go back? With him?”

“Sometimes, yes. But mostly no. Things weren't just… working out,” he said with a sigh. “Worse was the fact that he was my first best friend, not only my boyfriend, you know.”

And Ilya did know. How he hoped that he would be Shane's best friend - but that would take time. Lots of it .

“He had called Harris. Anderson,” Ilya said, even if his heart broke again, at the possibility.
“You sure you don't want to?”

“Yes.”

“And Shane?”

He looked up.
Ilya couldn't look away.

“Are we okay?”

Shane looked at him for sometime, then smiled a little, finally nodding - “I think we are. What do you think?”

“I think we're okay, too.”

“So, I can go over to your place and watch five seasons of Friends too?”

“Can watch ten seasons. Depends on how sad you are.”

Shane gave a genuine laugh at that, “I think season 7 will do.”

“Okay, Shane. We can do that too.”

“See you around?”

“Yes.”

Chapter End Notes

I hope you liked Yasmina. I am just tired of Svetlana being paired up with Rose, i don't really know why. They could just be girls, who become friends? Like that's a pretty good concept, right?

Also, in case you didn't get it, I am a potter girlie, living always in Potter-verse.

My first shipped couple was Wolfstar, which was Remus and Sirius, and it was their fanfics which got me invested in fanfictions at all since high school.
(Re: Casting Moonshadows, the Shoebox Project, Text Talks - are the absolute best- for anyone interested!)

Anyyywayyy, the next chapter is gonna be on how Shane gets a new friend, and takes leaf out of Marly's book.

Also, I do hope you like how Ilya saved Shane's name with an angry kitten face. Loll. That would be so Ilya, whereas Shane probably saved his name as Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs. (As if he knows twelve other Ilya Rozanovs. 😆😆)

Chapter 11: First Crush

Chapter Notes

Again this is a short chapter, because clubbing it with the next one didn't seem right.

Cheers to a newly redefined friendship getting stronger- or is it just friendship?

Keep reading to learn more 🤭🤭

Shane didn't know what to do with all the free time he had now.

True, he now has endorsement deals with Reebok and Rolex, but they had been scheduled around his time for Joe.
Now, there was a huge Joe- shaped hole in his life.

Surprisingly though, he felt less lonely this way. Maybe because he didn't expect anyone to listen to him anymore, that there was no disappointment in not sharing.
It had been two weeks. He was slowly re-learning his way around by himself.

The first two or three days had been difficult. He had wanted to call Joe a number of times. A couple of times he actually had.
Words had been said, arguments had. Joe had shouted at him, he had shouted back, a number of times Ilya's name had cropped up again- which had frustrated him further, before he had said with a finality that it was over.

He wasn't happy about it. But going back after all the arguments didn't seem like an option.

A somewhat good thing was his renewed friendship with Ilya, though. Surprisingly, it wasn't loud- like Ilya mostly was- on ice and off it.
Instead he had asked Shane a couple of times if he was okay, and needed anything, and that had been it. He didn't treat Shane any different, like a couple of his friends were doing.

Hayden was hell-bent on including him in any kind of work involving his pregnant wife. Shane didn't know whether that was for his benefit or Hayden’s, but Jackie and her mood swings were mildly terrifying and not always enjoyable.
Especially when she broke down saying Shane at least had the chance to break it off, before anything as untoward as pregnancy happened.

Shane didn't know how to point it out that a gay couple didn't really have that possibility. Any opposition to her logic, and Jackie would either cry or throw something at them.

So he just sighed and agreed, feeling better that he at least never would have to deal with it in his personal life.

Hayden was smitten though, so he guessed - to each his own kind of happiness.

 

His teammates were something else. Shane really enjoyed hanging out with them, and after a moment couldn't really believe the ridiculous ways in which they got dumped.

It was in Bood's room. They had an away game in Philadelphia, and instead of going out, they all decided to stay in.

Maybe it was largely because of Shane's benefit, but nobody complained. In fact, everybody seemed happy enough to bring their own drinks and make it as rowdy as possible.

He was seated next to Ilya, on the couch - who had one arm slung over the back. If it had been any closer, he might have been hugging Shane. But Ilya had leaned back, and was looking at everything through heavily lidded eyes.

He wasn't even properly wearing a shirt- it hung off his shoulder. Shane could feel the heat emanating from his body- it warmed Shane up, and cooled him off in equal measures.

Ilya barely looked at him though, except small gestures like bringing the ginger ale can for him, and opening it before passing. Or quietly pass the vegan menu to him.

The soft gestures made Shane feel warmer than any heated proximity could - it told him that Ilya noticed, or cared enough to think about what he liked, without him asking or without it being awkward in front of other people.

But thinking too much about Ilya, that too- sitting that close to him, was dangerous. Shane still was scared of letting himself off guard, he didn't want to repeat anything like New York again. Didn't want to destroy their friendship, or push it away again.

So he turned his attention to the stories being shared by his teammates.

 

He didn't know why, but never did he hear about any one of them ending any relationship. When asked later, Ilya said that they were just lucky those girls had agreed to go out with them at all.

That did seem to be the general opinion.

Marlow, for example, had gotten dumped the last time for calling his girlfriend's mother's lasagna tasteless. He had actually been telling a friend that he “didn't know how her Dad became so fat eating that tasteless lasagna,” which his ex, Sonia had heard and thrown his overnight bag, and him- out on the street.

Shane didn't believe someone could be so insensitive or frankly, tactless. But others seemed to sympathize.

Bood called his first girlfriend ‘a fucking ballerina', (Don't tell Cassie! - he had added hastily) and how she had left him for her dance instructor, who later on turned out to be gay.

“Serves her right,” Hayes said, finishing another glass of whiskey at one go.

The stories started getting wilder. Dykstra asked Ilya finally - “what about your girl, though, Sveta? She’s a real catch!”

Ilya's eyes seemed to sparkle at that.

“She is. But she has caught very beautiful woman, Yasmina- for herself. They will come to visit soon.”

Shane's head reeled. What? That wasn't actually Ilya's girlfriend? But they had seemed so–

“Motherfucker, she really wasn't your girlfriend?” Marlow asked. “So I could have hit on her?”

“You could try,” Ilya said, scowling.

He then showed them a picture of Svetlana, arms around a very gorgeous woman with short black hair, looking straight out of those science action movies- kissing and smiling at the screen.

“And you didn't know that she swung for either team?” Troy asked, incredulous. He had been unnaturally quiet till now.

“She could swing for anyone, how do I care?” Ilya said, shrugging. “But apparently Yasmina made her feel how she was very tired of dicks and dickheads, so” he shrugged again.

It was unimaginable to Shane. He himself had known that he wasn't attracted to girls since forever. But to have liked boys,and to realize that you like girls too, later- could that happen?

Then that moment with Ilya—?

No, that was surely because Ilya was drunk.

Wasn't it?

“Is it possible to realize you like both, so late in life?” He whispered.

He didn't know whether he imagined it or not, but Ilya maybe looked a bit longer at him before saying, “You’re alive, Hollander. Is life. Anything is possible.”

As everyone shouted, “Hear, hear!” Shane felt goosebumps at the back of his neck. He felt Ilya's eyes on him, but didn't look up to check anymore.

 

The next day on their return flight, Shane found himself sitting alone in the middle. Usually, it was more than okay. But he wanted something today. He felt restless.

Or maybe it was a particular someone's company that he wanted.

He looked around- sure enough, there was that mass of golden curls towards the back of the flight, head bent over something.

Shane hesitated. Should he really go and talk to Ilya? What if he disturbed him? Or what if Ilya didn't want to see him right now? Maybe he was busy.

But it was a flight, and how busy could he be?

He might not want to talk to you, his mind whispered.

He might get freaked out again, not talk for two months- if Shane proceeded too strongly. Ilya had established that they were friends, and had never in these past few weeks, said or done something to jeopardize it.

What if Shane came out as too much? Or said something inappropriate?
But he suddenly remembered Ilya's warm welcoming blue eyes, smiling with mirth- and somehow didn't think that he would find Shane to be irritating.

And he really wanted to hear anything in that lazy Russian drawl of half formed English words. He was beginning to realize they had more insight than they let on, beneath their harsh surface.

With a jolt he realized that he had been staring at Ilya for quite some time. Looking around to see whether anyone noticed him staring, he got up from his seat and before he could rethink- walked over to where Ilya was sitting.

After all, Marlow had also gone to Ilya for company. Would it be so wrong if he went too?

“Is this seat taken?” He asked- before he could back out of it.

Ilya looked up, looking a bit confused at being called. Clearly, he hadn't expected company.

But his face split into a bright smile, as he said, “No.” And without adding anything further, moved aside to make space for him.

“Hi,” he said, a smile seemed to be etched into Shane's face.

“Hi,” Ilya replied.
He looked so handsome like that- dimples, golden curls, eyes looking a bit sleepy in the flight, lips pulled back in a smile, a few moles on his face.

Shane wanted to trace the pattern of those moles all over his body.

Fuck. What was he thinking

“Shane?” Ilya asked, sounding amused.

Shane could feel the blush creeping in.

“Sorry, I was just getting bored, so thought I would…” his voice trailed away. “Looks like you are busy, though. I’ll leave.”

He was getting up to leave, when Ilya's fingers held his wrist, “Am not busy. Come sit.”

Shane's pulse was racing, where Ilya touched him. He wanted to go as far away as possible, yet wanted to stay as close to Ilya as was humanly feasible.

He was finding it difficult to look..Ilya, on the other hand, was looking at his face only, and nowhere else. His thumb traced Shane's pulse point, and Shane jumped a little.

“Wanna watch video?” Ilya said, gently removing his hand and settling in. Shane's nerves were already buzzing, but he nodded and Ilya thrust an earphone at him, signaling him to put it in.

As soon as he did, Shane's eyes moved to the screen- It showed two tiny puppies yapping at each other.

“ They are Mojo and Tim. They are friends, but sometimes argue, like us. Mostly friends though,” Ilya said. He was watching the little pups with an amazement that filled up his whole face. He looked engrossed in them, like their little paws reached over and hugged Ilya though the screen.

“Would you like to have a dog, Ilya?” He asked.

“No,” he said seriously, “maybe ten dogs.”

“And cats?”

“No. They are scratchy.” Shane couldn't argue that.

“Would you like to have a cat?” Ilya asked, looking quizzically.

“No. I don't like pets much.”

“Not even dogs? Look- they are so cute!”

And Shane looked at the smile on Ilya's face, completely unadulterated. He decided if Ilya ever asked him, he would probably buy a dog, a zebra, a giraffe. Anything really.

“Maybe one can do,” he said, smiling a little himself.

“You will be very strict on them, scold them all time. Tell them ‘bad dog’, every time they lick your face ,” Ilya added with glee. “Then when they are all sad, because Papa scolds them, you will probably give them a kiss.”

It was a pretty accurate description, Shane couldn't help but notice.

“Is this what you're getting for Christmas then?”

Ilya looked a bit at Shane. He had stopped smiling.
“Russian Christmas is on 7th January,” he simply said.

Damn it, he knew he would say something stupid.

“Then come to my place, for Christmas. I mean, my parents’ place. It's about twenty minutes from where we stay,” he said in a rush.

Ilya looked surprised, then said- “But they would mind, no?”

“I don't think they would.”

“But is time for family.”

Shane thought about all the times when Ilya had been there for him, especially in the recent times, in the ways that Shane had needed. Quietly, but always there. In some ways, he felt close to him, like only his parents ever did.

“I’m sure they won't mind, Ilya. Come home.”

Something sparked in Ilya's eyes as he looked up at Shane, at the word ‘home.’ He looked both very happy, and a little lost at that.

What seemed like a whole lot of time apart, he said “okay” - a brilliant smile lighting up his face.

Shane thought he could die peacefully now, with that memory etched in his mind.

 

“Mum,” Shane said, “I know that I’m supposed to do that Calvin Klein thing. Could it not have been on the only free evening before Christmas?”

“Well, you’re young, and you got this deal after a long time. So it's not an option,” Yuna said, a bit stern.

“Okay. I’ll go.” Then, bracing himself, he said- “Mum, Ilya will be joining us for Christmas.”

His Mum was quiet for a bit. Then she said, “Ilya? Ilya Rozanov? In our home? Honey… aren't you two like, always competing or something?”

“Well, he's my friend. Those are friendly competitions, and he doesn't have any family here anyway. So can he?”

“Of course he can, sweetheart. Let us know if he's allergic to something or not, okay?”

“Well in advance. And does he like chicken parmesan?” His dad asked.

“Dad, he isn't going to have chicken parmesan on Christmas.”

“Why not?”

“Because we'll be making traditional Christmas food,” Yuna said. Shane could see her rolling her eyes, even over the phone.

“Shane, you ask Ilya if he had any traditional preferences or not. We can manage to cook it.”

“Mum, don't make it such a big deal, please. Also, I think their New Year Eve's more important,” Shane had obviously looked up everything there was to look up on the internet.

“Okay, if you are sure,” Yuna said, still hesitating.

“Yeah, I am. I gotta go now, time for evening workout.”

“Okay, take care. And don't forget–”

“Yes, I know, Calvin Klein.”

 

His schedules were getting more fucked up now that his Mum had a free reign to fill it up. He sighed, and went to workout, hoping against hope that his parents would be normal, and not share embarrassing childhood stories.with Ilya on Christmas day. He didn't need more embarrassment really, where Ilya was concerned.

 

When he returned, he saw he had two pending messages. Which he never had, after Joe.

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs : Hi.
Wat d i bring 4 Chrstmas?

Shane: What?

The reply came immediately -

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: 2 ur hme, Shane.

Shane: I don't know, maybe a dictionary? Scrabbles?

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: Scrabls?

O i c, borng wrd gme. U win dis?

Shane: No, Mum does.

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: she z evn b8r?

Shane: Please can we just talk over the phone? This is killing me.

Two seconds, then …

 

Ringing…

(Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs)

Ilya: Hi

Shane: Hello to you too.

Ilya: What do I bring to your home?

Shane: I don't know, Ilya. Just come. It's still a week away.

Ilya: Not much time to plan for gift.

Shane: Ilya, you don't have to bring a gift. Just come.

Ilya: No, very important. It is first time I go to your parents' home.

Shane: Yes. But it's okay. They aren't that scary or anything. Just, come home. It’ll be good.
Oh, and Mum asked whether you have any allergies, or any food preferences for your tradition. They said they will try to make it.

There was a silence over the phone.. Shane could only hear Ilya breathing. For a moment, he thought that the connection must have been poor. He rechecked the phone, but no.

Then Ilya finally said: I do not have preferences , or allergies. I will be glad to be there.

Shane smiled into the phone: Well, good then. Will see you tomorrow at practice?

He didn't want to hang up the phone. Nor did Ilya, it seemed.
They both stayed online for sometime, without saying anything.

Finally, Ilya said: See you tomorrow.

 

Hanging up, Shane smiled crazily - standing in front of the mirror all alone. He wasn't sure what he felt towards Ilya was purely platonic anymore.
And even though Ilya was straight, Shane felt that he couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by Ilya's presence.

Maybe it was a rebound harmless crush on a straight friend. As long as he didn't act upon it and make anyone uncomfortable, maybe this was what he needed to stay focused and stop thinking about Joe at all.

A harmless rebound crush.

That was all.

Chapter End Notes

Okkayyy, so next chapter is going to be Christmas. I couldn't just club it in because it's a lot to write about.
It will be new because it will be both of their POVs together.

Chapter 12: First Christmas

Chapter Notes

Christmas is 6 months early, folks!

Ho-ho-ho!

22nd December, Boston, 2010

“Good game,” Shane shook hands dejectedly with the Captain of the Boston Bears- Carmichael.

It had indeed been a good game- one which they had lost, after a four winning games streak. Shane hated losing, but they couldn't win it all.

One thing he had noticed about Ottawa was- his teammates were seldom in a non-celebratory mood.

“Eh, it is what it is,” said Bood, “Let's have a good Christmas and come back with a bang, yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” Dykstra said. “Have plans?”

“Gonna spend the day with the missus,” Bood said, looking unexpectedly shy, “Cassie’s pregnant.”

“What? Congratulations man!” , “Young Bood is gonna be here!” Various shouts were heard, and Hayden said, “Welcome to the club, Bood.”

Shane discreetly looked at Ilya- who looked delighted. That man was all about pups and kids- while putting up an arrogant fuck-all attitude. It made him smile.

Just then, he heard another voice- “Are celebrations in order? Sorry I missed the game.”

Joe was here, smiling.

Oh holy fuck. What was he doing here?

A tiny movement caught his eyes, he looked around to see Ilya looking with a distinct disgruntled expression. ‘Disgruntled’ was a mild word- maybe ‘enraged’ would be better.

There was a silence, when Bood hastily said, “No luck there. Just… something else.”

“Oh, okay,” Joe said awkwardly, looking around for Shane.

Shane thought it was getting more awkward by the second, so he just stepped forward and said, “Guys, just.. wait up, okay?”

“Yeah,” Hayden said. He wasn't looking too pleased, Shane noticed.

Deciding that removing Joe from the scene would be a very good decision, he stepped forward and said, “Come on.”

As soon as they stepped out, Shane rounded on him, “What are you doing here, Joe?”

Joe looked hurt. He looked intently at Shane and said, “I… couldn't do anything else. I was missing you, Shane. I wanted to wait, I truly did. But… I just couldn't. Anymore.”

Shane sighed. Truth was, he had missed Joe. For all the mentions of rebound crush and all, every moment he spent alone, he had been looking at their pictures together - memories by the rink, by the lakeside, watching a movie… everything. His bedsheets smelled like Joe for a week, and he couldn't sleep in his bedroom. Joe’s toothbrush, his mug, his slippers- another extra pair, just without their owner.

It had fucking killed Shane.

But he remembered the times when he had been just as alone, wishing for anyone to understand what he was going through. But Joe hadn't. He hadn't even realised that Shane was unhappy, or he was having panic attacks three times a week at least.

Being uncared for in a relationship was far worse than being single. And Shane wouldn't make that mistake again.

Also, that constant doubt about Ilya was killing him. He had to stay with the team, but this was probably the tenth or eleventh time Joe had come unannounced to the locker room. It hadn't escaped Shane’ notice that his eyes looked for Ilya, even before they looked for Shane.

He was tired of it. He cursed the day when he had shared anything with Joe, thinking it would have been better to break off immediately.

It hurt more especially now, in the knowledge that he had a crush on Ilya, however harmless. He couldn't even lie with a straight face- he had never been able to. Joe wouldn't believe that he really hadn't kept any connection with Ilya, for the remaining period they were in a relationship.

Shane looked up, gently taking Joe's hands in his, he said- “Joe, this isn't working. I am not happy in it. Please try to understand. You have been amazing, but just not right for me..”

“Then tell me, tell me what I can do to be more?”

“I don't know, Joe. Maybe respect what I say and leave me alone?”

“Please, Shane. We had that skiing trip planned. Let's go for that, forget about this.”

Shane hadn't even wanted to go for that trip. Christmas was one of the times he loved spending with his parents, at his childhood home. He had said so, but Joe had said that it would be fun- just the two of them. In the end, Shane had given in.

“No, Joe. I have told you, I am spending Christmas with my parents. Please understand. I don't want to go anywhere.”

“I did come such a long way..”

“You could have waited fora few hours and said the same thing in Ottawa as well ,” now Shane was getting angry. He had said multiple times that he wanted to end it, wasn't going to go skiing, wanted to spend the day with family.

Again Joe wasn't listening.

Again the same thing.

“Listen, Joe. I will tell you this thing. I don't want to be with anyone right now. I want to be single, play hockey and win cups. I want to concentrate on that. Please, if you want to return in our flight, you are welcome to wait. Otherwise this conversation is over. Enjoy Boston.”

Shane set about towards the locker room.

Joe said quietly, “Tell me one thing though. This is really not about Rozanov, is it?”

God, that again. Shane wanted to throw something, or break a bone. Instead, he took a deep breath, turned and said, “It's about us, how it's not working out. It hasn't, for a long time. You refusing to acknowledge the fact won't change it. Please stop following me, it makes things more difficult.”

As Shane left Joe standing, he realized he didn't directly say that it wasn't regarding Rozanov. He himself wasn't sure what Rozanov meant to him.

But he knew that when he re-entered the locker room, Ilya was standing very still at one end, listening to someone. As soon as he entered, Ilya looked at him with questioning eyes. Shane gave a little nod, Ilya relaxed and went back to a normal conversation, this time smiling animatedly like he always did.

Shane couldn't stop the smile creeping into his face either.

 

Christmas dawned, crisp and snowing in Ottawa.

Shane woke up well past 7- it was the one day he allowed himself to be late on purpose. It was festive season all around.

Thinking about last evening, he smiled. Ilya had called him, asking about what time to arrive at his place. They had talked straight for two hours, before hanging up.

Shane had then texted him, “Be here by 1?”

Ilya had just replied: ok. 🥰🥰

Shane had stared at the text till he had fallen asleep.

 

Christmas morning had a ritual in the Hollanders’ household. His parents were not very religious, but his Dad always insisted on decorating the tree, and piling the gifts below it. Everyone had to accumulate below it, turn on Christmas carols, and get a family picture taken.

Then, more often than not, he would proceed to make the turkey, Shane and his Mum would make the sauce and mashed potatoes, play some board games, and end the day with a movie and wine.

It was the best kind of Christmas for Shane. He hadn't missed a single one in his life, even for his hockey tournaments.

This time though, the morning dragged on and on for Shane. He helped his dad half-heartedly, checking his watch every five minutes, before his dad said - “ He’ll be here, don't worry.” He had a too knowing smile on his face, which Shane didn't like.

So he set about mixing the sauce, and avoided eye contact with his dad anymore.

At long last, the doorbell rang.

Shane said, “I’ll get it.” And was out of the kitchen in seconds, his heart racing.

Sure enough, he opened his door to see Ilya, all bundled up and covered in snow, standing there with his crooked little smile. What amazed him was, Ilya was holding a box of something, and what looked like vodka.

“Well, come on in,” Shane said, moving aside.

“Thank god, Hollander. I thought it was your new trick to be best player in league- freezing my ass off.”

“I don't need tricks to beat you,” Shane said. “I am already ahead. 27-23.”

“Half of these I assist you,” Ilya said, grumbling. Not really.

They entered the kitchen, Shane now carrying the vodka.

“Mum, Dad- this is Ilya. Rozanov. But you already know that,” he added lamely.

His Dad, he saw, hid a smile as his Mum came forward , took one look at Ilya and put both her hands on his shoulders, saying - “Ilya, it's so good to see you. But you're cold, go sit by the fireplace.”

Ilya looked a bit stunned at being addressed so informally perhaps. He handed her the box of cookies and said, “For you, Mr and Mrs Hollander.”

“Call me Yuna, sweetheart.” She opened the box- it was full of cookies, the smell of which filled the room immediately. “Ilya, did you make them?”

“I did,” he said proudly. “Burnt two batches, but I think this is okay.”

“But you didn't have to bring anything!”

“I wanted to.”

“These look delicious,” David said, coming forward. “Finally , someone else who can cook too.”

“Don't know how to cook much,” Ilya said, but he looked too pleased with himself. “This was my favourite, growing up. Is Pyraniki.”

“Is it a family recipe?” David asked.

“No,” Ilya was quiet for a moment. “Is my mother's.”

“Oh, Ilya. You must miss it in Canada,” Yuna said , moving to the drawing room, asking them to follow. “Would they visit soon, your parents?”

Ilya was quiet for some time. He then said, “My mother is dead.” He didn't explain further.

Shane felt something shift inside of him. How could he have not known? He should have searched Google, his interviews, anything - to avoid this conversation.

Ilya looked lost.

“I am … so sorry Ilya,” Yuna said. She also , Shane could feel, regretted bringing up the topic, “I didn't know.”

“Is no matter. I have family here,” he said. “Ottawa Centaurs is very good.”

“And you are always welcome here,” David said, “Even if Shane's not at home.”

“Yes, his friends Hayden and Jackie do come over,” Yuna said, nodding.

“ Jackie's very pregnant,” Ilya said, remembering.

“And very scary,” Shane added, nodding.

“How a pregnant lady can scare you?” Ilya asked in disbelief.

“She said it was better that I broke up before getting pregnant. I didn't know what to say, so she started crying,” Shane looked a bit alarmed even at the memory.

Everyone else laughed. “She was not wrong,” Ilya observed.

 

“So, Ilya, we didn't know what to give you on Christmas,” David said.

“You don't have to give anything,” Ilya said, looking surprised.

“No, it's tradition.”

“Dad’s really big on traditions. That he himself makes,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

“ Well, you have to have some good Canadian Christmas memories!”

“Check below the tree,” Yuna suggested.

Ilya looked incredulously, as if not believing that he got a gift.

“Go ahead, open it,” David said.

Ilya picked up the wrapped package and opened it.
It was a framed picture of him, coming first in Draft. It was labelled - “Ilya Rozanov, NHL DRAFT, 2009.”

Ilya looked at it for a long time, Shane couldn't see his expression. He finally said, “You make this for me?”

“Got your name on it, son,” Daid said.

“Is best gift,” he said. His voice was closed off, as he looked away.
When he looked back, he was smiling earnestly, eyes a bit moist- “Thank you. I will keep it in living room.”

His Dad looked pleased as he looked at Shane and said, “See, giving gifts does not ‘suck’”.

“Dad, you take it way too seriously,” he said, shaking his head. He never set much store by gifts anyway. But this one had been really thoughtful, and sweet. He was secretly glad that they did it for Ilya. He seemed really touched.

“I didn't get anything for you,” Shane said, trying to break the tension, “Sorry, I guess.”

“Ah, now you have to buy me playstation. I beat you in it.”

“Why would I buy you a playstation if you beat me in it?”

“Is a gift for me. I should win.”

“That's definitely not how it goes,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Just then, a timer went off. Shane had lost track of how many things had to be cooked, so he just accepted when Yuna said- “Come, food’s ready.”

 

Ilya was the perfect guest. Sometimes he was sucking up so much to his parents that Shane felt like shaking him- be it complimenting his father's cooking, or his Mum's assistance in it.

He turned around when his parents weren't looking, and mouthed “Too much” to Ilya.

He just beamed.

His Dad did serve his chicken parmesan as a part of the meal, though. Ilya looked confused as he asked- “is pasta tradition here?”

“No, but Yuna fell in love with me after tasting this pasta. So I have decided to make it a tradition from now on,” David said, looking lovingly at his wife.

Yuna laughed, “He wouldn't stop cooking till I said yes to going out!”

Shane had heard this story a number of times, yet it made him feel hopeful, always. His parents were the perfect couple in his eyes- a team, complimenting each other, without any ego.

Ilya said, “Is good enough to be tradition.”

“Yes, much better than what Ilya and Bood have set as traditions in our locker room.”

“Oh, it was fun, Hollander. I can't help it if you're boring.”

“Yes, now we are playing secret Santa like ten years olds.”

“Is good. I gave Hayden a stink bomb. He looked upset.”

“It was you!” Shane said. “ He went on and on about it. Jackie dumped water on him. It was chaos.”

“Really?” Ilya looked delighted. “What did Jackie say?”

“She thought it was Hayden’s prank on her.”

“As if he would be clever enough!”

“Ilya, it was a prank in middle school.”

“Is still a good prank. What did you get?”

“A pair of socks with Centaurs drawn on them. Don't know who gave them, but they are cute.”

“Troy did,” Ilya said in a matter-of-fact voice, “He thinks you are a babe.”

“Ilya!” Shane said, reddening immediately, as everybody snickered. He could feel his ears had gone red.
His parents were enjoying the show too much.

“Ah, don't worry. He is very much in love with … well, someone,” Ilya corrected himself.

“Yes, Harris.” Shane said irritably. Anyone with eyes could see that.

“How did you know?”

“Everyone can tell.”

“Not everyone.”

“Well, gay everyone, then.”

“Don't tell him.”

“I’ll say thanks for the pair of socks, and for calling me a ‘babe.’”

“Don't tell him that too,” Ilya said hastily, grumbling.

“Then you shouldn't have told me.”

“Okay, Mr Morality. I am sorry, Jesus Christ!”

“Whom did you get?”

“I am not saying, as it's Secret Santa. It's supposed to be a secret.”

