Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow, Hayden Pike, Svetlana Vetrova, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander

Additional Tags:

Smut, Roommates, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Complete, Alternate Universe - College/University, Porn With Plot, Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-24 Completed: 2026-04-01 Words: 57,577 Chapters: 30/30

Roommate Rivalry

Summary

“You are baby.” He said matter of factly.

“I’m, what?” Hollander seemed offended and surprised all at once.

“I catch you touching yourself and now you can’t even look at me. Baby.” Ilya teased, not moving his eyes away from Hollander’s.

He watched a blush creep under Hollander’s freckles and thought about kissing them. He nearly broke eye contact just from that. He needed to stay focused.

“I’ve just been busy!” Hollander defended himself. He took a step back from Ilya. Ilya took a step forward. He stared at Hollander, making the doubt on his face clear.

Hollander’s whole body was fidgeting. Ilya loved how nervous he was making him. He could tell Hollander was close to breaking.

“Admit it. You are baby.”

“I’m not!”

“Then prove it,” Ilya growled, walking forward until Hollander’s back was up against the wall.

Or; The classic trope: Ilya accidentally walks in on Shane while they dorm together.

Notes

Hi all! This is my first time posting on here. And writing HR fanfic. Apologies for any errors, missed tags, etc. As this is Ilya's POV, I use his first name and Shane's last name. I hope that makes sense. I do have a second chapter of this, if anyone is interested in that. And I'm open to any and all advice since this is my first rodeo. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1: Put on a Show

It’s not that Ilya’s new dorm mate was weird, but he was shy and reserved and everything that Ilya was not. He was a little shorter than Ilya, with straight black hair, brown doe eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He blushed when he was nervous (he was always nervous), and Ilya could admit objectively that he was pretty. He wasn’t sure if the two could get along, though, or if he even wanted them to. For one, Hollander was so nervous that he spoke quickly and quietly - so quickly that Ilya could barely translate what he was saying. This frustrated him almost immediately and after repeating what for the third time, he simply gave him a strained smile and made an excuse to leave. So now he sat outside in the crisp fall air, wearing a jacket that was too light for the weather, and sucked on a cigarette until he inevitably had to return to the room.

The room was different than he had anticipated, too. With the way his father talked about this college, with a world renowned hockey program, he assumed they would have two separate rooms. In actuality, the dorm was a living room, kitchen, bedroom with two beds, and adjoining shared bathroom. He hated the lack of space. He had no idea how Hollander felt about it, but he didn’t seem like the type to complain, anyway. He seemed… good. Ilya knew he was a good player. Rumor had it that he and Hollander were going to be the top hockey players at this school. But he seemed good to his core. Polite, smart, hard working. Ilya scoffed out loud and took another drag of his cigarette. Maybe he could stay with Marlow tonight and avoid Hollander altogether.

He knew that wasn’t possible. He had already messaged Marlow about hanging out tonight, so he could escape the cold and have a distraction, but Marlow insisted he was getting to know his new roommate and that Ilya should do the same. Ilya was not interested. When the sky turned dark and he had wandered almost all of the grounds, he trudged back to the room. It was late enough, and Hollander was well behaved enough, that he hoped he’d be asleep by the time he snuck in.

Ilya was relieved to find the lights were off when he got back. He smiled to himself, as if he’d won a bet, and took off his jacket to hang on a nearby chair. He knew Hollander would hate this. Just from their first meeting, Hollander had been very particular about where things went - or where they didn’t go. He knew Hollander would ask him to move the jacket in the morning, but he didn’t care. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, chugged it, and headed towards the bedroom. The door was pulled shut, and a dim light peeked out from beneath. Maybe Hollander was still awake, after all. Ilya rolled his eyes and swung the door open.

To his surprise, Hollander let out a yelp, and nearly fell out of his bed. It took Ilya a full second to realize that Hollander’s pants were pulled down around his thighs, his dick now half hard and slick with precum. Hollander burst into a string of apologies, yanking his pants up and jolting for the bathroom. Ilya had to strain to understand what he was repeating over and over, “I’m sorry! I thought you’d be out longer!”

Hollander slammed the bathroom door shut and Ilya smiled. Maybe Hollander wasn’t as boring as he had thought. Maybe this would be fun, after all.

Ilya changed into his pajamas, laid back on his bed, crossed his ankles and waited. He waited for a long time. After thirty minutes he was convinced Hollander had actually moved into the bathroom permanently. He sighed, got up, and knocked on the door.

“Hollander, you alive?”

“Unfortunately,” he heard him whine from behind the door.

“Is fine, Hollander. I’ve seen these things before. You are fine. Come out now.”

Hollander stayed silent for so long that Ilya thought he actually wouldn’t come out and he’d have to resort to peeing in the kitchen sink by the end of the night. He went to knock on the door again when he heard rustling. Hollander slowly peeked out of the door.

“I’m really sorry, Rozanov.” He said softly, staring at the ground next to Ilya.

“Da. Is fine. I said this already. Get out so I can pee.” Ilya didn’t have to pee yet but Hollander was being so slow.

“Right. Sorry.” He opened the door and rushed past Ilya, straight into his bed, and pulled the covers up to his neck. Ilya shook his head and entered the bathroom to try and force himself to pee.

As he stood over the toilet he began to wonder if Hollander had finished in the bathroom. No, he seemed so mortified he didn’t think he’d try jerking off again for a whole semester. Ilya shook his head. Why should he care what boring, good boy Shane Hollander did? He didn’t. But peeing was suddenly out of the question as he began to swell at the thought of what he caught Hollander doing. He shook his head again, more forcefully. No, he couldn’t think these things. Hollander would ask for a room change if Ilya even gave him a sly smile, he was sure of it. He willed his growing erection to go away and forced a few drops of pee out, before flushing, washing his hands and returning to the bedroom.

Hollander had turned out his light, so he was no longer visible. In fact, nothing was. Ilya glared into the darkness at Hollander before feeling his way to his bed. He flopped down with a sigh and slid under the covers. He could feel Hollander radiating anxious heat from across the room, but turned away from him and tried to sleep.

The next day, Hollander was gone before Ilya woke up. Which meant Hollander was awake and out of the dorm by 9am. He did seem like the early morning type of person, but Ilya thought maybe he was also trying to avoid him. This was confirmed when Hollander didn’t come back to the dorm until curfew. What had he been doing all day? Was he outside? At a friends? No, it didn’t matter. Ilya had to stop thinking these things.

When Hollander did come back, he immediately beelined for the bathroom. Ilya could hear him change and do his nightly routine, before creeping out of the bathroom and rushing to his bed. He got in and shut his light immediately. Ilya held back a laugh.

This continued for two more days before Ilya grew bored of it. He woke up at 5am, snuck out of the bedroom and waited for Hollander on the couch in the living room. At 8am, Hollander quietly exited the bedroom, wearing basketball shorts, a tank top and running shoes. In one hand he had a yoga mat and on the opposite shoulder he had a fully packed backpack, which Ilya assumed had a change of clothing and everything else he needed to avoid coming back during the day.

“Going to yoga, Hollander?”

“Holy shit!” Hollander dropped his mat. “What are you doing out here, Rozanov?!”

He seemed mad that he had been caught off guard. This was the most emotion he had seen from him since they’d met. He wanted more.

Ilya walked up to Hollander until they were inches apart. He could feel Hollander’s breath quickening.

“You are baby.” He said matter of factly.

“I’m, what?” Hollander seemed offended and surprised all at once.

“I catch you touching yourself and now you can’t even look at me. Baby.” Ilya teased, not moving his eyes away from Hollander’s.

He watched a blush creep under Hollander’s freckles and thought about kissing them. He nearly broke eye contact just from that. He needed to stay focused.

“I’ve just been busy!” Hollander defended himself. He took a step back from Ilya. Ilya took a step forward. He stared at Hollander, making the doubt on his face clear.

Hollander’s whole body was fidgeting. Ilya loved how nervous he was making him. He could tell Hollander was close to breaking.

“Admit it. You are baby.”

“I’m not!”

“Then prove it,” Ilya growled, walking forward until Hollander’s back was up against the wall.

“Prove it?” He could hear the panic rising in Hollander’s voice. “Prove it.. how?” His eyes were glancing between Ilya’s, as if the answer was somewhere between them.

“Finish what you started. Then there is no need to hide anymore, yes?” He knew this was a risk. He was prepared for Hollander to scream, to be repulsed, to march down and request a room change.

“Out here?” Hollander said, surprising Ilya so much he almost lost control of his face. Hollander was scanning the room as if someone might burst in.

Ilya grinned, grabbing Hollander by the wrist and dragging him into the bedroom. He lightly pushed him back onto the bed, slamming their door shut behind him. He even made a show of locking the door, knowing full well their main door was already locked.

“Is extra safe,” he said gently, not wanting Hollander to mistake the gesture as mocking.

Hollander looked up at him from the bed, still unsure. Ilya crossed over to his own bed and sat down, facing Hollander, feet firmly planted on the ground. He put his hands on his knees and shrugged. “When you are ready.”

Hollander sat up and mimicked Ilya’s position, sitting at the edge of the side of his bed. The two stared at each other for a minute, and just when Ilya thought Hollander would back out, he slid his shorts down. Ilya could see him straining against his boxers and felt his own arousal stir. Hollander took his tank top off, put his hand on his chest, and slowly started dragging it down his stomach, his other hand supporting his body. Ilya could feel heat traveling through his body as he watched Hollander palm himself through the thin fabric. Hollander’s eyes held a steady focus on Ilya. Ilya nodded to encourage him and Hollander slowly pulled his boxers down, revealing what Ilya had imagined many times. He was surprised, and pleased, to see Hollander was already pooling pre cum at his tip. Ilya licked his bottom lip and watched as Hollander gripped himself, pulling his hand slowly up the length of himself, then back down. He could tell he was struggling to go slow, to keep rhythm. He could tell he was putting on a show, just for him.

“Da, Hollander. You put on such good show for me.”

This seemed to give Hollander a bit more confidence. His pace quickened. His lips parted, glittering with spit. He could tell his breathing was picking up, too. Ilya was fully hard now, the fabric of his underwear uncomfortable against his skin. He wanted Hollander to touch him. He wanted to touch Hollander. His body was screaming with desire, but he kept his feet firmly planted and said, “you will cum for me, Hollander?”

A moan escaped Hollander, his eyes fighting to stay open. “Y-yes,” he breathed out, unable to keep any rhythm now and desperately fucking into his hand. His entire body was shaking, the bed squeaking beneath him. Ilya watched with wide eyes and a partially open mouth as Hollander spilled his orgasm over his hand and onto his stomach. “Fuck,” Ilya murmured, as Hollander panted and looked up at him. There was a blush across his cheeks now, as if the realization of what he’d just done finally hit. Ilya stood up, grabbing a handful of tissues from his bedside table, and moved over to Hollander. He handed him the tissues, leaned down and whispered, “you did so good for me. Clean up and we go work out now.”

“What?”

Ilya gestured towards the door. “We work out! Come on, Hollander. You have energy left still, yes?”

Hollander quickly wiped himself down and hiked up his shorts. “Yes. Of course,” He said indignantly.

To his surprise, Hollander followed him immediately without further protest. They headed down to the dorm’s gym. Ilya got onto a treadmill and Hollander took the one beside him. They started at a brisk walk, until Ilya increased his speed and watched Hollander match it. This continued until they were both maxed out and panting, sweat pouring down their bodies. Ilya let out a laugh as Hollander slammed the stop button and let himself slide off and to the ground. Ilya did the same, lying next to him on the cool floor of the gym. They were both breathless.

“Not bad, Hollander.”

He could feel him blush beside him.

Hollander was much more relaxed in the days after. He still woke up early, but sometimes he and Ilya would head to the gym together around 9am and work out. Once hockey season started, it became pretty routine for them to workout together, then play against each other at practice in the afternoon. They didn’t really talk during these things, aside from Ilya teasing Hollander or trying to provoke him. He was so much more fun when he was mad. And so much more pretty when he blushed. Ilya intended to make him do much more of that, too.

Chapter 2: Give and Take

Chapter Notes

Ilya was nestled in bed in the dark, willing himself to fall asleep, when he heard Hollander shift in his bed.

“Rozanov?” He called out quietly into the dark. Ilya almost didn’t hear it at first.

“What, Hollander?”

“I’ve been thinking.. about something. What happened the other day…have you ever done something like that before?” His voice sounded like it was going to break.

Ilya mulled over his answer before landing on, “mmm, yes.”

“Oh.” The room was very still. After a minute, Hollander whispered, “I haven’t”

Ilya let out a light laugh. “Yes I figured.”

He could feel the anger bubbling through Hollander. He smiled into the dark. But then the energy changed, and Hollander began to fidget again. He knew he had more questions

“What is it, Hollander? Is late. Just tell me.” He tried not to sound too impatient, because he knew if he pushed too hard, Hollander would clam up entirely. But Hollander really seemed to want to ask, because he said:

“What other stuff have you done?” Ilya was impressed. His voice hadn’t even wavered that time

“Oh, you know,” Ilya teased, waving his hand in the air nonchalantly.

“Come on,” he could feel Hollander rolling his eyes. He could also hear a smile tugging at his lips.

Ilya rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. He stared into the dark where he assumed Hollander was. He couldn’t see a damned thing.

“Sometimes instead of watching, I help,” he said with a shrug.

There was a long stretch of silence. Ilya couldn’t tell if Hollander was shocked or disgusted or planning an exit strategy. He tested the waters, “you want me to help you, Hollander?” He could feel the flustered heat radiating off of him from his bed.

“Maybe,” Hollander said, as if the sound of his own voice scared him.

Ilya was so glad he jerked off earlier in the day. He wasn’t sure he could take another interaction like this with Hollander without selfishly seeking out release himself. Watching Hollander nearly unraveled him the last time. He replayed the scene for days.

“Come here,” Ilya ordered.

And, as he had done with every order before this, Hollander did what he was told. He slowly walked over to Ilya’s bed and stood right before him. Ilya wanted to laugh at how innocent he was, waiting for instructions like the golden boy he was. It was endearing. It made Ilya feel more than he’d like, if he was honest with himself. He shook his head in the dark, hoping Hollander didn’t notice, and reached out until he found his wrist. He tugged Hollander down next to him, their bodies pressed tightly together in the small dorm bed. “Is okay?” Ilya checked in.

“Yeah,” Hollander chirped, his body rigid against Ilya’s.

Ilya kissed his cheek, then his neck, his hand rubbing up and down Hollander’s arm. “Relax, Hollander. Will feel good, I promise.”

Hollander let out a breath. “Okay.”

Ilya placed a finger under Hollander’s jaw and lifted his head so that he could meet his lips. He had wanted to do this for so long that he had to remember to pace himself. He peppered soft kisses across Hollander’s lips at first, until he felt Hollander chase his as he pulled back slightly. This gave him the permission he had been waiting for and he dipped back down to take Hollander’s mouth with his. He licked his lower lip, begging entrance, and Hollander opened his lips immediately, his own tongue darting out to search for Ilya’s impatiently. Ilya loved how eager he was. How he was pressing his body desperately against Ilya, his hands finding his curly golden locks in the dark and intertwining his fingers with them. He was ravenous. It made Ilya dizzy with want. He had to pull back slightly to steady himself, before he tried to take Hollander right then and there.

“Take pants off.” He commanded, his hand still against Hollander’s cheek. He felt him shimmy his pants off and reached down. He ran his hand over the fabric of Hollander’s underwear, feeling the heat and hardness of him against his palm. “You’re so hard for me Hollander, fuck.” Hollander whimpered, yes whimpered, at Ilya’s light touches and bucked his hips up for more. “No,” Ilya said, pressing Hollander’s hips back down onto the bed. “Be patient.”