Ilya blew a raspberry. “You are boring.”

“That is established.”

 

Meanwhile,his parents were carrying on their own conversation.

“Shane, honey,” his Mum said, looking at him, “We wanted to run something by you.”

His Dad said, “We were thinking that, if we skip your All-Stars weekend, would it be a problem?”

“Dad, you know you don't have to go there. It's anyway going to be in Tampa.” They had only insisted on going there. It was just a relaxing weekend.

“You would miss me beating Shane, I think,” Ilya said, smirking.

“Dream on.” Turning to his parents, he said- “You were saying?”

“We were thinking about taking a cruise to the Caribbeans,” his Mum said.

“Okay. That's great,” Shane said, still not understanding the hesitation.

“It's just that, we had actually bought it for you- you know, for summer,” Yuna said, looking a bit guilty.

Oh. For him and Joe.

“But they have allowed us to reschedule, so if you don't, you know, need it or anything…”

“Mum, Dad- just go. I won't be needing it. No.” Shane said, firmly.
“And I love the cottage anyway, I don't even know why you bought that!” The thought of him and Joe on a cruise- Shane involuntarily shivered.

“Well, that's settled then.” They looked relieved.

 

"Ah, it's time to do the dishes,” David said.

“I will help Shane,” Ilya said.

Yuna and David exchanged a look. David then said, “God bless you,” and without further adding anything, he and Yuna left the room. Snickering.

“Did I say something?” Ilya asked, confused.

“No,” Shane frowned, “They just have this thing that … Nevermind, you carry the dishes.”

Looking more and more confused by the second, Ilya carried the used cutlery to the dishwasher.

And started loading it.

Uh. Oh.

“Ilya.. mm Ilya?”

He turned around, “Yes, Shane?”

“You are doing it wrong.”

Ilya stared. Then he said slowly, “Is loading dishes into washer. How can it be wrong?”

“It just is.”

“How to do then?”

Shane unloaded the dishes, started rinsing a few plates, and then compartmentalizing the plates, pans, cutlery.

Ilya looked on. “How can I help?” He just asked.

Shane looked up. Ilya stood with his hands on his hips, but looking ready to help in any way possible.

“You don't have to do anything,” he sighed. He knew everybody found it difficult - this habit of his.
“You can go relax with my parents.”

“No. I want to help,” he said firmly.

“Okay, pass me the plates, I’ll load.”

“Okay.”

 

Just halfway through, the bell rang. Shane frowned, they weren't expecting anyone now, were they?

“I’ll go check,” he said.

He went to open the door.

And there stood… Joe.

Oh. Freaking. God.

He looked up from the curb, cheeks pink, covered in snow.

Thank god, thought Shane, that Ilya had not driven on Laila today. He could feel the beginnings of a panic attack starting up.

He knew this would go badly. There was no single possible favourable outcome.

“Joe?” He asked dumbly.

“Well, it was Christmas. So …”

“Come in.”

Joe entered. Oh god, Shane was going to freak out in front of him. In front of Ilya. Then they would know he was not okay, that he had to take medications occasionally for these attacks.

“Shane?” Joe asked.

“Joe, why are you here?”

“Well, I was coming back from my grandparents. And it's Christmas. You said you loved Christmas at your parents'.”

“Umm. Okay.”

“Look, I am sorry, Shane. I shouldn't have gone there unannounced, to Boston.”

“Joe, I have told you, it's over. Please don't make me do this any more. My parents are here.”

“And they like me, don't they? Where are they?”

“Inside. Joe, please. Let's not do this today. I am tired.”

“So am I, of staying away from you,” he said, reaching out for him.

He removed his hand. Joe stared a bit, then looked away with a bitter smile.

“I see how it is.” There were tears in his eyes.

“Joe, no. I mean, please. What we had was good. But please, don't do this. Accept it's not working out. Please.”

“I brought your hockey scrapbook,” he said.

It was the one from Shane's childhood. He had collected all his favourite stars’ pictures and stats. He didn't even know he had left it back at Joe's place.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, taking it.

Their fingers touched. Joe stilled his fingers. Shane's heart hammered. Please, don't let Ilya come in now… he was scared of what Joe would say.

He quickly took the scrapbook. And clutched it.

Just then, his worst nightmare coming to life, Ilya's voice came through, “Shane? Are you o–”

It stopped, as Ilya saw Joe. “Oh, I did not know.” He said, his face had gone stone-cold.

Joe's face twisted. His eyes looked from Shane to Ilya, and back again.

“So this was why you were asking me to go?”

“I didn't even ask you to come,” Shane said logically.

But he didn't think Joe was listening anyway.

“You kept telling me all those lies. Lies, Hollander,” Joe said, his voice rising.

“Joe, my parents are here. Don't do this,” he said. His brain was hardly functioning.

“ You are still telling me you guys didn't hook up? And he’s here, spending Christmas with you. I see whom you chose.”

“Joe, nobody hooked up. Nothing happened. We had our own problems, and we broke up. Accept it, goddamnit.”

“How long will you lie to me?” Joe was shouting now. “I see the way you look at each other. In all the time we have dated, you’ve never looked once at me like that. Not once.”

Shane could feel his world going still. Had he looked at Ilya.. how? God, Ilya.. he was standing there. And was his friend, how had he looked at Ilya? Had Ilya felt bad about it enough to stop talking for two months?

The corners of his eyes blurred. It was enough.

This was enough.

Joe couldn't be standing in his house insulting him and his guest.

He could feel Ilya's presence, standing behind him, rooted to the spot, maybe measuring Joe up.
Before he could say something, Shane said, “Enough. Joe. I don't want to see you again. I had thought that I had made it very clear.”

There was something in his voice that made Joe stop shouting and look.

“ I had been telling you that we were having problems. It's your fault you chose to ignore it. And I have told you a hundred times- don't bring Ilya into this. He is not the problem. You are.”

“It would seem like that to you, you cheat–”

Shane didn't know if he would punch him, he was seeing red. It was then he heard Ilya's voice, “I think it's time for you to leave, Anderson. You have said enough.”

“I am not talking to you,” Joe said.

“Nor do I want to talk to anyone with a pea for brain,” Ilya said. “I am asking you to leave. Now.”

“Or?”

“Do you want to pick fight with someone who punches for job?”

“Shut up, both of you. Ilya, go inside. Please.” Ilya looked ready to argue, but Shane looked at him.

He stopped, looked at Shane, nodded once. Then told Joe, “Two minutes.”

“So your bouncer boyfriend is going to throw me out?” Joe said, sneering.

“Joe, I don't need anyone to throw anyone out. I do that as a job myself. And,” Shane added, “ I have broken up with you. It's none of your business who comes to my place as a guest.”

“Right—”

“And, if I had been hooking up with Ilya, then that's all the more reason for you to leave. Leave. Don't stay. Don't come back. I am asking you nicely.”

There was something about Shane's expression that probably finally got through to Joe. He gave a last look, then turning around, finally left.

Shane locked the door.

The house had gone completely quiet.

Joe's footsteps faded into the snowy street.

Only then did his knees give out.

He slid down the door and hit the floor.

 

He didn't know how long he had been sitting on the floor, when his Mum and Dad came in, followed by Ilya.

“Shane?” His Mum asked gently, trying to reach out. Shane jerked it aside.

He tried to count his breath- one, two… and Ilya was standing there, looking at him.

One.. Ilya had heard everything Joe had said, about him looking at Ilya like he had never looked at Joe before.

One … two ..
And Ilya was straight. And he would hate Shane.

One…two .. three breaths.. and he was helping Shane load the dishwasher.

Suddenly, Shane had to be alone.

He scrambled up and said, “I’ll be in my room. Please don't follow. Five minutes. Please.”

He went to his room. He was trembling, he realized. His world was collapsing. He tried to count the tiles on the floor.

One… two…three.. four…

Ilya's face. Oh god, what had he thought. What the hell.

Suddenly, he felt a weight beside him. He knew it wasn't his parents.

He knew it was Ilya.

“The floor is nice,” he said quietly.

And he was here, not running away. Ilya was here, after listening to Joe. His life was bared in front of Ilya, and still he was here.

He felt a hand- warm, gentle - on his back. Shane's entire body anchored at the heat, the weight of it. He could not feel anything else other than Ilya's hand. The world didn't exist, only Ilya, his warmth, his presence.

Before he knew it, he had leaned in to the touch. Ilya's hand was rubbing circles on his back, up towards his neck, down his arm. It pulled him gently into his body, the faint smell of dishwashing soap, of the fireplace, of Shane's home.

Shane breathed in deeply. All his familiar smells were mingled with Ilya's own smell. It was all he could sense. All around him.

His brain stopped running, for the first time in his life. It stopped trying to go at the rate of a flying plane per second, slowing down instead gradually- maybe to a walking pace.

“Shane,” Ilya said, his arms now circling around him, keeping him there, rubbing every good feeling into him. Shane buried his face in the nape of his neck, hands clutching Ilya's shirt involuntarily. It was his only lifeline when everything else was falling apart.

The sound of his name in that accent- what the hell was happening to him? A moan caught in his throat - No, no. Ilya hadn't talked to him for two months for getting too close to him- for a kiss that didn't happen. Ilya was straight, he should get away.

He started pulling away, but Ilya held him, this time pressing Shane into his body. He drew his fingers through Shane's hair- “What is wrong, solnyshko? Why are you upset? Only I am here- me : Ilya.”

Shane wanted Ilya to keep talking, wanted to be held and kept encircled in his arms. He had never felt this safe anywhere, not at home nor outside, let alone with a person.

But Ilya gently pulled aside his face- “Shane, is okay. Tell me.”

“I am sorry,” Shane whispered.

“Why?”

“For New York.”

Ilya looked at him- long and hard.

“Why are you sorry?” He simply asked.

“You were drunk, Ilya. And I wasn't.”

“Okay.”

“And you clearly didn't want it.”

This surprised Ilya - looking at the expression.

“Why wouldn't I?”

“You like … you know..you like girls.”

“True.” Then after a pause said, “Turns out, I like boys too, now.” Shane looked up, not believing what Ilya had been saying.

“We are alive, Shane”, Ilya said, smiling “Anything can happen.”

Shane couldn't believe his ears. Was Ilya saying what he thought Ilya was saying? That he liked boys as well?

“Why didn't you talk to me then for the next two months?”

“Exactly because of what happened anyway, did not want Joe to blame you for things we never did.”

“We wasted a lot of time thinking, I think.” Shane said.

"Mm, I think you are very good at it," Ilya said. His eyes twinkled.

"Shut up," Shane said, though he was grinning a bit himself.

After sitting there for a few minutes, in which Ilya's eyes never left his face, Ilya asked him- "Are we really okay?"

'okay' was such a mild word- Shane felt like his world had just changed, like he's down two bottles of beer- everything was warm, and fuzzy, and a little sunnier. Everything made much more sense. But when Ilya said it, in that Russian accent - 'okay' was a pretty good description of everything he just felt.

"Yes, we are really okay," Shane said, meaning every word.

“Okay,” Ilya said, looking at him and smiling. The smile reaching his entire face - all the corners of it, like he exactly understood how Shane had meant it. He probably did.

And as they went down to sit with his parents, drinks in hand ( beer for Shane. “Who drinks beer in winter?” Ilya had asked.) and switched on Home Alone 2, his mind finally accepted what had just happened, what had just been unsaid but spoken between them. That Ilya had stayed, he was now watching a Christmas movie with him and his parents, his fingers occasionally checking on Shane- tracing his pulse, rubbing his back, sometimes leaning in, though he wasn't looking directly..

Shane didn't stop smiling this entire duration of the movie. He didn't think he could.

It indeed was the best Christmas of his life till now - a Christmas Miracle.

Chapter End Notes

Finally, finally they are starting to talk. Wheww. They really are the worst communicators.

Next up: All-Stars in Ilya's POV.

Chapter 13: First Guest

Chapter Notes

So sorry I couldnt reach the All-Stars' in this chapter.

It took an unexpected turn, and the All-Stars deserve a separate chapter, I think.

This is New Year.

Enjoy!

Tw: for homophobic slurs, and homophobes in general.

The pillow was tucked neatly in the couch - it was nothing special, just a very soft, very fluffy blue pillow, with a small ‘I’ embroidered at the left lower corner.

It was waiting for Ilya just where he had kept it, before going to Shane's parents' that day.

When he came back to his home- no, his apartment, he put the framed photo on the mantelpiece, and took the pillow to his bedroom. Kept it right in the middle of the bed.

Then he went to change his clothes and shower, pulled on a fresh pair of pants and t-shirt, pulled the pillow close to him.

He hugged it, squeezing it tightly. He fished out his phone, took a quick picture of the pillow, snuggled deeply in his arms, and sent it to Shane.

“Tnk u, secr8 snta.”

The reply was almost immediate

Shane(😾): don't know what you’re talking about.

Ilya :🥺🥺🙁🙁

Shane (😾) : typing… typing .. typing .
Fine, how did you figure it out?

Ilya : u hv sm pilow. On ur bed. Is also blu. Borng, lyk u.

Shane(😾): typing ….

Image : ( a picture of Shane, cuddling his pillow in the exact same way as Ilya did, smiling- a little ‘S’ curved on the lower corner.)

Sorry.

Ilya thought his heart would fucking stop. He would never stop looking at it.

Ilya : u cnt kp secr8

Shane (😾) : you caught me. 🙁

Ilya : dnt b sad. Is a bst gft. Evr. U lyk lot of pilos?

Shane(😾): they are so soft.

Ilya : ys. Very sft.

Shane (😾): ok. Enjoy your pillow.
typing…. Typing… I mean, in a normal way. Like sleeping, maybe cuddling .

Ilya sniggered, imagining Shane go red absolutely. He loved that sight…. No, reply first.

Ilya : ws doing dt only. Wt els is dr 2 do?

Shane(😾): typing… nothing. Goodnight.

Ilya : 🙁 Gdnyt.

Shane (😾) : hope you had a good Christmas.

Ilya : d bst.

There was silence for a few moments, in which Ilya tucked himself in.

When the phone pinged, he took it up to see -

Shane(😾): me too. Goodnight Ilya.

Ilya: Gdnyt Shane.

 

Ilya kept looking at the thread for a long time. Memories from the day rushed in- Shane, opening the door with that smile- the real one that so few actually got to see. Shane, bundled up in a hoodie, complete with socks , him looking up at Ilya after one bottle of beer, giving a little secret smile. Them, watching a movie with his parents (who did give them their own space, own side of the couch) , Shane smiling throughout. Shane - in his arms, looking wrecked, but eyes still blazing on seeing Ilya', clutching on to him.

He was truly, utterly fucked.

Ilya couldn't hold himself off any further. It had been a lot- the proximity to Shane, how he had fit right into Ilya's arms, mostly- how he had followed Ilya's hand like he had been attached to it.

Ilya was impossibly hard.

He closed his eyes- there it was, Shane's eyes- that had looked so small and vulnerable today- looking at Ilya with craving, with lust, with .. trust.
How he could feel Shane up, the little moans that would escape him as his hands go up his body. He wanted to taste Shane - not just feel- bite him,lick him, suck his dick, his ass. He imagined saying this to Shane, and imagined him embarrassed, but willing. Writhing in his arms. Calling his name “Ilya” - in that particular voice only he said.

He had, however fleetingly, seen desire burn in Shane's eyes today. Desire for him. Undiluted, pure lust.

It had been gone after a moment, but what if it had not? What if they had kissed?

Ilya moaned, thinking about Shane. He wanted him, like air after staying under water for too long. He wanted to touch him, love him, fuck him.

He had denied himself that image far too long. But now, now that he had had Shane in his arms, he let himself feel it. Feel everything.

He poured some lube on his dick, jerking off- thinking about Shane. The arch of his eyes, the warmth of his breath, those freckles, the perfectly arched lips ….
…. And he was coming, hard.

“Shane” he moaned the name, hoping somehow Shane would know that he was making Ilya go crazy with desire.

He remained in the happy high even after that, only getting up to shower. Shane would like that.

 

The next day dawned bright and crisp, though still very cold. Ilya went to the rink sharp at 8, to find Shane already warming up.

“Don't you sleep? Is cold,” he said.

“Good morning to you too,” Shane said, not stopping. “Cold is for the dead. You workout, get warm.”

“My god, Hollander. Okay!” He chanced a look at Shane's face- scrunched in concentration. No trace of any stress or panic.

Good.

As he went to change, Ilya couldn't help but feel very happy. No words had been said, but there was a sense of familiarity, of belonging - that he immediately felt.

He had been away from home for a long time.

Now, Shane was starting to feel like home.

 

Speaking of home, Ilya hadn't bothered to pick up Andrei's calls for the last couple of days. He had kept on wanting money, until Ilya had just been irritated and hung up.

Would there ever be a moment when he left Ilya alone? Maybe when his father…
Thinking that made Ilya feel sick. What kind of a son was he to think about his father dying?

Sighing, he went ahead getting ready for the day. No need to think of it right now.

 

New Year's Eve, 2010, Florida.

Ilya liked Florida. It made him feel alive in a way that other cities seldom did. The crisp sea winds during the day, and the nightlife - he loved both.

He also loved the fact that they liked him here.

Last year, he couldn't even name all the bars he had been to- let alone remember all the girls he had gone back with.

This year's Florida, though, was different.

It was New Year's Eve, and Shane was with him.

His favourite holiday. His favourite person.

 

They won this match. The celebrations were tumultuous, as was the energy in the locker room.

“Party, tonight!” Marlow said, “And no one is bailing
. Not one person, or I’ll ask the coach to bench them.”

“You can't ask him to bench Hollzy,” Hayes said reasonably.

“I can. Maybe we will lose the game, I don't care. But if he’s not coming, he’ll get benched.”

“That is not how it works, Marly,” Ilya said reasonably.

“You tell him. He’ll listen to you,” Marlow said.

“Oh, so now I get to do honours, of asking him?”

“You are assistant captain.”

“So is Bood.”

“Yeah, well,” Marlow's voice dropped, “Bood isn't the one who asked me to change rooms to ‘bond with’ him.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ilya said, looking around furtively. Jesus Christ, had he been so obvious that Marlow had clocked him?

“Listen, brother. New Year’s is a big deal to Russians, right? Tell him that, he’ll come,” and giving an elaborate wink, clapping him on the back- he left the room.

Ilya couldn't really help the smile on his face that had no right to be there. Was Marly actually acting as his wingman, without him having said a word?

That was honestly very sweet. Ilya hated to admit it. Shane would freak out if he knew it.

 

Shane had just come out of the showers when Ilya knocked at his door. He was sharing the room with D’Souza who was listening to something very loudly, lying back in his bed.

“D’Souza, party tonight,” he shouted.

“Aye Captain.” He flashed him a smile, then went back to his obscure loud video.

Shane was wincing at the sound, getting into his t-shirt.

If Ilya saw another sign of a book…

Yes, there it was. Right by his bedside.

No. Absolutely not.

He won't be losing to a book tonight. Marly was right, he had to be sentimental, if that's what it took.

“Hi, can I have words?” He asked.

“You can, but I can't hear those,” Shane said. After a pause he added,“Can't even hear the words in my brain.”

“That's good,” Ilya said, half-shouting. “Come outside.”

Shane shrugged and picked up his key, before slamming the door shut. It was quiet, finally.

“Yeah, so you're saying?”

“Come to party tonight.”

Shane's eyes went wide. “Are you seriously asking me? To go to a party?”

“Look, is New Year, Hollander. Everybody is happy.”

“Why?”

Ilya didn't know the answer to that. He didn't even know whether Shane was mocking or serious.

“Because this is the year we are going to lift cup,” he said. There, that should be a happy reason for Shane.

“How's celebrating New Year going to help in that?”

“We are happy because we win cup. Also, we have a ritual in Russia, where you put your wish in a piece of paper, burn it, put the ashes in champagne and drink it. The wishes come true.”

“That's superstition.”

“And you wearing left skates before right, always, is not?”

He could see Shane trying to argue with that- the wheels of his brain turning loudly.
How good it felt to frustrate Shane Hollander!

“Fine. It is. But you can all wish for it, mine doesn't count. It's just a single wish.”

“I would be wishing for something else,” Ilya said simply, looking at Shane. Urging him to understand that it would be only him.

A faint blush crossed Shane's cheeks under Ilya's gaze.

“Don't waste your wish on … anything else.”

It was a corridor, he knew, where anybody could walk in. But Shane was standing so close, he wanted to take the risk.

He took two steps near Shane- whose back was to the wall. He heard a sharp hitch in Shane's breathing - good.

There was just a fraction of a hair gap between them.

Shane wasn't looking at him, eyes downcast, blush blooming in his cheeks. “What are you doing? It's a corridor!”
His fingers were fidgeting.

Ilya reached out, traced the freckles at the top of Shane's nose, and said, “You know what wish I would make right now? Is for this person to come to party tonight. Is the best Russian tradition with family. Like Christmas here.

Wouldn't mean anything without this person who refuses to come.”

For a few moments they just stood there. Ilya could feel the tension, the electricity coursing between them.

“Wil you?” He asked, tipping up Shane's chin.
“Or will you let me be sad tonight?”

“Okay… okay I will,” Shane said, his voice faltering.

Ilya stepped back, grinning.
All’s fair in love and war.

“Okay, see you around 9 then?”

“Where?”

Ilya had no idea. So he told him so.

“You don't know where the party is?”

“Who cares, some bar. Somewhere. Don't worry though, “ he added, “you don't have to drink.”

“Nor should you, during season.”

“Okay, Coach.” And saluting, he left the corridor, feeling a little victory in his step.

 

Shane did arrive at the lobby, shuffling a bit awkwardly in his jacket, as if not knowing what to do now.

Bood immediately went to him, shouting “Hollzy, you came!”

“Mm, where are we going?”

“Don't worry about it, Marly’s getting it all set up.”

Shane's expression said that that was probably something to get worried about. But he kept quiet.

Ilya walked towards the little group from where he was standing right beside the in-house bar, sipping vodka.

“This one's shit,” he said, looking at the glass, “Is so weak, feels like water.”

“We can't help your Russian taste, Rozy,” Dykstra said. “We poor Canadians got to deal with it. Drink something else, then.”

“Champagne at midnight?”

“Sure, but it's on you,” Troy said, appearing out of nowhere. “They have offered Rozy Captaincy, and have you seen the number of zeros on the cheque?”

“ How did you see it?” Ilya said, confused. He had never knowingly repeated the figure to anyone. Nor that he had been offered Captaincy.

“Holy hell, you have been quiet this entire time,” Hayes said. “Congratulations. You are buying everyone champagne.”

“A different bottle for everyone!” Bood said.

Though Ilya laughed, his eyes searched for only one pair. Shane was looking at him, a smile and a hint of pride in his eyes.

It was priceless.

 

In the end, they ended up going to a place called ‘The Sandbar.” It was a bar, on sand- very innovative name. But the place was okay, Ilya thought. Loud music poured in from everywhere, and nobody knew which drink was whose.

Ilya's eyes looked for Shane - we was wincing to the music, sitting beside Pike, nodding to some boring ass stuff. Hayes joined them, Shane looked relieved.

“Come on Rozy, be my wingman,” Marlow said, clapping him on the back. He was already three drinks down.

“If you go with me, you won't pull,” he said , smirking.

“Naah. I will. You know that,” he said, winking.

Damn Marley and his stupid winks. He didn't want to hangout with him while Shane was there.

“Why don't you ask your other Rookies friends?”

“What, them?” He pointed to D’Souza and Thomas- they were already dancing , with Dykstra and Bood. They decidedly weren't in any position to wing anyone.

As if feeling their eyes on him, Dykstra turned and waved, shouting “Come over, this is so much fun!”

Ilya rolled his eyes.

“Okay, you pull and get off my back,” Ilya said.

But Marlow was laughing now, “What a day has come, when Rozanov doesn't want to pull.”

“If you tell anyone, Marly–”

“I won't,” he said, suddenly sober. “Honestly, Rozy, how is it going to affect you? You know- Russia?”

There. Someone finally said it. He hadn't even told anyone other than Sveta about this. He didn't know what to expect - if his family, if his country got to know about it. Maybe someday he could get Canadian citizenship, then Russia wouldn't be a factor.

But that also meant never visiting his home, his mother, his childhood ever again. It was a big stake.

“I don't know,” he said, truthfully.

“Does he– know?”

“ He knows I am bi. I have not told many people. Just him, and Sveta.”

“I am honoured, then,” Marlow said. This time his smile wasn't teasing, but understanding. “Your secret’s safe. Though I don't know how much of a secret it is.” He said, again crackling.

“What, why do you say that?”

“Everyone sees the way you look at him, Rozy. You blush.”

“Shut your idiot face, Marly. Russians do not do this.”

Marly crackled along.

“You want to pull or not? I will go if you don't need me.”

“No, no. Please stay.”

 

Finally, half an hour and many drinks later, Ilya was successfully able to go to where Shane had been sitting, now accompanied by Pike, Hayes, Troy and Harris.
He sunk down on the couch.

“Having fun guys?”

“Not as much fun as you were having,” Pike said.

He didn't know why Pike bothered to talk.

“No. You can never be as fun as me. I am funnest.”

“That's not even a word,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.
He had been sipping the same ginger ale for the entire time. It was still half full.

“That is an emotion, Hollander. Why are you having a boring drink?”

“Because I don't drink. And I am boring?” He asked.

“Yes, but this drink looks … bad.”

“It's ginger ale.”

“Wait.”

Ilya got up, went to the bartender and put on his best flirtatious smile. “Can I get a drink?”

“Anything for you,” she really looked like she meant it.

“Sorry, gorgeous. I am off market.”

She pouted, then said, “What can I get you?”

Ilya proceeded to describe the drink. Five minutes later, it was ready.

He returned with it and handed it over to Shane.

“Took you long enough,” he said, grumbling.

Was he jealous? Good. A bit of it never harmed anyone.

“The sexy bartender needed convincing to make non-alcoholic drink,” he said with a smirk.

Shane looked at him, eyes a bit stern, then remembering that they were surrounded by people, took a sip.

“This is just- ginger ale!” He said.

“ It's called Shane on the Beach,” Ilya said proudly.

Shane stared.
Pike stared.
Hayes choked on his drink. Even Troy and Harris found time to look up from their hushed conversation.

“What is that?” Shane finally asked.

“Ginger ale, ice, ginger ale. When you have it on beach. Like Sex on the Beach. But not so corrupt. Virgin.”

He could feel what Shane wanted to say, that he was no virgin. But he couldn't, in front of all these people, steer the conversation towards that.

Hayes said, “that's surprisingly innovative.”

“Inno- what?”

“It's like inventing a new thing,” Shane said, automatically.

“Yes, I invent drink.”

“It's basically just ginger ale,” Pike said, rolling his eyes and flopping back on the couch, beside Shane.
Would he ever leave him alone tonight, for five minutes?

But Shane looked at him, had a sip and said, “It's nice, thank you Ilya.” And turned to talk to Hayes about something.

Ilya felt better immediately.

 

Finally, it was five minutes to midnight. And Pike was still stuck to Shane.

Did he have to kill him in order to wish Shane at midnight?

He did want to kiss him, but that won't be possible - even he knew. But if they two were alone, if Shane looked at him, smiled at him- right at that moment: Ilya would accept that.
This year.

Quickly, following his age old tradition, he wrote his wish in a piece of paper, burnt it, put it in a glass of champagne and carried it with him to where Shane was sitting.

“Is going to be midnight. Call your wife?” He told Pike.

“Naah, Jackie’s asleep. I don't think she would forgive me if I disturbed her.”

Fucking take the hint, Pike.

Hayes had already left. Troy and Harris seemed lost in their own world.

Shane looked helplessly at him.

“Uh, are you sure Jackie wouldn't want you to–?”

“She's good. She's visiting her parents.”

Jesus Christ. Ilya wanted to shake him and ask him to leave. Or maybe kill him- the evil voice in his head said.

Just then, Marlow appeared at his side, “Rozyyy,” he wheezed, “thank you!”

“Pleasure is mine,” he said, trying, and failing- not to look furious.

Marlow looked at his watch, at him, then Shane and Pike. Finally, realisation dawned.

He pulled Pike up by his shoulders, “Come on, Pikey. Let's see some firecrackers outside. Will be good year for you, new baby and all. It's auspicious, my Mum says.”