Hollander groaned, twisting from side to side, but stopped thrusting up to find Ilya’s hand. “Take off the rest,” he said.

Hollander wasted no time. He shimmied the underwear off and tossed it to the ground. Ilya nearly laughed. Hollander, the man who folded his clothes as he took them off, who would never allow clothing to stay on the floor, who would insist Ilya put his clothing in a hamper most days, was casually tossing his clothing onto the floor. He leaned back down to take Hollander’s lips again, nipping at his bottom lip and then running his tongue over it. Hollander was writhing. Ilya was reveling in it.

“You want my hand, Hollander?”

“Yes!” Hollander hissed out into the dark, a squirming mess of heat and impatience.

“Beg,” Ilya said in an even tone.

“Please. Please, Rozanov, touch me.” Ilya nearly broke. His name hanging off of Hollander’s lips sent a shiver through his body.

He gripped Hollander, moving his hand slowly up and down the length of him, stopping at the tip to smear his pre cum around with his thumb. Hollander was a fit of whimpers and moans already. Ilya didn’t think he’d last long at this rate. He tightened his grip, bringing his hand up and then twisting it as he brought it back down, Hollander’s pre cum lubricating the motion.

“Fuck!” Hollander’s hips were rising to meet Ilya’s hand. The desperation that Ilya saw when Hollander touched himself had returned. Ilya could feel the heat coming off of Hollander, feel the reckless thrusting of his hips, hear the strangled moans.

“Are you going to cum for me, Hollander?” He said roughly into Hollander’s hair.

Hollander could only manage whimpers. Ilya quickened his pace, but continued the twisting motion. He brought his other hand up to massage Hollander’s balls. Hollander was losing his mind beside him and Ilya’s erection felt heavy against his leg.

“Rozanov, I’m gonna -“

“Yes. Yes, Hollander, cum for me.”

His moan ripped through the darkness, his body jerking forward and convulsing in small waves as his hot orgasm coated Ilya’s hand. When his body finally settled, the entire room was filled with his quiet pants.

Ilya smiled, leaned down to kiss his forehead, then rolled over to grab tissues and wipe his hand clean. He could feel Hollander pull his clothing back on next to him. He rolled back over, surprised to find Hollander’s face very close to his.

“Thank you,” he could feel Hollander’s breath on his lips. Of course the polite Canadian would thank him for jerking him off. He could laugh at it. A true golden boy. He caught Hollander’s lips in a kiss. The kiss was deep, even though Hollander had already exhausted his desire. Ilya was surprised by how needy the kiss was in the aftermath of everything. It made his own desire rise again.

He pulled back first. He was scared that if they kept kissing, he’d be the one to start asking Hollander to touch him.

Hollander stood up and made his way to his bed. Ilya listened to the rustling of fabric as he got in and settled down.

“Good night, Rozanov,” his voice was less shy, but also laced with sleepiness

“Good night, Hollander.” He bit his lip to hide the smile forming.

Chapter End Notes

Thanks so much to everyone who has read, commented, bookmarked and given kudos. Still navigating this site but having so much fun! I have another chapter coming up soon.

Chapter 3: Ask me again

Chapter Notes

Ilya fully expected Hollander to be panicked and avoid him the next morning, but instead Hollander was annoying the fuck out of him.

“Come on, Rozanov, it’s already 9am! The gym is going to be packed soon.” Rozanov was still in bed, arm over his eyes against the light that Hollander had turned on.

“It is a Tuesday, Hollander. It will not be packed. Turn light off.” He rolled over and groaned.

“No, come on! Wake up,” he felt Hollander pull his blanket off. He looked at him incredulously and debated shoving him onto his bed and… no. No, it was too early to make Hollander beg. Instead he begrudgingly got up and went into the bathroom to change.

Hollander was a ball of energy. When he exited the bathroom, Hollander had his water bottle filled for him and a protein bar ready. Ilya glared, but took both, and started to shove the bar in his mouth as they made their way down to the gym. He almost missed Hollander being shy. He couldn’t tell if this was nervous energy, but Hollander hit the hardest work out he’d seen him do in a while. Ilya, on the other hand, did a light workout and debated shoving Hollander off the treadmill.

Hollander and Ilya had been deemed the top players of their class, as expected, which meant they were up against each other often. Ilya secretly liked this. The other players bored him. Even the good players could barely touch his skill level. It made playing against them less fun. Sure, taunting them and insulting them cheered him up a little bit, but the game itself was so dull and disappointing. Against Hollander, though, he actually had to fight to keep up. He never knew which one of them was going to win. By the end of their matches, his body was sore and his dopamine was high. It was a rush that he looked forward to. Somewhere below that, in a part of his mind he refused to acknowledge, it also made him want Hollander even more.

It had been a full week since he had touched Hollander. He didn’t want to scare him off, so he never brought it up, or suggested they do it again. So much time had passed in between that he was almost convinced it was just something Hollander wanted to get out of his system. Or something Hollander thought he would like, but hadn’t. Ilya tried not to dwell on it too much because it made him depressed. At the very least, Hollander still seemed open to him. They didn’t talk much, but they still worked out together, played hard against each other, and every Friday they’d watch a movie together, like a routine. Ilya liked the way things were, even if he missed the heat of Hollander in his bed.

Ilya rolled over, trying to get comfortable. He heard Hollander shuffling around in his bed and held his breath. Normally Hollander was asleep by now, his shallow breathing lulling Ilya to sleep. But tonight he seemed restless.

“Hollander, is late. What are you doing?” Ilya said flatly.

“Sorry. Am I being loud? I can’t sleep.” Ilya was pretty sure Hollander said sorry and thank you more than he ever said anything else.

“Why not?” He said gruffly. He didn’t want to spend all night fishing out Hollander’s thoughts.

“I’ve just been… thinking about last week.”

Ilya knew immediately that Hollander meant the night in his bed, but he loved making Hollander squirm, so he simply said:

“What about last week?”

“You know! Last week. When we. Come on, Rozanov,” Hollander groaned. Ilya could sense he was blushing. He wanted more.

“Say it,” Ilya commanded. He wanted Hollander to tell him. He could hear Hollander fidget nervously. He was enjoying flustering him.

“When you touched me,” Hollander grumbled, the string of words running into each other. He sounded so shy again.

“Ah, yes. And what is it making you think,” Ilya pressed, wondering where this was going.

“I was thinking… maybe I could touch you?” Hollander let it quietly hang in the air between them. Ilya could picture his blush and his nervous hands toying with the blanket. His heart picked up and his cock twitched. Hollander wanted to touch him. He had touched himself to the thought twice this week.

“Okay.” He said, afraid to say anything else and show his excitement. He didn’t want to scare Hollander off. “Come here,” he said after a beat of silence.

Hollander complied immediately. He moved quicker this time than the last, and slid in next to Ilya without having to be told.

Ilya reached down and placed a hand on his cheek, tilting his face up for a kiss. Hollander returned it like he was starved for affection. Their tongues pushed against each other, their breathing ragged. Ilya was hard, resisting the urge to push himself against Hollander. Hollander’s hands were in his hair, small whimpers escaping his mouth as he kissed Ilya. It made Ilya melt.

Ilya pulled back, breathless, and slid off his pants and underwear in one motion. He tossed them over the bed. Hollander paused, his entire body still beside Ilya.

“Are you sure -“ Ilya began.

“Yes.” Hollander said before Ilya could fully finish the question.

He reached a hand out tentatively, finding Ilya in the dark. Ilya held back a gasp. Hollander’s hands were gentle and soft, with a few callouses. Hollander moved his hand with uncertainty, trying different strokes as if trying to see which one seemed correct. Ilya placed his hand over Hollander’s and guided him to the pace and rhythm he liked. Hollander memorized it immediately and executed it exactly. Ilya expected nothing less.

He could smell Hollander’s hair - wood and jasmine. He could feel Hollander leaning into him as he worked his hand up and down. Even in the dark, Ilya could tell he was concentrating. He could only imagine the way Hollander’s brows were furrowed. It made his chest hurt.

He found Hollander’s lips again and kissed him deeply as he touched him. Hollander kept the pace perfectly. Ilya could feel his orgasm building as the two of them made out, pressed together in his little bed. Shane Hollander was touching him. Shane Hollander, the polite Canadian, was in his bed stroking his cock. The thought alone almost sent him tumbling to a finish.

Ilya let out a moan into Hollander’s mouth. Hollander bucked his hips a little at it, but then quickened his pace. Ilya was so wet. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

“Hollander…” he moaned out.

“Are you close?” Hollander asked.

“Yes. Close.” Ilya confirmed, trying so hard not to switch to Russian as his brain began to lose focus.

Hollander kept the quickened pace, drawing circles on Ilya’s tip every time he came up from a stroke. “Cum for me, Rozanov. Please.”

That undid him. Ilya moaned loudly as the orgasm ripped through him. He felt himself twitch against Hollander’s grip, his hot cum shooting all over his stomach and Hollander’s hand.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. He almost couldn’t believe this was happening. He turned to Hollander and kissed him again. Hollander immediately deepened the kiss. He could tell Hollander wanted to cum, but he would make him wait. Maybe next time it wouldn’t take a week for him to ask Ilya another late night question.

Ilya pulled back from the kiss, grabbed some tissues, and took Hollander’s hand, wiping his cum from his fingers, then wiping his own stomach. He gave Hollander a kiss to the head and then went to search for the pants he threw off the bed.

Hollander went back to his bed. Ilya wondered how hard he was. He smiled at the thought, pulling his clothing on and settling into bed. He wanted to stay up, to see if Hollander was going to try to touch himself, but he fell asleep quickly, a comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time settling over him.

Chapter End Notes

I maaaay have another chapter even though this was supposed to be short. Thank you so much for reading! I tried my best to proofread but feel free to let me know if I made any errors.

Chapter 4: Congratulations

Chapter Notes

Hockey season was in full swing. Ilya liked this for two reasons:

The first reason was that he was seeing Hollander more than ever. They never skipped the gym together during the season, so every morning Hollander would wake Ilya up and demand he hurry before the machines were taken. Sometimes he’d throw a protein bar at him. Sometimes, though more rarely, he’d offer to make them breakfast in the small dorm kitchenette afterwards. It was bird food, like egg whites and spinach or turkey bacon, but watching Hollander’s brows furrow in concentration as he stood over the stove drove Ilya crazy. When they weren’t working out, they were either at practice or actively playing a game. Ilya spent most of his time on the ice against Hollander chirping at him, reveling in how a smile would twitch at the corner of his lips every time. And then, at the end of a long and exhausting day, he and Hollander would fall into bed and fall asleep to each other’s breathing, content in the silence.

The second reason was that it was a reprieve from the calls. Every time he lost a match, even a small inconsequential match, his father would call like clockwork. Ilya was almost impressed, because his father would call at 3am his time just to scold Ilya as he returned from the ice. The disappointment and shame dripped off of every word. He’d take the calls in the hall, or the bathroom, or outside with a cigarette. Each time he came back from a call, Hollander would ask him if he was okay. It broke his heart, so he’d find new ways to chase a blush. “Yes, am good. You look so pretty today, Hollander.” Or, if his mood was darker, “yes, am okay. Are you? You play like shit today. You want I win?” He’d add a wink, or a playful shove so he could initiate touch. Hollander would always react the same way. A laugh, a shove, a “fuck you!”

So, Ilya was enjoying the season for the most part. He had a game against Hollander today with a sizable audience. He had been taunting him about it all day. Hollander, who was always no nonsense during game days, seemed even more locked in than usual. This only encouraged Ilya more.

“Ready to lose today, Hollander?” Ilya checked his shoulder a little as he walked by to join his team on the ice.

“Not a chance,” Hollander replied, fire in his words.

Ilya smiled. This was going to be fun.

***

During the face off, Ilya gave Hollander a wink and watched as Hollander tried to fight the smile tugging at his lips. Ilya won the face off, stealing the puck and heading down the ice. Hollander was good, but his team was boring, and Ilya had no doubts he’d be winning this game.

That is until Ilya’s team was down by two, with a minute remaining. He stole the puck and raced down the ice, eyes slits against the wind. He knew nobody would keep his pace, so he soared towards the goal post, wickedly grinning at the apprehensive goalie. Right as he swung back to take his shot, a jolt of blue appeared in his peripheral and his body was thrown back. He looked up, wildly confused and infuriated, to find that Hollander had checked him and taken the puck. Hollander was a good player, but tonight he had a fire lit under his ass. It took Ilya a full second to recover before jumping back up and charging after him. But it was too late. Hollander had landed the winning shot. His team swarmed him, screaming with their sticks held over their heads. Ilya cursed under his breath in disbelief. He had scored his team’s only goal, but that didn’t matter. They had lost. He huffed and went to console his team.

Ilya couldn’t stop wondering what had motivated Hollander so much that he carried an entire game on his shoulders. After he had showered and changed, he headed back out to the rink to see if he was still around. And sure enough, he was. Ilya finally realized why Hollander had taken this game, of all games, so seriously. Standing next to him, one with each arm around him, were Hollander’s parents. They must have come to watch the game tonight.

Hollander had mentioned in passing that he was half Japanese on his mother’s side. Ilya watched her now, beaming at her son and swiping hair out of his eyes. She was beautiful. Hollander looked so much like her. And his father… Well that must be where Hollander got his boring from. They were both dressed like they were trying to avoid color and offense at all costs. Ilya sniffed, holding back a chuckle, and headed back to the dorm.

Hollander was gone for a long while, which Ilya expected. It gave him enough time to handle his dad’s call, grab a drink off campus with Marleau, and jerk off to the thought of Hollander saying his name. He changed into basketball shorts, got rid of his shirt entirely and laid back in bed. He wasn’t waiting for Hollander, but it would be rude to go to sleep without congratulating him. He was simply being a team player as he watched the door, listening intently for the polite way Hollander removed his shoes when he entered the dorm.

10pm. The latest Hollander had stayed out since the time he was too embarrassed to come back to the room. He heard the key in the lock, the shoes being removed and placed neatly, and the padded steps approaching the door.

Hollander opened the door, hair a mess, smile on his face, and gave a small wave to Ilya.

“Hey.” He said, unable to contain his joy.

“You were out late tonight. Have fun?” Ilya asked as casually as he could muster.

Hollander started his nightly routine as he responded, “yeah. My parents took me out for dinner and then I showed them around campus. It was nice.” And he meant it. Ilya could tell that Hollander had genuinely enjoyed his night. He ignored how happy that made him.

“Big win today,” Ilya gave him a small smile. “Next time you won’t be so lucky.”

Hollander let out a laugh as he emerged from the bathroom, changed into a pair of sweatpants but also foregoing his shirt. His teeth were brushed and his hair neatly put back in place.

“I was thinking, maybe you deserve a reward.”

Hollander froze, the smile fading from his lips. His eyes widened and Ilya could see his quickened heartbeat through the muscle in his neck. He loved getting Hollander worked up.

“What kind? Of reward.” Hollander could hardly form a sentence. Ilya held back a smile.

“Is for me to know and you to find out.” He bit his lip, a smile fighting hard for dominance as Hollander glared at him.

“Come here,” Ilya said, as he so often did when they had time together. Hollander complied like he had been waiting for the command all night.

He got into bed beside Ilya, his skin flushed and warm against him. Ilya nearly let out a moan just getting to feel his skin and smell his scent.