“I have never heard that saying,” Pike grumbled.

“Are you saying my Mum lies, fucker?”

“Oh. No I didn't mean…”

“Come on, for your kid then!”

Finally, finally Marlow had wheeled Pike off.

Shane looked on, bemused.

“Was that a decoy?”

“What's decoy?” Ilya said, looking innocently, slipping on the seat beside him.

“Ilya,” Shane said. He just sniggered.

“Is almost twelve. My drink with wish is ready. Where's yours?”

“I’m not going to drink ash.” Shane said.

“Fine, write it down and burn it,” Ilya said, shrugging.

Shane wrote it down, but kept the paper.

Just then, the countdown begun. Shane's hands were right there, beside him. His lips pulled in a small smile. He was looking at Ilya, and no power in this world could make Ilya look away.

Ten… nine ..

Could Ilya just touch his fingers? Hold his hand?

Eight .. seven… six ..

Shane's lips looked so soft, they were meant to be kissed tonight.

Five .. four ..

Maybe not a kiss now, he had broken up from something just few days ago.

Three…

But he had to touch some part of him.

Two .. one.

His fingers wrapped around Shane's, lying intertwined on the couch between them.

A blush appeared in Shane's cheeks, as Ilya said, “Happy New Year, Shane,” and drank his champagne..

Shane pulled out the piece of paper, then not taking his eyes off Ilya , burnt it, and finally poured the ash in his ginger ale mocktail.
He downed it in a go, and whispered, “Happy New Year, Ilya.”

His wish had already come true.

 

He woke up the next morning to the sound of his phone ringing. He could not imagine for the world, who could be calling him at this godforsaken hour.

Andrei, it read.

Ah, fuck. What did that fucker want now? It was New Year in Russia after all. Did he call to wish? A little part of Ilya still hoped that.

Maybe this year would really be different.

Against his better judgement, he picked up the call.

“Listen up you fucking faggot, don't you disappear on me for days,” Andrei's angry voice sounded over the phone.

And here Ilya had hoped that he had called to wish him a Happy New Year.

Ilya laughed at his own naivity. It shouldn't surprise him, or hurt him, after twenty years. But it still did.

“What do you want? How much money?”

“ I will tell you when I see you, little brother.”

‘See you’ ? What did that mean? Where was he going to see him? Had he been speaking too long in English, that he had forgotten Russian?

“What?”

“I am here, in Florida.”

“We’re leaving Florida today.”

“Not before you see me, or pay me for my expenses.”

“I am not paying you for shit.”

“I’ll be there at around 7. Keep my cheque ready. It doesn't have to get ugly for either of us.”

And the call ended.

Fuck.

 

Shane

He had slept late last night. He never stayed up after 10, it was a rule.

But last night had been… something else.

Ilya, with those puppy dog eyes that he had mastered really well, had looked at him and asked him to come.

And as he was slowly discovering, he really didn't have the power to say no to Ilya.

So he had stayed and spent a night talking to Hayden about everything under the sun.

But as he woke up at 6 in the morning and turned off his alarm, bits and pieces of last evening came back to him. Ilya- looking like he owned the place, walking in the bar, but that same Ilya not even looking at the girls ready to throw themselves at him. Instead, he had come up with a stupid name for ginger ale, for Shane.

And had come up to him at midnight. He wasn't sure, but Marlow had actually helped to take Hayden away with some bullshit story. Had Ilya asked him to do that?

But it didn't even matter , because as Ilya had held his hand as the clock struck midnight, his heart had been racing.

And as he had looked into Ilya's eyes, he had written in that piece of paper “Let Ilya be happy.”

And he hoped against hope, that he could play a role in that.

 

D’Souza was asleep, looking dead to the world.

Shane got up, brushed, made his protein shake and decided that just the run would have to do today. He felt too sleepy for anything else, but maybe he could sleep on the flight.

 

Feeling considerably awake after coming back from the cold, Shane entered the hotel lobby, earphones still in place.

He was going to the elevator, when he had the distinct sensation of someone watching him.

He looked around. The lobby was mostly empty except for a man, not much older than him. He was sitting still, in a posture too rigid, back straight, hands resting on his lap. Only his eyes- cold as ice, and startlingly blue- were looking straight at him.

He looked familiar, but he was sure he had never seen the man in his entire life.

Thinking that he must be some odd guest in the hotel, he was about to press the button for the elevator, when he heard the sound of a voice.

Removing his headphones, he looked around to see the man- who had apparently told him something and was waiting for an answer.

What was he supposed to do?

Every instinct in his body asked him to leave it alone, but what's the worst that could happen? Probably one of those homophobic hockey fanatics. He was used to those by now.

“Shane Hollander,” the man said. Shane realized with a jolt that the voice had a thick Russian accent, not unlike- Ilya's?
Only much thicker.

“Yes?” He said, looking at him. Something about him made Shane increasingly uncomfortable, like one of them were not supposed to be here. He was pretty sure that would be the man, who was unwelcome. But he didn't push it. Not now.

The man scoffed. “The fag that joined team.” He said. His words were broken, but the look of pure hatred was there in his eyes.

The eyes that looked exactly like Ilya's, but with none of its warmth.

So this piece of shit was somehow related to Ilya, probably his brother- by the look of it. He measured him up and down, and fixing him with his eyes, said- “Yes.”

The man spat on his palm “You could not have played in Russia.”

“No, Russia likes to lose, I would not be playing as well.”

“They put– fags– like you in jail. You get fucked well there,” he said, with a nasty sneer.

Cold dread flooded him. Not for him, but for ilya. What would happen to him if anyone was ever going to find out–?
He, at the end of the day, had his parents, a few friends, his country - standing behind him, no matter what. Even if he didn't have hockey, he would have them.

But Ilya had–this? This piece of shit as family?

But now was not the time to show fear. If Shane had his word, this guy wouldn't at least be returning to this continent to meet Ilya. If Ilya didn't ask for him to come.

“Did you come all the way from Russia to say this?”

He didn't seem to understand what he was saying.

So Shane drew up to his full height, and said , “Why are you here?”

“To talk to my brother. Ilya,” then he said a string of words in Russian, that didnt sound like he was missing Ilya terribly.

“Why? Did he call you?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“I don't think he wants to see you.”

“Call him.”

Doubt flickered in him. Did Ilya really want to see his brother? The man looked like a piece of work, true - but he was Ilya's brother after all. Maybe he did want to see him.

“Fine. But if he asks you to go, you go. Understand?”

The man just smiled blandly.

Shane called Ilya, not knowing what to hope for.

“Morning, solnyshko,” he said, his sleep ridden voice smiling.

He hated to be the one to do this. but better him than his brother.

“Ilya, your brother's in the lobby. Did you want to see him?”

Ilya's voice went quiet. It wasn't a good quiet, too. Like something waiting to explode. After a few moments, he just said, “Shane, go to your room. Don't talk to him.”

“Did you wish to see him, or not?” Shane asked, equally quietly. He could feel the suppressed anger in Ilya's voice. Anger, and something else. He couldn't figure it out.

But it was getting increasingly clear that Ilya didn't want to see him.

Shane was liking this guy less and less.

“Tell Andrei to wait. I will be there soon.”

“And Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“Just… stay away from him.”

Shane hung up the call. Nobody ever told him to stay away from anyone. He would himself figure it out, whether he wanted to stay away from Andrei, or make Andrei go away from this place for good.

“So, I talked to him. He doesn't really want to see you,” he said.

“But he will,” Andrei said, with an arrogance resembling his brother. The only difference was, Shane did want to break his jaw this time.

“ I think you can clear the fuck off. If he wants to see you, he will. Later.”

Andrei sneered. “I don't think he wants you to be his dog.”

Shane advanced on him, two steps. “This is my team's hotel. He is my teammate. If I think something is not good for him, or the team, I can take that decision.”

Andrei had taken a step back, true.

But he also seemed to be holding his ground. “He owes me this much, that ….scumbag.”

Shane had rarely been so angry at anyone, and that included those assholes from Toronto. At least they were doing it as a part of their job. Whatever.

But this guy was not only a homophobe, but he also disliked Ilya, as was evident. Why, though, Shane didn't know.

Just then, Ilya's voice called, “Leave him, Shane. Not worth it.”

As he came into view, Andrei's face became even more ugly. Ilya said something in rapid Russian, thrusting a cheque(?) at him.

Andrei tried to say something more. Ilya's face was fast losing its composure. Andrei was still sneering.

“Well,” Shane stepped in coolly, “you have money now. So go. Leave. Don't come back.” He looked at Ilya, who was breathing hard.

Andrei looked from Ilya to Shane, and back again. Then said in a scoffing voice- “Well, first that whore, Svetlana, now this faggot. You have outdone yourself, brother.”

And before he knew what was happening, Ilya had punched him right away. Andrei staggered back, as the receptionist looked up at last.

“Leave.” Ilya said, looking wild. “Don't ever look back.”

Andrei raised a hand at the concerned management who were coming to assist, telling them “Is no matter. Family.” Then turned to sneer at both of them, “later, brother,” he said, and left.

They stood silently for a long moment.

Then Ilya said bitterly, “You have seen my brother, now.”

“And your father?” Shane asked, dreading the answer.

“Worse. He has remarried, the woman is ten years older than me. He hurts her.

Ilya's face was scrunched up in disgust.

“Come on, let's go upstairs,” Shane gently led Ilya to the latter’s room. Ilya went without protesting.

Once the door was closed, he sank into his bed. His knuckles were red from the punch, he was wrecking his hair with his other hand.

“I hate him.” He said.

Shane just listened, bringing him a glass of water.

“I hate my dad, too. But is Papa. I can't….” said Ilya, a single tear dropped from his eyes.

Shane didn't know what he was doing. He gently went and sat down on Ilya's lap, pulling his head into the crook of his neck. Ilya was taking long breaths, and hugging him like his life depended on it.

After a minute, he said, “my dad is dying. He can't remember anything, most days. Last week, he called me, asking me to bring bread. I hate that I am here, when Andrei's taking all care.

I hate Papa, but I don't want him to die. Just wished he would … care.” Ilya's voice broke at the last word, as Shane rocked him gently, backwards and forwards, like a child.

“For one moment, I thought he had called to wish me a happy new year. We had so much fun when we were children. But he just…wants money..”

“Ilya,” Shane said, gently rubbing his hair. “You are here now. With me, with us. Far, far away. If you don't want, none of them can touch you. I am here, our whole team is here.”

“I have to go back. To Russia. Sometimes.”

“You don't have to do anything that you don't want to,” Shane said, “Canadian citizenship is not that difficult.”

“Yes, I will think about it,” Ilya was finally starting to calm down.

Shane gently removed Ilya's face from his chest, and said, “Go get fresh. Breakfast’s downstairs. And remember - you always, always have a choice. To be happy. Okay?”

Ilya looked at Shane through tear-stained eyes, as if considering the possibility for the first time. Then gave a small nod.

“See you in twenty. Bye, Ilya.”

Finally, Ilya smiled a little. It wasn't a bright one, or even his most natural one, but for the time being- this will have to do.

“Bye, Shane.”

Chapter End Notes

Where, you didn't think that would be easy, did you? I have always wanted Shane to meet a part of Ilya's life in Russia. So that he actually knows what shit he has for family.

This seemed too good an opportunity to let go.

Next chapter will be All Stars, from Ilya's pov.

Love your comments and kudos 💕💕

Chapter 14: First Kiss

Chapter Notes

It's the All-Stars', and finallyy.... Something's happening!

TW (though not really): for explicit scenes ahead.

Not really because, this time it is for REAL!

Go ahead and enjoy!

Something changed between them. True, nobody admitted to anything. Ilya wasn't even sure what was there to say.

He never had anyone sticking up for him, other than Svetlana. And Sveta had been there through everything, she had known everything.

But here was Shane, who argued with his brother on his behalf , without any questions or without knowing Andrei. He had just taken a look at him and decided that he wasn't worth Ilya.

And he had also told Ilya that he deserved happiness- told him like he meant it. He had seen it in Shane's eyes, the concern, the care, and the belief - that Ilya deserved happiness.

And that someone believed that, wanted that for him- meant everything to Ilya at this point.

They got on the plane for Ottawa. Shane was sitting further ahead, but Ilya didn't want to sit away. He went up to him, as he was talking to Pike across the aisle.

“Hi,” he said.

Before he could ask anything, Shane smiled and moved aside- making space for him, no questions asked. Just like he had made space for Ilya in his life, in his home, with his parents.

“You okay?” He asked.

Ilya just looked at him, and gave a small nod.

“Wanna watch a documentary?” Shane offered him the earphone.

Grinning like an idiot, Ilya looked on as a serial killer killed 19 young girls before hanging himself.

Ilya thought he ought to feel more miserable about those girls or the killer or somebody, but Shane's pinky finger touched his on the seat between them for the entire length of the movie, and Ilya couldn't think of anything else.

 

Things were getting more difficult for Ilya.

Calls from Russia started increasing -he didn't know whether to actually receive them or not, so he only received the ones coming from Polina, or the doctors he had appointed to be there.

On the other hand, his feelings for Shane had now reached such a level that he couldn't fool himself saying the attraction was temporary, or doubting himself as to his own intentions- he wanted Shane. He needed Shane every day, every night, every minute- to function properly.

True, Ilya had never thought he would fall in love. He had categorised his feelings for Shane as curiosity- something he had never felt for a guy before, some feelings he had never felt before.

Now, seeing Shane smile, or crunch his eyes in exasperation at him, or just calling him ‘Ilya’ at any given point- seemed to be the highlight of his day. He felt he could do anything for any of it.

But he still couldn't tell Shane, and it was driving him crazy.

He knew that Shane did find him attractive- at some base level. But he had just broken off a relationship, and they worked together. He didn't want to jeopardize their friendship for anything also. He remembered the two months he hadn't spoken to Shane, thinking that he was happy with Joe.

It was pure agony. It was horrible.

So, January passed with them practising together, and winning games together. Though they lost a few as well, it was pretty sure that they would be making it to the play-offs this year.

Ilya concentrated on how Shane would smile and laugh after each game they won, and it made hockey all the more enjoyable and the victory even sweeter.

 

It was finally time for the All-Stars'. Shane, Marlow, Hayes and Ilya - all were going to attend it. It would mostly be a fun weekend, not too serious, but Shane's face was scrunched up in concentration, when they boarded the flight for Tampa.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, confused.

“Yes,” Shane answered, not looking at him.

“Shane?”

“Yeah I am listening,” he added hastily, looking up from his laptop at Ilya.

Ilya sat down beside him. That was mostly how it went these days.

Shane looked like a startled deer.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing… I just…”

Ilya looked at the laptop curiously. Was there a … spreadsheet?

“Shane, is that a… what is that?”

Shane had turned bright red by now.

“You know, I have to work with new people over the weekend, and not… all of them are not nice, isn't it? So I was just making a spreadsheet of who’s okay, or not, and that kind of stuff. It . It helps me to stay calm,” he finished the last part lamely, as if waiting to be reprimanded or laughed at.

He should know by now that Ilya would never laugh at him.

But he would try to understand.

“Does that make you feel.. good?”

“A little bit more in control of the situation, yeah.”

Ilya leaned forward, “Did you make spreadsheet of us too?”

Shane blushed.

“Shut up, Ilya.”

“Is that a yes, solnyshko?”

Shane blushed even more at the pet name. It was one of Ilya's favourite expressions - how Shane couldn't even look at him, blushing. When in reality it was Ilya's heart that fucking stopped.

“Will you show it to me?”

“No, fuck off.” But a small smile was playing on his lips.

“Someday, you will,” Ilya said confidently. Shane's lips twitched, and breath hitched at that. Interesting.

Did he like being told what to do?

“You will, won't you?” Ilya said quietly.

Still not looking at him, Shane said, “I may if you leave me alone right now.”

“Okay,” Ilya said, smiling. As he put his headphones on, he couldn't help but feel that this was going to be a fun weekend.

 

By the time it was evening, Ilya was exhausted. He felt his face would freeze from all the fake smiles for the camera, or the hundred one stupid photos he had to click, pretending to be something like a Superhero. Now just the questions and he would be done.

As soon as he entered the media room, about ten mics were thrust on his face. This irritated him, as he anyway couldn't understand the babble of English words spoken together from all directions.

“Rozanov, do you think Ottawa has a chance to make it to the play-offs?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“What do you want to tell the fans who are looking up to you winning the cup this year? How much pressure do you feel from those expectations?”

“We will win cup. Yes.”

A nervous outbreak of giggles.

Then someone asked, “How does it feel to have Shane Hollander on the team? Your rivalry before this had been famous.”

“Very good,” he didn't elaborate.

“How does it affect having a gay player amidst you?”

“Hollander’s second best, after me. We play together, we win games, and cups.”

The reporter didn't know what to ask anymore, so carried on with some questions about stats of winning, previous losses, how Ottawa had never made it to the play-offs in the last fifteen years.

Ilya felt his mind going numb, answering the questions again and again.

At long last, the interview came to an end.

To make matters worse, he had been teamed with Europeans this time, which meant that all his other teammates were on the opposite team, including Shane. It didn't please him in the slightest.

As he left the media room, a few of his previous teammates from Russia found him.

“We never hear much from you, dude. How's it been?” Mikhail Petrov, a defenseman he had once played with, asked him.

Well, it did feel good to speak in Russian after a long time. One thing led to the other, and before he knew it, he had agreed to go out with them for the night.

He didn't know why, but he felt he should let Shane know. He hadn't done this ever- no one ever asked him where he was, and not had he ever been answerable.

It wasn't like Shane had asked him either, but …

He dialled his number either way.

“Hi,” he heard Shane's voice. There was some noise on the opposite end. He tried to imagine Shane partying hard with others, but couldn't.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

“Where are you?”

“I was just.. going out with few guys. Teammates from Russia.”

There was a pause on Shane's end.

“Okay, have fun.”

“Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why won't I be?”

Ilya thought he was missing something.

“Why did you call, Ilya? You can go out , or party… or…I don't know, sleep with anyone you want. You don't need to tell me.”

Oh, so that was it. Shane thought he was going to sleep with someone else.

And that bothered him.

Ilya felt insanely happy about that. He wasn't sure that that was the proper response to jealousy, but he couldn't help it.

“Shane?”

“Mm?”

“I am not going to sleep with anyone. Just getting a few drinks.” After a pause, he added, “I haven't slept with anyone since December,” he smiled into the phone, hoping Shane would understand what he was implying.

“ Oh,” he seemed unsure what to say. He desperately wanted to see Shane's face.

“Why not?” Shane asked in a small voice.

“I’ll tell you when I see you, okay?”

“You will?”

“Of course. You asked.”

This time he could hear Shane smiling too. “Go have fun.”

“Will you be reading your boring book?”

“It's not boring!”

“No. Wear your glasses,” he added.

“Yeah, I will.” A pause, then he added, “Only those glasses.”

And as Ilya worked out what he had meant, Shane had hung up the phone.

Shit, now he didn't even want to get a drink with anyone. The image of Shane wearing nothing but the glasses…

Shane Hollander would be the death of him.

 

Ilya had returned too drunk last night to talk to Shane. Instead he drank some water and went to sleep.

Still, he felt hungover. It wasn't like him, but the vodka had been really good, and he had lost count after a few.

The fucking light was too bright, and coffee wasn't strong enough. He sat with the cup, sipping it, when someone dropped in the seat beside him and pushed a bottle of Gatorade towards him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, not even looking up. He knew it was Shane.

Who wouldn't be keeping quiet about it.

“Good, it’ll be an easy win for me.”

“Need to get me drunk, to win?”

“I said easy. I would've won anyway.”

Ilya wanted to smile, but the headache made him grimace.

Shane shook the bottle, “Drink it.”

He got up from his seat, on the side that Ilya was sitting- so that Ilya got a smell of his aftershave, and that stupid cinnamon perfume.

He looked up, to see Shane looking at him, eyes crinkled up in a smile.
He was doing this deliberately.

“I think I should go circulate, with my own teammates. People may think I am helping the enemy,” he said, smirking.

“Aren't you? Helping enemy?”

Shane winked and left.

If he had fallen hard for Shane, he was head over heels for this version who flirted so confidently.

He had to admit, it was sexy as hell.

Ilya couldn't think straight, even if he had not been hungover.

It was too much.

 

To keep up with their ongoing competition, both of them had signed up for the shooting accuracy event.

The last record had been held by Hunter of 8.5 seconds.

Hunter was old. Ilya was sure he could do it in under 7.

He did it in 7.3.

The crowd erupted as the new record was created.

As he returned to the stands, he saluted to Shane- who smiled, got up for his turn, and finished shooting five targets in 7 seconds.

And won the event.

As congratulations poured in on Shane, Marlow appeared by his side.

“Just ask him out already. You being this smitten is painful to watch,” Ilya pretended to be furious.

“I am not smitten,” he said.

“And I am the fucking Prime Minister,” Marlow replied with a shit-eating grin, that he had learned from Ilya himself and cackling like a maniac, left for his event.

 

This evening, he sat at the bar with Hayes and Marlow. He didn't know where Shane was, maybe taking notes from Hunter or something.

“What did you do last night?” Hayes asked him.

“Got few drinks with old Russian mates. You guys?”

“I got laid,” Marlow said, “perks of being very young, very single, very handsome hockey player.”

“Who?” Asked Ilya. Marlow just laughed and downed his drink.

“Hollzy and I watched Star Wars,” Hayes said, his eyes glazing over as if remembering some good times.

Ilya snorted.

“What? I love Star Wars man! So does Hollzy. It was cool, having someone know the lines as well “

“You’re a fucking nerd, Hazy.”

“And you haven't watched Star Wars,” Hayes said, rolling his eyes.

“You haven't watched Star Wars?” Shane said, appearing from somewhere.

Ilya's heart skipped a bit.

“Not so popular in Russia,” he said, shrugging.

“Well, you should.”

“Okay.”

Marlow sniggered. Ilya wanted to kill him.

“Why don't we watch the next one today, Hollzy?” Hayes asked, really enthusiastic.

“Let's at least allow Ilya to catch up, then we can watch it all together. Not today,” Shane added hastily.

Marly was now trying hard not to choke on his drink, laughing.

“Well, we could watch something else. Or,” Hayes' eyes sparkled. It felt ominous. “ We could go to Busch Garden. I have always wanted to go there, but never got time.”

“I think Marlow likes the idea, as he’s laughing,” Shane said, eyes narrowing, “He could go with you?”

“Where are you guys going?” Carter Vaughn said. He and Hunter had arrived as well.

“Hayes wants to go to this amusement park,” Shane said, gritting his teeth.

“The Busch One?” Vaughn asked, enthusiastically.

Ilya wanted to kick the lot out to the amusement park immediately. This was getting on his nerves.
Who wanted to ride these stupid rides, when he could ride..?

Control, Ilya. Control.

The one good thing was, Shane was looking just as frustrated as him.

Marlow seemed to take pity on them at last.

“How about those of us who want to go, meet here in about half an hour? I’ll be here, it's a good park- I've heard.”

“Sounds good. We’ll be here too,” Vaughn said. Hunter looked dubious.

Ilya attempted to think of Hunter on a merry-go-round, looking uncomfortable as fuck.

The thought was so ridiculous that it even took his mind off Shane for a few minutes.

“What about you two?” Vaughn asked.

“I’ll pass,” said Shane immediately. “You guys go and have fun!”

“Yeah, not for me. I want to party hard,” Ilya said.

“With your Russian friends?” Hayes asked, looking crestfallen.

“Yeah, they get too little of this,” he said, indicating himself.

Hunter rolled his eyes, but other than that no one objected.

Finally, at long last, they left.

Shane was sitting there, sipping a beer this time.

“I thought you don't drink during the season?”

Shane looked up, eyes sparkling. “ Not usually, no. But today I am feeling a bit wild,” a twitch of his lips.

Those lips- those perfect lips. Soft, arched, wet- Ilya wanted to tug them with his own, press his own lips against them, never let them go.

He realised he had been staring, as those perfect lips curved into a smile.

“Did you want to ask something?” Shane said, as he looked up into his eyes.

Ilya took a step forward. Not very close, in the eyes of other people. But close enough.

“If I were to go knock on your door in an hour…”

“I might open…” Shane said, smiling suggestively.

Ilya couldn't believe he could string two words together.

“I might knock.”

 

An hour had never seemed so long to Ilya, and yet so fast.
He had never once doubted that he looked good in almost everything that he wore, and yet- this was Shane.

Never had anything been so important.

He showered thoroughly, put on his leather pants- then discarded them, put on the satin shirt he had recently bought, then discarded it too.

Was it a date? A hook-up? A start of something? He didn't know.

What did he himself want?

Not…. Not a hook-up. He knew for sure, that if he treated this casually, Shane could easily land up with someone else. Someone who won't take Shane casually.

There was not a casual bone in the man's body.

No, he was to be loved. He deserved that. And Ilya couldn't let anyone else be the person doing that.

But that was all in the long run. He had to be good, for Shane today. Not scare the shit off being too intense, or too casual.

Maybe he was thinking too much into it. Maybe Shane was feeling as confused and as desperate for him, as he was feeling for Shane. And maybe discussing it would be great.

But for that, he had to meet Shane.

For that, he actually had to wear something.

Suddenly, the idea of what clothes to wear seemed absurd. This was Shane, for god's sake. The man who wore pjs for Christmas, and polo shirts for all occasions. He wouldn't judge Ilya for wearing anything at all.

So he put on his tank top (though the one mindfully open at the front), joggers that fit him just right, and left his room, feeling apprehensive and somehow very, very nervous.

 

Shane was two doors down his own. As soon as he rang the bell, he could hear footsteps.

Shane opened the door, looking simply like Shane.

He moved aside, letting Ilya come in.

“Hi,” he said, nervously.

Suddenly, it was too ridiculous. Ilya wanted Shane, and he was sure Shane wanted him back. There was no doubt about it.

Ilya closed the door behind him. Shane's eyes flickered towards it, then looked down. His hands were fidgeting.

He couldn't have Shane getting nervous.

Coming close to Shane, he said, “Hi Shane.”

He liked saying his name. It had always been a part of their greeting since the day they had decided to call each other by names. It was safe, familiar, and playful.

It was them.

Shane looked up a little at that- his eyelids fluttering, a deep blush in his cheeks.

“Ilya,” he just said. It came out as a plea, a request.

Ilya went closer to him, bridging the distance between them in one go. It seemed stupid to be so far away from Shane, taking up too much space whereas they could fit in a very small one.

Shane's back was to the wall, he still wasn't looking up, fidgeting constantly.

Ilya placed a hand on his, gently taking it into his own.

Shane's breath hitched.

With his other hand, he tilted Shane's chin up, so that he met his eyes.

“It's only me, solnyshko,” he said, repeating his words from Christmas.

Shane looked at him before saying in a small voice, “I still can't believe it's you.” His voice was filled with awe, like he couldn't believe that Ilya was there with him. Like it was the best thing that he could ever have.

Like Ilya was the best thing he could ever have.

Ilya touched his forehead with Shane's, and gently pulled their intertwined hand up to his chest. His heart was beating wildly, like it would fly out of the ribcage if allowed to.

“Nor can I, but is okay,” he said.

Shane nodded.

Their breaths were now mingling together, the warmth of Shane's body reaching his own. As he pressed himself a little further, he could feel Shane was already hard. As was he.

Shane blushed even more, but didn't look away. Oh god, he didn't want Shane to look away. Ever.

He placed his finger, tugging Shane's lower lip.

“You still want?”

“Ilya, please,” Shane's voice cracked at the word, as if begging to be touched, to be kissed.

So Ilya finally bridged the gap between the two of them , and pressed his lips to Shane's.

It was pure bliss. Never had one single touch made Ilya's entire body go boneless. He has waited and waited for this kiss for months. Every nerve in his body was awake, electricity coursing through them. His entire point of being was reduced to that one touch, connecting his lips to Shane's.

Shane moaned.

And Ilya lost it completely. Their lips were furtive, kissing, sucking, swallowing each other's moans in them. Shane pressed his tongue inside Ilya's mouth, and soon it was all push and pull off their tongues, making obscene noises. Shane’s fingers were in Ilya's curls, as he pulled them gently at first, then roughly.
Oh god, suddenly there were far too many clothes separating them..they were too far away from the bed.

True, he had never done this with a man before. But he would do what made Shane feel good, he would do whatever it takes to make Shane happy.

Meanwhile, Shane was trying to remove Ilya's top. A very good sentiment, as it wasn't of any particular use.
He opened it in one go, separating a moment from Shane. Shane protested and chased his lips, his pupils blown wide, hair disshelved, lips swollen.
He looked wrecked.

Ilya had done that.

Ilya pulled at Shane's t-shirt too. Shane removed it, but looking a bit conscious, started to fold it.

Wow, he folded his clothes before sex.

“Sorry,” Shane said, sounding apologetic, shrugging a little.

“Why?” Ilya asked. His voice sounded gruff to himself, but he took the t-shirt from Shane's trembling hands, folded it neatly and quickly, and said, “Bed, do you think?”

Shane looked up at him, relief and.. a little bit of something else flowing through his eyes.

Ilya pulled Shane's legs around his waist. Shane's eyes went a bit wide as he realized what Ilya wanted to do, but Ilya just smiled, not taking his eyes off this wonderful man who had just agreed to make-out with him.
As he carried Shane off to the bed, Shane kissed him once again. This was hot, messy, hungry and Ilya felt he would burst.

Putting Shane down gently on the bed, he removed his joggers, and then his underpants. He was so hard, it hurt to be wearing clothes.

Shane's eyes were checking him out, the heat in them made Ilya sweat.

“Not fair, you are wearing too many clothes,” he said, giving him one kiss.

Shane pulled off his trousers and underwear, without taking his eyes off Ilya, and folding them again, asked him- “okay?”

He was.. impressive. His skin was as smooth as his face, and he was already very hard. His dick lay nestled in the midst of trimmed hair. Ilya could hardly pull his eyes off them.

Shane pulled him by his hand, pulling in Ilya to a scorching kiss.

Then after a few minutes, he separated, asking him- “it's your first time, with a guy?”

Ilya nodded, feeling a little bit like when he had been a teenager and had learned everything.

“But I am a quick learner,” he said.

Shane laughed at that, “okay,” he kissed Ilya once again, this time very softly on the lips, “Mr Quick Learner,” he said, imitating Ilya.
“Tell me how much you’re comfortable with.”

“Can I touch you?”

Shane groaned at that, “Of course you can.”

Looking at Shane, he lowered his fingers to touch Shane's dick. It was perfect - firm and smooth, and so excited to see him. He could see the veins throbbing , and Ilya could feel his own pulse beating along with it.

He jerked it up and down, though it was a bit dry, but he wanted to get used to the feel of holding this dick. Never let it go.

“Oh, Ilya,” and his name coming off from those lips. Oh god, it was blowing his mind off.

Suddenly, Shane's hands were fixed upon him. He gently held Ilya, and flipped him, so that Ilya was now lying on his back, Shane was on top.

And this was even more hot.

Shane kissed him, then said, “Stop me if you don't like it, okay?”

At that point Ilya would've agreed to get killed.

Instead, Shane's lips- hungry, desperate - started making their way down his body. He kissed Ilya's neck, then down the middle of his chest.
His teeth grazed sharply against one nipple as Ilya moaned out his name, he was too far gone to think anything.
Shane's lips were on one nipple, his fingers smoothing out and pinching the other, and Ilya was so hard that he was not above begging.

“Shane, please, please.” He said, desperately thrusting his dick. He wanted contact, a touch, a kiss- anything.

Shane looked up at him, seeking to understand. Then laid two kisses on his navel, and the beginning of his trail of hair down south.
He traced his fingers through the trail, as his lips reached his dick. He looked up at Ilya to ask for permission.

“Yes, yes please, Shane.”

And Shane's lips were on his dick, stretched perfectly around it. Shane sucked at it like his life depended on it, one hand holding Ilya.
Ilya's fingers went automatically to Shane's hair, not pulling- just guiding him.

Shane looked up at him, eyes full of so much desire, that Ilya found himself tumbling over the edge.

“Shane, Shane I won't be able to-” but his lips were there, sucking with a determination and soon Ilya emptied himself inside his mouth.

Ilya couldn't really believe it.

Shane licked his lips, then the last drop of cum from his dick, and gently kissed his way up. “Good?” He asked, eyes twinkling.

Ilya would fucking reply, if his breath ever calmed the fuck down.

Finally, he managed to say, “Very.”

Shane chuckled.

“Good”, he said, kissing Ilya’s neck.

Ilya felt dazed. But it wasn't over yet.

“Hollander,” he said, holding Shane's face with both hands. Shane looked up at him, pupils still blown wide, as Ilya kissed him deeply. He could taste himself on his tongue. He wanted to keep kissing Shane like this.

“Tell me, what do you want?” He asked.

“You .. don't have to do anything. Just give me five minutes,” Shane said.

“Bullshit. Tell me.”

“Sure?”

Ilya kissed him again, leaving no doubt regarding his answer.

Shane took out a lube from his bedside table and handed it to Ilya. Then he sat down in front of Ilya, between his legs, his back touching Ilya's chest.

“Touch me,” he said, “like you touch yourself.”

God, his heart was again hammering - Shane was so beautiful, asking Ilya for what he wanted. He kissed Shane's neck.

“Ilya,” he could hear Shane saying his name like a prayer, his hands clutching the bedsheet.

Ilya started touching him, Shane's skin was smooth like butter, the curve of his neck- going down to his nipples, he flicked them. He could feel Shane's heart fluttering beneath his palm, as he gently bit his earlobes and whispered his name in his ear. Shane seemed to get wilder, his dick twitching in response, as Ilya's hands went slowly down his body- worshipping every inch of it, that Shane took care of religiously.

He didn't allow anything to corrupt it- no addiction. But Ilya was allowed to touch it, feel it, love it. It felt sacred.

“So beautiful, moy kotik,” he murmured in Shane's ears. He was the most beautiful human he had ever seen, and Ilya wanted to make Shane realize that as well.

“Please, touch me Ilya, please,” Shane said. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. Ilya tilted his head back, and kissed those tears away.
Then he gently kissed his lips again, slow, unhurried as his hand finally touched Shane's dick, which was already leaking precum.

Shane moaned into his mouth.

Ilya bit those lips, as he poured some lube in his hand and started jerking him off for real.

“Tell me how you like it, Shane,” he murmured in his ears.

“Just.. just keep on doing that, oh god.. Ilya , I am so close.”

Shane's voice was completely unguarded, laced with so much desire.
And Ilya had done that. He had shaken down all the carefully crafted pillars Shane always bound his mind in, and unlocked the Shane who didn't think anything through.

The fingers of his one hand intertwined with Shane’s, as his other continued to jerk him off.

“Come on, Shane,” he said, as he felt his dick twitch, veins throbbing..

“Am close, very close… Ilya . Just , yes…” his words turned into an incoherent babble of speeches as he came all over his own chest and stomach, his fingers crushing Ilya's in a tight grasp, breath coming in gasps, lips open, eyes shut.

Ilya tapped the side of his face, “Eyes open, kotik.” And kissed the side of his lips.

Shane immediately opened his eyes.

So obedient, so much… Ilya's.

He could feel his heart racing again, as he gently touched his freckles. A blush was forming there soon.

“I made a mess,” he said, his nose all scrunched up.

“Shane, who cares!” Ilya asked. But in reality he knew Shane would care.

They were quiet for a bit, then Ilya said, “So, you brought the lube.”

Shane half turned to give him a smile, “ In case I got lucky,” then he kissed the top of Ilya's nose. “ I got very, very lucky,” he said.

“Shane, I just….” He wanted to ask to be exclusive, but what if it was too much, too soon? It wasn't enough. Shane could want to be with anyone else. After all he had slept only with one other person in his life.

“You just what?” Shane said, peering into Ilya's eyes with curiosity.

“Nothing,” Ilya added, though the thought of anyone else seeing Shane like this killed him.

“Ilya?” Shane asked. His voice was gentle.

Ilya couldn't avoid anything said in that time, in that voice.

“I .. don't want to be with anyone else.”

Shane looked confused at first, then his face split into the biggest grin ever.

“Are you asking to be exclusive, Ilya?”

“I… yes?”

Shane kissed him deeply, once again.

“Of course, idiot. I wouldn't want to be otherwise as well.”

A huge burden lifted off his chest. Shane had agreed. He wanted to make out with him again.

“Really?” He asked.

“Really,” Shane said, then said, “only on one condition.”

“What?”

“We go shower right now. It's feeling sticky and disgusting.”

Ilya laughed and kissed Shane's cheeks. Now that he had the permission to, he never wanted to stop kissing Shane. Everywhere.

 

Half an hour later, they had showered, gotten each other off once again in the shower, and finally came out comfortably dressed.

“Do you want to go downstairs to eat?” Shane asked, as Ilya flopped down in his lap.

“No,” he said quickly.

“Pizza?”

“You will have?”

“Just today,” he said, sighing.

And as he lay there, spent, on Shane’s lap, his fingers lazily playing with Shane's fingers, and Shane's other arm around his body- idly playing with his crucifix, some boring documentary playing in the background, Ilya- for the first time in his life- felt like this was the place that he belonged to.
He was finally home.

Chapter End Notes

So, did you like this alternate version of their first time?

I hope you did, because i thoroughly enjoyed writing about a Shane who knows what he wants. That's very sexy, l think. Ilya thinks that too 😉🤭

Up next is the aftermath of All-Stars, and some serious discussions from Shane's POV

Also, I had originally planned for this to be 15 chapters long, but I guess that's not happening. Maybe upto 20? Let's see where it goes!

Chapter 15: First Week

Chapter Notes

here are just some details about their first week together.

They are moments, really, which I think our boys have earned after everything.

Tw: again, for explicit scenes, but well- you know!

Have fun!

Comments and kudos are always appreciated and much much loved ❣️❣️

Shane woke up before the alarm the next day.

He couldn't tell at first, why he felt so happy. Then his mind only went back to one word - Ilya.

Ilya had been here, with him, in his room, in his bed- touching him, making him feel so.. loved. And his eyes, as he looked at Shane - they burned with passion. As if he could see everything going on inside Shane, as if he could feel them too.

And Shane - he had given everything up, every restriction that he had built around himself, all the thoughts that crowded his brain all the time- they all became quiet, as soon as Ilya touched him.

He craved that touch, that blissful oblivion, every moment of every day- now that he knew how it felt.

He was hard, once again. He checked his phone - Ilya's last text read : Gdnyt kotik.
He had looked up that word, it meant kitten. Ilya just was weird sometimes.

But he was his weird.

A huge grin on his face, he typed- Good morning, Ilya.

Thinking about how he would absolutely like to take Ilya on a pet cafe someday, he went on to brush his teeth, urging the boner to go away.

When it refused to budge an inch, he sighed, thought of Ilya last night as he had come- eyes blown wide, moaning his name, his hand fisting on Shane's hair, and the taste of him filling Shane's mouth.

Shane didn't have to work very hard to get off, now that he had a reference.

Ilya had also asked him to be exclusive. He wouldn't have had it otherwise, at least he knew that he wouldn't be sleeping with anyone else, but Ilya admitting that he wouldn't be with anyone else either- Shane hadn't expected that.

It made him happy beyond measure.

He knew that he wanted more, from Ilya. But all in good time. With a sigh, he realised that probably Ilya didn't have a good idea that he should actually be loved too. He loved and cared for people with an open heart- a fact that he had realized after he had joined Ottawa.
Ilya knew almost everything about everyone. He looked where no one else did, he knew what everybody else needed.
Shane now realised that the first time he had placed the bet with Shane- it wasn't actually to make him angry. It was more so he focussed on this, rather than the slurs or negative media coverage surrounding his entry in the NHL. Whenever things got difficult, or Shane found that he was stuck, Ilya would gently nudge him off- reminding him of that bet. That way, the world didn't exist. It was only a game between the two of them.

But maybe, Shane realized, Ilya didn't think he deserved the love back. He was forever surprised when someone invited him to a family gathering- like Harris had done a few times to meet his dogs, or when Shane had invited him for Christmas. It seemed that Ilya thought he didn't belong, and that being invited was a big deal.

Seeing his brother, Shane couldn't blame him..and what he had said about his father….

No, Shane thought to himself. He wouldn't stop until he made Ilya realize exactly how much he deserved to be loved.
Exactly how much Shane .. loved him?

Did he?

Was he really in love with Ilya Rozanov?

 

Looking at his watch, he saw that he had spent 15 minutes staring at his mirror self, thinking about Ilya.

Shaking himself out of this, he made his protein shake and set out for a run.

His feelings about Ilya could be dissected later on, thought Shane.

They had all the time in the world.

 

Ilya was sitting at the breakfast counter with his plate laden with food of all kinds. Shane scrunched his nose as he approached.

“It's not healthy, what you're eating.”

“No, but is tasty,” he said, grinning widely and taking a bite of the sausage, winking suggestively.

Shane looked around hastily, “shut up!”

Ilya grinned again, “Why? You didn't like?”

Shane thought to have some fun as well. He glided a bit forward in his seat, looked Ilya in the eye and said, “I loved it, do it again, Ilya. Please.”

Ilya's eyes glazed over, his smile faltered. Shane could visibly see the heat taking over.

It was good to see the effect he had on him.

He grinned, leaned back and said, “Focus on the game, Rozanov. I am going to beat your ass off.”

Ilya smirked and leaned back, “Never.”

 

The All-Stars Game was a relaxed event. Nobody wanted to go into any major competition, nobody wanted to get hurt.

It was a good match, but Europe did win.

Ilya gave him a big, flashy smile and an elaborate wink- that made him laugh.

“Told you ain't gonna affect my game,” when Shane was close enough.

“Nonsense, Hazy’s just sore from all the rides. Couldn't save your easiest goal.”

Ilya smirked and said, “Someday I want to make you sore from ride, too.”

Shane gave a bark of laughter. Ilya never gave up.

 

They were joined by Hunter and Hayes not long after.

“Good game,” Hunter told Ilya, “and no comments about my age either. That's a first.” He said, scowling.

“But I did comment. You forget because you're old,” Ilya said, cheekily.

Hunter rolled his eyes, “Okay, I got myself into that.”

“Did you guys have fun yesterday?” Shane asked, looking at Hunter and Hayes.

“Oh, it was great,” Hayes started reminiscing about all the rides they had taken, Hunter looked like he didn't quite approve of those. But he tried to smile anyway.

“You're a nerd, Hazy,” Ilya said, finally when Hayes stopped.

“Maybe, but it was fun,” he said. “What did you guys do anyway?”

“Read a book,” Shane said. It wasn't a surprise. Everybody knew of his habits long enough to not question.

“And that isn't nerdy?” Hayes said, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” Ilya said.

“I don't care if it's nerdy,” Shane said, furrowing his eyes at Ilya.

“I partied hard. Got laid. Got a good life,” Ilya said, shrugging.

“You didn't look hungover,” Hunter commented.

“Less drinking, more fucking,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Shane hid a smile. That part was true enough.

“Don’t ever change, Rozy,” Hayes said, clapping him on the back.

Ilya just laughed.

 

That night, they were flying back to Ottawa. They didn't have much time, as their next home game was just round the corner.

Shane had been thinking about it for a long time, before Ilya even said anything.

He wanted to take Ilya on a date.

He didn't think anyone else would perceive it as one, given that they were teammates and close friends- as everybody knew by now.

And he really wanted to hang out with Ilya at a place that wasn't the rink, either of their homes or hotel rooms. Not that there was anything bad- in fact, he looked forward to those parts as eagerly as anything, but taking Ilya out would be something else altogether.

And he had had it planned as well. True to himself, he had stayed up last night after Ilya had left, planning on how to ask him out, where to take him if he agreed to go out anyway, what would Ilya like to have for dinner (other than him, of course) , and so on.

But first, he should have the nerve to ask Ilya.

It shouldn't be so difficult, he told himself. Ilya had, after all, asked for exclusivity. But that didn't mean he likes him enough to go on a date, Shane thought.

He decided to make a list of the pros and cons.

Pros- 1. He gets Ilya outside of the known environments, all to himself.
2. See above.
3. Maybe- no, definitely, they'll have good sex after. But that they could do without going on a date.
4. Well, it's romantic (does Ilya do romantic? He had always said that he didn't do girlfriends…)

Well, that brought him to the cons. And the list was fucking huge.
1. Ilya never had been in a serious relationship, and never did he indicate that he wanted to be in one. Exclusive casual sex was one thing, but dating and relationship….
2. If he asked Ilya , then Ilya turned him down- then they would probably lose their friendship, and this exclusive thing they had. Shane was crazy about it. About Ilya. About the amazing way Ilya made him feel. He didn't want that to end, ever.
3. If all other things considered, Ilya even agreed to date him, he wouldn't be able to go back to Russia. It was Ilya's home, the place where he had lost his mother. Surely, that would be sentimental to him. He couldn't ask Ilya to give up his everything just to be with Shane, when Ilya could, in the long run, happily settle with any girl of his choice. He could have both Russia and a happy family.

But not with Shane.

With a sigh, he closed the laptop. In the end, the cons outweighed the pros by a long run. He couldn't ask Ilya out. Couldn't be seen with him in public.

That was for Ilya's well-being.

But he wanted to make Ilya believe that he deserved to be loved, to be cared for. Shane would do that for him. Even if it meant in secret, away from everyone's eyes.

He looked out of the flight’s window. It was dark outside, but nothing matched the darkness of his mind. For he had realized, that he wanted Ilya, needed him, maybe even….

But whatever it was, he could never get him outside of their predefined boundary.

 

Ilya came and sat down beside him. He looked keenly into Shane's eyes.

“Why are you sad, solnyshko?”

He hoped Ilya would stop with the pet names , or stop understanding his every mood. It made it even more difficult to think of this as only something physical.

He closed his laptop and said, “ I am not sad, Ilya.”

“You are lying. Did you not have a good weekend?”

There was vulnerability behind that question, as Ilya's pinky finger touched his. He gently intertwined the two fingers, looked up at Ilya and said, “It was the very best.”

“Then, what is problem?”

“It's coming to an end.”

“Nothing needs to come to end,” Ilya said, shrugging.

Shane tried to smile at Ilya's nonchalance. He looked divine, in the dim light of the flight, his golden curls falling across his eyes, that were looking at Shane with a lot of concern.

“Okay,” Shane said, smiling a little.

Ilya didn't look much reassured, but gently squeezed his fingers, before removing them.

“Okay.”

 

They won the game on Tuesday. It wasn't that big a deal, really.

It was against Montreal, who hadn't won any significant matches so far.

A tiny voice in Shane's mind said- “serves them right, for not drafting him.”

But who cared? He had Ottawa Centaurs, the best possible team he could have been drafted to, anyway.

Just as he was getting out of his locker room, freshly showered, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Good game,” Ilya said, smiling.

“Better than yours,” he said, smiling back.

“Not really though.”

“Dream on.”

“So, I was thinking… What are you doing tonight?”

“Depends on… what are you asking me to do?”
He said quietly. His heart was racing.

“Come over?” Ilya asked, equally quietly.

“When?”

“9?”

“Okay.”

His heart was racing, as Ilya touched a freckle on his cheek. The locker room was almost empty, except for Troy, who was busy doing something by himself.

Ilya's fingers touched his lips as well, and tapped it gently.

“Ilya,” he said, sounding devastated. He looked at Troy.

“Don't worry. He doesn't mind,” Ilya said.

“Doesn't mind what?”

Ilya only smiled, but said nothing.

“Ilya, does he… what does Troy know, to not mind?”

“Relax, not enough. Is nothing.”

Shane had never relaxed in his life. Especially not because someone had asked him to.

Sighing, Ilya removed his finger.

“Fine,” he said, walking backwards and giving a little salute, said “later.”

How he looked that good doing everything, Shane would never know.

 

He arrived right at 9. It wasn't nearly soon enough.

As soon as he rang the doorbell, Ilya opened the door. But he was talking to someone, arguing in Russian.

“Yes, yes okay. I will tell him. Now leave us alone,” he said these words in English, and hung up.

“Problem?” Shane asked mildly.

“Was just Sveta. Andrei had asked her to call me. How he dares…”

Shane walked up to Ilya and rubbed his hand along Ilya's arm, “Hey, let it be. Don't worry about it.”

Ilya's face softened, “ I am not worried, solnyshko. I have you.”

And whatever could Shane say to that…

Instead, he closed the distance between them.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. He really had, he realized. Though he saw Ilya everyday in practice, where he literally irritated him on every possible occasion, he missed this soft, homely version of Ilya, or the version that was going to follow- the one filled with desire- only for him.

Sure enough, Ilya's eyes burned at that. He pulled Shane in, even closer and asked, “Did you think of me?”

“All the time.”

Ilya kissed him. It was unrestrained - the desire burned through every fibre of his being, coursing through his veins, spreading to the tip of his feet.

“Shane..” Ilya just pulled his lips apart enough to say his name. Coming from his lips, it was an enchantment.

Suddenly, it was too much, he wanted to taste Ilya, take him in his mouth. He fumbled with the zippers on Ilya's jeans, somehow pulling them off.

He pulled his lips apart, just a little, and asked- “May I?”

“Fuck, Shane, yes!”

He dropped to his knees. Ilya's dick was perfect, and so hard, just from a kiss. He kissed the tip of his dick, licking it and Ilya groaned from above.

Encouraged, he put his mouth on it- the smell was so inherently of Ilya, that he didn't really want to think of anything else. He sucked it hard, fucking his mouth on it, flicking his tongue on the undersurface. He gently took the balls in his fingers, rolling them slightly.

“Shane, Shane stop,” Ilya was panting. He had put a hand on the glass to support himself, and the other hand had gripped Shane's hair.
He pulled Shane's face apart.

Shane looked at him with questioning eyes.

“Is too much, too good,” he said, panting.

“Let's get you to bed, then.”

Ilya discarded his pants and his shirt on the way, and got into the bed.

Shane felt a little irritated at himself, but he knew if he didn't fold these damn clothes, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on Ilya.

Ilya, however, sat patiently, watching him remove every piece of clothing and folding them. There wasn't even a trace of irritation in his eyes. In fact, he looked positively delighted.

Something must be wrong with him too, Shane thought, to find Shane's obsessions not irritating.

He joined Ilya in bed, and asked, “Liked what you saw?”

Ilya pushed him down, took his hand in his and kissed , no sucked his fingers one by one.

Shane was impossibly hard, just by looking at Ilya sucking his fingers- those perfect fucking lips, he tried to imagine them around his dick.
His dick twitched again. Traitor.

“I want to,” Ilya said, looking into Shane's eyes.

Men stronger than him wouldn't have been able to refuse. He was nothing but… well, Shane.

So he just said, “Mmph,” very intelligently.

Ilya smiled - somehow understanding, and dropped his lips. He licked long trails from behind his knees, upto his balls, separating his legs altogether.

“So beautiful, solnyshko,” he said, looking at Shane spread open in front of him.

And Shane should have felt conscious, but he was too far gone to think.

“Please, Ilya, please.”

He hated to hear the desperation in his voice, but it did the charm. Ilya's eyes looked wild, as he lowered his lips on his dick.

His mouth was hot and warm and moist. Shane very nearly lost his mind, trying not to come within two seconds. He tried to close his eyes instead, but Ilya was imprinted everywhere. His body, his mind, into his subconsciousness.

He gripped Ilya's hair, golden curls filling his fingers, Ilya's mouth on his dick, sucking. He looked up at Shane, eyes smoldering, lips making obscene noises.
His hand snaked up Shane's body and pressed it down.

And Shane was a mess, it was beyond his control.

He couldn't help but thrust into Ilya's mouth, and Ilya moaned around it.

God, has anyone ever died of sex?

Ilya wasn't experienced before, but the confidence with which he took Shane into his mouth, he was already half dead from it.

He was already on edge, and when Ilya looked up at him, winked and moaned again.

“Ilya, Ilya I can't.. take your mouth off..” but Ilya kept looking at him like he was the goddamn prize. And there was no other sensation than Ilya's mouth on his dick, or no other thought than to be good for him. And before he could control it, he came, shouting Ilya's name.

Ilya licked every bit of it clean, the site of it nearly made Shane lose his mind again.

“Was I good for you, solnyshko?” Ilya said, though his smirk said he knew exactly how good he had been.

“God, Ilya,” he just said, before pulling him into a scorching kiss.

“It's even better than what I had imagined,” he said, whispering the words before biting at Ilya's earlobes.

“You had imagined this?” Ilya said, and though he looked like he was in control, the sudden hitch of his breath, the flare of his nostrils and slight widening of pupils said otherwise.

Shane smiled to himself. It was good to see the effect he had on Ilya.

He kissed Ilya filthily, licking his lips, his tongue as his hands moved down Ilya's body.
“I’ve dreamt about it so much, Ilya, for so long,” he poured some lube into his hand, rubbing it on Ilya's dick.

“The first time I ever jerked off, it was to you. After the Junior Championship,” he kissed Ilya's neck, sucking the soft skin there. Ilya didn't object, though Shane didn't really want to leave a mark.

“Junior Championship?” Ilya asked, his pupils totally blown.

“Yes, you remember… Saskatchewan. The first time we met. I couldn't think of anyone else for over a month…”

He sped up his hand, and bit down on his nipple.

He looked up to see Ilya looking at him in something like awe, mouth a bit open.

Ilya's hand cupped his cheek suddenly. “But that's been a long time, kotik.”

“Two years,” he placed another kiss on his chest, gently sucking, “More than that.”

Ilya looked devastated in the best possible way. Thinking that he had achieved what he wanted, he was about to remove his lips, when Ilya said - “Do it. Leave a mark.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please.”

And God, did Shane ever want to do anything more?

He sucked a bit of skin between his teeth, Ilya hissed. The mark of his teeth bloomed. He trailed down Ilya's body, jerking him off , leaving marks…

When he finally sucked the back of his thigh, Ilya cried out his name, and Shane put his mouth on his dick just in time.

It was as satisfactory as last time, if not more. Ilya's smell, his taste was becoming more familiar to him. And he was sure that at least for now, no other person, man or woman, would be getting Ilya like this.

He had marked him thoroughly enough for that.

“ You're going to get a lot of questions in the locker room tomorrow,” Shane said.

“Good work deserves appreciation,” Ilya said, catching his breath and winking, putting his hand behind his head in a very casual way, though his eyes were soft, and the smile was private.

“Good for me that you get off easily,” Shane said, teasing him and nudging his neck.

But Ilya seriously cupped his face, “Easily? Shane- have you ever looked at yourself? You are fucking beautiful.” And he kissed him.

There was never a time in his life when Ilya Rozanov failed to take his breath off.

When they parted, he placed his head on Ilya's chest. He could hear Ilya's heart thumping away, slowing down somewhat finally as Ilya pushed his hair away and kissed him on the forehead.

Shane didn't know what territory this was, but he was slowly falling too deep in it.

There was no way he could reject Ilya, or could refuse him anything that he wanted.

At that moment, he knew- that if his heart were to break in the long run, Ilya would be worth it.

“You're doing that again,” Ilya said, rubbing behind his ears gently, “getting sad. Thinking.”

Shane shook aside his thoughts for another time.

“No,” he smiled, kissed him gently, then kissed his cheek.

“Ilya, why do you call me kotik?” He said, trying to distract him from the topic.

“Because you are so, kotik,” Ilya said, chuckling.

“Doesn't that mean kitten?”

“Yes.”

“ How am I a kitten, Ilya?”

Ilya picked up his phone from the bedside table and showed him a picture of when he had been shouting angrily at the referee. When he was the Captain of Team Canada in that Junior Championship.

“Exactly like a very angry kitten,” Ilya said, chuckling. Then he picked up Shane's chin, and said, “You're not the only one who was held in prison.”

Shane blinked. “You mean.. captivated?”

“I mean what I mean,” Ilya said, shrugging. “Your face held my mind in prison. Captive. I haven't thought about any man before. Or after.” He added, as an afterthought.

Shane held Ilya's hand against his cheek, it was warm, strong but still held Shane so gently.

“Did we waste time?” He asked.

“Not anymore.” Ilya said, and bridged the gap between their lips.

 

After they had showered, Shane picked up some salad suiting his diet to be ordered, Ilya just had grilled chicken and they switched on the TV.