“This time,” Ilya drawled, mapping out small circles on Hollander’s inner thigh with his finger, “I want to use my mouth.” He kept drawing idle circles, but his eyes were on Hollander, gauging his reaction. Hollander was still. So still, in fact, that Ilya realized he wasn’t breathing. Ilya abruptly stopped drawing circles and went to ask Hollander if he was okay, but Hollander turned to him before he could even part his lips.

“Please,” was all he said. His doe eyes were looking up at Ilya, pleading and relenting. Ilya was breaking apart. His chest was caving in. He crashed his mouth against Hollander’s as a pathetic attempt to ground himself. He tethered himself to the slick, pink lips he had grown so fond of. He bit at them, licked at them. He was ravenous. Hollander met his energy. He was just as hungry with lust. Hollander could always keep up with Ilya.

Ilya pulled his lips back enough to mumble, “pants, off” before reconnecting their lips with a desperate need.

Hollander wasted no time sliding his sweatpants and boxers off. As soon as his hands were free, they began wandering Ilya’s chest. Ilya cupped Hollander’s cheek, deepening the kiss and moaning against his tongue. Hollander began to whimper, his hard cock flush against the cool air of the dorm. Ilya pulled away and looked down. A bead of pre cum threatened to fall down Hollander’s tip. Ilya lowered himself down and licked it up. Hollander let out a gasp, body rigid, before melting down into the comforter. Ilya took his tip into his mouth, then began sucking Hollander inch by inch. He could feel Hollander’s body twitching beneath him. He saw his hands grasping at the sheets.

Hollander tasted so good. He tasted clean, with a scent that was so his own that Ilya couldn’t identify it. But it made him feral. He wanted Hollander in a way he could not comprehend. Instead, though, he began to bob his head up and down the length of him, his tongue darting out to lick the underside of his shaft and tip as he passed them. Hollander was a mess. He was writhing so hard it was a chore keeping him in Ilya’s mouth. Ilya pushed Hollander’s hips down, forcing him to be still, and quickened his pace. The moans that fell out of Hollander's mouth would’ve made a normal man blush. He was softly cursing, loudly whimpering and definitely trembling. Ilya could feel the heat from his erection, thankful that he had jerked off before Hollander came home.

“Rozanov -“ Hollander’s voice broke over the word.

Ilya kept sucking, kept teasing with his tongue, kept his pace the exact same. Hollander was so close. He could feel his shaft twitching in his mouth.

“Rozanov, I’m gonna - if you don’t move I’m gonna -“ Hollander couldn’t form the words. Ilya kept at what he was doing.

“I’m- !” He felt Hollander coat his throat with warm, sweet liquid. He swallowed around him as he pulsated, letting him ride out his orgasm until its last drop. He then sucked him as he came up, cleaning up everything Hollander had.

He sat up and looked at Hollander, who looked awestruck. “I’m sorry, I tried to warn you.”

“Why sorry? I am not sorry.” Ilya licked his lips.

“Fuck.” Hollander breathed, and dove in for a fervent kiss. Ilya grabbed him and rolled onto his back so that Hollander was laying across his body as they kissed. Their tongues danced and their hands explored until Hollander rolled over onto his back, panting into the air.

“That was…”

“Good, yes?” Ilya laughed, staring at the ceiling.

“So good. The best.” Hollander was lust drunk. He was practically slurring the words. He could feel his whole body sinking into the mattress.

Ilya leaned over, gently kissed his lips and returned to his position on his back.

“Congratulations, Hollander.”

“Thanks, Rozanov.” Hollander gave him a shy nudge before collecting his pants and returning to bed.

Chapter End Notes

This was supposed to be a one shot, but then I kept writing and now it's long and I hope that's okay. Thank you to everyone reading, commenting, giving kudos and bookmarking. You've given me so much motivation. I have another chapter coming soon!

Chapter 5: Push and pull

Chapter Notes

It had been a month. This was the longest Ilya had gone without one of Hollander’s late night questions. The doubt clouded his mind. Had he pushed Hollander too far? Had Hollander changed his mind? They were busy, sure, but they had always found time before. Ilya was frustrated. He was frustrated at Hollander for withdrawing, frustrated at himself for caring, and generally frustrated because this was the longest he had gone without sex before. Hollander wasn’t acting any differently in their day to day activities. They still had their routines and talked just as much (or rather, just as little) as they always had.

Hollander was out with his parents and Ilya, tired of his own hand, decided fuck it. He was going to find some pleasure. He got ready, texted Marleau and headed out.

***

She was beautiful, of course. Sun kissed tan in places Ilya couldn’t comprehend the sun seeing, long brown hair, round hazel eyes, and plump pink lips. She was more than happy to take Ilya back to her dorm, which was thankfully empty. He wasted no time tangling himself into her, pouring out the need and frustration he had built up over the last month. Ilya put on a performance he knew she’d talk to her friends about over breakfast the next day. And as painfully beautiful as she was, strewn beneath him, flushed and letting out panted whimpers, he couldn’t help but think to himself…

She didn’t have any freckles.

***

Ilya stumbled into the dorm the next morning with wrinkled clothing and one hour of sleep. All he wanted was a glass of water and his bed. Instead, he got Hollander standing in their living room, arms crossed, pretty face pulled into a scowl.

“It’s 9:30.” He gave no additional information.

Ilya stared at him, eyebrows raised. “Yes. Thank you for time.” He gave an exasperated shake of his arms and shoved past Hollander to the bedroom.

“You could have told me you weren’t coming back last night. I would’ve gone to the gym without you this morning,” Hollander said coldly, following Ilya into the bedroom like a puppy. An agitated puppy, no less.

“Sorry,” Ilya said, his lips making pout over the ‘o’.

He pulled his clothing off and got into bed.

“What are you doing?” Hollander asked in disbelief, like Ilya had just buried himself in mud.

“Going to sleep, Hollander.”

“You have classes!”

“Not today. Today I sleep. Goodnight.” And Ilya rolled over, hand over his head, ready to give in to the exhaustion.

He heard Hollander huff out an angry breath and slam the bedroom door closed as he left.

***

Ilya spent more time out of his dorm room than in it. Now that he and Hollander weren’t exchanging heated breaths during the night, he turned back to old habits after practice to entertain him until he had to sleep. He and Hollander still had the gym, when Ilya woke early enough to go, and practice, and games, and even Friday movie nights. Hollander, though, was stiff and quiet during all of them. It almost felt like he was mad, but Ilya knew that couldn’t be the case. What would Hollander have to be mad about?

After three hook ups that week, Ilya decided to stay in. He needed to catch up on sleep. He sauntered into the dorm room, a surprised Hollander jumping a little at the unexpected entrance.

“No where to be tonight?” He said in a huff under his breath.

Ilya gave him a sweet smile and fell onto his bed with a sigh.

Hollander was holding his phone with white knuckles. Ilya studied him: his brow was scrunched up like it always was when he got angry, his shoulders were so high up they nearly touched his ears, and his body was tense.

“Hollander, if you don’t relax your body will get stuck like that,” Ilya laughed.

Hollander glared at him, but loosened his shoulders. “Shouldn’t you be at your girlfriend’s dorm?” He retorted.

Ilya’s laugh dropped and he stared at Hollander blankly. “What?”

Hollander rolled his eyes and turned his phone around to show Ilya a social media post. It was a picture of him and a very attractive blonde girl he slept with three days ago.

“Not girlfriend. I sleep with her one time. Is not big deal.” Ilya waved a hand in the air.

Hollander stayed silent. The air around them was so thick that Ilya felt he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t understand where Hollander’s attitude was coming from. He hadn’t tried to initiate anything with Ilya in a month and now he was giving him shit for sleeping around?

“What is problem, Holl -“

Hollander cut him off, “so you’re just sleeping with all the men and women at this university, huh? Speed running it?”

“Just the women,” Ilya winked.

He expected this to send Hollander into a fit of rage, but he seemed to look relieved. Ilya was confused and a little agitated.

“But you like men, right?” Hollander's hushed voice broke the silence.

“Da, yes. I like both.”

“But you haven’t slept with any men…” he trailed off.

“You are last dick in my mouth, Hollander, yes.” He threw his arms up dramatically. “And you? Mr. Hockey star. Mr. Golden boy.”

“I haven’t - uh - I haven’t since we…” he was fumbling over his words, a blush taking over his freckles.

It hit Ilya suddenly that Hollander wasn’t just abstaining from him. He was abstaining completely. He wanted to ask so many questions, but Hollander was a deer in headlights at best. If he honked the horn, he’d scurry off into the night. He decided it was best to let it go. He’d have to live with the unanswered questions tormenting him.

Suddenly Hollander was on him. Ilya hadn’t even heard him get up. He was confused, but as soon as he tasted Hollander’s mouth on his, he was ravenous. He nipped Hollander’s bottom lip, then begged entrance with his tongue. Hollander relented immediately, deepening their kiss by meeting Ilya’s tongue before he could even get it fully into his mouth. Hollander’s hands were tugging at his hair, and his legs were pressed between his own thighs. Ilya cupped his cheek with one hand and his ass with the other. Hollander was grinding against him, the need evident against Ilya’s own. They were moaning and panting into each other’s mouths, hands exploring. Hollander was full of surprises today, though, because he pulled away and slid down Ilya’s body. He looked up at him, needy doe eyes pleading for an unspoken thing. Ilya shoved his hand in Hollander’s hair, then took his other hand and rubbed his thumb gently over Hollander’s bottom lip.

Hollander sucked Ilya’s thumb into his mouth without breaking eye contact. Ilya had never seen anything more devastatingly beautiful than this. A light moan escaped him. Once Hollander had his fill sucking his thumb, he lightly tugged on Ilya’s waistband, a silent ask for permission.

Ilya’s mouth fell open in surprise and through half lidded eyes he nodded at Hollander. He needed to compose himself before the sight of him between his legs sent him over the edge in and of itself.

Hollander eagerly pulled off Ilya’s pants and then nestled back in between his legs, his hands slowly massaging up and down Ilya’s thighs. Ilya’s head involuntarily tipped back, eyes fluttering closed, as he enjoyed Hollander’s touch.

He almost didn’t feel Hollander’s tongue at first. It was the lightest touch. A test run, maybe. Hollander pressed his tongue flat against the underside of Ilya’s tip and let the weight of it rest there for a second. Ilya looked down. Hollander looked like a flutter of nerves, his hands gripping Ilya’s thighs, tongue paused on his tip.

“So good to me, дорогой,” Ilya purred, stroking Hollander’s hair.

This was the encouragement he needed, it seemed, because he immediately took Ilya’s tip fully into his mouth. He sucked his way down as far as he could and moaned. Ilya felt the vibration against his shaft and tried to steady himself so he wouldn’t thrust against his mouth. Hollander sucked his way up, then licked his way back down. Ilya could tell this was his first blow job, because he moved his mouth a bit too much, couldn’t find a rhythm and didn’t suck nearly enough, but it was still somehow the best thing he had ever felt. Hollander’s mouth was warm and wet, his whimpers reverberating against him, and he wanted to please Ilya so badly. Ilya could tell how hard Hollander was trying and that alone was bringing him to the edge.

Hollander gripped the base of Ilya’s shaft, adding in the precise rhythm Ilya had taught him weeks ago. Ilya smiled softly at this. He sucked his way down to meet his fist, moaning against Ilya’s skin. Ilya was hopeless now, his orgasm building rapidly.

“Hollander…”

Hollander quickened his pace, his fist lubricated from the spit falling from his puffed pink lips. Ilya was using all of his focus not to thrust into Hollander’s mouth. He gripped the sheets to ground himself. Watching Hollander eagerly pleasing him, knowing he had started this all on his own, feeling the rhythm he taught him, it was all too much.

“Hollander I’m -”

Hollander pulled his mouth away but kept stroking at the same, agonizingly steady pace he had before, his thumb twirling over the tip each time. Ilya finally bucked his hips, spilling all over Hollander’s hand and his own stomach with a loud moan.

“Fuck.” He breathed out.

Hollander looked so proud of himself, staring down at Ilya’s stomach with a close mouthed grin. Ilya’s heart thumped.

He grabbed tissues, cleaning Hollander’s hand and then his stomach. Hollander handed him his pants, which he tugged on, before pulling Hollander back down. He kissed him deeply, his hand holding Hollander to him by the back of his head. Hollander greedily accepted, his hands roaming Ilya’s chest. Ilya pulled Hollander’s pants down, which seemed to surprise him.

“Is okay?” Ilya whispered against Hollander’s lips, not daring to fully pull away and lose the warmth of them.

“Yes. Is okay,” Hollander said shyly, playfully repeating Ilya’s phrase.

Ilya lazily played with Hollander. He started with long, slow strokes. He smiled as Hollander bucked his hips in protest. He deepened their kiss, maintaining the same slow speed. Hollander was writhing beside him, making quiet noises of frustration.

Ilya pulled back, raised his hand to his mouth and spit into it, before returning his hand to Hollander’s shaft. His rhythm was quicker now. Steady, medium paced, thumb tracing under and over his tip. Moans fell out of Hollander’s mouth and Ilya caught them, pressing his lips against Hollander’s still swollen ones. His tongue danced with his as he stroked, enjoying the desperate way Hollander fucked into his hand.

“Rozanov -“

“Close?”

“Mmmm” Hollander couldn’t form words.

Ilya took his hand away, smiling at the whimpered protests, before replacing it with his mouth. Hollander moaned loudly into the air, grabbing a fistful of Ilya’s hair. Ilya moved up and down, sucking in rhythm, tongue darting out to occasionally lick the underside of his tip. Hollander was losing himself to the pleasure almost immediately.

“I’m gonna,” his voice was shaking. It made Ilya’s cock twitch. He could taste the fresh release of precum and feel Hollander’s shaft harden even more. His orgasm followed shortly after, hot and thick and directly down his throat. He swallowed around him, then licked him all over before pulling away. Hollander was pressed into the mattress, panting and swearing. Ilya gave a small chuckle and kissed his cheek before falling next to him.

“Wow,” Hollander breathed into the room.

“Yes,” Ilya agreed, rolling over and kissing Hollander’s neck.

“You’re sure you don’t have a girlfriend, right?” Hollander asked worriedly, as if realizing this would make him complicit in something.

“Yes, Hollander, am very sure.” Ilya drawled, still kissing Hollander’s neck.

“Okay.” He sounded like a weight had been lifted. Ilya caught his lips and Hollander kissed back with a tired need.

They stayed like that for a while, cooling down, catching their breath, but slowly kissing the entire time. Eventually Hollander got dressed and made his way to his own bed.

“Tomorrow is movie night,” he reminded Ilya.

“Da, I know.”

“Don’t be late or anything,” Hollander said, but something in his voice sounded like pleading and Ilya wasn’t sure it was still about the movie night.

“I would not dare,” Ilya promised, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t go out so much anymore.

Hollander’s breathing shallowed shortly after, the night’s activities taking him into a deep sleep almost immediately. Ilya ignored the way he tilted his head in his sleep, and the way his lips sometimes parted. He gave a quiet groan and shut the light, watching as the freckles disappeared. Tomorrow was movie night and Ilya realized for the first time in a month, he was looking forward to something.

Chapter End Notes

How long can I keep this going?! Idk but it keeps coming so. Thank you so much for reading this, you make my heart v happy. See you for the next chapter!