A random match was playing in the background.

“What animal would you be, if you could choose?” Ilya asked suddenly.

“Sorry?” Shane blinked.

“What animal would you be, if you could be anything else?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Shane said truthfully. Really, why would he be thinking that?

“Just name one animal, Shane. No need to make lists for this.”

“But it should be like me?”

“You can be anything, like a shark, or a blue whale, or dinosaur. Though that's Hunter,” Ilya said, sniggering.

“Whats with you calling him old, though? He’s not even that old!”

“He gets upset everytime. Is fun,” he said, shrugging.

Shane rolled his eyes.

“I think I would be a giraffe. They are very peaceful,” Shane said, after thinking for a few minutes.

Ilya looked delighted, “Yes, I can see you as a giraffe. They look so innocent, and eat all leaves. Like your salad. And very boring too.”

Shane looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. "It's your stupid question, anyway!"

“Fine, you tell me what you want to be then?”

“Something that can fly. Maybe a flamingo?”

“Oh, so now you want to fly too!”

“I always wanted to fly. That's why I learnt to skate.”

“Did somebody tell you, you are very weird sometimes.”

Ilya laughed like that was a compliment.

“Do you think we would be friends then?” His eyes sparkled, “Could we have sex then? Would it be as good?”

Thinking that all reason had dropped out of the conversation, he said, “I don't think that would be very nice. Your flamingo partner may not take it nicely.”

“I don't care about any flamingo partner,” Ilya said, blowing a raspberry. “I like my giraffe.”

Was Ilya actually hinting on something? Well, Shane didn't know. And Ilya needed to be clearer.

So he just said, “it's going to be bloody uncomfortable, but maybe we’d still do it.”

Ilya looked at Shane for a minute, then burst out laughing.

“We absolutely would.”

 

Next morning, he arrived as usual at 8 for practice. He saw Ilya, sitting fully ready in his gear, clutching his chest.

“Shane, Shane quick,” he said, flailing his hands and clutching his chest.

Shane narrowed his eyes.

“What is it, Ilya?”

“I think I am having a heart attack,” he said seriously.

“What?” Shane asked, hurrying over, “What's wrong? What happened?”

“It was when you walked in. My heart beat too fast, and I thought my head was spinning,” he grinned widely. “Must be heart attack, no?”

“Ilya, you are an idiot!” Shane said, sitting down beside him in a heap. “You gave me a panic attack, you moron.”

“Was just joking,” he said, eyes going really a bit wide, as if he was scared of getting scolded.

“Don't joke about serious things ever, Ilya,” he said. Then he added quietly, “What if you were to have a real heart attack? What would I do?”

“Shane,” he said, “look at me.” He did.

“I am not leaving. Nothing happened. Am okay.” Shane still grumbled a bit.

“I am sorry, no more jokes about serious diseases. Promise.”

“Okay,” Shane said, finally smiling.

“Okay,” Ilya said too.

 

One day turned into the other. As the week progressed, Shane found himself in Ilya's apartment or vice versa, more often than not.

They mostly just jerked or sucked each other off, but it was getting more pleasurable by the day. Knowing how Ilya responded to his every touch was maddening, how he looked at Shane with such genuine care, how he touched Shane- waiting always for his approval…. Shane could never go back to his pre - Ilya life. Never.

Shane lived for all of these moments.

But he lived for the in between moments too.

 

On Friday, the team was preparing for their road trip next week for all away games.

They were almost done with practice, when Hayden came over.

“Shane, are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“It feels like, you haven't been around me and Jackie in ages. We like to have you home, man!”

“Hayd, she's very pregnant. Don't make her cook anything now!”

“Yeah, no not food. That we can arrange from outside. Just come hang with us.” Then after a moment, he added, “Jackie's friend has a good gym instructor.”

“Okay. I have my own set of exercises,” Shane said, frowning. He had his own trainer as well.

“No.. we were thinking, you spend too much time alone . At home with books or whatever. And Joe was kind of, not okay, for you- honestly. So maybe this was someone whom you–”

“Oh. Hayden no, I am not looking to date someone. Absolutely not,” he said, immediately answering on reflex. Ilya was looking at them from some distant apart, brows furrowing.

“You could give it a go, you may like him,” he said, reasonably.

“Not really, Hayden..I am happy, really. Really.” He stressed the last word.

Ilya meanwhile, had come forward.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why would we tell you?” Hayden asked.

“Fine, don't. But if Shane's very big boyfriend comes to know that you secretly talk to Shane….”

“What? What boyfriend?” Hayden asked, looking from Shane to Ilya, and back again.

“What, Shane didn't tell you? His big boyfriend- very angry. Doesn't like anyone even looking at him. Very… jealous.”

Hayden was looking at Shane, “Is it true?”

Ilya scowled from behind him.

“Ye..yeah , I guess so.” Shane said, the word ‘boyfriend’ and how Ilya was looking at him like a man possessed - stirred up something in him. He wanted to fuck Ilya right then.

“Why haven't I met him?”

“It's.. just been a week. You would meet him, not just now.”

“A week? That long?” Hayden asked, looking crestfallen.

“Listen, Hayden, why don't I just go to your place tomorrow evening? I’ll meet Jackie and give you the details.”

“Why not today?”

“Ah, l’ll go to my boyfriend's house today, where hopefully we'll be doing a lot more than having dinner,” he said cheekily. Hayden looked a bit uncomfortable at that.
Ilya choked.

“God, dude, you needn’t tell me the details. Go get railed, or whatever I guess,” Hayden looked mortified.

Shane laughed.

“See you tomorrow, Hayd.”

 

He was making his dinner in the evening. He thought simply carrying it to Ilya's place would save half the trouble of choosing something from a restaurant menu.

His phone pinged just then.

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: (image: of two toothbrush, with Mickey mouse and Minnie mouse drawn on them)
Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: byin dm 4 us.

Shane: ??

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: sty ovr.

Shane: tonight?

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: 2nyt, 2mrw. Hu crs? Sty.

Shane: tonight, then. Tomorrow i have to go meet Hayden.

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: aftr dt?

Shane: It’ll be late, Ilya. I can stay tonight.

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: ok
D u wnt miki or mini?

Shane: those are for kids.

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: Yes.

Shane: buy some normal ones.

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: borinnnnn

Shane: buy me something blue.

Ilya Rozanov Ottawa Centaurs: ok
Bt m byin dm 2.

Shane: okay.
Then feeling a bit tempting, he added 😘

Ilya: 🥰🥰🥰😘😘😘😘

Shane: See you later. Bye.

Ilya: bi Shane.

 

He stayed over that night.

Ilya cuddled up to him like a child, refusing to let even an inch come in between them. Shane spooned him , drawing the blanket over both of them, gently rubbing his back. Then pulled his body into his own.

“Don't leave without telling me,” Ilya said sleepily, his back pressed to Shane's chest.

“I’ll wake up at 6,” Shane warned.

“Okay. Wake me up.”

“Okay, Ilya.” He said, kissing Ilya's neck, then cheek. “Sleep.”

And as he drifted off to sleep, Ilya still in his arms, Shane felt a type of calmness that he had never felt in his life.

Finally, everything made sense.

Finally, all was well..

Chapter End Notes

You can see how deep they are in, for each other.

Also, that Flamingo is s Connor Storie interview jok. I think he said if he were to name an NHL team it would be after the Flamingoes, while hudson said that it would have something to do with clowns. It was hilarious. They are too good in interviews, loll.

Anyway, next part will be a bit serious. From Ilya's POV.

Chapter 16: First Home

Chapter Notes

This chapter is heavy.

TW for homophobic , mentions of depression and suicide, domestic abuse, non-consensual sex.

Ilya had never known peace as he did now.

Shane was lying on his chest, playing with his crucifix, their toes tangled together, a blanket drawn around them like a cocoon.

He wanted to be closer. He wanted to kiss Shane.

So he pulled up Shane's face in his hands. Shane was looking at him with that mixture of care and softness, and Ilya kissed him deeply.

“I was missing you,” he said slowly.

“I am right here, Ilya,” Shane said, smiling a little.

Did he dare ask? But not asking what he wanted had never been a good thing, especially not with Shane.

He rubbed his palm up and down seductively, feeling him up, the dimple at the bottom of his back, his ass. That perfect ass- he wanted it, he wanted to be inside Shane, the desire made him crazy.

With the other hand, he brushed Shane's lips, “Not close enough,” he said, looking into his eyes.

He could see the goosebumps rise in Shane's body. He knew Shane wanted it too, simply by the way his body moved into Ilya's - just at the mention of what he wanted.

“Me too, Ilya. I want you, I want you so much,” he said.

Shane was so responsive to his touch, and so fucking obedient. Ilya touched his lips to his jaw, tracing kisses along it- “How about, when we come back from the trip?”

It was only one and half weeks long. He could wait one and half weeks more.

Right?

“Okay,” Shane said, too far gone to answer properly.

If Shane behaved like this, he wasn't even sure he could last one and half hour!

Though they got each other off after that, the promise between them kept the spark going.

“Ilya,” Shane said finally, in a business-like voice. It never bode any good news, not at least for Ilya.

So he pulled Shane into his arms and said, “No.”

Shane sighed, “You don't even know what I want to say.”

“Nothing good, I can tell.”

“Don't be a baby,” he said, frowning a little. Ilya blew a raspberry. Shane frowned even further, before dropping a little kiss on his lips, taking pity.

“What, Shane?”

“So, we’ll be on the road trip, right?”

“Mm,” he said, dreading where this was going.

“We can't hook up there, people will know.”

“So?”

“There are lots of things. For one, we are still… you know. Do you want people to know?”

“Marly does. He doesn't care.”

“What?” The colour drained out of Shane’s face.

“He guessed it long ago. In New York, when I asked him to change rooms,” this time, Ilya knew he was blushing a little. Shane looked incredulously at him.

“But he said…”

“Was a lie. I asked him to,” Ilya said. Then he added, “But he doesn't mind, he likes you, and loves me.”

“You asked him to lie to stay with me?” Shane gave him a dead stare.

“You made me .. curious.”

“Is that what we are calling this now?”

“Ah, but was a long time back. Was not like now.”

Shane's face softened a little at that. But then he was stern again.

“It.. it doesn't matter, Ilya. Marlow may not care, but everyone may not be like him, Ilya. You know that. One person, anyone- says anything about this to the media, and everyone will know. You have your country, your home to go back to. Even if for some days. You know I am right.”

Ilya actually knew that Shane was right. That's what made it worse. He was crazy for Shane, but he had to hide it. That wasn't an option, for now.

And his Papa was still there. He needed to return to Russia ,at least for the summer.

It would be another year before he could even apply for Canadian citizenship, and before that, if he were to be deported - he didn't even want to find out what Russia would do with gay players.

More importantly, now that Shane was in his life, he didn't know what it would do to them. Would he have to stay back home? With his dad? He hated that place, those four walls were the first place he left, when he could. And staying away from Shane? Not seeing him? He didn't know if he could ever do that again.

Things were getting too serious, he couldn't have Shane sad, or serious tonight.

“But can't stay away. Too many days,” he said instead, kissing Shane's pecs.

“Okay, I’ll go to your room for a few days. When I think it's all right. But ,” Shane blushed a little at that. “ We have to be quiet.”

Ilya’s eyes twinkled, “Is that a challenge?”

“Shut up,” Shane laughed. Then turning serious, he said, “Seriously, no. Not a challenge.”

Ilya rolled his eyes, “Is okay Hollander. We’ll be very quiet. As mice.”

“Where did you learn that from?”

He didn't even bother with an answer. Instead, he asked- “What did you tell Pike yesterday?”

Shane looked sternly at him, “Yes, I have you to thank that for!”

“Please, I’ll accept a blowjob as a thank you.”

“You're incorrigible.”

“You said that because you know i do not know what it means.”

“I… yes.”

Ilya laughed. Shane was always so… Shane.
“So, what did you tell Pike?”

“Nothing, just that I had started dating a guy from gym, and am seeing where it goes.”

“A guy from gym, huh? So I am guy from gym?”

“That's where we first raced this year. It was fun.”

“Was it? I don't remember.”

Shane kicked him. He laughed.

“So what did Mr Honorable Pike have to say?

“He was just… worried. He didn't quite like Joe. So he thinks my tastes could improve.”

“And he hates me, maybe his choice should improve,” Ilya said, giving his most evil smile.

“He doesn't hate you, Ilya. And you can also not be … well, drastic with him.”

“I do what I do,” Ilya said, sighing. Pike wasn't much good, but he did care for Shane. He would forgive him for that.

“Are you going to let me sleep, or just talk about Hayden?”

“How about neither?” He said, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Shane looked sternly at him, “ if you sleep now, I’ll hug you.”

“You can't sleep without hugging me. I am teddy bear.”

Shane's eyes softened at that, “Don't let anyone else hear that, you idiot.”

Ilya laughed. Shane kissed him on his lips, then on his forehead. He was gently tugging his curls, smiling as he looked at Ilya.

At that moment, he wanted to tell Shane how much he liked him, he did. But then Shane bridged the gap between them, his lips meeting Ilya's.

Nobody spoke for another half an hour, at least.

 

The next day, they set out for their road trip- Montreal-Boston- Buffalo- Toronto.

Ilya wasn't looking forward to it because whatever he told Shane, he knew that they couldn't spend nights together like they had gotten used to. Shane really had thought everything through.

Sighing, he dropped in the seat beside Shane, thinking what approach would be better today. He went with quiet, Shane didn't seem to be in a mood to be disturbed.

He was listening to a tutorial in YouTube (how to make a kennel for your pup) which seemed very complicated. Ilya couldn't understand half the words, but the pups were cute and the kennel looked fun.
Suddenly Shane poked him.

“Yes?”

“I feel sleepy,” he whispered.

“So sleep, kotik,” he said, smiling. He loved a sleepy Shane, he was very soft, and didn't think anything through. Not a hundred times, anyway.

“Just thinking, won't be able to do that with you. This week,” he looked sad. A week sounded too long indeed.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said quietly.

“Why?”

“Because we…. Can't share this now. Is because of me. I am sorry. With anyone else you could have….” He shrugged. It was true. Shane was out as gay already. He could literally sleep every night with someone and that won't be news anymore.

But if the world knew that he slept with Ilya….

They might even be drafted to different teams . Ilya couldn't stay away from Shane, not after everything they had.

“Well, that's stupid. You could have just slept with a girl and nobody would have batted an eye either,” Shane said.
As usual, he was right.

“I am going to sleep,” Shane said, “Don't hog my space.”

“Don't know what it means,” Ilya said, shrugging.

Shane flicked him off, He laughed.

He liked Shane very, very much.

 

The game against Montreal was over. They had lost, this time. Though the environment in the locker room was a bit subdued, it didn't much bother Ilya. It was hockey, nobody won every game.

No, he instead thought of how to get Shane out of his room, that he was sharing with Pike. His goddamn best friend.

Ilya just wanted to spend some time with him, he would even take a dinner, or just a drink. Nothing more than that. But even half an hour in a day without Shane seemed like a day wasted.

“Please come over,” he whispered to Shane.

Shane looked scandalous. “This is the locker room,” he hissed.

“Not here, in my room, later,” he added, winking.

Shane glared at him, pulling on his t-shirt. Now he couldn't even look at him.

He was about to try another method to persuade him, when his phone rang. It was… Polina.

Polina?

She had never once called Ilya in her lifetime.

A cold feeling of dread in his mind, he excused himself. Shane looked questioningly. He was never formal to him.

“ Hello?” He said, speaking in Russian.

“Ilya?” Her clipped voice sounded. He remembered the sombre figure that never smiled, trapped in that house.

His mother's house.

“Yes,” he said.

“Come to Moscow immediately. Your dad is very sick, wants to see you.”

“It's middle of the season, Polina.”

“He may not live. The doctors said that there's very little time. Maybe not even a week. You asked last time why i didn't inform you. So I am informing you. If you want to, you may come. You don't have to come back again.”

And the line went dead.

Shit. What? Going back to Russia in the middle of the season? Was his Dad dying? Why was Polina calling him? Did that mean he was really on his deathbed? What the hell to do with Andrei, now that he had punched him? And he had taken money too. But did he suspect anything between him and Shane? His eyes had gleamed darkly, when he left. That was ominous.

What would he do now?

Except, he didn't really have a choice. If his father was really dying, and he didn't go three- he could never forgive himself. He didn't have any good memories with his father, for sure. But he had, however grudgingly, given him an education and paid to have skating lessons, though most other things he had taught had been baseless.

Ilya realized that after leaving home.

No, leaving Russia. Russia hadn't been home since a long time.

He did what he could, he called Svetlana once.

“Ilyushka!” Her warm voice greeted, “I saw the game. Wasn't the best, but you’ll be better.”

“Are you in Montreal?” He asked.

“No, I am in New York. Otherwise i would have met you,” she said. Then she sensed that something was wrong, “What's up, Ilyushka? Is it Shane Hollander?”

“What? No, not him. It's just… Polina called.”

Silence on the other end. “Polina? Your step-mother?”

“Yes.”

“And what did she want?”

“For me to go home. Said Papa is dying. Doctors have given the week.”

“Well, what can be said to that? If you want to, you can go. Nobody would object to this situation, I think.”

“No, the thing is different.” He recounted Andrei's incident from the last time.

“Are you thinking that he has reported anything? Or has guessed anything?”

“I…I don't know, Sveta. What do you think will happen?”

“I’ll talk to Papa, he's there. Also, I’ll be there in… two days. Give me two days. You go ahead. I’ll join you.”

Just at that moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder, “Ilya?”
It was Shane. In the few moments that he hadn't seen him, he looked even more beautiful.

“Is everything okay?” He mouthed.

“Is that Shane Hollander? You never said how things are between you two?” Sveta sounded mildly amused.

“Oh, really well. I think we are dating.”

“How can you think, Ilyushka? Are you dating or not?”

“We are exclusive. And he is very .. himself. I don't know how soon to ask.”

“Ilya Rozanov, you have never even been exclusive with your own self!” She exclaimed. “Give him the phone, now!” She demanded.

Feeling slightly scared, as he always did, of Sveta, he handed the phone over to Shane. Shane was looking questioningly at him still.

“Is Sveta,” he simply said.

Shane looked a bit confused, but he took the phone.

“Hi,” he said.

Ilya could hear Sveta's rapid English and high pitched voice from the other side. Soon, Shane was smiling.

“I’ll like to meet you too, Svetlana. Tell me when you're in Montreal, we’ll meet.”

Sveta was saying something again.

This time, Shane's eyebrows furrowed. “No, I haven't heard that yet. Okay, okay please can I get your contact? I think I will feel better that way.”

Sveta's voice again, then- “Yes, yes thank you. Bye.”

Shane handed him the phone.

“He sounds lovely, Ilyushka. I told you he’s perfect for you.”

“Yes, you have said so.”

“I think he really likes you.”

“Okay. Okay,” though he was really smiling.

“And Ilyushka, I have got your back. If you want to, you can go to Russia.”

“I think I have to,” Ilya sighed.

“See you in two days, then.”

Thinking at least that would be something gave him some relief. And Sergei Vetrov was famous, well connected and loved Ilya like a son.

Feeling a bit better, he looked up, to see Shane watching him. His eyes were worried.

“Let's talk in the hotel,” he just said.

Shane seemed to understand. He nodded and left to board the bus.

 

Back at the hotel, Shane knocked on his door loudly, about five minutes after they had returned.

Ilya opened the door. He had been talking to his agent, to find a flight ticket as soon as possible. He had also called Coach Wiebe to let him know about the situation.

As soon as he opened the door, Shane entered, looking worried.

“What happened?” He asked.

He still couldn't see Shane worried like that. He smoothed the creases of his brows with a thumb.
“Solnyshko, I have to go home. Moscow.”

“Why?”

“Polina called, she said that Papa isn't doing well. He doesn't have much time. Maybe a week, at most.”

Shane looked at him, eyes a bit wide. He could feel the tears in them before he could see them.
He pulled Ilya into a hug.

“Oh, Ilya. How are you doing?” He said, rubbing his back.

“I am not very sure, Shane,” he said, nozzling the nape of Shane's neck. He smelled Shane's cinnamon perfume and smiled. It calmed him.

“I don't like him. But he is Papa. I had asked Polina to tell me if.. you know, to let me know how he stays. So she called.”

Shane gently guided him to the bed, and made him sit.

“That's not the only reason that you are worried, is it? You have asked Svetlana to go.”

“Are you jealous again?” It was a low blow, but he didn't want to disclose this part. He knew his Shane, he would worry.

“Ilya,” he said, in that voice that he knew meant he was trying to be stern to him, where his eyebrows even took on a serious expression.

It was Captain Shane mode.

There was no getting away from it.

Sighing, he said, “Well, remember, Andrei came in. He wasn't… I think he understood that we're not just friends, or teammates.”

Shane's expression stilled. “ What does this mean? Did he tell you?”

“Not in words. But I thought he hinted at it,” he brushed his fingers on Shane's hair. “ I don't know what it means.”

Shane looked away.

“All this is because of me,” he said. “You shouldn't have been with me, ever.”

Ilya couldn't reply at first. Was that ever an option, not being with Shane? How could he make Shane understand that for the first time in his life- he had known what it meant to be loved, accepted and welcomed unconditionally- after his Mum had died? What he felt for Shane, his English wasn't strong enough to explain.

He tried.

“My father wasn't… great, growing up. He worked both Andrei and me very hard. I skated, so he took it very seriously. He asked coaches to train me harder than anyone, I always had to be the best. But he never, once, said that I had done well. Never. Not even the day I was drafted. I .. lacked discipline, was lazy. He punished me when I lost. Said I was too weak, when I won. Not a good player.”

“Andrei was more like him, he liked to be cruel. He liked whatever thing made him more like Papa. Hurting younger or poorer people, drinking, whoring. He did it. Maybe Papa praised him. I don't know whether Papa ever praised him. But he disliked him less. He joined police, like Papa had.”

Shane was looking at him now. “ It wasn't a very happy home to grow up in, was it?”

Ilya laughed without humour.

“No. Not happy. Not at all happy. Papa wanted fame, Andrei wants money. They are bankrupt, and yet they don't behave it. I have to pay for every other expense there, but I can't ask what they are spending on. They just want more, more, more…”

Ilya didn't know when he had started crying.

Shane took him in his arms.

“But …why? Why are they like this?”

“I don't know. Maybe because I was not like them. I am more like my Mama maybe. I did not find hurting other people funny. Or enjoyable.”

“What was your Mum like?”

“She was…fun. She took me skating, to parks, baked pancakes, knew all my favourites,” it made him so happy and so sad. Ilya was crying now, he didn't even want to stop, Shane was here. He would take care of him. He needed Shane to understand, before it was too late. Before he had to leave.
He needed Shane to understand why he was the best possible thing in Ilya's life. Why he couldn't live without Shane, not anymore.

“She had life in her. When she laughed, you’d laugh with her as well. And she loved me. The only person who ever did.”

“But she was …unhappy too. My Papa, he scolded her. Sometimes,” he braced himself, “he beat her too. Mama never said, but I saw marks. He was… horrible to her. She was so young, Shane.”

“What happened?” Shane asked quietly.

“I had gone out to the park, with Sveta. We used to go there with her dog, everyday in summer. Mama used to go too, but she didn't - that day. Told me she would make me pancakes.

When I returned, the door was open, there were my favourite pancakes in kitchen, and Mama was there, dead. On the couch. She had swallowed a bottle of pills.”

Shane's fingers clutched him, he pulled Ilya into his chest and kissed his forehead. “Ilya, how old were you?”

“I was twelve.”

He knew that he was taking deep breaths now. He had never said these many things in English at once, and never, to a single living soul, about everything.

“She loved you a lot, Ilya,” Shane said, peppering him with kisses. “She did. Maybe she was dealing with a lot, she needed to see a doctor.”

“I know that, but I could not save her. And she could not save me from that terrible home. My Papa said we could not say it was a suicide. So nobody did. It was an accident. And nobody asked any more. He was police, after all.”

“He married Polina, when I was away. For Junior Championship. I used to be angry at her, but last summer, she told me he had made her pregnant. I don't know whether Polina willingly did that. I am guessing, not.

He still beats her, her child died. She is just ten years older than me. I … why would he do that?”

By this time, Shane's grip on him was painful.

“He sounds horrible. Sorry.”

“He is horrible. I hate him. I hate that home. I have my own condo there now, but I hate the people there. I hate Papa, but I don't know whether I can wish him to die. He is only parent that I have.”

“Ilya, he is sick. You are not wishing for anything. Nothing's happening because you wished it to be so. This would have happened either way,” Shane said, kissing the top of his head again. “You haven't done anything wrong.”

“No, maybe not.”

After a few minutes, he said, “ one thing I am sure I have not done wrong, is be with you. I have never… felt this way. For anyone, with anyone. Before.” He finally looked up at Shane, “We.. can never be wrong.” He touched Shane's freckles and whispered, “This can never be wrong.”

And Shane was crying now too. God, they were a mess. But Shane steadied his face and kissed him on the lips. He was gently erasing his tears, tears not even caused by him.

Just like he was gently removing the pain from Ilya's life, pain not even caused by him.

“I don't think that this can ever be wrong, either. Us. This,” Shane said, indicating themselves. “So if you have to go to Moscow, you can do that. But I want you to know that I will be waiting for you over here. I am here, and I will always be here.”

Shane held Ilya's hand, and pulled it. He kept it on his own chest, Ilya could feel the way it beat under his palm.

Shane kissed him like that, his heart pounding faster when they kissed.

“I want you to remember this. How you make me feel, how I feel about you. This is the happiest I have ever been. With you.”

He kissed Ilya again.

Ilya thought he must be dreaming, because he had just cried and emptied his heart to Shane, and yet- he was here, sitting, kissing him. Promising that he would wait.

Finally, Shane broke apart from the kiss and said, “Go to Russia. Do what you have to do. I am here. Don't worry about this, okay? We are good. We will always be good. Take your time,” he paused a bit, before adding , “Solnyshko.”

He said it in bad pronunciation. Almost like the English version of the word, but it felt so wonderful to be called like that. One word, one pet name, and Ilya was swooning.

He was obsessed with Shane.

They sat like that for sometime, before Ilya said, “I have to go now.”

“Your tickets have been booked?”

“Yes, the flight leaves in two hours.”

“Do you want me to go to the airport with you?”

“Will you?”

“Of course.”

And Shane held his hand in the cab all the way to the airport, where he took a look at Shane's face- those bright eyes and perfect freckles, before leaving for his flight.

 

When he reached Russia, it was almost mid day. He hadn't slept well in the flight.

Calling a cab, he went home.

As soon as he reached, something didn't seem right. They used to have househelps around. But the house seemed unusually quiet for that.

He rang the doorbell.

After a long time, Polina opened.

“Where's everyone else?”

“We .. let them go. Only the cook is there.”

“Why?”

“No money.”

“But I have been sending you a lot of money. Andrei even went there to collect it.”

“Your father refused.”

“Papa…refused? Why?”

“Maybe you should meet him.”

Polina guided him to Grigori’s bedroom. Knocked twice.

“He doesn't remember maximum things. Only some… impactful things.”

“Okay.”

The unease didn't leave him when he entered the room. Grigory was there, attached to a number of tubes. He looked so frail, that Ilya felt bad for a few minutes.

That is, before his father saw him.

“Who’s there?”

“It's me, Ilya.”

Quiet. Ilya felt more scared of that quietness than anything else. His father couldn't hurt him anymore, he thought.

“Ilya,” he said, uncertainly. “Where have you been? Your Mama’s been looking for you.”

“Mama’s dead, Papa. I play for Canada now. I don't stay here.”

His eyes went round at the facts. Ilya wanted to brush his hair aside, he hated seeing his Papa like this.

But for the first time in his life, he seemed a bit bearable too.

“Papa,” Grigori looked at him.

“Did practice go well?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Nonsense. You can't really play.”

Ilya didn't react, this was how it had been. Always.
“ Yes, Papa.”

Suddenly, he said, “Did Andrei see you?”

“Not today, no.”

“No,” Papa looked deranged, more than before. “Andrei said he saw you. You are fucking a guy. A guy? Is that so?”

Ilya didn't know why Andrei had done it. It wasn't like there were any more points to be lost or gained over who was the favourite any more. Why did he tell on Ilya? To get all the money?