Chapter 6: Movie Night

Chapter Notes

Ilya slung his backpack off and into the corner, stretching his arms out and yawning. There wasn’t any practice on Fridays, so he’d come straight back to the dorm after his last class. Hollander was already there, standing over a pot on the stove. Ilya gave in to a wicked temptation, and with a devilish grin he walked up behind Hollander and wrapped his arms around his waist. Hollander flinched, tensed, then melted back against him. Ilya kissed at his neck, then put his chin on his shoulder and asked, “what are you making?”

Hollander had a smile tugging at his lips as he sheepishly replied, “Popcorn. For the movie. I also ordered a pizza.”

“Pizza?! Who are you and where is Hollander?” Hollander only ever ate bird food. Something about macrobiotics. Ilya couldn’t keep up, but he knew this wasn’t leaves and salmon, which were his main go-tos.

Hollander let out an annoyed laugh and then shrugged Ilya off of him. He shook the pot, the sound of kernels popping filling the room, then turned off the heat. He turned to face Ilya with arms crossed, “it’s a cheat day.”

Ilya gave him a grin, then reached behind him and stole a piece of popcorn.

***

Ilya wasn’t sure what they were watching and, to be honest, he didn’t care. He and Hollander had shared a pizza and were now separated by nothing but a bowl of popcorn. Sometimes their fingers would brush when they both dipped into the bowl to grab more. Sometimes Ilya would linger a little longer than he should. He could smell Hollander next to him and it made something in him stir.

Hollander, usually very focused on the film they were watching, suddenly turned to him and asked, “what are your plans for Christmas?”

Ilya flinched. He forgot that was coming up. He wished he could keep forgetting.

“I stay here. Visa will not let me back to Russia so soon.”

“Are you going to a friend’s?” Hollander asked gently.

“No. I stay here and smoke cigarettes without boring, pretty boy yelling at me.” Ilya teased.

Hollander blushed. Ilya could see it even though the room was dark and his face was lit by nothing but the screen in front of them. He didn’t understand how someone could look so beautiful both in the harsh light of the day and the soft light of the night. Did Hollander ever not look like art? Ilya scoffed and mentally chided himself for thinking such stupid things.

“I might stay, too.” Hollander offered nonchalantly.

“I do not need your pity, Hollander.” Ilya said with more venom than he meant to.

“It’s not pity. I see my parents almost every weekend. We could put up a tree!” Hollander was getting excited. Ilya wanted to shove him and kiss him all at once. Stupid polite Canadian.

“Go to your family, Hollander. I will be fine. I will have whole room to myself.”

“You’re going to eat in bed and smoke inside if I don’t stay.” Hollander groaned.

Ilya laughed. He was probably right. And Hollander did see his family every weekend. Either he went home, or they’d come up and take him to lunch and dinner. Ilya preferred when Hollander went back home only because he’d return with Yuna’s cooking, packed neatly in Tupperware. And he’d always let Ilya have half.

“Okay. Maybe. If you are sure. We can do stupid Christmas. No tree,” he wagged a finger at Hollander.

Hollander seemed content enough with the decision. Ilya’s chest felt too full. He fiddled with the necklace hanging above his sternum.

“Do your parents have any traditions for Christmas?” Hollander asked, so innocently.

“No. My mother is dead and my father… he is grinch.” He recalled the movie he and Hollander had watched a week ago, with the green furry man. He was proud of his reference.

“I’m sorry,” Hollander said softly. And he looked like he really meant it. Ilya hated it.

“Stop,” Ilya complained, and lunged for Hollander.

He straddled his waist, holding one of the decorative couch pillows over Hollander’s face. Hollander kicked and squealed beneath him, laughing and slapping Ilya in the chest.

“No more.” He reiterated.

“Okay! Okay! Get off!” Hollander tried to push Ilya off to no avail.

Ilya removed the pillow, kissed Hollander on the cheek and got off. They watched the rest of the movie in silence and Ilya wondered if Hollander was smiling as stupidly as he was the whole time.

***

“I have a stomach bug.” He heard Hollander on the phone with Yuna, making an excuse for staying at school during the holiday.

“I’m okay, really. No, Rozanov got me Gatorade. I promise I’ll be fine, I just want to stay in bed and ride it out. We can do Christmas next weekend. Yeah, presents and dinner and everything. Okay. I love you too. I will. Thanks, mom. Bye,” Hollander hung up and threw himself back on his bed with a groan.

“I did not know you could lie. Golden boy has bad side, yes?” Ilya teased.

Hollander looked sick with guilt and Ilya immediately felt bad. He went over to the bed and stroked his hair. “You will see them next weekend.”

“Yeah, I know. I just feel bad lying.”

“You could still go. Say you feel better and -”

“No. I want to stay.” Hollander said with the most conviction Ilya had ever heard.

“Okay.”

Hollander nodded, as if solidifying his decision to himself.

They were going to spend Christmas together.

Chapter End Notes

Did I go soft for a few chapters? Yes. Does that mean there won't be angst later on? No. Kiss n bite kiss n bite kiss n bite.

Also thanks for being here!!

Chapter 7: Home for the holidays (Part 1)

Chapter Notes

“Merry Christmas mom, dad. Yeah, I’m doing better. Just catching up on liquids. Yeah, I’m excited to see you next week, too. Okay, I love you.” Ilya could hear Hollander’s hushed phone call from the living room. He could also hear him pacing during it. Ilya stretched out across his bed. It was Christmas Day apparently.

They had spent Christmas Eve watching Christmas movies. Hollander was shocked and appalled that Ilya hadn’t seen any, and insisted they fix it. He also made him try egg nog, which he thought he would have liked better with alcohol in it. They ate Christmas cookies that one of the RAs dropped off and went to sleep fairly early. All in all, it wasn’t a bad night for Ilya.

He had no idea what they’d be doing for actual Christmas. Hollander had been plotting, but never let Ilya in on what. Probably because Ilya would have complained.

Hollander re-entered the room. “Oh, you’re awake! Merry Christmas.” He smiled at Ilya.

“Merry Christmas, Hollander.”

“Are you hungry? I can start on breakfast.” Ilya tried to hide his surprise and nodded.

Hollander pulled out a metal cookie cutter and a pan. Ilya watched inquisitively from the sidelines. Hollander mixed together a batter, turned the heat on, sizzled some butter, placed the metal outline down and poured the batter in. They both watched in silence as the batter set. Hollander pulled up the cookie cutter, but the batter remained firm, and he flipped the pancake to cook it evenly. It was a gingerbread man. Ilya’s eyebrows flew up. As soon as Hollander removed the pancake, Ilya shoved him out of the way.

“Move, Hollander, I want to try.” Hollander was offended at first, but then laughed.

After the two of them had made a stack of gingerbread man shaped pancakes, Hollander's coming out much neater than Ilya’s, they sat down to eat.

Ilya wanted to ask him so many questions, but Hollander accepted either small tokens of physical affection or small personal inquiries. If Ilya tried both in one day, he was sure Hollander would be taking the hour drive to his parents in a panic. And today, Ilya wanted to indulge in the physical affection as much as he could get away with. So, they ate their pancakes and talked about hockey, which had always been a safe topic for them.

Ilya washed up while Hollander rummaged for a box. It was small, thin, and about the length of Ilya’s shin. Ilya came over to the table Hollander had placed the box on, the low one in the living room they used to store remotes, notebooks, and coasters.

“What is this?” He waved a hand at the box.

“Okay, I know you said no tree,” Hollander started, “but this one is so small it doesn’t count!”

Ilya laughed, loud and deep and from his belly. He looked at Hollander, watching his face go from nervous to delighted. He wanted to reach out and touch his cheek with his fingers. He shook his head.

“You are little shit,” Ilya laughed out instead.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hollander mumbled, smiling as he removed the small green pieces from the box.

Ilya was shocked that something so small required assembly, but he liked fighting with Hollander over the instructions, or holding a branch just out of his reach, or making fun of him by saying he was small like the tree (he was, after all, a few whole inches shorter than Ilya). Hollander’s face remained a mix of annoyed and joyful, which Ilya delighted in. It was so rare to see Shane Hollander relax or enjoy something. His schedule was rigid, his emotions stoic, and oftentimes Ilya wondered if he operated on auto pilot.

The tree stood a foot tall on their coffee table. It looked so bare. Ilya went to remark on it when Hollander pulled out a second box.

“Are you clown? Never ending boxes?” Ilya’s face contorted into confusion.

“It’s for the ornaments!” Ilya knew that word, he’d learned it recently.

The ornaments were small, with sloping metal hooks, and came in red, gold, and blue. They hung them quietly, a comfortable silence between the two. Ilya felt a pang in his chest he hadn’t felt since he was a kid and he pushed the feeling down.

***

After dinner, Hollander announced he had a gift for him. He handed him a tan burlap satchel, tied closed with a red ribbon. Ilya was glad he had prepared for this, or he would have had to hang Hollander out of the dorm window by his neck.

“It’s just a little something,” Hollander insisted, as if expecting Ilya to be agitated.

Instead, Ilya pulled a small, dark blue box with light blue ribbon from a cupboard in the kitchen and handed it to Hollander. He looked genuinely surprised, which Ilya would be mad about later. For now, he sat back down with his satchel, legs crossed and said, “you open first.”

Shane cradled the box in his hands, looking at it uncertainly. He pulled the ribbon from the box and slowly removed the lid. He picked up the contents of the box and placed it in the palm of his hand. It was an ornament that Ilya had gotten custom made. It was two hockey sticks facing each other, one with an 81 on it and one with a 24 - their numbers. Below it said ‘Our First Christmas!’ with the year. Ilya didn’t know what possessed him to get it. In the moment, he thought someone sentimental like Hollander might like it. At worst, he thought it would be funny. Either way, commemorating this Christmas felt like it would be a good idea. As Hollander held the ornament in his hand, though, Ilya felt the regret bubble up. It was stupid. It was stupid to get Hollander something so personal. And an ornament? It was tacky. Ilya really didn’t understand Christmas, especially not in this country, and now he felt dumb. Hollander was probably cringing. He imagined he’d hide the ornament away and they’d never -

“Are you crying?” Ilya asked in disbelief. He didn’t know where to put his hands in his panic, so he simply held them up like he was at gunpoint.

“No.” Hollander said, swiping at his eyes. In his defense, a single tear had not fallen. They clung to his eyelashes and then collected onto his fingers as he wiped at his eyes aggressively.

“I’m sorry. Is bad gift?” Ilya felt sick.

“It’s perfect.” Hollander’s voice broke and he tilted his head back, as if trying to hold the tears in his eyes.

Ilya was dumbfounded. He didn’t understand what this meant. Did he like the gift? Did it make him sad? He shook his head, got up and hugged Hollander. Hollander leaned into him, pressing his face into his chest. Ilya could feel the tears soak into his shirt.

“Thank you, Ilya.” His heart skipped a beat and he hoped Hollander couldn’t feel it against his chest.

They stayed like that for a moment, Ilya stroking his hair and Hollander burying his face as his tears subsided. Finally he stood up, walked over to the tiny tree they had set up earlier, and hung the ornament. He looked over at Ilya with a face that said ‘And you said no tree.’ They both smirked.

“Okay. Your turn. Mine isn’t nearly as good, though,” Hollander said shyly.

Ilya opened the satchel in his lap and pulled out a bottle of vodka.

“Is from Russia. They do not export this. I’ve tried to get. How?” He was in disbelief. This was his favorite brand and he hadn’t had a lick of it since he left Russia.

“One of the students here was going back to Russia to visit family. I asked him if he’d pick this up for me and bring it back,” Hollander smiled to himself with pride. Ilya wanted to bite him.

“Thank you, Shane. Is very thoughtful.” He kissed the top of Hollander’s head, noticing the blush across his freckles as he pulled back. “I will save for big day.” Ilya declared, hugging the bottle to his chest.

He had only mentioned this brand once, briefly, in conversation. And it was long before Hollander knew they’d be spending the holidays together. Ilya looked at him affectionately, but he was staring down at the ornament on the tree, gently turning it around in his hand as it hung.

Maybe Christmas wasn’t such a bad holiday.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter got so long I had to break it into two parts, sorry! Also, thank you so much to everyone reading and commenting. You're the best.

Chapter 8: Home for the holidays (Part 2)

Chapter Notes

As they headed into their room after gifts, Ilya stopped Hollander with his arm. “Uh uh,” he tutted.

He pointed up at the mistletoe he had taped to the top of their door.

“Who even taught you that?” Hollander let out a laugh.

“I saw on TV. Gimme kiss.” He grinned, leaning towards Hollander.

Hollander hesitated for a moment, then leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on Ilya’s lips. It felt more tender than they usually were with each other. When Hollander pulled back, Ilya saw the fear in his eyes. Ilya reached up, grabbed the mistletoe and threw it onto his bed with a sly smile. Hollander instantly relaxed his shoulders and laughed, “it doesn’t work that way, Rozanov.”

“We will see,” he replied, lifting Hollander and throwing him on top of the mistletoe. Hollander yelped and laughed, rolling onto his back to look at Ilya. There was something more in his eyes than usual. Ilya’s chest hurt. He dove on top of Hollander dramatically, met with his loud protests.

Ilya caught Hollander’s lips in a kiss as he laid on top of him, his legs between Hollander’s thighs. Ilya pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth, then soothed it with his tongue. Hollander opened his mouth and Ilya let his tongue explore.

After a few minutes of their hands roaming and tongues swirling, Hollander pulled back. He looked very serious. Ilya felt his stomach drop.

There was a question. It looked like it was causing him pain.

“Yes, Hollander?” He said coolly, wanting to get back to kissing and not this piercing stare.

“Have you ever…” he hesitated, unsure. His eyes wouldn’t meet Ilya’s.

Ilya was holding himself up with a hand on either side of Hollander’s head, his body pressed against him. He shifted his weight to one hand and stroked Hollander’s hair with the other. This seemed to help. Hollander took a breath.

“Have you ever been with... a guy?” His voice was shaking. Ilya remembered the conversation they had last, how he had said he liked both but never said how far he had explored that.

“Yes.” Ilya did not want to lie to him.

“Who?” Hollander sounded… jealous.

“My coach’s son in Russia. Was not a big deal.” Ilya dragged a fingertip down Hollander’s cheek. Hollander looked both uncomfortable and full of questions. The desire still danced in his eyes, though, and Ilya clung on to it.

“Hollander, do you want me to fuck you?” He kept his eyes on Hollander's as he said it. They were now wide and slightly terrified.

Hollander looked away, his body hot and fidgeting under Ilya. Ilya kissed along his jaw. It was then that Hollander whispered into Ilya’s hair, “yes but.. but not today.” Ilya nodded against his cheek, still kissing his way along.

“We can try a different thing,” Ilya offered, mumbling against his skin.

“Like what?”

“I show you. Take pants off.”

Hollander hesitated for a moment, which was unlike him. Ilya felt him distancing. “Is okay if we just go to bed. We do not have to do anything, Hollander. Was a good day. Long day. We can sleep.” Ilya gently kissed down his neck as he spoke, enjoying the warmth and scent emitting from Hollander’s skin.

“No. No, I - want to.” The last part sounded like he was insisting. Ilya pulled back and looked at him. His eyes burned with desire again, the fear seeping away. Ilya nodded.

“Take off pants,” he reiterated. And Hollander did.

“Good, always so good for me.” He watched the blush return to his freckles. “Now turn around.”

Hollander stiffened. “Is not sex. You said wait, we wait. Is just finger and tongue,” he waved his fingers and stuck out his tongue. Hollander’s eyes widened, soft pink lips parting. He looked shocked and then like he was in the depths of arousal. Ilya looked down to confirm his theory, smiling at the pre cum beading at Hollander’s tip.

Hollander turned over, ass up and hands splayed out in front of him. Ilya loved how obedient he was, the polite golden boy. He also undressed, then dragged a flat palm up Hollander's back, relishing in the smooth, soft skin. He moved his hand up and down, then dragged it to cup Hollander’s ass. Hollander’s breathing was calm and steady. Ilya wanted to change that.

He softly spread his cheeks apart, feeling Hollander tense. “Is okay?” He asked

“Y-yeah.”

Ilya trailed kisses up and down the sides of his ass, still holding him open. “You are so pretty,” he hummed against his skin. Hollander’s shoulders loosened.

Ilya pressed his tongue to the warm heat of Hollander’s entrance and paused. Hollander let out a gasp and tensed. Ilya didn’t move, just let his tongue cover the area. Hollander relaxed and pressed back against him, permission for more. Ilya dragged his tongue up and down, palming Hollander’s ass with one hand and holding him open with the other. Hollander let out a strangled cry. Ilya kept a painfully even rhythm, before shoving his tongue in gently. Hollander made a sound like nothing he had ever heard before and he wanted to hear it a million more times. He kept his tongue rigid as he moved in and out of him. Hollander was shaking beneath him.

He held Hollander by his waist with one hand and replaced his tongue with a finger. He circled once, twice, then slowly dipped it in. Hollander gasped.

“Okay?” Ilya checked.

“Okay.” He echoed.

He worked his finger in gently, trying to go as softly as possible. He could feel Hollander get impatient beneath him, though, because he started pushing back against him. Ilya smiled and slid his finger in more, searching for a knot nearby. When he finally found it and gently ran his finger over it, Hollander shot forward with a feral sound. “Holy fuck!” He cried out beneath Ilya. Ilya was loving every second of this. He continued to coax the area, pulling strangled sounds out of Hollander, until he could feel his body tensing. He slowly pulled his finger out, Hollander sadly whimpering at the loss of the sensation.

Ilya leaned forward, their bodies pressed together, and whispered, “when I make you come from that, it will be with my dick.” Hollander shuddered.

Ilya leaned back, resting on his heels, and pulled Hollander into his lap. His dick was pressing against Hollander’s back as he reached around and began to stroke him. Hollander was a sopping mess, pre cum dribbling down from his tip. Ilya used it to fuel his strokes. Hollander’s head tipped back and rested on Ilya’s shoulder, slumped against him like all of his energy had depleted. He whimpered at Ilya’s touches. Ilya felt like he had surrendered to him completely. His cock twitched against his back.

Ilya kept a steady pace, twisting in between strokes, holding Hollander’s hip with his free hand to keep him upright. Hollander was a rag doll against him, body fully relaxed, mouth parted, incoherent string of noises escaping him. Ilya knew he was getting close when his body suddenly tensed, the moans shorter and more wild.

“Rozanov.”

“Yes, cum for me, Hollander. Show me how good you are.” Ilya nipped and kissed at his ear as he maintained his strokes.

“Fuck,” Hollander sounded like he was about to burst into tears as his orgasm ripped through him. He sprayed onto Ilya’s hand and his own stomach, slumping against Ilya as soon as the last drop had left him.

Ilya pressed a kiss to Hollander’s sweaty temple and stroked up and down his arm. Finally, Hollander got up, grabbed tissues and cleaned them both off. Wordlessly, he returned to the bed, kneeling in front of Ilya. He pushed Ilya back with his palm against his chest, until he was laying down flat. And then he hungrily took him into his mouth, as if he were dying of thirst and Ilya was a supply of water. The sounds escaping him, wet smacks and needy moans, had Ilya resisting the urge to thrust up. Hollander's hands gripped Ilya’s waist, digging in. Ilya let out a long moan, which only spurred Hollander on. He took him deeper than he had before, spit pooling at the base of his dick. He sucked with such enthusiasm, Ilya was sure he’d embarrass himself with how quickly he was going to cum. Hollander cradled his balls, massaging them as he sucked up and down Ilya’s length. Ilya’s hands tugged at Hollander’s hair with desperation. Hollander quickened the pace, adding a hand to his base and stroking in time with his mouth. He moaned around him, vibrating his shaft and undoing him entirely.

“Hollander, now, move,” Ilya choked out.

Hollander did not move. He kept his pace. And when Ilya spilled into his mouth, moaning profanities into the air, Hollander swallowed around him and licked him clean.

“Fuck,” Ilya said to the ceiling, unable to move.

Hollander fell down beside him. Their feet were at the wrong end of the bed but neither of them cared.

Hollander’s skills had improved significantly since the last time. Ilya had a pit of worry form in his stomach. “Where did you learn that?” He dared to ask.

Hollander looked away, the heat of a blush crawling across his face. Ilya’s heart dropped. Had he been seeing someone else? Ilya tensed beside him. He was so used to Hollander having the same schedule that the thought of him breaking it and seeing someone had never even occurred to him. He felt sick and sad, and he didn’t know why. They weren’t exclusive. They weren’t even together, really. His heartbeat picked up.

“I watched a video and I have…” he swallowed. He looked embarrassed. “A thing.” He offered.

Ilya blinked at him. “What.”

“I practiced on a dildo, okay!” Hollander got up suddenly, as if trying to run.

Ilya sat up, grabbed him and dragged him back down, kissing all over his face. “You are so hot.” Hollander looked up at him, as if scanning his face for the joke, but when he didn’t find it he settled back into Ilya with a smile.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Yes. You practice for me? Is so hot. I am very lucky.” He pressed his forehead to Hollander’s. Hollander leaned forward and stole a kiss, which Ilya deepened immediately.

Eventually they dressed and returned to their beds. Ilya felt lighter than he had in years.

“Merry Christmas, Rozanov,” Hollander said before turning off the light.

“Merry Christmas, Hollander,” Ilya said softly into the dark.

Chapter End Notes

I apologize in advance for the next chapter hehe. Thank you so much for still being here!

Chapter 9: Back to strangers

Chapter Notes

Hollander visited his parents the weekend after their own Christmas celebration, which also happened to be the start of their two week winter break. He wouldn’t be coming back for two weeks and Ilya, still unable to return to Russia without violating his visa, was stuck at the university.

They had exchanged numbers early on in case there was an emergency at the dorm or one of them got locked out, but they had never texted. The first two days Hollander was gone, Ilya found himself drafting texts and deleting them.

“Is your family as boring as you?”
“Having fun? I know you miss me.”
“I wish you were here.”

Ilya rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. He needed a distraction. He thought about inviting Svetlana, his best friend from Russia, over to stay with him while Hollander was gone. She was at another university two hours away, but he knew she’d make the trip if he asked. He also knew she’d expect sex and cuddling and for the first time, Ilya just didn’t have it in him. The appeal was gone. He’d enjoy her company, sure, but he didn’t want everything that came with it. He huffed and decided to make use of the empty gym downstairs.

***

By day four, Ilya had worked out to excess, finished a pack of cigarettes, jerked off in every room (he’d tell Hollander this on a day he wanted to make him angry), finished all of his late homework assignments and befriended three new people that had stayed behind for break. He was getting dangerously bored - the kind of boredom that dragged him under like a rough current. He knew he needed to snap out of it before it took him entirely. He’d be left thrashing against the waves, immobile and gasping for air. The darkness was closing in on him, encircling his body with prodding tendrils of despair. He shuddered. He would not go there, not again.

He started going out, frequenting the nearby bars and befriending both the patrons and staff. Every night he’d go out, dance and drink, and fall into a familiar routine. This helped. The beat of the music pounding in his ears chased away the thoughts. The strobing lights across the dance floor pushed away the darkness. The bitter taste of alcohol filling his mouth awakened him. The sweaty bodies pressed against him under low lights, a sea of salt and flesh, made him feel less alone. This is what he needed. During the day, he’d work out and practice on the rink, knowing full well Hollander would be doing the same at home. He didn’t want to fall behind, to give him even the slightest edge. And then, at night, he’d return to the bars and clubs, reclaiming his sanity.

Two weeks blurred past. Ilya couldn’t remember much, other than the longing that he harbored in his chest. He hadn’t heard from Hollander the entire time he was gone. This wasn’t unusual, really. They didn’t text or talk, so why would that change now? They hooked up, but they weren’t together. Hollander wasn’t his business and vice versa.

Hollander returned early on a Sunday. Ilya hadn’t expected him and was surprised when the door to the bedroom swung open. He had just gotten out of the shower. He had on sweatpants and no shirt and was toweling his wet hair.

Hollander didn’t look at him. He mumbled a ‘hey,’ set his bag on the floor and then quietly slipped back out. Ilya stood there, towel in hand, left in the silence. What was that about? He barely even said hi. He felt distant. More distant than they normally were. It left a pit in his stomach.

Hollander didn’t return until 9pm. Ilya had spent the day in his room. He had convinced himself he wasn’t waiting for Hollander to come back, but that he needed rest after all the nights he had gone out. So he laid in bed and mindlessly scrolled on his phone. When Hollander finally returned, he busied himself with unpacking the bag he had abandoned earlier. They both said nothing. Ilya didn’t know what had happened, but Hollander was closed off again.

He watched as Hollander moved through his nightly routine, not saying a word to Ilya or looking in his direction. Ilya’s chest ached, an old and uncomfortable feeling settling back under his ribs. He shook it off, leaning into numbness, and went to sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, Hollander was gone. Their routine of working out together had been shattered. For today, he would let the darkness consume him. He skipped his work out and first two classes, only pulling himself from bed for practice.

He could see Hollander and Pike laughing together, the flush of pink he had grown so used to still creeping under Hollander’s freckles. Pike wasn’t even good. He didn’t know why Hollander spent so much time with him. He huffed, skating towards his team to get them hyped up for practice.

He checked Hollander no less than three times. He didn’t playfully chirp or smile. He checked him with an aggression he felt deep in his ribs, scowled and skated away. Hollander’s face gave away nothing. He remained stoic, eyes turned down to the puck. Ilya pretended it wasn’t killing him.

Days passed like this. Hollander was out of the room unless he was asleep and Ilya was back at the usual bars. He made sure not to dwell in the space between blinding pain and all consuming numbness. He started to work out again - after 10am when he knew Hollander would be finished. He started going out with Marleau and the team again. He started calling Svetlana again so that they could talk for hours. It was hard to remember there had been a before. Before he and Hollander kissed. Before he saw Hollander bloom like a flower towards him. Before a fire had been set in Ilya. But there had been and he was back in it.

“No way. I didn’t think Hollander had it in him!” Marleau chuckled deeply.

Ilya looked up from the treadmill beside him, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

Marleau turned his phone, showing Ilya the news article he had been reading.

SHANE HOLLANDER SPOTTED WITH ROSE LANDRY

By now, both Ilya and Hollander were local celebrities. They had both made their skills and potential very clear, and their careers were already being tracked. Recruiters watched them like hawks and even their university games were garnering big audiences. They were the most exciting “what if” in town. Rose Landry was a name he had heard. She was also a local celebrity. Theater kid, recently graduated, and starring in a viral TV show. It was her first role, but it was a huge way to enter the industry. She was on red carpets, doing interviews, talking to big directors. She was also still getting coffee at local shops, participating in community fundraisers, and upkeeping her “local” celebrity status. He wondered how they had even met.

Below the headline was a photo of Hollander and Landry outside of a restaurant. Ilya’s mouth went dry. They were holding hands.

They had never discussed it, not really, but Ilya didn’t think Hollander even liked women. The way he would briefly discuss his past encounters with them sounded less than enthused. Once he and Ilya had started getting together, Ilya assumed… Well, maybe that was the whole problem. Ilya had assumed.

Ilya handed the phone back to Marleau and said nothing. He simply turned the treadmill up two levels and focused on moving.

Chapter End Notes

I'M SORRY. Or am I? Hehehehe.

Chapter 10: Spin the bottle

Chapter Notes

Ilya had mostly been frequenting bars and clubs, the dull thrum of the music quieting the ache in his chest. Tonight, though, one of the fraternity houses was throwing a big party and he thought a change of pace would do him some good. He needed something to occupy his mind so that he could avoid the prick of anxiety he felt every time he looked at his phone. He’d been checking headlines, every day, waiting for a new photo to crop up. They were all speculative articles, though - Hollander and Landry were probably being more careful now that they had been caught. Ilya didn’t know if this relieved him or troubled him more. Knowing hurt, but not knowing? Not knowing was slowly unraveling his nerves.

Ilya pulled on a pair of tight black jeans and a mesh white top. He slicked his hair back with gel, a thing he reserved only for special occasions because it took so long to wash out. He pulled on a jacket to wear on the walk to the frat house, stuffing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter into one of the pockets.

His team met him downstairs. Some were already drunk from pre-gaming, whooping and shoving each other, while others were still calm and chatting. Ilya lit a cigarette and sucked the smoke into his lungs, relishing in the way the thick, dry air traveled down his throat. The cool wind stung his exposed nipples where his jacket hung open, but he didn’t bother to zip it. It was nice to feel something after so many days of being numb.

The guys arrived at a packed house. Bodies were moving in swarms, swaying to the music that was blasting in the background, limbs colliding into one another in rhythm. There was a haze of smoke throughout the rooms that smelled strongly of skunk, and beer bottles littering every table. He could barely see in front of him, but he didn’t need to. He let his body lead him, moving between slick bodies, until he came to a table in the back. He poured a shot of vodka for himself and Marleau, which they both took immediately. Ilya then went back into the sea of bodies to find someone to dance against.

Ilya had settled on a pretty strawberry blonde girl with bright hazel eyes. She was small compared to him, maybe a good six inches shorter, with large breasts and rosy cheeks. She was attractive. And she looked nothing like Hollander.

She grinded back against him as the vibration from the music flowed through their bodies. He had his hands at her waist, dragging them up and down her sides as he moved behind her. Occasionally she’d look up behind her and connect their lips. He’d dip down and move his tongue needily against hers. Ilya was immersed in the moment, finally free from the never ending spiral of thoughts.

Marleau pulled at his arm suddenly, “Roz, come on, they’re doing spin the bottle.”

“What with a bottle?” He echoed loudly over the music, hands still on the girl’s hips. Was her name Annie?

“That’s such high school shit.” Annie pulled a face.

“Yeah but everyone is drunk and horny and trying to get girls to kiss.”

“What is this bottle?” Ilya was lost.

Annie turned to him, “You spin a bottle and whoever it points to, you kiss. It’s a game for virgins in high school so they can kiss someone.”

“Oh, this sounds fun!” Ilya decided, and began to follow a very drunk Marleau.

Annie huffed, but followed anyway. Ilya assumed it was because a bottle wouldn’t deter her from an attractive star athlete. He didn’t even think it to be cocky. A lot of women threw themselves at him for this reason. He had the potential to be rich and famous, and they didn’t want to miss the opportunity. The charm of it titillated him at first, but eventually it began to bore him. Sometimes it even annoyed him. Tonight, though, he was happy it kept her at his side, occupying him and staving off the thoughts.

They finally entered a darkly lit room with a circle of people on the floor. They all sat, crossing their legs. Ilya quickly scanned the circle to see who he might have to potentially kiss, and if there was anyone worth noting. No, no, no, eh maybe, yes very hot, cute, no - he was mentally assessing each person in the circle, until his eyes locked with a pair of wide, panicked, doe eyes. Hollander. Ilya blinked hard, as if he were hallucinating. How many shots did he have? But no. Hollander was there, with Rose Landry at one side and Hayden Pike at the other. This was not a normal circle. This was a circle from hell.