He didn't answer. He couldn't say no, thinking of Shane's face.

“Answer me,” Grigori shouted. The monitors started beeping, but Grigori put up a hand.

“Will you believe if I say ‘no’?”

Grigori looked at him with hatred in his eyes. Pure hatred. His eyes weren't unclear at that moment. He clearly saw what Ilya was, who he was.

“Get out. Get out of this room.”

“Papa–”

“I don't want to see you. You are dead to me.”

Something resonated deep inside Ilya. He had forever, wanted just one word of appreciation from his father. One word, and he would have been happy.
He had never even received that word. Ever.

Now, the first time he accepted who he was, Papa said he was dead to him. True, Ilya hadn't expected praises or anything. But to be hated so deeply…

He now knew why his Papa hadn't accepted any money that he sent. It was because Andrei had revealed his secret. He had even taken away the last normal memory he could have, of his father.

Suddenly, this room, this house felt too much. Too narrow, too suffocating. He hated every brick of it. He didn't want to go to his childhood bedroom. It had long been turned into a guest room or storage of some kind.

He went out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Polina was sitting, sipping tea. He wanted to shake her, make her say something. Someone should be answerable.

Indeed, Polina did say - “ is it true? You are seeing a man?”

And Ilya didn't want to lie anymore. He didn't care what this robotic woman thought of him. His brother had destroyed everything for him anyway.

“Yes,” he said.

Polina looked at him, really looked.

“You are brave,” she said.

“Maybe.” Not so brave that he could give this news himself to anyone.

Polina came up to him. She reminded him of the time when she had given him the album.

“You're not like your Papa,” she commented. It wasn't a question, just an observation.

“No.”

“Nor like Andrei.”

Ilya kept quiet this time. He didn't know what to say.

“Leave, Ilya. Leave this country. Don't come back. This is not a safe place for… people like.. us.”

Ilya looked up, startled. “Us?”

Polina didn't answer, just shook her head. And said, “Don't return. Things are going to be worse, I hear.”

“What will you do?”

“Whatever a thirty year old widow does here,” she looked up at Ilya, a thin smile on her face.
“I think I have survived the worst. I’ll live.”

Ilya looked at her once. Then nodded.

Some weight seemed to be lifted from his shoulders, as Polina at least acknowledged it. Him and… Shane. She wasn't disgusted by it. She hinted she might have even…

But that wasn't for Ilya to pry upon. Clearly, she didn't want it.

So, nodding once again, he took his bag and left for his condo.

 

That afternoon, though dragged down with sleep , he visited his mother's grave.

He was aware already, that this might be the last time in a long time, when he was coming here.

He might never, in his life.

He brought her peonies, her favourite, and sat cross legged on the floor.

“Where are you, Mama?” He asked, his voice breaking. “I need you.”

He sat there quietly for a long time. Slowly, he began to feel the rustle of the leaves, the weak light of the spring time sun slowly starting to turn orange. He felt a smell, of days long back, when he actually went out with his mother.

The smell was of peonies, mixed with the crisp spring air.

The trees were starting to bloom all around. There was hope of new lives everywhere.

And yet, a part of Ilya was dying.

The part that had hoped and prayed and begged for his father's affection, or had hoped that if he knew that his mother would be there for one more day- how he could have said that he loved her. If he had said it enough…

No, that couldn't be helped anymore.

And he didn't hope to see Andrei ever. He was starting to hate him. He would never see him again.

Strangely, he felt light. As if he had let the stones go, that were dragging him down- so he was finally floating. He had unknowingly accepted Shane as a part of his life, and the warmth that Shane radiated felt more real than the cold bed waiting for him, in his condo or at his home.

“Mama, I met someone. His name is Shane. Shane Hollander. He is very…” he laughed a little, how to describe Shane? “Good to me, Mama. I think I am in love with him. Is that wrong?”

He traced a finger over his mother's grave stone. It didn't reply. But when he touched the crucifix around his neck, he felt the way Shane's fingers had traced it, just the other day. It made him glow warm.

“I don't think it is. I think you would love him too, very much. He cares so much for me. I know he is waiting for me, back in… Canada.”

“I can't come see you here any more. You know why, now. But next time I do come here, I will bring him along. However long it takes, but I promise.”

Just then, a sudden wind blew through the leaves, showering a wild variety of flowers.

Ilya smiled, “ I guess that's your blessing. I’ll take it.”

 

He returned to his condo after that, had a glass of vodka, and had somewhat dozed off, when the phone rang.

Thinking it must be Shane now, he picked it up to see it was Polina.

He knew, before he even had picked the phone up.

“Come. It's time. Your father is dead.”

And that was it.

Chapter End Notes

I know it was heavy, but maybe it was essential as well.

I had thought I would fit the entire Russia scene in one chapter, but that didn't happen . So another chapter will be dedicated to Ilya's horrible family back there.

Bear with me, and Ilya.

Hearts and sunshines afterwards only, for our golden boy ♥️💕

Chapter 17: First Punch

Chapter Notes

Aaand this brings us to the end of Russia.

I hope it was a satisfactory ending!

Tw: for homophobic slurs, and a very sweet explicit scene, which had its base in the book. And which didn't make it to the series. (With my modifications of course!)

Ilya felt numb.

He was, as of recently, an orphan.

He didn't know what to think, or to say.

A lot of unknown people came up to him, and said how they sympathized with him. Or how his Papa had changed their lives, how he had been a man of discipline, and iron-clad determination.

They showed him respect, and was gone.

And nobody spoke anymore of him. No words of love, or a tear of sadness.

Grigory died as he had lived - with no love.

 

Ilya saw Andrei in the room for the few minutes he couldn't avoid. He didn't look at Andrei. He was there, and that's it. Andrei, in his turn, didn't seem too keen to talk to him either.

All for the best.

Thankfully, Sveta did arrive as promised.

She took a look at Ilya, and hugged him. Ilya hugged her back, thinking at least he had one friend there. That was enough.

But Sveta wouldn't let it be. She took one long look at Ilya, eyes furrowed, and said, “Okay, what's wrong?”

Ilya stared at her, “My father just died.”

Sveta looked…doubtful. It was such an unforeseen expression on her face that threw Ilya off- track.

“I know that, Ilyushka. But… I am sorry, it's still not my place to say, but.. he wasn't very good to you, was he? Ever?”

No. Grigori was horrible. Sveta knew everything.

He still wouldn't tell her about the last time they met. That- he would tell only one other person. Whom he had actively avoided texting much till then.

Because he didn't know whether he could control his emotions if he talked to Shane or listened to his voice or saw his face.

So, to Sveta , he said, “ No, he wasn't.” But didn't elaborate.

Sveta sighed, looking at him. Her smile was a little sad.

“You still loved him a lot, didn't you?”

Was there even a reply to this?

“Yes, was Papa,” he said, shrugging. He didn't know how he felt anymore - sad, happy, exhausted, relieved.
Free.

And then guilty, to have felt any version of relief at all.

“Have you talked to Shane?” She asked, quite intuitively.

“Not much.”

“You should talk to him. He's worried.”

“He called you?”

“Well, of course!”

Ok. So maybe he needed to talk to Shane really, not only just one word replies, or “I am doing fine”s.

The only problem would be keeping himself together through it. Because Shane would know that something was wrong at once. He probably guessed already, that he wasn't okay.

But he did want to see his face, his smile, his freckles, his eyes. That particular freckle on his nose, that was Ilya's favourite.
He missed Shane too much. He absolutely needed to see him.

It had, after all, been four days. That's the maximum they had ever spent apart, after knowing each other.

“I’ll call him,” he said.

Sveta didn't look reassured, but at least stopped frowning.

 

They were supposed to have the family dinner the following night. Ilya needed courage for that.

So, at long last, he did pick up his phone and called Shane.

It would still be evening in Buffalo - where Shane was, at present- when he called. He picked up after just two rings.

“Ilya?” His voice sounded breathless.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Ilya.” Shane's voice was soft, halting, giving him space.

How could Shane know exactly what Ilya needed?

He wanted to talk to Shane, to listen to him.

“How is everything? What is everybody saying about me?”

“Nothing, Ilya. It's okay really, everybody understands. No one expects you to be back.”

“I will be, give me three more days.”

“Why don't you take your time? There's no hurry.”

“Eh, you just want to win our bet.”

“I don't need tricks to win the bet, Ilya. I was already winning.”

“Was not.”

“I kept count.”

“Me too.”

“Then you are wrong, aren't you!”

“No.”

“Ilya.”

“Okay, I might have just added three goals. Who cares? You win, Hollander.”

A bit quiet, then Shane asked, "Ilya, tell me honestly, how are you? Don't try to divert the topic, i would know.”

“Where are you?”

“In a room with Marlow. He has very kindly put on headphones,” there was a pause, in which he could hear Marlow's voice over the phone, and Shane saying, “ Okay, I will tell him, no really, I will convey.”

Then he told Ilya, “Marlow said- Don't be such sappy romantic idiots. And gives us his blessings. This is what he said.”

“See, I told you he's great.”

“Yeah, I agree.” He could hear Shane smiling into the phone.

“Ask him to fuck off from the room.”

“Ilya!”

“What? I want to see your .. face.” He finished lamely. Because that was what he really wanted to.

“Later, okay? I promise.”

“You are not fair.”

“I never said I was,” Shane was again smiling, indulging him. “But you're doing it again.”

“Again what?” Though this time he knew.

“How are things there?”

Ilya sighed. “I have not met Andrei alone. That's good, I think.”

“And how are the others?”

“Which others? There's only Polina and me. She feels relieved, but no one can tell.”

“And you?” Shane asked quietly.

“I… am okay. Better than I thought I would be..”

“Ilya?”

“I want to see your face. Give the damn phone to Marly.”

“Just don't ..tell him something gross.”

“He would know.”

“I wont give him the phone then.”

Suddenly he heard Marlow's voice, this time closer.

“Do you guys wanna fuck or something? Do I have to clear off?”

He thought he could hear Shane thinking, but he surprisingly said, “Privacy would be good, Marlow. I would appreciate it, a lot.”

Ilya smiled. He thought he could hear Marlow give a surprised laughter, and said, “ Rozy's done a number on you, eh? You owe me one, Hollander.”

Shane said, “I’ll remember for sure.”

And then he could finally hear Marly closing the door.

As soon as he had left, Shane asked, “FaceTime?”

“Always so eager…”

“Shut up, Ilya.”

Ilya wanted to see Shane. The urge to simply see those freckles seemed so strong…

Sure enough, his screen filled up with Shane's face. He looked irritated. “Wait, network’s too bad.”

After moving around for some moments, he finally looked up and said, “Okay now. Hi.” And he smiled.

Was it possible for Ilya to crawl through the phone to kiss him? Or book the earliest ticket back to wherever the fuck Shane was, because he needed to fuck him? Needed, like an insane man, to sink his teeth in Shane and mark him as his.

Instead, he just stared.

“Ilya, are you okay?”

“I … am. I have missed those freckles.”

Shane looked surprised as he touched his freckles, “Do you like them?”

“I am .. crazy for them. They are beautiful.”

Shane gave a laugh, “ I have always found them irritating!”

“They are stunning, Shane. Like… make me want to stop breathing, and keep looking at them. Am I saying it right?”

Shane had turned very, very pink. Ilya wished he could touch him.

“Oh, Ilya,” he said, it came out half as an irritated sigh, half as a moan. Ilya was already so hard, just by looking at Shane's face- blushing.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now, Shane.” He said.

This time, Shane really did moan.

“Shh, kotik. You said quietly, didn't you?”

Shane just nodded, but his eyes were rolling back a bit.

“I want to see you.”

“Now? Marlow may…”

“He won't. Now the clothes, Shane. Remove them, sweetheart.”

Shane's eyes fluttered at that. He seemed to like it. Ilya noted it away in his special folder named “things that please Shane” in his mind.

“Okay.”

Ilya disposed off his clothes as well. He was hard, and Shane was in front of him, folding his t-shirt, looking turned on as fuck.

“Keep the phone somewhere so I can see you,” he told Shane.

He himself searched for a good place, and finally placed it in the mobile holder on the bedside table. It would have to do for now.

Shane had also found a similar place, it seemed.

“Can you see me?” He asked, frowning.

Ilya loved his fucking frown.

“Yes, Shane. Look at me.”

Shane stopped moving, and adjusted the phone to look at him.

“Hi, Shane,” he was far too gone anyway, but when Shane whimpered at just that…

“Let me look at you. Show me how hard you are.”

“Bossy,” Shane grumbled, but he was smiling. He turned the phone to his dick. He was so hard, and was holding himself with his right hand.

“You are so beautiful… that hard already, for me?”

“Ilya,” his voice came in a rasp, “ please just… show yourself.”

“But I am, solnyshko. Here's my face,” he winked, “ Aren't you happy.”

“Very. But I will like it even more after I see you dick.”

Ilya obliged, turning the camera around and giving his dick a tug.

He could hear Shane's breath turning faster, sharper.

For a few moments, there were no more sounds than them touching themselves. It was a rhythm, an addiction.

Finally, Shane gave another moan. “Can I see your face, Ilya, please?”

His fucking polite Canadian, and when he said “please” in that voice, too far gone with desire, voice dripping with want, Ilya thought he would just come from that.

He turned the camera to his face, and said, “You too.”
And God, when Shane turned round the camera, his pupils blown wide, his mouth open, cheeks flushed- Ilya was already halfway to heaven.

“Look at me,” he urged Shane.

And as Shane looked, his eyes wild, teeth tucking at his lower lips, jerking himself off with one hand, touching his nipples with the other, and letting out a moan, Ilya was toppling over the edge.

“Shane, Shane… I am..” and he came all over, as his phone showed Shane's face as well, he was moaning Ilya's name, and somehow managed to say, “Me too,” before letting go and coming loudly.

Shane was right, it was hotter this way, seeing his face.

After a moment, when they had caught their breath, Shane laughed.

“What?” Ilya said, though he could feel a stupid grin starting to grow on his face as well.

“I have missed you,” he said, smiling.

“For sex? You just miss me for sex?” He teased.

But Shane turned serious, “ No. I mean, not only sex, Ilya. I … don't like it that you're so far away. I miss being with you, all the time.”

“Hey.. hey three more days, okay? Look up…”

“I know,” Shane sighed. “Can I call you back in five minutes? Need to clean.”

“Take me with you,” Ilya pleaded. He knew it was useless.

“Five minutes, Ilya,” he said. Then he touched the tips of his two fingers to his lips, and touched them to the screen. And smiled.

Oh. Holy fuck.

Why didn't Ilya's heart stop from all the sweetness?

He just managed to say, “okay.” Before the screen went off.

He also cleaned himself up, instead of just sitting on his ass, hoping that would get him some brownie points later, when Shane would be raining questions of all kinds on him.

He acted like a lovesick idiot, he realised.

Sure enough, as soon as he sat down, Shane FaceTimed.

He picked up the phone, accepting the FaceTime request, and there was Shane.

 

But he was looking seriously at Ilya, which he didn't like. “Ilya?”

“Yes?” He tried to look innocently at him.

“Why didn't you call for four days? Are you …angry at me?”

Ilya felt dumbstruck. Why would he be angry at Shane?

He asked him that.

“ I don't know.” Shane replied, “I can't see you, and your dad's just died, and I am worried and I can't even talk to you…” he looked wrecked.
“I have been so worried about you. I know you don't like it there…”

Suddenly, Ilya felt very bad for not talking to Shane. Here he was, scared that he might not be able to hold himself together in front of Shane, and there was Shane, with his wonderfully talented brain, that twisted little things up so readily. And he was worried for Ilya.

“Shane, I am not angry at you. I … things were not so good here. I wanted to tell them when I see you. In front of me.”

“Just let me see your face, or talk to me, once everyday- from now on. Okay?” There were tears in Shane's eyes.

“I will. I promise.” Then after a quiet moment, he said, “Wouldn't have taken more days, but I am selling my condo here. I am not returning.”

Shane stared at him. “Ilya, that.. that's a big decision to take. Are you sure you are in the right frame of mind right now, to make this decision?”

Suddenly, Ilya's mind went back to the face of his brother- with its ugly glint in his eyes, or that of his Dad, shouting - “ You are dead to me.” For as long as he lived, Ilya would forget neither. He hated both of them.

He would only return if he could ever bring Shane to visit his Mum’s grave, not for more than a week.

He would no longer call this place home.

“I am sure, Shane.”

Shane was quiet for a few minutes. Then said, “If that's what you feel, Ilya, then that's fine. Come home, we all miss you. I miss you the most,” he said with a smile.

Ilya would have gone just then, if he could. Instead, he just said, “ just three more days, solnyshko.” And he touched his fingers to his lips and then to the screen as well, just like Shane had.

Shane laughed at that, “I am teaching you pretty well.”

“Told you, I am quick learner.”

“I never disagreed.”

They looked at each other for some time, neither talking much. It was a comfortable silence, it was their silence.

“I have got to sleep,” Ilya finally said, with regret. “We have that dinner tomorrow. Will have to sit through it.”

“Will Svetlana be there?”

“I will make her be here, or I might not finish the dinner. Or Andrei won't.”

“Don't punch him again.”

“I don't guarantee,” he said, menacingly.

“ Keep your head down - just one dinner. Okay?”

“I’ll try.”

“Ilya!”

“Shane!”

“Okay, get some sleep, Ilya. Call me tomorrow, anytime.”

“Even in the middle of night?”

“Anytime, Ilya. Okay?”

“Okay.” He looked a moment longer, “Good night, Shane.”

“Good night, Ilya.”

 

Ilya braced himself, it was time for the family dinner. He had not sat still the entire day, worked out like a maniac, talked to his local agent about selling his condo, had lunch with Sveta. Yet, he felt restless, as if waiting for a bomb to tick off.

He sat beside Sveta, and tried not to look around . Much.

Polina sat at one side of the table, neither smiling, nor commenting upon anything. Andrei was there , on the opposite side of the table, with his girlfriend or mistress, Ilya didn't care to know. His uncles sat there with their wives, neither asking him nor Andrei anything.

It was better than Ilya could have hoped for. He just hoped to end the dinner somehow.

Midway through, an uncle spoke. “What about Grigori's will?”

Ilya couldn't care less. Whatever about it? His dad was up to his neck in loans as far as he knew.

Nobody replied.

“He did have something set aside for you, Polina dear?” The said uncle's wife(?) asked.

“I don't know,” Polina said. She didn't look up, or look at anyone, but continued chewing the food at the same pace.

Ilya hoped that he had her restraint of character.

“Of course you know,” Andrei said, suddenly. “Why else would you marry him?”

Ilya's blood boiled, listening to his fucking voice.

“It wasn't like Papa was reeking in gold,” he said, his teeth clenched. Sveta tapped him twice on his thigh. Calm down, it suggested.

“And you know that, because you were here taking care of him, right?” Andrei snarked.

“I know that because of the money I sent, and how this place still looks fucking poor. Unless, of course, that money never reached Papa.” He glared equally.

“You know how he wouldn't even accept it, don't you?” Andrei's voice was silky smooth, his eyes maddening.

So that was how it was going to be, was it? This piece of shit thought he was going to blackmail him with this information… and keep getting more money?

“And you never thought you’d mention it to me, did you?” Ilya said, now equally quietly. “Whether he accepted it or not, I sent it. So where's the money?”

“This is not the place to discuss money,” Polina said, her eyes now on both of them. “This is the dinner for your father's funeral. You should both be quiet.”

“Stop behaving like you’re a saint, you married him just on his deathbed, didn't you?” Andrei asked, his voice turning nasty.

Ilya had had enough. It had been a mistake to think that he could ever be in a room again with Andrei. He didn't want to see his face.

He started to get up, but Sveta's hand forced him to stay. She looked questioningly at him.

He shook his head, and forced himself to swallow the food. It felt tasteless, disgusting. He felt like throwing up.

Instead, he downed the vodka at one go. He needed to be very drunk to get through this without talking.

Polina kept quiet, and didn't say anything. Maybe she had been different, full of life too- once. She had mastered the art of erasing all expressions to survive. That seemed intelligent.

He poured himself another drink. None of his uncles or aunts commented. He didn't even know that they existed before this. And would never know them again, he thought with some relief.

Dessert was being served, when Andrei spoke again.

“Papa really liked this dessert,” he said.

Ilya fucking didn't know what his Papa liked. Andrei knew that, he was staring at him, smiling snidely.

He didn't reply, but his uncles nodded. They started sharing some childhood memories of his dad, as Ilya had his dinner quietly.

Who was this man, and why didn't he know him at all?

He didn't know his favourite season or colour or food. He didn't know anything to remember Grigori by. He didn't even remember his smile.

Only the colour of his eyes, that reflected in the mirror for him.

He finished the dinner somehow, it was something of a fit, Ilya ought to receive an award for that.

They started leaving the dinner table, when Andrei came up to him. “You didn't value Papa when he was alive, at least pay him respect when he's dead.”

Ilya didn't answer, he just looked at Andrei.

“Imagine, if our lovely uncles and aunts were to know that Grigori’s son is a ….fag,” he said the word nastily, pretending to spit, “What would they say then?”

“What do you want?” Ilya asked flatly.

Sure enough, Andrei said, “ If you keep sending the money that you had already been, this wouldn't be a problem. No one needs to know, and everyone would be happier.”

Ilya squared his shoulders, looked Andrei dead in the eyes and said, “ Fuck off. I am not giving you one more cent.”

“Then you leave me with no option, brother.”

“Don't worry yourself over it. I am leaving Russia. I don't have to see your face ever. Again. Don't contact me, or Sveta. If you ever do,” he said, advancing on him, “ I will use my every fame, every ounce of popularity, every known and unknown agent to thoroughly check and publicly display the records of all the bribe you take, all the whoring you do, and all the money you have stolen from me. Then, I will get a Canadian citizenship, my boyfriend and I will settle down there, and have a good fucking life, while you rot in jail. So don't, ever, contact me again. I hope I have made myself clear.”

And taking a stunned Sveta's hand, he left the room.

“What did he do?” Sveta said, looking scared. “Ilya, what if he…? Won't you be deported?”

“I wasn't lying about exposing the fraud. Don't worry about it, I’ll make every word come true, if he ever decided to fuck with me.”
“He met Shane, accidentally, I told you, remember? ” he explained. “I don't know how he did, but he understood. And he told Papa about it.”

Sveta stared, “He what? But why?”

“I don't know. I don't want to talk about it.”

“But–”

“Please, no.”

Sveta took his hand, “ You know I am with you, okay?”

And not even sparing a second glance at the house, Ilya just said “Okay.”

And moved on.

 

The remaining two days passed by in a blur. He wasn't further contacted by Andrei. And he had to wrap up, and pack the few things he actually wanted to take with him.

He signed off the deal of his condo with his lawyer, and was sitting after packing all his belongings, thinking about calling Shane, when Sveta called.

“Yeah?”

“How's Shane?”

“I … was going to call him.”

“You don't know, do you?” Sveta asked.

Ilya stood up so fast that his head spun. “Know what? What happened?”

Sveta laughed, “Oh, nothing serious. I think he punched Dallas Kent so fucking bad that Kent lost his front teeth. And oh yeah, Shane's been benched for the next four games, last I heard.”

“Shane WHAT?”

“You heard me right, Loverboy. Go ask him the rest yourself.”

 

Shane picked up, as usual, after two rings.

“Hi,” he sounded breathless. What the fuck was he doing?

And why were there loud noises in the background?

“Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you… partying?” He had meant to ask “okay?” But he couldn't believe half the noises in the background.

“Yeah, well, Bood and the rest of the team brought drinks to my room. I didn't have a way out.”

“Are you drunk?” Asked Ilya. He wished he could see Shane now.

“Just .. one bottle, beer. But don't tell anyone. Shh.”

“Shane, give the phone to Marlow.”

“Can't see… Marlow. Want to, see you?” His voice was soft, and he framed it like a question.

Why did he have to be so sweet even when drunk?

“Moy lyubimyy, get somewhere a little less noisy then.”

“Noises everywhere. What does it mean?”

“That you are a fucking lightweight?” Ilya chuckled.

“No, lu- bee-me. What does it mean?”

Ilya didn't have the heart to even ask him not to repeat it loudly. Besides, who the fuck cared?

“That's task for home. You find it out,” he said.

“When will you be home? I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweetheart. Very, very much.”

“Berry much? You know, I would like to have a strawberry. It's been so long… I never had a strawberry.”

“Okay, I will bring you strawberries,” Ilya laughed.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I am not laughing. How did it feel to punch Dallas Kent?”

“You know how?” Shane paused a bit, “It felt fucking fantastic. I wish I had broken his nose as well. And the cheekbones.”

“Wow, slow down there. What did he say?” Ilya was delighted. He never saw this version of Shane.

“A lot of stuff. But mostly… true stuff.” His voice was quiet suddenly.

“Meaning?”

“About how I am gay… and you know, you’d like to fuck me, and so they put you in Russia. It was too much. I would break his bones, if I were allowed to. He doesn't get to joke with our lives. Nobody. Gets. To. Joke. About. It.”

The last sentence came out as a low threat.

Suddenly, Ilya was very proud of Shane. He had tolerated way too much since coming out, a lot of slurs. And he must have been scared since Ilya had come to Russia. He himself had been scared.

And Kent had probably taken Shane's quiet, calculating image very mildly to have casually said this around. There were things no one ever casually said around.

This was one of those topics.

“You did good, sweetheart.”

“I did NOT let them miss you. But I miss you. Did I tell you, how much I miss you?”

“Yes, a lot of times. Now give the phone to someone not drunk.”

“I am not… not drunk. I had just one beer. You won't believe me. Why won't you believe me?”

“I believe you Shane. I do. Now be good for me, won't you be so?”

“Wanna be good for you,” Shane mumbled.

“Then, please.”

After a brief period, he heard Troy’s voice. Thank god it was him.

“Troy, don't let him drink any more,” he said.

“Don't worry, your boy’s safe. It's just us fuckers,” Troy said, chuckling.

It was no good pretending anyway.

“He can't really hold a drink..and stop him from .. saying anything about us. Please. We.. are not ready.”

Troy sounded serious now, “Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Really. Don't worry about it. Although, does Marlow know?”

“He guessed, like you did.”

“Like mostly everybody else I think,” Troy chuckled again. Then hastily added, “Sorry, I’ll keep my promise. Don't worry.”

“Have fun, fuckers.”

“See ya.”

 

Later, Ilya watched the video. Shane had really gone for it. He had looked enraged- nothing like his usual self, as he dropped his glove and punched Kent right on the face.
His very angry kitten.

Still chuckling, he opened a photo of Shane that he had saved from Christmas. It was of him, sitting under the tree in his pjs and socks and smiling at the camera. He was happy, even his freckles were happy.

“Just one more day, lyubimyy,” he said, before finally falling asleep with a smile on his face.

The next day when he was leaving Moscow, he was no longer sad. The old chapter of his life was closed now.

A new chapter lay ahead. One which he had chosen as Shane had advised him once.

Of happiness.

 

He had decided to fly to Montreal, and from there - it would be a short ride to Ottawa. His team had returned already that day (and seemed to have had a great fucking party).

He watched some weird documentaries, another Harry Potter movie (just the second one, but it was very thrilling), decided he should text Shane to come to Montreal to take him home, then decided against it because he just wanted to surprise him.
He was too excited to sleep.

He hadn't seen Shane in days. It seemed like years had passed.

Maybe Shane would let him stay the night. There was no maybe, Shane definitely would let him stay the night.

Maybe they could finally…

No, that wasn't a thought for a very public flight..

Well, he finally thought of watching the downloaded game of the last day, when Shane had punched Kent.

He had saved the highlights for later on. It soothed his nerves a bit.

Finally, at long last, the flight landed. Ilya wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

 

He came out of the airport with his baggage to haul a cab, or call a car to reach Ottawa, but as soon as he had stepped his foot outside, he heard his name.

“Ilya, what took you so long?” Turning around, he saw Yuna Hollander standing over there, checking her watch and calling Ilya over.
“Come, we’ve been waiting for ages.”

Ilya didn't even know what to say, except that she was looking at him, smiling and calling him . Her eyes were the exact same shape as Shane's, he noticed.

Stunned, he went over.