Ilya didn’t hold his gaze long, but he had already memorized the sight of him. He was dressed up - well, as dressed up as Hollander ever got - in a pair of straight cut black pants and a well fitted button down shirt. His hair, normally soft and messy around his face, was slicked back. He imagined Rose’s hands pushing the strands back, over and over, throughout the night and felt his jaw clench.

“All right, let’s go! You start, Pike.” A man in glasses gave him a light shove and Hayden laughed, as if they all knew this was silly and juvenile. He spun the bottle and it landed on a very pretty blonde girl.

Ilya barely paid attention to the shitty kiss Hayden gave the blonde, entirely transfixed by the interlocked hands of Hollander and Landry. He brought her to a party. He went to a party. Ilya wanted to leave.

They worked their way down the circle. Rose’s spin landed on a football player, blonde and tan and muscular. She gave an apologetic look to Hollander and chastely kissed the man on the lips. He looked like he had scored a touchdown, a wide grin eating his symmetrical face. Hollander’s face was tight, but Ilya knew what Hollander looked like when he was angry: slitted eyes, muscles clenching across his jawline, nostrils flared. This wasn’t anger, no, it was an awkwardness, like the face he made when he didn’t know where to put his hands. Ilya craved a cigarette.

Annie’s spin, ironically, landed on the man with glasses. Ilya didn’t think she could be more displeased, but if she hated this game, she hated her kissing partner even more. He wondered if it was partly because it was this man’s idea to play in the first place. Ilya felt her fists ball up beside him, heat emanating off of her small frame, before she crawled over and kissed the guy. It wasn’t as much of a peck as Landry - Annie had no loyalty to abide by - but it was by no means an involved kiss.

Eventually it was Ilya’s turn. He spun the bottle and waited dully for it to land. He was no longer interested in this game, or this party. When the bottle finally slowed to a stop, the circle broke out into laughter. It had landed on Shane Hollander.

“You can spin again if you want,” the man in the glasses offered.

“Why? I am not scared.” Ilya replied, arms crossed like it was nothing. But his heart was racing and his tongue felt too big for his mouth. Even in a mesh shirt he felt too hot.

“Go for it man.”

Hollander whipped his head at Rose, as if to say he wouldn’t do that to her, but to her credit she was clapping. “It’s okay, Shane, I won’t get jealous. I promise.” She laughed.

Ilya hated her.

Hollander faced Ilya, the panic so clear on his face that it spurred Ilya on. Ilya made a big show of it.

“Do not worry, Hollander, I am very good kisser,” he teased, crawling his way across the circle to him. The people around them were laughing and egging them on.

Ilya reached Hollander, cupped the back of his head, and brought his face to him. He crashed their lips together, and kissed him. Hollander accepted the kiss at first, even when Ilya snuck in his tongue, but then, as if remembering where they were, he jumped back and wiped at his mouth. “Rozanov! God.”

“Yes, I have been told so,” Ilya smiled, crawling backwards to his spot in the circle.

After their kiss, Hollander refused to spin during his turn, claiming he had played enough. Ilya held back a satisfied grin. There were a few more people after that and then the circle finally dispersed. Ilya had schooled his face into a nonchalant expression, still flirting cooly with Annie beside him. As soon as the game had ended, though, Ilya no longer felt sociable. He told his team he had a headache and stepped back out into the cold.

His hands shook as he struggled to get his cigarette lit. Hollander was haunting him like a ghost, appearing in spaces Ilya thought were safe, but weren’t anymore. He sucked on his cigarette, his lips tight around the edge, trying to get as much nicotine in him as he could with each inhale. He circled the dorm a few times before heading in, just to burn off the anxiety coursing through him.

***

He fully expected Hollander to yell at him when he got home, but he quickly got ready for bed and turned his light out. He hadn’t even looked in Ilya’s direction once. Ilya was disappointed. He debated giving Hollander a rough time, a few snarky comments about the party as he laid in bed, but the energy was drained from him. He let the effects of the vodka carry him into a nightmare filled sleep.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for all of the love on the last chapter! Sorry for the wait on this one.

Also, I did an HR one shot about Shane being Ilya's one call from jail, if you're interested! It's here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78736396

Chapter 11: Svetlana

Chapter Notes

Something inside of Ilya had broken. He slipped back into the cold, stoic dickhead everyone had grown to know. His old habits returned to him like old friends after war. He collected them, reveled in them. After he had seen Hollander at the party with Rose, looking like an actual couple, Ilya avoided Hollander like the plague. He never entered the dorm unless it was to sleep. He spent most of his time with his teammates, out at bars, or with girls in their rooms on other floors. He had even finally given in and called Svetlana.

“It’s about time, you asshole.” He could feel her rolling her eyes.

“Da. I know. I am sorry. Come over.”

Hollander was out. Ilya knew this much because his shoes weren’t neatly lined against the wall by the door. And with how often he was out lately, Ilya felt it was safe enough to use his own bedroom.

Svetlana had arrived three hours earlier. He took her to dinner, then the bars. They had danced against each other like old times, her skin hot and glistening against his own. She was a familiar presence, the weight of her against him like his favorite sweater. The scent of her alone lulled his nervous system. He kissed and nipped at her neck as they swayed against each other, his head bowed to her for most of the night. Svetlana moved with a fluidity and freedom that made Ilya jealous. He was confident, sure, but Svetlana was so present in her body. She had no hesitation, no reservations, and nothing holding her back. She was fun. Not like boring Hollander.

Ilya fought to keep his thoughts at bay. There was no point in thinking about him. He was probably out with Landry right now, holding her hand in public the way Ilya never could, even if they had let themselves get that far. Ilya felt like he was going to cry, the hot pull starting at his jaw and reaching his eyes.

“Let us go home,” Ilya whispered against Svetlana’s ear in Russian. “We probably have until 11 before boring roommate comes home.” She let out a laugh, like a wind chime in a breeze.

Ilya hadn’t had Svetlana over before. He had been hesitant until now. Seeing her in his bed felt normal. The exchange of heat between them felt normal. It was almost muscle memory, the way he touched her. He knew every spot to set her off and he gave each of them ample attention. He liked sleeping with her. It wasn’t complicated. There was no awkwardness before or after, no questions left unanswered. They fell into a rhythm that they had both memorized over the years and it felt comfortable.

Svetlana’s moans rang in Ilya’s ear so loudly that he didn’t hear the door at first, but she was perceptive. He felt her body freeze, eyes wide towards the entrance. Ilya stopped mid thrust, a hand at either side of her head. He turned his torso slowly, following her gaze.

Hollander stood at the door, feet apart in an awkward stance. His eyes were widened in horror. His mouth was parted, face contorted in an unreadable expression that almost resembled pain. He had dropped his keys on the floor. One hand still held the knob. There was a blush across his face, but it wasn’t the one Ilya was used to. This one was full of shame. His eyes looked wet. Ilya had never seen him like this before: a crumpled shell.

“Hollander. I did not expect you back so early. Did you piss off your girlfriend?” Ilya grabbed his comforter and pulled it over the two of them, not breaking eye contact with Hollander.

Hollander said nothing. His mouth was still parted, eyes now darting from Ilya to Svetlana. Ilya felt anger bubble up, but he didn’t know why. He just wanted this to be over.

“I am sure you want to watch, Hollander. Maybe learn a thing or two, yes? But is not free show. Please leave.” Ilya hadn’t even finished his sentence before he returned his gaze to Svetlana and smiled gently at her, a silent apology.

Hollander made the smallest sound he’d ever heard. It sounded like a strangled cry. He heard him pick up his keys and shut the door, then scuttle across the dorm and out the door.

“Well, that was awkward.” Svetlana laughed.

She had no idea.

***

Svetlana left shortly after, the mood dampened by the sudden interruption.

“Don’t wait so long to call me next time,” she scolded him, leaving a sweet kiss on his cheek and disappearing into the hall.

Hollander missed curfew. It was the first time it had ever happened. Ilya almost worried he was dead in a ditch somewhere. He kept pacing the small room they shared, checking his phone (knowing full well Hollander would never text him) and peeking out of the window. Was Hollander coming back? Had he crashed at Pike’s? Had he requested a room change? Ilya skidded to a stop. Would he do that? Would citing his roommate using the room for sex get it approved? Ilya felt a caged panic building up in his throat.

Just as he was about to descend into full blown panic, he heard the door open. A loud thump and whispered, “fuck” followed. Was Ilya being robbed? That would be the least of his worries tonight.

He stuck his head out of the door to see Hollander leaning against the wall, trying to pull his shoes off. His hair was a rumpled mess, his shirt creased and unclean. He had never seen Hollander so unkempt.

Hollander looked up now, realizing Ilya had entered the room. His eyes were glossy and he gave him a lopsided, wide smile. Ilya had expected anger, maybe even disgust, but never this. Never an innocent, giddy face staring towards him with openness.

“Ilya!” He cooed, falling completely against the wall now.

Ilya rushed over, holding Hollander up by his arms.

“Hollander, are you drunk?” He asked incredulously.

Hollander did not drink. In all the time they had dormed together, he had only seen Hollander take sips of beer at hockey events where he felt obligated. Their fridge was always stocked with ginger ale, which was his drink of choice. He even saw a can next to Hollander at the party the other night.

“Yup,” Hollander giggled.

Ilya had so many feelings all at once he thought that he might fall against the wall himself. Why was Hollander drunk? Who had he been drinking with? Why hadn’t he ever drank with Ilya? What did he drink? And, at the very end of his spiral of thoughts, only: Rose.

“Ilya, I have a secret,” he whispered. Ilya shuddered at the sound of his name on his lips, however slurred it may be.

“Yes, me too. It is that you need water,” he said, helping Hollander to the kitchen table and getting him a glass of cold water. “Drink.”

And he did, sloppily and hungrily. He finished the glass and slapped it back down onto the table with a thud. Ilya was taken aback at how different he seemed, like an unruly toddler.

Hollander looked up at him, smiling, as if waiting for praise. Was he waiting for praise?

“Good job, Hollander.” He made a pleased sound then and Ilya’s heart raced. What was happening right now?

“I tried vodka, because it’s what you drink,” Hollander offered only one piece of information about the night, and it was this.

“But you drink bad vodka. I would have shared the good stuff,” he thought about the bottle he had hidden in his drawer from Christmas and something in him ached. He would have liked to share it with Hollander. When would he ever get the chance otherwise? It didn’t matter now, though.

“I got you the good stuff!” Hollander laughed and Ilya feared that he could read his mind somehow.

“Yes. Did your girlfriend leave you by yourself while you were like this?” He waved a hand at him as if to say, ‘a mess.’

“No girlfriend.” Hollander scowled now, the light and laughter dissipating from his face.

Ilya was annoyed now. How drunk was he? “Yes, Hollander. You are dating Rose Landry. Do you not remember this?”

Hollander looked more frustrated than Ilya. He glared up at him, as if he was tired of this conversation already.

“Ilya, I’m gay.” He said matter of factly. Ilya felt like he had been slapped across the face. His whole body took a step back and tried to steady itself. What the fuck was Hollander even saying right now?

“And Rose Landry?” He kept coming back to her. He couldn’t let it go. Every thought he’d had about Hollander lately had brought him right back to them at that party, them in that picture, their hands clasped together. It was like having a wound in his mouth that he couldn’t stop sliding his tongue over. He played the memories over and over again, waiting for the pain they brought to dull over time, but it never did. Each thought was a new, sharp infliction, as deep as the last.

“Rose…” Hollander sounded like he was having a fond memory and it made Ilya want to slam his head into the wall. “We’re best friends now.” He nodded unevenly, over and over, as if solidifying it.

Ilya needed to sit. He was going to fall apart. He headed to the couch and sat down, sinking into it. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and he focused on breathing. He felt Hollander fall down beside him, struggling to stay upright.

“Ilya,” he said softly, pressing his head against one of Ilya’s hands. Ilya could smell the sour scent of alcohol as he spoke.

He thought Hollander was trying to comfort him, but no. “I have a secret,” he said in a sing-song voice that Ilya might have loved if this whole night wasn’t so infuriating.

“Yes, you’ve said.” Ilya was dumbfounded and also exhausted. If being gay wasn’t the secret, what was?

“I like a boy.” Ilya picked his head up at that and looked at Hollander. He was smiling so wide he could count his teeth. His eyes were bright, albeit bleary, and a blush stretched beautifully under his freckles. He looked happy. He looked like he would haunt Ilya for the rest of his life.

It had been a long two months. Ilya felt the weight of it all suddenly crush him. He wouldn’t cry, no, but his eyes strained against the need. He tipped his head back onto the back of the couch and held onto the cross at his neck, rubbing his thumb and finger over it methodically. Hollander liked a boy. Hollander liked a boy so much that he finally came out to himself (and Ilya, and maybe even Rose. Which made him a little annoyed). He peeked at Hollander, who was sitting up smiling like a puppy waiting for a treat. Ilya wanted to die, but he also never wanted Hollander to lose the joy on his face. This was the happiest he’d seen him, even if he was drunk off of his ass.

“Tell me about this boy,” Ilya said, training his face to look nonchalant. Every inch of his body ached like he had a fever.

“He’s tall, and muscular, and he plays hockey.” Hollander looked at him like he had told Ilya exactly who it was and was giddy for his response.

Ilya was mentally running a list of every hockey player at the school, ranking their probability and determining how he would injure them on the ice. Of course Hollander had fallen for a hockey player. Ilya felt sick.

“And he’s a good kisser,” Hollander gushed, smirking as if he was being playful.

He had kissed him. Hollander liked a boy and he had kissed him and Ilya truly felt the walls caving in.

“Is that so?” Was all he could muster without his voice cracking.

“Yeah, and he’s kind of a dick, but he doesn’t mean it.” Ilya hated whoever this man was.

“I hope he is nice to you,” Ilya was shocked as soon as the words left his mouth. He needed to go to bed.

“He is. To me. He is.” Hollander stared at Ilya now, as if expecting something.

Ilya had nothing. He couldn’t ask any more questions. He couldn’t hear any more of this. He gave Hollander a small smile.

“You should sleep, Hollander.” Ilya suggested, hoping they could end this night.

Hollander looked sad now. Could he really want to talk about this guy more? Ilya didn’t have it in him, but Hollander had been so happy.

“Do you like me back,” he tilted his head, chin wavering despite himself.

“What.” Ilya blinked. Once, twice, three times.

“Nothing,” Hollander shook his head and tried to stand. He wobbled and fell back down.

“Shane.” Ilya grabbed his wrist and Hollander looked at him wearily.

“Am I boy?” Ilya was confused and scared and hopeful. He didn’t want to be hopeful. He couldn’t help being hopeful.

Hollander nodded, a little sadly.

“You are idiot. Why did you not say so?” Ilya barked, a flood of relief and anger bursting out.

“What?” Hollander looked confused, as if he had said it clearly.

Ilya kissed him, hard and deep. He laughed into the kiss. Hollander was surprised at first, even hesitant, then melted into it. Ilya remembered then that he was drunk. Very drunk.

“We talk tomorrow, okay? You need sleep, Shane.” Hollander seemed like he would argue until he heard Ilya use his name. And then he nodded, the exhaustion seemingly hitting his body. His shoulders rounded and his head dipped down.

“Okay. Bed.” Ilya scooped him up and carried him like a bride to his bed. Hollander nestled against his chest, completely unbothered by being carried around. Ilya smiled.

He got Hollander tucked in and onto his side, then got into his own bed. Hollander looked like he was going to ask a question and Ilya’s heart hitched. Not tonight. Any night but tonight. And then it was gone, his face shifting as if he were trying to remember a fleeting thought, before finally succumbing to sleep. He watched Hollander all night, to make sure he was okay in his sleep. He memorized every line, every eyelash, every freckle. He wondered how much Hollander would remember. He wondered how much he’d regret.

Chapter End Notes

I love writing this so much. Thank you for reading it.

Chapter 12: Playing for keeps

Chapter Notes

Ilya was tired. He had spent the entire night staring at Hollander’s stupid, pretty face to make sure didn’t die in his sleep. Hollander, however, looked like he had died after all. He woke up later than normal, his routine schedule off by about an hour, looking pale and sick. He watched as Hollander sat up, wincing and grabbing his head. Ilya got up to fetch him a glass of water and two painkillers, shoving them silently into his hand.

“Thanks,” Hollander mumbled, immediately swallowing down the pills and groaning.

Ilya saw the moment Hollander started to remember. His face went from scrunched in pain to sheer panic. His eyes began to dart side to side, no doubt piecing together a blurry timeline. He swore he could see sweat begin to collect on his skin, his hands white knuckling the glass in his hands.

“Hollander.”

“Fuck,” Hollander whispered, before running the bathroom to be sick.

Ilya gave him space. He knew that Hollander had the tendency to run when things became too overwhelming and he could not survive another bout of silence from him. He left the room and headed to the cafeteria. He waved to his teammates, briefly letting them know he was just grabbing breakfast to go. He popped two Gatorade bottles under his arm and piled as many carbohydrates as he could fit onto a plate. As he headed back up to the dorm, he shoved a bagel in his mouth and tried not to think of Hollander’s next move.

Hollander was on the couch when he returned, sitting up with his head in his hands. Ilya silently placed the Gatorade and plate down in front of him.

“Drink. Eat. You will feel better.”

Hollander looked miserable. He simply nodded, sipping on one of the Gatorades. Ilya was shocked when he even nibbled on a croissant. He really must not be feeling well.

Ilya decided to finally catch up on sleep now that Hollander was conscious. He crawled back into bed and let his eyes fall closed.

***

He didn’t know what time it was when he finally woke up. Hollander’s bed was empty, which made him trill with nerves. He rubbed a hand down his face and checked the time. 2pm.

He exited the room to find Hollander passed out on the couch, the plate of carbs demolished and only half a Gatorade left. He smiled. At least he followed instructions.

He went back down to get more Gatorade, as well as some pasta for both of them. He might have been pushing his luck, but it was what Hollander needed today. He could go back to his bird food tomorrow.

Ilya returned to Hollander slowly stirring. He placed the Gatorade and pasta down, gesturing at him to eat. He plopped down next to him, digging into his own pasta. Hollander didn’t argue.

“Thanks,” he said, though it felt like he was thanking him for much more than the pasta.

“Is no problem. How is head?” He tapped his temple.

“Better. I missed class.” He said it as if he were admitting to murder. The shame on his face made Ilya feel sorry for him, but also want to laugh.

“Yes, well, you are sick. Makes sense.” Ilya offered. Hollander seemed to relax a bit at that and shoveled more pasta into his mouth.

They didn’t discuss the night before. In fact, as the days passed, they never spoke of it at all. Ilya felt both sad and relieved - sad that they were leaving so much unspoken, but relieved he could still hold on to Hollander. Even if this version of him felt wrong. Hollander was hanging out with Ilya, joking with him, talking to him, but he seemed cheerful in a way that was inauthentic. It felt like he was pulled tight over himself, like he was harboring something just below his surface and if Ilya looked too closely, he’d fall apart in front of him. He couldn’t imagine what Hollander was feeling: he had come out, confessed his feelings and been a drunken mess all in one night. Maybe Ilya was just seeing the aftermath of his embarrassment. This new version of Hollander, though, felt worse than when they weren’t speaking. It was like Ilya had a shell of him, parading around as the real thing.

Ilya couldn’t even begin to decipher Hollander’s feeling, though, because he was drowning in his own emotions about it all. He had so much to process, but no way of doing so. Ilya wanted to press Hollander, to crack him open and have them revisit their conversation from that night, but he knew that Hollander would go from this odd clone to gone again. Ilya wasn’t ready for that.

“I like a boy.” It echoed in his head every day. When he was in the shower, during practice on the ice, while he chewed during meals.

And then he’d have a thought, one he wouldn’t dare say out loud:

“Me, too, Hollander, me too.”

Chapter End Notes

Sorry this one is short! I rearranged some things last minute so please bear with me. Thank you for all of the comments on my last chapter - the suggestions have been really helpful and I maaaay have worked some in to a future chapter. Probably no update tomorrow because I have an appointment but hoping to have one out the day after!

Chapter 13: Fake it til you make it

Chapter Notes

Ilya knew next to nothing about what happened the night Hollander came home drunk, but one thing he was certain of was that Hollander hadn’t told other people about his revelation. Ilya knew this because he’d overheard Hollander’s best friend Hayden on the phone trying to set him up with his girlfriend, Jackie’s, friends. He knew this because his mom still asked about Rose and Hollander didn’t correct her when she called her his girlfriend. Hollander was out to Ilya, himself, and maybe Rose.

They never talked about it. Ilya bit his tongue during every conversation where Hollander let himself be invisible, silently conforming to what he thought everyone else wanted. He wouldn’t push Hollander before he was ready. That was also why Ilya had backed off, letting Hollander be in control of when they’d next be together. Ilya figured he’d need a week, maybe two, to shake off the embarrassment before they both turned back to their heated exchanges. Two weeks had passed, though, and Hollander still wasn’t asking his late night questions. In fact, he was still that half-real version of himself: pleasant and friendly and kind, but withdrawn and surface level. It was driving Ilya insane. He wanted Hollander back, the real Hollander. And he wanted to kiss him. And, more than anything, he wanted to tell him he liked a boy, too.

But none of this was possible. Hollander scared too easily and Ilya was too much of a coward. Even if he admitted he liked him back, it wouldn’t matter. They could never be anything more than what they were: roommates with heated touches. There were too many caveats: he would not be able to go back to Russia, their futures in hockey would inevitably be impacted, and this rivalry that the school had been building up for them on the ice would shatter (along with the selling point of it during the draft). There were too many things that could go wrong, and Ilya would never put Hollander through the stress of it.

So, he accepted the movie nights and work outs and low level conversations. Sometimes, when he felt brave, he’d bump a hand against Hollander’s. Hollander would wait a beat and withdraw. Ilya imagined it as a dance, a slow choreography where Hollander led, Ilya followed, and sometimes, Ilya improvised.

***

Ilya was seated on a bench on the outskirts of campus smoking a cigarette. Things felt too loud today, so he had wandered as far as he could, away from the noise and the students bustling to and from their rooms. Hollander was out. He wasn’t sure where he had gone, or with who, but he hadn’t been in their room when he left. To be honest, Ilya had wanted him there. He wanted to convince him to watch a movie even though it was a Wednesday, because he wanted the comfort of his body next to his on the couch. He wanted his scent to calm him. He felt his nerves fraying, maybe with the tension of everything left unsaid.

Ilya almost passed it off as a fox or a bird, rustling against a nearby tree. He heard the crunch of leaves and in the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He was going to shrug it off, despite his annoyance at the disruption of his melancholic solitude, but something pulled his gaze.

He dropped his lit cigarette, mouth slack. Hollander was leaning against a tree, a tall and broad man leaning over him. They were mostly hidden by shadow, and so far from the university that they were almost imperceptible, but Ilya could identify Hollander blindfolded. And that was him, his body neatly tucked against another man. And they were kissing.

Ilya only looked for a second before breaking into a run, but he had already burned the image of the man into his brain: he had an athletic build, with toned calves and broad shoulders, tousled brown hair, and tan skin. Ilya’s feet pounded the pavement so hard it hurt his soles. Hollander was kissing a man. Hollander was kissing a man and it wasn’t Ilya and Ilya didn’t know why. He had confessed he was gay, confessed he liked him and then retreated into himself, only to go and find someone else to kiss. Ilya felt mad, but more than that, he felt his heart cracking under his ribs. He was sick of the dance. He didn’t want to follow this fucked up choreography anymore. His feet carried him to his room, where he fell to his knees, gasping for air. He threw his clothing into a duffel bag and left.

***

Three days passed when he got a text. It was the first time he had ever received a text from Hollander.

Shane Hollander: Are you okay?

Ilya laughed into the air. He had probably moved his boyfriend into their room by now. Maybe he was trying to see if Ilya was coming back so he could give his bed away.

Ilya Rozanov: Da.

Hollander didn’t deserve his words.

Shane Hollander: You’ve been gone for days. When are you coming back?

Ilya Rozanov: Why? Have someone you want to move in?

Shane Hollander: What? No. What are you talking about?

Ilya Rozanov: I am at Svetlana’s. I do not know when I will come back.

He watched the speech bubble pop up, then disappear. This happened three times before Hollander finally sent his message.

Shane Hollander: Didn’t know you were seeing her again.

Rozanov had forgotten that he mentioned her name, briefly, after the incident. They didn’t discuss it, but he had cracked a joke about it that didn’t land and had used her name.

Ilya Rozanov: Is just a place to stay.

Shane Hollander: You have a place to stay. Tomorrow is movie night.

Ilya didn’t know why that did him in, but it did. Maybe it was because Hollander sounded like he really wanted him back. Maybe it was because he missed the way Hollander’s brows furrowed together whenever he lit a cigarette. Maybe it was because he wanted Hollander’s body next to his to combat the utter exhaustion he had fallen into.

Svetlana was fun. They smoked and drank and she introduced him to her friends. He wasn’t having a bad time. He just missed the boring routine that came with being Hollander’s roommate.

Ilya Rozanov: I will be back in time for movie, mom.

Shane Hollander: Shut up, asshole. I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Ilya sighed and rolled over, into Svetlana. She glared at him, very clearly over sharing her small bed with him.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m going back tomorrow,” he said in Russian.

“How many times will you let him break your heart?” She answered, also in Russian.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” he answered in English this time and rolled back over to go to sleep.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry for the wait!

Chapter 14: Spiteful Kisses

Chapter Notes

Ilya dropped his duffel bag on the ground and got into the shower. Hollander was still at the gym, which is why he chose this time to come back home. He needed to orient himself before seeing him again. The longer time passed, the more questions Ilya had. Soon he’d be crushed by the weight of them, he was sure of it.

He was showered and on the couch when Hollander returned from the gym.

“Oh. Hey. Welcome back. I’m just gonna shower real quick and then we can start the movie,” Hollander said, lining up his shoes and padding to the room.

Ilya didn’t answer. While Hollander was showering, he snuck a cigarette.

Hollander came out and sat next to Ilya, with enough space between them for Jesus. Ilya stared down at his phone.

“Uh, how’s Svetlana?” Hollander asked, as if he didn’t really want to know.

“She is good.” He turned to him then, a wry smile forming, “she says hi.”

Hollander crinkled his nose and said nothing.

A beat passed before Hollander said, “Did you smoke in here?”

Ilya gave him a surprised look, “Why would I do that? Is not allowed.”

Hollander threw a pillow at him.

***

They watched the movie in silence, no popcorn, no blanket, no accidental touching of hands. When it ended, Ilya stretched and headed into the bedroom wordlessly.

In the pitch dark of the room, each of them in their respective beds, he knew he wouldn’t sleep. He waited for the familiar slowed breathing of Hollander falling asleep, but even that never came. After an hour, when he contemplated getting up to go for a cigarette, Hollander whispered, “Why did you leave?”

Ilya felt anger rush through him. He could hear the blood pulsing in his ears. He gritted his jaw and said gruffly, “I thought you might want some time alone with your boyfriend.”

Hollander shot up in his bed so forcefully that it made Ilya jump a little. “What?!”

“I was smoking. I saw you two kissing.” Ilya shrugged into the night, like it was no big deal. Like his entire world hadn’t shattered and it hadn’t taken Svetlana a full day to get it out of him and then two more and a bottle of vodka to settle him.

“Fuck.” Hollander sounded panicked.

“Do not worry. I would not tell people.” Except Svetlana, he thought.

“That’s not. No.” Hollander sounded like he was going to cry.

“Is not a big deal.” Ilya said, pulling the blankets further up.

Hollander’s head snapped up. “It’s not?”

Ilya shrugged. “You kissed a guy, so what?”

Hollander stared at him, with a deep sadness that Ilya could not understand, and nodded.

“Right, yeah.”

Ilya felt his skin crackle under the weight of his lies. How did they get here? So far from where they started.

Neither of them spoke again, both laying in their beds and staring into the dark. Ilya tried to focus on slowing his breathing. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. How did he let himself get so far gone?

***

Three days later, Hollander had the boy from the tree in their dorm. Ilya paused when he entered, looking between the two seated on the couch. He was devastatingly handsome, if Ilya was being honest with himself. He had honey colored eyes and a bright, white smile. Ilya inhaled and steeled himself as he pushed himself forward.

“Ilya!” He flinched at the name. Why was Hollander calling him Ilya? “This is Alex. Alex, this is Ilya, my roommate.” The word rang hollow in Ilya’s ears.

Alex stood, only an inch shorter than Ilya, and stuck out a calloused hand. “Nice to meet you, Ilya.”

He hated his name in his mouth. He gripped Alex’s hand and nodded, not bothering to crack a smile.

“We’re just watching a movie.” On a Monday? Ilya thought. “Do you want to join us?”

“No,” Ilya replied, heading to the bedroom and closing the door.

He could hear their light hearted chatter. Hollander’s laughter trilled through the living room, reverberating against the door as if trying to enter. Ilya pressed his eyes shut tightly, trying to picture himself anywhere else.

Hollander returned to the room as soon as the movie was over. Ilya pretended to be asleep.

Ilya mostly avoided Hollander in the week following Alex’s visit. He had nothing to say - at least nothing that he was willing to let himself say, that is. And so he spent more time with his hockey team and more time in the gym. He had put on five pounds of muscle and defined his six pack, which gave him some victory in all of this. It was hollow, everything was, but it was something.

***

Sasha was coming to America to visit Svetlana. He had made Ilya aware of this weeks ago, to see if he wanted him to stop by, but Ilya hadn’t answered the text. It hadn’t felt right, at the time, when he and Hollander had been hooking up so frequently. It felt cruel, seeing Sasha, especially knowing what Sasha would want. But the only cruelty that existed now was Ilya’s false hope that things would ever be the same again. He relented and finally shot Sasha a text saying, “You should stop by on the way.”

Sasha didn’t have to be told twice. Ilya picked him up from the airport and they got lunch together.

“How is America?” He had asked through a mouthful of fries.

“Boring,” Ilya replied, staring at his nearly finished milkshake.

They talked about Russia: about the cold, about the family he had left behind, about Sasha’s new trysts. Ilya felt an icy pit in his stomach when Sasha mentioned his dad, but brushed it off and offered him a cigarette. He hadn’t been back to Russia in months. His father’s face was a blurred memory - cold blue eyes and a frown against the bleak white backdrop of snow. Ilya could remember his mother’s face, every laughter line and eyelash, but could barely conjure his father. He shivered despite not feeling cold.

They headed back to the dorm. Hollander would be at the gym at this hour. Ilya kicked his shoes off into the corner, Sasha following shortly behind him. Ilya spun around and connected their lips, falling backwards onto the couch with Sasha on top of him. They kissed like that for a while, hands in hair and soft moans escaping. Truthfully, he never thought they’d kiss again. Their time together was such a distant memory now that Ilya had to re-learn the rhythm of Sasha’s kisses.