“Yuna, what are you doing here?”

Yuna looked at him as if he were stupid.
“Well, we have come to take you home, of course. David's in the car. Come on.”

Ruffling his hair, she expertly led the way , navigating between a bunch of other cars.

“But.. you need not have come.”

“Nonsense. How else would you have reached Ottawa?”

And with that, she rapped on the window of a car, David unlocked the doors and looked at him saying, “All right there? Got everything?”

“Yes,” he said, feeling dazed.

“Get in, son. And let Shane know for god's sake that you have reached. He thinks something terrible might have happened on the flight.”

“Okay,” he said again, feeling very overwhelmed.

As David turned on the boring news channel on the radio, and Yuna swatted irritably at him at regular intervals, asking Ilya if he were hungry or not - everything, this scene of normalcy, even this domestic squabbles- seemed surreal to Ilya.

Something, he thought with a smile, he could get used to now.

“I’m home,” he texted Shane.

He really was.

Chapter End Notes

I hope the ending made you as giddy and happy as it made me.

Next is Shane's POV of what happens afterwards.
As usual, a lot happens afterwards. Never a quiet day in their lives!

P.s- i genuinely am shocked and enraged at the pics of Hudson circulating the net. Really support Hudson. I hope HR production team doesn't give af about the pic as well, and keeps Hudson as Shane. There's no point in watching HR otherwise.

Chapter 18: First Yes

Chapter Notes

No such notes.

Just TW for explicit scene ahead, which is what I look forward to the most, honestly 🤭🤣

Who knew cooking was this difficult?

Shane frowned, he still had no idea how much cheese was to be added to the chicken, before adding the sauce. He had asked his dad a hundred times, by the end of which David had just offered to cook it himself.

But Shane couldn't take that offer. It had to be him.

It had to be perfect.

Yuna and David had laughed at him.

“Shane, he would say yes even if you just hand him the raw ingredients and ask him to cook,” Yuna had said. She was probably right.

“After looking at all the efforts, that might be easier,” David had said. Then he had added, “really, he would have said yes in christmas, or I am guessing even before, if you had asked.”

“ But I had not. And I wasn't ready then, I was with….” Shane shook his head. “It doesn't matter. Am I getting it right?”

Sighing, David went to check on it again.

Finally at long, long last - Shane made the dish halfway to his satisfaction. Just one more step, he had to bake it.

David was still laughing at his one hundred efforts. “Maybe leave it to Ilya next time onwards…” he suggested.

“Don't tell him that,” Shane grumbled. Ilya would never leave one opportunity to gloat. Even if that was kind of sexy….

No. Focus.

But it was true. Mixing the correct proportions did give him anxiety, like chemistry. Shane hated to admit, but he wasn't much good at either.

Still, the end result was not bad. Ilya would most probably like it.

Whom was he kidding? He knew Ilya would love it.

“Well, we're off to get him from the airport. You still don't want to come?” Yuna asked.

“No, I have to recheck whether I did this right.”

His parents rolled their eyes, but didn't comment.

 

So Shane had been checking, re-checking and then checking the time to see when he should finally start baking.

Ultimately, deciding that the time was right for them to return, he placed the chicken slices in the oven, and started it.

He was only halfway done though, when the doorbell rang.

Shit. He wasn't done yet.

Sighing and preparing for another round of lectures, he went to open the door….

… What he had forgotten in all his anxiety to cook, was that Ilya would be here. With him, in his parents’ home. At long, long last.

And how gorgeous he looked, even jet lagged and travelling for maybe 15 hours straight..

And how his eyes lit up when he saw Shane, his lips split into the widest possible grin, as he said, “Hi.”

And suddenly, the stupid parmesan or none of it mattered. He just stepped closer to Ilya and whispered, “is it possible that you look more .. gorgeous?”

Ilya laughed and said, “I think the same, solnyshko.”

And they kissed.

It was meant to be a short kiss, just welcoming him home, but the taste of his lips was like drugs to Shane, he was addicted to it. He wanted to breathe him and lock him and love him with that one kiss.

Probably they wouldn't have parted at all, if not for Yuna and David clearing their throats. Loudly.

“We’re all good about it, it's just that you are blocking the doorway,” David said, raising his hands.

Shane blushed. He had forgotten, momentarily, that there were other people in the world.

Ilya was blushing a little too- it was such an odd, and sweet sight that it made Shane laugh.
Then they hastily moved away from the doorway to let his parents through.

“Thank you very much,” said Yuna, chuckling and getting in, “Close the door when you guys are done!” She added.

Blushing even more, Shane stood aside to let Ilya in, taking his bag in too.

Ilya didn't say anything, but his eyes weren't leaving Shane. They had not left Shane's face for one single moment.

“Do you want to go inside?”

Ilya shook his head, touching his freckles.

Shane sighed. Ilya was obsessed with his freckles.

He sighed and kissed Ilya gently on the cheek again.

“I have missed you too,” he added.

Ilya pulled him into a bone crushing hug.

It wasn't a sexy hug as well, it was just- reassurance. Shane hugged him back too, with every ounce of strength or energy he possessed. What if he had lost this to Russia? Or to anyone?

Without Ilya, he would never be whole again.

 

Finally pulling apart, Ilya again said, “Hi!” His eyes were a bit red rimmed.

Shane kissed his eyes, and said, “Better?”

Ilya nodded, then gave a wet laugh, “We are very … what was the word… sappy, yes!”

Shane laughed too, “Yeah, Marlow said that. But it's okay, we’re sappy together.”
“Now, do you want to come in?”

“Yes, something smells good,” Ilya said, his stomach rumbling.

“Mum Dad asked you to say that?” He chuckled.

But Ilya looked genuinely surprised. “No, say what?”

“They didn't tell you anything?”

“Anything what? David made me listen to very boring news. Yuna didn't like, too,” he said, thinking aloud.

Shane laughed and said, “You secretly loved it. Don't even pretend.”

Ilya looked outraged, then said, “Probably. Yes.”

Shane pulled him by his hand and brought him to the kitchen. David had actually taken the chicken out, and Shane couldn't believe it, but it actually looked quite palatable. Tasty, in fact.

“Wow, chicken parmesan?” Ilya said, “That looks very good, David.”

“It rather does, and I should hope so,” his Dad replied, “I have never seen anyone make it so meticulously as Shane. We were relieved when we went to get you.”

“Dad!” Shane protested, as Yuna said, “it's the only reason I went, I couldn't for the life of me think of how to make this better. And he wouldn't just give up!”

“That’s not fair, guys! I don't know how to cook!” Shane was feeling increasingly embarrassed. He wouldn't have even told Ilya that he had made it.
Suddenly the idea of cooking anything seemed stupid and made him conscious.

He wished his parents weren't there at all. Though they were just joking around mostly, not even paying them any attention.

“You…made this? For me?” Ilya said, looking at Shane with disbelief.

“I don't know why I did it. I have never really made anything before, other than protein shakes. If it's, you know, too bad, just .. we can order in something.” He added lamely.

“Too bad? What are you saying?” Ilya kept looking at him.

“Taste it first,” Shane said, feeling more conscious by the second. He was aware of even his neck having turned bright red. It wasn't a good thing, in front of his parents.

“Well, we should dig in!” David said, serving himself with some of it.

Shane did taste it. It was actually pretty good. Not like his dad's, maybe, but not bad either.

“Very good, Shane, I really like it,” Yuna said, taking another bite.

His Dad also agreed, “it's really quite good. I didn't even ask you to bake it- tastes different this way!”

“Thanks, I guess,” he felt a bit relieved.

“Well, this is best parmesan I have ever had,” Ilya said, looking directly at Shane, “Maybe because my boyfriend made it for me?” He said, smiling knowingly.

There, Ilya said it. A word so simple, yet so incredible. Ilya was starting to mean everything to Shane, and yet it was just described in one word to the rest of the world.

He had wanted to ask Ilya whether he wanted to be more, because every action of Ilya's had so much more than what he had once thought was a sort of casual but exclusive relationship. His every action showed that he cared, and liked Shane, just as much Shane cared for Ilya.

So he's made his Dad's recipe, the one which he had used to impress and ask out his Mum. And thought about asking Ilya later on.

A simple question. A simple answer. But it meant everything to him.

And Ilya had understood that he was nervous, so he had taken it from there, and stated it himself.

Shane was so relieved, and so surprised that he couldn't believe it.

He choked on his parmesan.

Ilya thumped him in the back, and when he had stopped choking, he still kept his arm around Shane.

Eyes watering, Shane smiled and said, “okay. Yes.”

And Ilya smiled bigger. Then ruffled his hair and said, “Would you make this again?”

“ God, no. It's all you from now on,” Shane said, collapsing in his chair.

Ilya laughed and said, “Thought so.”

 

“So, Ilya,” Yuna said, in her business-like voice. Uh-oh. Shane could smell trouble.

Ilya though had no idea about what was about to hit him. He simply looked up, innocently, and said, “Yes?”

“You have thought of leaving Russia for good, right?”

“Yes, I do not want to go back.”

“Okay, but what about your agent?”

“My agent?”

“Yes, the one who manages your public account and all your deals. Do you have someone good?”

Ilya looked like he hadn't even thought of this.

“I’m asking because, you are not out to the public eyes as –”

“Bisexual,” Ilya promoted.

“Very well, bisexual. But you have to be ready. Be prepared for times , if things ever don't work out as planned.”

Ilya looked at Shane.

“Like Shane's?”

“Yes, very much like his. Though he should rather be careful,” Yuna frowned slightly at him.

“You know I am careful, Mum. It was .. I still wasn't professional then. I didn't…”

Yuna reached out and squeezed his hand, “I know, sweetheart. But I am just saying, that this is much bigger than you two individually being gay or bisexual. It's about the two of you being together. So,” she turned once again to Ilya, “Do you have a plan for that?”

“N..no,” Ilya actually looked dazed.

“Mum, is this the time–? Could you not ask this later?”

Yuna looked at Ilya and smiled, a bit too knowingly. This wasn't a business smile, but rather how she smiled at him.

“When I married David, my parents and family couldn't accept it. I had a good sister though, we kept in touch. But I never went back to them,” she squeezed Ilya's hand. “I know your situation is not the same, and a lot more difficult. But I mean to say, I understand.”

Slowly, Ilya nodded. Shane put an arm around him.

“But,” Yuna said, “you can deal with it. Because you are strong, and because you have us.”

She ruffled his hair. Ilya closed his eyes at the touch.

“And,” she continued, once more business-like,”that's why I am asking you this- because clearly you haven't thought about it- that if things don't stay a secret as planned, is there someone to take care of your public relations?”

“I have… Russian agent. He is kind of old,” Ilya said, shrugging.

“Okay, maybe you could shift to Farah? She's Shane's agent, and has been great.”

“That's actually a good idea,” Shane agreed too. Farah was great, she had been a solid support to Shane.

“Okay,” Ilya said , nodding.

“And–”

“Mum, that's a lot for today, don't you think?” Shane interrupted. Ilya was looking like a fish out of the sea.

Yuna took a look at Ilya, and took pity on him.

“Okay, now you are free to go,” she laughed. Ilya looked relieved.

 

Just as Shane was about to tell his parents that they would leave now, his Dad came in with a big jigsaw puzzle.

Shane gave a low groan. Ilya looked at him and winked.

Honestly, he wanted nothing more than to take Ilya to his apartment and fuck him till the night's end. Or, rather, let Ilya fuck him. But he knew he couldn't just get up and leave after lunch.

So he had talked with them sanely for one hour. One entire hour when Ilya had been sitting in front of him, looking all versions of divine, but Shane couldn't touch him.

He was going crazy.

And Ilya fucking knew it. He would do everything to antagonize Shane. That idiot.

“A jigsaw Puzzle,” Ilya said delightedly. Truth be told, Ilya did look excited, puzzle in hand, eyes sparkling, cheeks puffed out in appreciation..

“Yes, I bought this for us,” David said, sitting down on the ground, and pouring out the bits. “Well, who's gonna join me?”

Ilya sat down eagerly, “you bought for us?”

“Nobody else likes it,” David said, “I have finally found a partner, it seems.”

“I have made countless of these with you,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

“And never one because you wanted to,” David said. He had already picked out a corner piece, and started arranging it.

Ilya was picking out the corners too.

“I just saw no point. You know what it's gonna look like!”

“You won't get it,” Ilya said, looking him in the eyes.

“Don't even want to,” Shane said. He picked up a book, and thinking that maybe he could distract Ilya just a bit, put on his glasses.

Ilya dropped the puzzle pieces.

Smiling to himself, he instead just lazed on the couch. Yuna was already in an endorsement meeting of some kind, talking loudly in the other room.

Shane looked at Ilya and appreciated how perfectly he fit in here. Like he was always meant to be.

 

Finally, at long, long last- they were bidding his parents goodbye.

“Ilya, I have mailed you some stuff. You can go through those later on, and get back to me, okay?” Yuna said.

“Okay, sure.”

“And you're coming over this weekend?” David asked. “I was thinking about making pasta.”

“Yeah, I’ll go back to my diet though,” Shane said.

“And I’ll bring good Russian vodka. The only thing I brought from Moscow.”

David beamed, “Good man!” He said, clapping Ilya on the back.

“Okay, see you guys on Sunday,” Shane said, picking up Ilya's bag.

“I can carry my own bag,” Ilya grumbled, “Not an old grandmother.”

Shane just turned to him, and imitating Ilya, said, “Yes.” And walked to the car.

The look of desire crossing Ilya's face was all the prize he needed.

 

The car ride back home was charged with a spark that Shane could feel in the air. He wanted to be in Ilya's arms as soon as possible.

“What are you thinking?” Ilya asked, touching his fingers with his own, over the steering wheel.

“About how you fucking completed that jigsaw and made me wait.”

Ilya laughed, “Are you angry, Shane?”

Shane remembered how he called him his little kitten and said, “No,” grinding his teeth.

“You can't lie, kotik,” Ilya said. His grip on Shane's fingers tightened.
“I’ll make it worth the wait,” he whispered, dragging a finger up Shane's arms.

Shane's heart fucking raced at that one touch, he had goosebumps everywhere in his body, and he was half hard.

“Do you want to get us killed?” He said through gritted teeth.

Ilya looked at him, then said, “No. Would be a loss if we getting killed before even fucking once.”

He was actually laughing.

Shane wanted to just climb him up and fuck right there. He hated Ilya at this point.

Just five more minutes, he told himself.

“Shut up and don't speak. And don't touch.”

“So bossy, kotik. Do you like being bossy? I think not. I think you like being told what to do…”

Shane blushed. It turned him on immensely, being told what to do .
And if it was Ilya who asked him…

Fuck, he could find his concentration dwindling.

Ilya's fingers gripped the steering wheel, “one day I will take you on a ride in Laila.”

“Not if I can help it,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

“But I will tell you to do so. If you ride in Laila, you can ride me later. Or in the car.”

Ok. Ilya was having way too much fun this way.

“I swear Ilya, I will stop the car and sit here throughout the night, if you keep this up.”

Ilya pouted. “No fun. You are no fun.”

“No. I am no fun. That's okay, I don't even wanna be,” he grumbled.

“But you will be—”

“Shut up.”

Ilya laughed again but kept quiet.

He loved the sound of that laughter.

 

Shane parked the car, took Ilya's bag and asked him to follow.

“You are again carrying my bag. Why?”

“Because I can, and I want to. Fucking come on.”

Ilya was still looking highly amused, but said, “okay, Mr Strong Boyfriend. I am a very poor, very weak boy. Take me home. Carry my bag.”

He just wanted to talk shit. Shane didn't even bother turning around, he walked in through the lobby and got in the elevator. “Are you coming, or just being a drama queen?”

Ilya looked delighted at being called a drama queen.

He was dating a weirdo, for sure.

 

Shane finally opened the door of his apartment with some relief and dropped Ilya's bag unceremoniously on the floor.

He turned around to see Ilya taking in his apartment with wide eyes.
He had been here a lot of times before, so this was nothing new.

“Ilya?” Shane asked gently.

Ilya looked at him and smiled, “ I have missed this place.”

Shane closed the door behind Ilya, and went towards him.

“Really, and have you missed me? At all? Seemed to be having to much fun—”

Ilya's lips crashed into his. There was no other word for it. For a moment, Shane was knocked out of his breath, but he was hungry. For Ilya, for his lips, for his touch.
And he forgot everything, melting in the moment.

He kissed Ilya equally hungrily. He didn't want Ilya to stay away one more second from him. It was intolerable, setting his nerves on fire.

Without breaking contact, Ilya picked him up and carried him to the bed, just like their first time.
Shane loved it, loved being picked up by Ilya, cradled in his arms.

He deepened the kiss as a token of appreciation and moaned into the kiss, his fingers dug in Ilya's muscles.

Ilya put him down, and when he removed his lips, Shane chased them with his own.

“Open your shirt,” Ilya said, half instructing the order.

Shit, it went straight to his dick.

Shane followed the order, adding his remaining clothes to the neatly folded pile as well. Ilya just threw his clothes to the side.

Oh, well. As long as he was out of those damn clothes.

Shane pulled Ilya in another searing kiss. Both of them were hard as fuck, and even one moment not touching him, made Shane feel like he would combust.

Slowly, Ilya pulled away from the kiss, instead kissing his neck, his chest. Tugging at his nipples with his teeth, slapping his ass. Shane wanted to feel him everywhere- around him, inside of him, touching every part of his own body.

Ilya picked up his fingers and kissed his knuckles once, “You are okay?”

“Not really if you don't get going,” Shane hissed.

Ilya smiled, “so desperate for me, lyubimyy. But let's not hurry tonight.” He said, and put his lips on Shane's abs, then traced downwards. He put his tongue inside his belly button, sucking and kissing it, and oh– Shane had never felt that before.

“Ilya,” he moaned. It was impossible to keep quiet, but Ilya didn't stop. It was a slow torture, as he gently parted Shane's legs.

Suddenly, Shane felt very conscious. True, he had done this before, but never had he felt more vulnerable. It was probably the fact that with Ilya, it wasn't about only sex anymore. Here was the man who had every power over everything Shane possessed. His body, his mind, his heart- he had already given everything to Ilya. He wanted to give more.

Ilya moved downwards from his navel, kissing the trail leading up to his dick. He kissed the tuft of hair over there, then started pulling his balls gently - using his lips.

Shane was already seeing stars. He thought his voice would go hoarse with calling out Ilya's name, but he didn't care.

Ilya spread open Shane's legs further, and still kissing his balls, he put a finger on his hole,slicking it with lube.

Shane almost blacked out from the simple touch.

Ilya looked up, his eyes wide with desire, hair rumpled from the way Shane's been tugging at it.

“Still okay, Shane?”

“Yes,” Shane managed to say.

Ilya's fingers stilled. “Look at me, lyubimyy. Into my eyes.”

Shane managed to look into those goddamn eyes- the blue in them burning like ice on fire, and so much love.
There was no mistaking the love, because he knew he himself felt it. Deep inside him. No use refusing it further.

“Ilya, please. Don't stop, please,” he would beg to have Ilya inside of him. His name being the only thing his mind was registering at this point.

Ilya smiled, “okay, Shane. We are okay.” He kissed his left thigh once, before —

Oh fucking lord, he kissed the hole he had been fingering. If Shane had thought that it was not possible to feel any wilder, he was wrong.

Ilya's mouth on his asshole, his tongue gently prying it open, inserting itself, fucking it.

Shane dug his nails deep in Ilya's arms, other hand clutching the bed. He didn't know right from wrong anymore. He could feel his toes curling, and every one of his muscles wanted more, more of Ilya. Inside him.

“Ilya, please, just please,” he moaned. What he was pleading for, he didn't know.

But Ilya did.

He replaced his tongue with one finger. It was still very tight, and Shane lowered himself on the finger. It wasn't enough.

“More, Ilya, please,” he begged.

Ilya kissed his thighs, trailing his lips towards his knees, as he added another finger.

Shane no longer had control over his body, Ilya curved his fingers, and Shane could feel his hips lifting up.

Slowly, Ilya moved his lips up again, working his way up, finally settling on his dick. He moved his lips steadily on his dick, adding a third finger and fucking him on his fingers relentlessly.

But it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough except Ilya.

“Ilya, please.. I need…”

Suddenly Ilya's mouth stopped moving. He looked at Shane, his gaze scorching. He gave one last, long lick to the tip of his dick, and asked, “Tell me what you need, Shane.”

“You,” Shane finished. He didn't care anymore. He wanted Ilya . Now.

And suddenly, Ilya's lips were on his. Shane's moaned filthily, still fucking himself on Ilya's fingers, before they were removed too- leaving Shane feeling strangely empty.

“You got condom?” Ilya asked him.

“Ilya.. I.. have been clean. I have checked.” He said. He hoped Ilya understood what he meant.

Ilya did.

“Have checked too. Is that what you want, solnyshko?”

And that pet name, in that voice. Shane was crazy for it.

“Please,” he just managed to say, “Nothing comes between us. Please.”

Ilya kissed him again, this time it was filled with love and adoration.
“Anything you ask for,” he finally said, kissing Shane's eyebrows.

Shane looked on, mesmerized as Ilya slicked his own dick with lube, eyes half closed, but never leaving Shane's face.

Shane would have blushed if he had any blood left to go anywhere other than his dick.

Finally, Ilya lined himself up with Shane, gently nudging his hole with the tip of his dick.
He took Shane's hand into his, and said, “okay, solnyshko?”

Shane just nodded, speaking would give away everything he felt right then.

Slowly, very slowly, Ilya entered him.

It was ecstasy, like Shane had never felt. Ilya’s skin against his own, lips against his own, his dick inside him- not even the barest of bare covering separating them.

Shane could hardly breathe, or say anything. He was now gripping Ilya very tightly, closing his eyes as he let every feeling sink in.

“Breathe, Shane. Let me in,” Ilya said, gently rubbing his abs, kissing his neck. He was so close.

“Open your eyes, moy lyubimyy. They are so beautiful, look at me,” Ilya said, peppering him with kisses.

As he opened his eyes to look at Ilya, he found Ilya smiling.

“Hi, Shane,” he said, moving an inch inside him.

And he interlaced his fingers with Shane's, moving in once more.

“Hi, Ilya,” he managed to say.

He wanted to say that he loved him, at that moment. There was no doubt regarding the fact. He was deeply, madly, entirely in love with Ilya Rozanov.

And forever he would be. He was sure.

But now, “Please, move, Ilya.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling again, eyes not leaving him even for a moment.

Ilya moved, and Shane groaned.

“Good?” He asked.

“Very good. Now faster.”

“Bossy,” Ilya said, smiling and winking at him.

And then he started fucking him, picking up pace.

Ilya also moaned his name, as he fucked him crazy. There was no sense in anything else, other than them fucking. Shane's mind didn't work as he cried out again and again, just one word, one name.

Though his dick was still untouched, he was very close. Very, very close.
And when Ilya's body grazed against him for the umpteenth time, Shane could feel himself getting closer and closer…
Till he just closed his eyes and said, “Ilya. I am going to….” And he came. Loudly.

“God, Shane, you're so…” he could feel Ilya inside him, stilling up too as his ass clenched around Ilya's dick, and soon, Ilya was coming too, crying his name.

Shane had never felt another man's cum inside him. As Ilya came, he could feel himself getting filled up. And the fact that it was Ilya, made it so hot.

Ilya collapsed on top of him, still buried inside. Shane put his arms around him, holding on. This was his Ilya, to love and care for- his entire life.
He could feel Ilya's dick still throbbing inside him , it was a new experience.

He loved it.

Ilya kissed him once again, “Worth the wait?” He asked.

Shane cupped his face in both his hands, , tugging at a loose curl. “Always,” he said, dropping two kisses on his lips and eyebrows.

Ilya looked overwhelmed. Shane could see hints of tears forming in his eyes. He gently brushed away those tears, and kissed Ilya's nose.

“Why are you sad?”

Ilya shook his head. “ Not sad. I…how did I deserve you?”

Shane pulled him tightly into his chest, “ Just by being your amazing self, Ilya Rozanov.” And kissed his forehead.

 

After a few moments, Ilya slipped out of him.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he said, looking at his hole leaking with cum.

Shane scrunched his nose, “But now the bed’s all dirty.”

Ilya looked at him, before starting to chuckle.

“Never, ever change, moy lyubimyy.”

“Wasn't planning to,” he said, with a smile of his own.

 

Later, Shane washed and showered, returning to changed bedsheets and an Ilya , wearing nothing but his underwear. He patted the bed beside him.

Shane went and sat down, wrapping the blanket around himself as he did so.

“Wow, a clean bed?” He said, smiling. “ Thank you,” he added. Meaning it.

Ilya put his arms around Shane, pulling him snugly against his own chest. He kissed his nose, and said, “You have freckles here. Is my favourite.”

“Really?” Shane said, amused.

“Yes, it's name is Mishka.”

“So it's a female?”

“Are you jealous? Of a female freckle?”

Was he? Shane shook his head. This was another level of stupidity that he was doing.

“No?”

“I can't have a female freckle, Ilya.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am a boy.”

Ilya nudged his dick with his knee, “So I have noticed.”

“You're an idiot, Ilya.”

“Yes, but your idiot.”

Shane looked at him, then kissed him. “That is very true. You are only mine.”

Ilya looked at him like he had said something very special. There was love, but there was also devotion in his eyes, as Ilya said, “ I promise." “Forever,” Shane said, then kissed his forehead, and his nose.

Ilya didn't answer, just buried his head deep in Shane's chest.

Shane hugged him, spooning Ilya as he gently rocked him back and forth like a child. Soon, Ilya's breath smoothened out, he had fallen asleep.

But Shane lay awake for a long time afterwards, listening to Ilya's breaths, wondering who on earth could have it in himself to not love this wonderful, crazy man.

He realised, in the end, that it didn't matter who had hurt him. They had each other now, and Shane would make every moment of his life happier.

Chapter End Notes

P.s- I have no idea how to cook a chicken parmesan. Definitely not a home made dish in my country 😅

That being said, i hope you enjoy the premise more than my researched Google recipe.

And of course, the rest of the chapter.

Hope it was steamy, and dreamy enough for you guys! ♥️♥️

Chapter 19: Who Said it First? (It Doesn't Even Matter)

Chapter Notes

So, this is the last chapter of the story. It's bittersweet, bidding goodbye to my version of Shane and Ilya but I hope you loved them as much as I did.
This story is built on that love.

Enjoy!

They have made it to the play-offs.

Ilya could not believe it!

After grueling for months, and practising like mad men- the Ottawa Centaurs - after fifteen long years- had made it to the play-offs.

The environment in the locker room was exciting. Ilya could practically feel the energy crackling as they went for their pre-game sessions.

Coach Wiebe was very happy as well, though he tried not to show it. He criticized and praised them all equally - not letting it get to their heads.

One person who showed neither excitement nor disappointment was Shane. Ilya didn't know how he did it- especially since he now fucking knew how Shane looked- both excited and disappointed.

He could be freaking wild one moment with Ilya, but the moment he stepped on ice, he was a different version. His eyes were focussed, hair pulled back, brain doing some complex calculations that Ilya couldn't even understand.

And yet, he took every pass and made every pass as smooth as butter.

They, not only Shane and Ilya, but the entire team- practised as one entity. They weren't individuals anymore, they were a pack.

Ilya loved the feeling of purpose and belonging it brought to his life, so he doubled his efforts in everything.

He even listened to Shane, going home to watch tape after tape of the games of Boston- who they would be facing off first. Boston had also made it after ten years, and Ilya didn't think they were going to give up easily.

The one bad part though, was Shane cuddling up to him one night and telling Ilya his policy- “No sex.”

Ilya stared.

“What? Is this punishment? What have I done wrong, solnyshko?” He said, holding Shane's hand and making what he hoped were pathetic enough puppy eyes.

“Ilya, there simply won't be time! What with these games, and practice and these tapes…”

“Shh… you are worrying too much.” Ilya tried to kiss it away, but Shane held in stubbornly.

“It's just two months, Ilya. Have you never gone without sex for two months?”

Ilya hadn't gone without sex for two days since he was fifteen. Except probably when he was trying to win Shane's heart. That was the only time he hadn't fucked anyone for months.

“Shane, sweetheart, my dick is going to fall off. And die. If you don't touch it, its life has no meaning,” it was as good a reason as any.

Shane's lips twitched a bit. But he said sternly -”Ilya!”

“Shaneyyy. Listen,” Ilya said, suddenly coming up with a plan, “this is common, right? No sex. But what is not common is- sex everyday. We can make that ritual!”

“Can you have sex everyday, after the games?” Shane was now smirking.

Okay, maybe he had pitched his case, Ilya thought.

“Yes,” he said, solemnly.

“ Remember, not a day can go by when we don't have sex…” Shane said, eyes glinting mischievously.

Ilya gulped once. If they kept this up, they would be going for round three that day just then. His dick stirred happily at the thought.

Traitor.

“Would not be a problem. My dick loves you very much.”

Shane’s foot felt up his leg, knee gently rubbing against his crotch. Ilya was as hard as anything. Shane felt that, winked and toppled him over, straddling his thighs.

“I see how this is,” a teasing smirk crossing his lips, he ground his hips against Ilya.

Ilya groaned.

“So, sex everyday then?” Shane bent down to kiss Ilya once on the lips, “and when we are travelling?”

“We make it quick,” Ilya said. He was too gone to think.

“For the sake of the Stanley Cup?” Shane asked innocently, getting rid of Ilya's underwear now. There was really no point in wearing them.

“We take one for the team,” Ilya said, nodding

Shane laughed, “Well, if you insist.”

Then he rode Ilya for half an hour straight.

 

After they had finished, Shane asked innocently, “Did that improve our chances, Captain?”

“ Is a good start.”

“But?”

“Now it is ritual. From today.”

Shane rubbed his nose against Ilya's.

“I think I will manage.”

 

The first match was a home game. Ottawa's stands were full, and as Ilya skated out last to complete the circle, his heart soared. It was moments like these that made Ilya want to play hockey- it was like a drug to him.

Unfortunately, though, Boston didn't seem to care much about either fact- that it was their home ground, or that Shane and Ilya had fulfilled their ritual up to the ‘t’.

They played hard.

They had shifted their play to offensive- bearing down on Ottawa with all their might. However, Ottawa also gave their bests- Hayes saved goal after goal, with their defense doing an excellent job.

The final score was 3-2 in favour of Ottawa, but not for Boston’s lack of trying.

Ilya was tired muttering “Good game” to a bunch of people who should have rather played a worse game to make Ilya happier.

He was already sporting a bruise on the right side of his chest, and his right knee. And this was just the beginning.

 

The next two matches, to Ilya's further dismay, went to Boston.

 

The fourth one was an away game.

They almost hadn't slept properly for a week now. What with exercise, games and hogging food in between- things seemed like an endless loop.

Ilya wanted to fucking win. He was also feeling desperate. They needed to win the next three matches, and then they qualify to the next round.

One good thing about the Playoffs was the fact that they were getting individual rooms, so Ilya spent his time mostly in Shane's. Everyone was so tired that nobody bothered to check with anyone else in the little time they had off.

After sucking each other off, Ilya collapsed in Shane's arms.

Shane hardly stirred, not even to ask him to take a bath. Yes, he was that tired.

“I felt like my soul just left my body,” Shane said, looking blankly at the ceiling, entwining his fingers with Ilya's.

“Well, I am sucking soul now. Vampire. Very evil.”

Shane tried to snuggle, but got to Ilya's bad side. Ilya hissed in pain. He had received the puck on his right side again during the third match.

“Sorry,” Shane said, as he bent down to lay paper-light kisses on the bruise.

God, Ilya loved him. The words were just sitting there on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be rolled off. Ilya had tried to say them aloud as well, standing in front of the mirror.

It seemed ridiculous - like he was performing in a very awkward stage show. He sounded like a clown, saying those three words in his still accented English.

Nope, the time wasn't right to think of it even. Shane had suggested no sex, simply because they were in the play -offs, but if he said that he loved him, Shane might refuse to see him again- to not get distracted.

Shaking his head at the horrible thought, he decided he could wait for another two months.

“I want to see you in a play-offs stubble,” Shane said, sighing.

“ Then you'll see that,” Ilya said simply. If his Shane wanted anything, he would get it for him.

Shane smiled and kissed Ilya on the lips, “okay. Now let's sleep.”

 

But true to his promise, Ilya played to win. The next two games went to Ottawa, but the sixth one again went to Boston.

Shit.

Now they had to play the last one in Boston, against such high stakes.

Shane's parents had called, asking whether they should come visit, but both of them had refused. They needed to concentrate, and Shane strictly believed in not changing a single thing during all his games.

The day of the match was bright and clear- which immediately lightened Ilya's mood. He knew they were going to the next round, he knew it in his core.

 

They were flattening Boston.

Hockey was, after all, a mind game. And Ilya had it in his mind to win the cup- that was all that mattered. That, and Shane- but of course that went without saying.

It was 3-1 for Ottawa, with two minutes left. They had to block goals, strengthen the defense now. And if they could, then score another goal. Now.

Suddenly, Ilya had the puck. The goal was still far off, and a hundred million obstacles in the way.

He was moving left and right, chirping anyone who came even near him, but still the goal was away.

As if by some telepathic connection, Shane appeared to his right.

“Pass the puck, Cap,” he said, looking at him and smiling.

Ilya passed, Shane took it and was flying towards the goal when—

Wham.

One of Boston's D-man, Hammersmith, collided with him.

Ilya saw Shane fall like a broken marionette flat on the ice.

“NO,” he didn't know that he had been shouting, but Shane was lying there, unconscious.
And the medics were rushing in, checking whether he was breathing… and Shane could not NOT Be breathing- Ilya's head was swimming, Shane's smiling face floating just in front of him, just a minute back.

Hammersmith was trying to apologize, the collision truly hadn't looked intentional - but Ilya wanted to rip him apart. His Shane was now being lifted on the stretcher, being carried away.

And there was Marlow by his side, saying something like, “He’s breathing, Rozy. Concussed, I think.”

But nothing registered in his mind. Hockey, Stanley Cup- nothing mattered when it came to Shane.

“Come on Rozy, two more minutes..one minute twenty seconds, in fact.” Now Troy was there too, along with Bood.

“Stay with us,” Bood said, before skating off. He was also an assistant captain, and Ilya had never felt more glad to give up his control over a game.

He hung back the few seconds he had to stay on ice, and as soon as he was directed to the stands, he tracked down Coach Wiebe.

“How's he? How's Shane?” He asked, his voice cracking at Shane's name.

Wiebe clapped him in the back, “He had had a concussion, I think. The doctors are checking, taking him to the hospital.”

“I will go.”

“The match is still–”

“Fuck the match, I don't care.”

Suddenly, Wiebe smiled. It was such an unexpected turn of event that Ilya was forced to ask- “What?”

“Nothing. I just… understand.”

No. Coach Wiebe couldn't understand, how could he?

Except his smile was too knowing, eyes kind. And Ilya saw that he did understand.

And Ilya couldn't care less.

“Then let me leave.”

At that, the whistle also blew.

Coach shrugged and said, “No one’s stopping you now. Just go.”

He turned to leave.

“Rozanov, he will be okay,” Coach said, bracingly.

“You don't know that,” Ilya's voice was gruff.

“But I do. He has you,” he simply said, and left Ilya to hurry after Shane, thinking if they had been that obvious that even the Coach understood.

Shane would freak out when he came to know.

 

Ilya rushed to the hospital, after taking off his gears and a quick shower. He didn't care about being congratulated or any media questions, so went out of the back door wearing a hoodie and straight to the car standing outside.

As soon as he reached the hospital, he asked after Shane. Where he had been taken, or how was he.

“I am sorry, sir. We can only give information to either his coach or his emergency contact.”

And oh god, why hadn't he thought of that? Who would Shane's emergency contact be? Yuna? Could he called her to ask her if she had heard anything? But that would freak Yuna out even further.

Ilya had already received several texts from them, saying they were flying down as soon as possible.

David had even asked him to be steady. He had thought about Ilya, when Ilya hadn't even thought about himself.

And Coach Wiebe would take some time to come. At least an hour- the press and media must be waiting to hear from him.

Desperate, Ilya was thinking what to do, when he heard his name.

“Are you Ilya Rozanov?” The receptionist was asking.

Freaking fuck, if she wanted an autograph or anything at this point, he would probably…

He didn't know what he would do. Cry, perhaps.

Instead, he asked, “What?”

“It's just Hollander's emergency contact. Ilya Rozanov?” She looked up owlishly at him from behind her glasses.

Ilya's mind refused to understand, “I am his emergency contact?”

“It says right here,” the receptionist now looked annoyed, as if Ilya was being dense on purpose.
“Would you like to receive an update or not?”

Jesus fucking Christ. She was as sweet tempered as a banshee, wasn't she?

“Yes, please,” Ilya decided that this was not the time, if she could anyhow help him with Shane's news.

The receptionist dialled a number, and after asking a few questions, told him, “Looks like he had been concussed, and broke the collar bone. He is awake, the doctors are running some tests. Would you like to go up and wait there?”

“Yes, please. Obviously.” Ilya said, not knowing the proper response to not piss her off.

“Room 319.” she said, disinterested again, going back to her work.

As Ilya went up to the room, he thought, very idly, to himself how another person had guessed about them but hadn't cared. At all..

 

As soon as he reached Shane's room, the thoughts were wiped clean. Shane was still surrounded by doctors and nurses. He was staring, but there was something wrong with him. He seemed… happy? Smiling?

Ilya sighed. He couldn't hear anything from here anyway. So he sat down in a chair outside of the room, waiting for the doctors.

At long last, after half an hour, the doctors came out. Ilya jumped to his feet, asking- “what's wrong with him?”

“Nothing, Mr Rozanov. He is under the effect of a lot of painkillers. But otherwise just a broken bone and concussion. He was lucky.”

“Can I see him?”

“One person is allowed to stay the night. And don't excite him, or ask any questions right now. His memory might be a bit meddled.”

“Okay, okay, I will take care.”

The doctor nodded and left.

 

Ilya sent two texts- one to Yuna and David, and the other to his group, just saying - “he’s all right, got a concussion and broken collar bone.”

Then he entered the room and closed the door behind him gently.

Shane was lying there, eyes closed, breathing peacefully.

He went and stood by the bed, putting one thumb on his cheek.

His eyes opened.

“Ilyaaaaaa,” Shane positively beamed.

Oh god, why did he have to be so cute?

Ilya wanted to take him in his arms, and rock him to and fro.

Instead, he stood there and said, “Yes, Shane, I am here.”

“I told them….. to tell you … I am okay.”

“They told me, solnyshko.”

“Sool-nishh-ko, why do you call me that?”

“ is true,” Ilya shrugged.

“Sunshine?”

“Yes, you are mine,” Ilya said, holding his hand.

He stood like that for sometime, then dragged a chair over.

“You’ll stay the night?”

“Of course.”

Shane beamed again.

“I have been meaning to ask you something, for a long loooong time,” Shane said, in a singsong voice.

Ilya wanted to say it. Hear it too. But not now, when Shane was high as a kite.

“Maybe later, kotik.”

But Shane just said, “Will you come to my cottage this summer?”

“What?” Ilya asked.

“Well, it's technically my parents' place. I’ll build one near it, soon. But.. you don't have to go to Russia this year. And we can ask them to leave the place for us for two weeks…”
Shane looked so happy and genuinely excited, as if he was asking Ilya to take him to Disneyland.

“Pleeease Ilya. We could be naked, and having sex all day long. No one to disturb us,” he giggled.

“Is that what you want, kotik? To be alone with me?”

Shane's eyes were innocent, as they went round and said, “ All my life. I thought you knew!”

And Ilya couldn't help it any further, he bent down, kissed his cheek with as much tenderness as possible, hoping his actions would carry to Shane the meaning of those words which he couldn't interpret - “Ya tebya lyublu.”

Shane tried to make his ‘scrunched confusion’ face, but apparently frowning hurt. He just asked, “What does it mean?”

“Find it out yourself,” Ilya said, smiling.

“You are… such a …teaseeee.”

“Yes.”

“Will you come to the cottage this summer?”

“Of course.”

And Shane smiled like he was the happiest man on the planet.
Ilya had put that smile there, on his face.
Ilya wasn't much good in anything except hockey, but if he could put a smile on Shane's face for even one millisecond, he thought his life was good enough.

He always wanted to make Shane smile.

Shane fell asleep soon after, the nurse and the doctors having checked once again. Ilya sat there holding his hand, watching YouTube tutorials. And even if the chair was highly uncomfortable, and a soft couch lay just there, Ilya refused to stop holding Shane's hand.

Finally he fell asleep,sitting in that very chair, face turned towards Shane, listening to his every breath.

 

When Shane woke the following morning, he looked a little less dazy. But he grimaced in pain trying to move.

Ilya immediately got up from his chair and asked, “What's wrong, Shane? Where does it hurt?”

“Bloody everywhere,” he replied.

Ilya gently picked up his face, holding his chin.

He wanted to tell Shane that he loved him, this time in English. So that he would understand.

But Shane gave a shy little smile and said, “Hi.” And Ilya was lost for words.

“Never do that again to me, Hollander.”

“I am sorry?” He asked, posing it like a question.

Ilya couldn't help it, he bent down to place a kiss on Shane's lips.

Ilya knew Shane didn't like being kissed without brushing, but this time he didn't even say a word .

“Didn't you go to the hotel?” Shane asked, his eyes taking in Ilya's disheveled look, and the lone chair sitting beside the bed, in which Ilya had been sleeping.

“Don't want to sleep without you,” Ilya whispered, “Ever.”

Then Shane was blushing, just a little, and maybe he has become more beautiful - Ilya thought.

“You're an idiot,” Shane said, his fingers squeezing Ilya's, hard.

“Okay,” he agreed.

Just then Shane winced in pain.

“I am calling doctor, wait.”

 

Yuna and David arrived, and so did his other teammates. Ilya didn't feel like talking a lot to everyone. Especially since they had to leave soon, for their next round of games.

He felt irritated - losing precious time that he could otherwise have spent with Shane. But he had to sit it out, so he decided to clean himself up and make himself somewhat presentable.

After having freshened up, and getting himself a cup of coffee and a very unhealthy burger (Shane definitely would Not approve), he went to Shane's room again.

His teammates were inside- Bood and Pike were talking to him, and the others stood outside, not wanting to stress Shane out.

Marlow clapped him on the back, “All right there, Rozy?”

He knew Marlow understood that he was far from all right, so did Troy. But Hayes was there, and so were Dykstra, D’Souza, Thomas.

“It was …pretty scary,” Hayes said. “Thank god it's just a concussion and broken bone.”

Ilya shrugged. There was no thanking any god for it. Especially since they were still playing and had to leave.

“Yes, he will be okay. David and Yuna are here.”

“You were here too. Have been so since yesterday,” Hayes said , there was too much understanding in his voice.

But no one seemed to mind. In fact, they all agreed that Ilya being there had been great.

As soon as Bood and Pike came out, Pike said, “He’s really out of it.”

“That stuff’s strong,” Bood nodded, “But he'll be okay.”

“When are we leaving for Ottawa?” D’Souza asked.

“Coach said in the evening,” Bood said, looking at Ilya.

Ilya didn't even care that they all seemed to be thinking out for him- probably guessing everything. He wanted them to go, wanted to be alone with Shane.

Even Pike wasn't saying anything, he just looked at Ilya and nodded once, before looking away.

“Hollzy’s been asking for you,” Bood said, lips twitching. “I think you should get going, we are leaving.”

Oh god, what had Shane said now?

Nodding at them, Ilya knocked and entered Shane's room.

“Ilyaaa, where did you go, I missed youu,” Shane was pouting, holding out his one good hand.

How was he supposed to leave him?

Ilya crossed the distance between them in two long strides, cupping Shane's face in his hands.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. Just went to brush teeth. You like,” he said, brushing away his hair, kissing his lips once very gently.

“Don't leave me like that,” Shane complained, sighing and settling into his pillow, holding Ilya's hand.

How on earth could Ilya leave?

“No, solnyshko, I am always with you,” he placed Shane's palm to his chest.

Shane's eyes went round, “it's fast.”

Again, Ilya kissed him, “for you.”

“Why?” Shane asked the question with wide innocent eyes, he wasn't understanding any of this and nor would he remember anything.

Ilya didn't want to say those three words now. Not now when Shane was disoriented. But Shane was looking at him like his heart would break if he didn't answer, and Ilya was a fucking doormat when it came to Shane. He had no power to refuse.

“I love you, kotik. So, so much.” Ilya brought up his fingers and kissed them one by one.

Shane was smiling so bright now- it looked like the sun. “I knew it,” he said, still very happy.

“Yes? How did you know?” Ilya was amused too now. He wanted to see what Shane felt. This Shane had no filter.

“Cause I love you tooo, Ilya,” he laughed and squeezed Ilya's fingers. “You are stupid. Am I stupid?”

Ilya was aware of tears in his eyes, but he shook his head and said, “You are not stupid. Very clever.”

“Then why didn't I say this before? It feels so good to say. So good, Ilya. I love you,” and he giggled again, sighing.

“It does. It does feel good, Shane. I love you so, so much,” Ilya said. He was crying now. But he didn't care.

He kissed Shane, gently though. He would never hurt Shane, and Shane was in no position to give any consent.

He just wanted to make Shane feel loved.

“Don't cry,” Shane said. “I love you. Is that sad?”

“No, that's best,” Ilya said, “I am very happy.”

“Okay,” Shane said, closing eyes. “Stay.” He said and settled lazily in his pillow.

Of course Ilya didn't move an inch the rest of the day- not when David and Yuna came, or when the doctors came.

Ultimately he had to leave. It was the most difficult decision of his life, but he couldn't just bail because he felt like he was dying. His heart was here, to hell with play-offs.

Instead, he got himself up forcefully. Thankfully Shane was sleeping. He didn't think he could leave those wide beautiful eyes if he asked him just once to stay.

“We’ll take good care of him,” Yuna said, smiling.

“And come stay with us, while he’s there. We would love it. Shane,” David's eyes twinkled, “Would love it very much.”

“Okay,” Ilya just said. He hoped English could be easier now.

 

How he returned to Ottawa without Shane and went for the next round after two days, he didn't know.

The next round was against New York. And without Shane, the team had lost its spirit.

How Ilya spent those matches was a mystery to even himself .Shane was completely out of it for the first match, he just saw him once over FaceTime.

The phone calls, at least, became more frequent.

They had, to the amazement of everyone, won one game.
But in the end, they lost 4.

They were out of the play-offs.

“Well,” Bood said, “I can go back to the missus. She's getting very angry now, and very scary.”

“You're not the only one wishing to hurry back home,” Hayes said. He was looking directly at Ilya, “How's he?”

Ilya decided to play dumb for as long as he could.

“Who?”

“Hollander,” Bood said, rolling his eyes.

“You didn't think that we wouldn't understand, did you?” Hayes asked, giving a frustrated sigh.

“Understand what?” Ilya said, turning back. His heart was hammering.

“Rozy, we love you guys. Okay? This team's safe,” Bood said.

“Hell, Cassie had predicted this months ago, after that barbeque.”

“She did what?” Ilya was surprised now.

“Yeah, girls have weird intuitions about this. Lisa said that too,” Hayes said. “I guess we’re just sad and dumb hockey players.”

“You are not sad or dumb,” Ilya said flatly.

“So,” Bood said, “since when?” He was smiling ear to ear.

His smile was infectious. Ilya started grinning as well.

“A few months.”

“After Anderson, right?” Hayes said sharply.

Ilya looked at Hayes like he WAS dumb. “Is Shane. What do you think?”

“Right, sorry,” Hayes said, mumbling.

“Is okay. I just… feel good that I can go back now,” he admitted, sighing.

“Hell yeah, a man in love,” Bood said, clapping him on the back.

“Not so loud,” Ilya said, looking around.

“Okay, Cap. Whatever you think. Now let's get home, right?”

 

And home they did go to.

Ilya decided to go to his apartment to freshen up, but when he reached his apartment door, light was already flooding through the door slit.

Shane was here.

He had been away from Shane for far too long. Two weeks felt like twenty fucking years. He missed Shane like a missing limb.

He needed Shane to breathe, goddamnit.

His hands were shaking so bad that he couldn't even open the lock. Finally after trying thrice, he managed to finally open it.

Shane was there, sitting on the couch, one arm still in cast, talking to someone over the phone.

When he heard the door open, he turned around and got up from the couch.

“Hayd, I got to talk to you later. Yeah , bye.”

Hanging up the phone, he looked up at Ilya , smiling ear to ear.

“Finally,” he sighed happily.

Ilya didn't even have words to say. He covered the space between them as quickly as possible, and pulled Shane into his arms.

“My God, Shane,” he breathed in the scent of faint shampoo and cinnamon aftershave- it smelled like heaven.

Shane clutched him back with one arm.

“Hello to you too,” he said, chuckling.

Ilya kissed him, tenderly lifting Shane's chin. It had been far too long, he was a man starved.

And just like that, Shane was kissing him back- with as much desperation and love as Ilya felt.

Separating from the kiss, Ilya covered Shane's face with gentle kisses all over.

“Where does it hurt, lyubimyy? Tell me what I can do?”

“Fuck me?” Shane said, innocently.

Just at the mention of that, blood rushed south. But Ilya would not behave like that now. He had to make sure that Shane was all right.
And then he had to say those very important words to Shane, that he could now hopefully comprehend.

Ilya cupped his face in his hands.

“Shane, tell me how are you?”

“I tell you that every five minutes, Ilya,” Shane rolled his eyes, “ I am fucking fine!”

Ilya kissed Shane's forehead again.

“You know how scared I was?” Ilya said. He could still see Shane falling like that. It kept coming back to him in his nightmares.

“ Hey, hey,” Shane kissed him this time. “ I am just fine, okay?” And he picked up Ilya's hand and placed it on his chest.

It was becoming Ilya's favourite sound on earth.

“Shane, how much of it do you remember, you know, about the hospital.”

Shane scrunched his face.

“Not much,” he said, then he grinned cheekily back at him, “But enough to know that I love you too.”

And Ilya couldn't believe it. It was wonderful. The single most wonderful moment of his life, in fact.

Nothing in his life was so precious as the man standing in front of him, a slightly mischievous smile in his eyes and lips, one arm bandaged, and the other around him, and was looking straight at him. No shadow of doubt or regret. He had realized that was typically Shane - when he said things, he meant them.

Ilya could feel the tears this time, but couldn't do anything to stop them. He had long since tried to stop his tears in front of Shane.

At least these were happy ones.

Shane kissed his eyes, then rubbed those tears away. Then said, “Well?”

Ilya didn't know he was supposed to have said anything.

“Do you love me or not?” Shane laughed, “This is the time to say it, Rozanov.”

Ilya let out a groan, “I love you so, so much, Shane. It hurts sometimes.”

Shane looked seriously at Ilya, “it hurts all the fucking time, Ilya. To stay away from you. I love you.”

They kissed and kissed. There was no end, nor any beginning of the two of them.

Shane led him to the bedroom, and Ilya would follow Shane anywhere right now- right to the end of the world. But not let go of the feel of his lips.

They kept muttering half formed ‘I love you's into each other's mouths. Ilya shredded his clothes, discarding them absolutely anywhere. He didn't care about those. He needed to get as close to Shane as possible, but also not hurt him in the process.

Shane started to tug of his own shirt, “You have to help me out a bit here,” he told Ilya.

“Don't move,” Ilya said softly.

He removed Shane's shirt like he would peel off clothes from a toddler, then the pants. He folded them neatly, and kept them on the chair.

“Ilya , you don't need to—”

“No, you like that. So I need to,” he said.

Shane's eyes glazed over, “ I have told you I love you, right?”

Ilya straddled his hips now, “ Not enough times, Shane”.

“What would be enough?”

“Nothing would be enough. I will always want to hear it, more and more times.”

Shane reached out and touched his face. Ilya leaned in to the touch.

“Ilya, if I tell you I love you, will you fuck me, please?”

Shane was shaking with silent laughter. This cruel man now got off on making fun of Ilya. There was no justice in the world.

Ilya kissed his wrist, “I will, because you ask nicely.”

He started to kiss Shane, he was starved for contact with any part of him. His hands touched Shane everywhere, it was difficult not to do so. He needed to know for sure that Shane was okay, and not hurting before anything else.

“You are sure–?”

“Yes, goddamnit.”

Shane was losing it, his eyes were rolled back, breath coming in small gasps. He was so hard, and Ilya rolled his dick on Shane's.

Shane moaned.

But he couldn't even tease Shane much today. Suddenly, all he could think of was being buried deep inside of him, looking him in the eyes and kissing him.

So, he took out the lube and started fucking his hole with one finger.

Shane looked way too hot, as he moaned and begged for more.

Ilya wanted to hurry up, but he couldn't risk it. He took his time stretching Shane out. Truth be told, he loved this part as well, he wanted to make sure Shane always loved it as much as he did.

It was, after all, all about Shane - for him.

But soon, Shane was moving his hip desperately, “I swear to god, Ilya…”

Ilya bent down and kissed his lips filthily. “So desperate for me, solnyshko.”

Shane didn't even bother with a reply, just moaned into his mouth.

Ilya lined himself up and slowly sank into him. He had forgotten how it felt, being skin to skin with Shane, buried deep inside of him. Sex had always been fun to him, but with Shane it was an act of love.

It was an act of letting their bodies get as close as humanly possible, something their minds had already done. Ilya had bared himself to Shane, loved him raw, without hiding anything.
Sex with him represented just that.

He bent to kiss Shane's lips again.

“I want to be buried inside you, always.”

Shane desperately moved his ass, “that would be one hell of a boner,” he said, gritting his teeth, “Can you please move?”

He looked at Ilya's eyes, and said, “Please, Ilya.”

And oh god, Ilya was dead for sure, for why else would he be in heaven?

Ilya started fucking him for real now, the way Shane clenched all around him- made him see stars. He put some lube on Shane's dick, and started jerking him.

“I don't come till you do,” he told Shane.

Shane's eyes closed at that, and he was moaning Ilya's name, soon coming all over his own abs. Ilya gently opened his eyes. As Shane looked at him, Ilya could feel himself letting go as well.
He came inside Shane, filling him up. Shane was blushing so much that Ilya couldn't think anymore. He didn't know why, but tonight Shane felt so much more.

When he had finished, he kissed Shane's eyes and lips, still buried inside him.
Then he whispered, “Mine.” Against his skin.

A tear dropped from Shane's eyes, “Forever yours.”

This time, when their lips met, it was only to claim what already belonged to both of them.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Ilya was lying in Shane's chest, idly planting kisses here and there. Shane was tugging absent mindedly at his curls, sighing occasionally.

“By the way, who won our bet?” Shane asked suddenly.

“It's tie, I think. 43 each.”

“Sad, we couldn't make it to 50 each,” Shane said.

“I got what I wanted,” Ilya said, kissing him.

“Me too,” Shane said, smiling against his lips. His toes nudging Ilya's.

A few moments later, he asked Ilya, “Imagine if we had been on rival teams?”

Ilya chuckled. He couldn't imagine an universe where he wouldn't get to love Shane like this everyday.

“Like what? Would you be in New York, with boring Hunter?”

“No, like, for real. We could be in those highly competitive teams.”

“Yes. Like Montreal and Boston.”

They both laughed.

“Would you still love me then?” Shane asked, looking at Ilya.

“I would always love you, solnyshko. In every life, in every universe,” Ilya said, kissing his knuckles.

“Maybe it would have taken us years to find each other.”

“Or years to accept it,” Ilya agreed.

“Or that. But I also think we would've fallen in love.”

“It would be hot rivalry then,” Ilya said.

“Heated,” Shane corrected him automatically.

“Sorry?”

“Heated Rivalry.”

“Yes, that,” Ilya agreed, kissing Shane. And they spoke no more.

Chapter End Notes

So, that's it, folks.

I don't think there will be an epilogue, because this seems a fitting end of the beginning, doesn't it?

Also, sorry for the late update. Had a family emergency, and it's bad. A very close uncle got diagnosed with cancer, he's going to get operated on Monday.
Pray for him that he gets well, soon.

Thank you all, for being such lovely readers, and encouraging me to see this through. Wouldn't have been possible without your kudos and comments. You guys are amazing ♥️♥️