He was the first man he had kissed since he started this thing with Hollander. It felt out of place. Sasha’s lips were firm and rough, a contrast to the exploratory, soft lips he’d grown used to. His scent was jarring, as well, more reminiscent of a club than a lover. Sasha’s hair was less soft and more weighed down with product, Ilya’s fingers hesitant in the strands. Even his skin felt wrong beneath Ilya’s fingertips, more dry and cracked than Hollander’s smooth and routinely lotioned skin. He felt like he was in the wrong scene of a play, everything he had rehearsed suddenly changed for a new script. He tried not to think of it, tried to lose himself in the physicality of it, as he did with all of the women he’d been with. He focused on counting breaths as they huffed out, on pressing against limbs, on the plush couch beneath him.

With his senses heightened, trying desperately to be in the present moment, he heard the door open and the subsequent gasp from Hollander almost immediately. He sat up, Sasha falling back into his lap. They both looked at Hollander, hair tousled and lips swollen.

“Oh, Hollander, sorry. This is Sasha. This is coach’s son I told you about. Sasha, this is Hollander,” Ilya said with cool resolve. “He is boring roommate I told you about.”

Hollander’s face contorted into something that made Ilya feel sick. He couldn’t read the emotion, but every line of his face pulled downward. For a fleeting moment, Ilya thought to smooth them away with his thumb.

Sasha smiled, waving an animated hand at Hollander, completely unaware of Hollander’s expression. “Hi Hollander, nice to meet you.” His eyes were back on Ilya before he ended his sentence. Ilya smiled, honeyed and pointed, before slinging an arm around Sasha and turning to the TV playing in front of them.

Hollander shuffled into his room and closed the door.

***

After the movie ended, which had been spent making out, Sasha headed out to spend the rest of his time in America with Svetlana.

“Don’t be afraid to call sometime,” Sasha had drawled in Russian. Ilya smiled and nodded, shutting the door behind him.

Ilya couldn’t help the smile on his face. Anyone else would think he was giddy with a crush, with seeing Sasha again, but it was the sound of Hollander’s gasp that was bringing him joy. He knew it was wrong of him, but it was the only way to lick his wound after Hollander had let Alex into their bubble. The only thing that sat heavy in his chest was the look on Hollander’s face when he found out who Sasha was. He couldn’t understand why he had reacted that way, looking so broken and meek.

When he entered the room, Hollander was already in bed with the lights off.

“Hollander, is 7pm.” Ilya stated, annoyed. He flicked the light on.

Hollander looked up at him, curled under his blanket, with red puffy eyes.

“What is wrong?” The spite had seeped out of Ilya suddenly, and he knelt in front of Hollander’s bed. He pressed a hand to Hollander’s tear stained cheek.

“Nothing. Go away.” Hollander turned in the bed.

“No. Tell me.”

“Shouldn’t you be going home with Sasha?” He retorted, venom in his words falling short because of the sniffle that followed them.

“Hollander, why are you upset?”

Hollander sat up like a spring pulled back and released. He whirled around to face Ilya, fists twisted in his sheets, the blush beneath his freckles blossoming from anger.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I do.”

“You don’t!” Hollander insisted, the rage spilling over in the form of fresh, hot tears.

Ilya huffed and climbed over Hollander, inserting himself into the bed. Hollander shoved him, over and over. Ilya let him, quietly moving back with each shove, until he was hitting the wall.

Hollander breathed out, exhausted. “What is wrong?” Ilya tried again.

“Why did you bring him here?”

“Why not? You bring Alex.” Ilya said the name like it was a disease.

“You said you didn’t care.”

“Okay.”

“Do you care?” Hollander let his voice betray him - he was scared to ask and scared to know.

Ilya looked away at a spot across the room, his jaw tight.

“Maybe a little.” Hollander stared at his face and Ilya finally met his eyes. He saw a small smile form.

“I’m not seeing Alex anymore. And we only kissed once.” Hollander admitted.

“Okay.”

Hollander glared at him and Ilya threw his hands up, “Sasha is not coming back.”

Hollander nodded, then said: “Maybe we shouldn’t bring people to the dorm anymore.” He said it gently, but it had a fire to it.

“No more visitors, I agree.” He and Hollander both slowly nodded.

That was as far as Ilya was getting. He knew it. He knew it when Hollander settled down into the sheets and laid up against him. He knew it when he watched him turn out the lights. He knew it when his breathing went shallow and he fell asleep with Ilya beside him. Ilya extracted himself and padded over to his bed, climbing in and falling into broken sleep.

Chapter End Notes

I got writer's block for a day and nearly lost my mind, but I wrote a bunch today so hopefully that's cleared up. I've been absolutely loving the comments, thank you so much for leaving them. I'm kicking my feet and giggling as I read them. Yw for the mental image. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 15: Bad timing

Chapter Notes

We're so back! Thanks for putting up with the angst the last few chapters - I know it got a little rough there but I had to slow that burn. Next chapter will clear soooome things up, I think.

As always, thank you so much for being here and reading! Your comments have been 10/10.

It was Friday night and they had just finished up their movie on the couch, seated on either side of a popcorn bowl as usual. Things had gone back to normal, but Ilya still had so many questions. He couldn’t shake the thought of the night Hollander got drunk with Rose, or the night Hollander had kissed Alex. He tried his best to not let it consume him.

Hollander had a glint in his eye that Ilya couldn’t quite decipher.

“Are you staring at me, Hollander? Am I pretty?”

He saw him blush and avert his eyes, “I mean, yeah, you are, but no. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean to stare.”

Ilya didn’t expect this answer but it made him curve his lips into a small smile. “What is it you want, Hollander?”

Ilya liked making him say his desires out loud. Partly because the flush of pink under his freckles drove him crazy and partly because he needed to make sure this was real and he wasn’t misinterpreting Hollander’s shy desire.

They had started this again, the heated touches, the needy kisses, the spit slicked body parts. They hadn’t talked about it. The day after Sasha had left, late in the night, Hollander had started his questions again: “Can I touch you?” And Ilya could never say no. The first time they kissed again was so desperate, so needy, so rough and uncoordinated. They bumped noses and teeth, grasping at each other like they were starved for affection. Maybe they were. They didn’t part after, either. They slept in the bed they had fallen into - Ilya’s - sweaty and panting and all naked limbs.

“I want…” Hollander’s hand reached out for his lap.

“Words, Hollander.”

“To put you in my mouth,” he breathed out.

Ilya smiled at him, “good boy, мой питомец.” He pulled himself out of his sweatpants and Hollander was on him immediately, spilling the bowl of popcorn onto the floor.

Ilya tilted his head back against the couch as Hollander sucked him into his mouth. He loved the feeling of hardening against his tongue, his eager sounds as he sucked him to a full erection. He loved having Hollander like this - his hands in his hair, Hollander’s whimpers vibrating his shaft, his spit pooling at his base, the eagerness of his suction, the memorized rhythm he never strayed from since the first time. It all made Ilya dizzy with want.

“Hollander, maybe we try something new.” Ilya barely got the sentence out before a moan escaped.

Hollander paused and, with his mouth still full, he mumbled, “like what?” Ilya felt his teeth gently hit his skin and shuddered. Everything he did felt good.

“Come up,” Ilya reached down and pulled Hollander to the couch, shoving him back with his palm on his chest. “Undress.”

They both discarded their clothing quickly, Hollander remaining on his back on the couch exactly as Ilya had left him.

Ilya smiled, then straddled Hollander so his back was facing him. “What are you doing?” Hollander instinctively grabbed Ilya’s hips, the confusion in his voice laced with a thin layer of concern.

“I will suck you. You will suck me. Okay?”

“Oh.” The realization had finally hit Hollander.

“Okay?” Ilya tried again.

“Yes. Okay.”

Ilya slid slowly down, lining his cock up with Hollander’s mouth. Hollander slowly sucked him in, moving his head until the angle allowed him to get most of Ilya in. As soon as he seemed situated and comfortable, Ilya sucked his way down Hollander’s length. The needy moan that escaped Hollander reverberated through his shaft, forcing a moan out of his own mouth and undoubtedly giving Hollander the same experience. Hollander’s fingers were digging into Ilya’s hips as he sucked wildly. Ilya could tell he was struggling a little to fully keep him in his mouth, but his eagerness never wavered. Ilya massaged his balls as he sucked, stroking his base and meeting his fist with his lips. He had free use of his hands, something Hollander lacked at this angle, so he put them to good use. Hollander involuntarily bucked up, moaning. Ilya smiled against him, kneading and stroking to illicit more desperate whimpers. Hollander, ever keen to please, surprised Ilya when his wet tongue found his balls. He suckled one into his mouth, gently exploring it with his tongue, before moving on to the next one.

“Fuck,” Ilya moaned over his cock. His thighs trembled a little as he held himself over Hollander.

Hollander pulled his head away for a second to say, “don’t ask where I learned it. I made it up.” He immediately connected his mouth back to Ilya’s tip and sucked him into his mouth.

Ilya, for the first time in his entire life, flushed with embarrassment. He used to ask where Hollander learned things any time he presented him with something new. He could never be sure when or if Hollander was seeing someone else and it constantly made his chest deflate. With everything that had happened recently, Hollander was apparently getting ahead of the issue. He made a mental note to stop insecurely asking where Hollander learned things every time he did something new in the future and to accept that the golden boy had taken to learning on his own. For him. To make him feel good.

The room was nothing but moans and sucking sounds as they devoured each other. Hollander’s thigh began to twitch ever so slightly beneath Ilya’s hand and he knew he was getting close. He worked his hand and mouth to meet each other, never breaking his suction, allowing his spit to keep Hollander’s shaft slick.

Hollander never removed his mouth from Ilya, but he began to frantically moan as he neared climax. Ilya quickened his pace, as Hollander bucked up and exploded down his throat. He took every last drop, licking him clean, then chased his own orgasm building in his abdomen. Hollander was gripping his hips and pulling him as far into him as he could go, taking each thrust of his hips with an eager mouth.

“Hollander -“

Hollander simply moaned onto his dick, encouraging him over the edge. He shot ropes of warm heat down Hollander’s throat and reveled in the feeling of him swallowing around him.

They got up and got dressed, playfully bumping into each other and exchanging quick kisses. As they entered their bedroom, Hollander turned to face Ilya.

“What if you slept in my bed tonight?” Hollander asked with more confidence than Ilya was used to.

“Okay.”

They both gave small smiles and climbed into the bed, their bodies crushed together in the small space. Ilya wrapped his arms around Hollander and Hollander snuggled back against him. He could feel the heat at every point their bodies touched. Hollander’s scent filled his nose, calming his nervous system. His fingers felt the soft, smooth skin of him, fingerprints pressing into the silkiness of it. This was the first time Hollander had asked him for something that wasn’t sexual. Ilya sat with the feeling for a little too long. Hollander’s shallow breathing pulled him out of his head, realizing he had fallen asleep in his arms already. Ilya smiled, drifting off himself shortly after.

***

Ilya woke up to an empty bed. It was still warm and smelled strongly of Hollander, but his spot beside him was empty, leaving nothing but an indent in the sheets. He tried not to think the worst, not to assume Hollander had once again given in to his panic, but it felt all too familiar. He sighed, willing himself out of the warmth of the bed, away from the scent he loved so much, and into the living room.

The couch was empty, too. Ilya’s stomach fell and he began to search for his cigarettes. He patted his jacket pocket before pulling out the red and white box.

“What are you doing?” Hollander’s voice startled Ilya so much he dropped the pack.

He whirled around to find Hollander at the door, two plates of food in hand. “I go get us breakfast and you’re smoking?”

Ilya blinked twice. He couldn’t tell Hollander that he was going to smoke because he thought he had run away from him yet again, so instead he regretfully said, “no. I was throwing it away.” He picked the box up off the floor and tossed it into the trash.

Hollander seemed overjoyed. Ilya felt both guilty and annoyed. That pack had cost him $11.

He walked over to Hollander to inspect the plates. One had egg whites and arugula, the other a greasy breakfast sandwich and a hashbrown. He plucked his plate from Hollander and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” he managed before cramming half the sandwich into his mouth. Hollander crinkled his nose and sat at the table, digging into his protein packed bird food.

“We woke up too late for the gym today,” Hollander said, defeated.

“Da, but we have game tonight and practice before. Will be fine.”

Hollander looked unconvinced, but nodded.

***

Ilya’s team won by two goals, both of which had been scored by him. He roared into the air, arms wrapped around his teammates, sticks flying above their heads. Hollander had been beating him recently and it felt so good to be back on top.

“Good game,” Hollander said with a wry smile, skating past Ilya. And it had been.

Ilya went out with his team to celebrate and when he got back to the dorm, he found a less than enthused Hollander sitting on the couch.

“Oh. You’re back.” Ilya was a little tipsy and couldn’t quite register the emotion on Hollander’s face.

“Were you waiting?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Hollander didn’t answer. He simply crossed his arms and looked up at Ilya.

“What?” Ilya asked innocently, his mouth dry and sour from the alcohol.

“Nothing. It’s late.” Hollander got up and handed Ilya a glass of water.

He went into the bedroom and Ilya trailed him like a puppy, chugging the water in his hand.

“Did you miss me?” He prodded.

“No.”

Ilya glared at him. Well why the hell not? He was disgruntled now. He put the glass down a little harder than he meant to on the nightstand.

“What is problem, Hollander?” Ilya leveled, his tone much more firm than usual.

“I -“ Hollander seemed embarrassed and closed his mouth. Ilya felt bad.

“Tell me,” he said, sitting next to Hollander on his bed and rubbing his back.

“I just thought… It was stupid, I’m sorry. Congratulations, by the way.” Hollander offered a smile. Ilya frowned.

“Tell me,” he said again, this time biting Hollander’s neck. He yelped and shoved him.

“Stop, Ilya, you’re drunk.”

“No. Tipsy. Is different.” He corrected, then dipped back down to bite again.

“Cut it out!” Hollander laughed, shoving him again.

“No. You are cranky but will not tell me why. Not very good boy.” Ilya teased.

“I’m not cranky. I just thought maybe… I wanted to celebrate with you tonight. But I was dumb, I’m sorry. Obviously you’d celebrate with your team. I should’ve planned for tomorrow or something.”

“Hollander, night is still young.” Ilya waved his hand in the air and then placed it on Hollander’s thigh, rubbing it.

Hollander squirmed. “Yes but you’re,” he paused, seemingly correcting himself in his head, “… tipsy.”

“So? I am fine. Look,” Ilya kissed him, then, deep and wild. Hollander relented for a second, melting into it, before abruptly pulling away. Ilya was hard and cranky now, just wanting Hollander to give in to him.

“Not tonight, Ilya.” His name came out so sweetly. It made him want to bury himself inside Hollander even more.

“This is unfair.” He crossed his arms and huffed. His composure was gone. He felt like he was being punished and all he wanted on his big win night was to kiss Hollander.

“I know, I’m sorry. But maybe tomorrow we could,” Hollander paused.

“Celebrate?” Ilya offered.

“Yes.”

“And how do you want to celebrate me?” Ilya gave a sly grin.

Hollander flushed, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Ilya sensed something but his brain wasn’t connecting the dots right now.

“Hollander, tell me. I cannot think.” Ilya was exasperated.

“I wanted to have sex tonight.”

Ilya’s body froze. He stared at Hollander with his mouth slightly open. He was devastated with himself. He would trade all the vodka in the world to have chosen to come straight home tonight instead. He’d throw his cigarettes out a second time just to have an inkling that Hollander would be planning this tonight. Hollander hadn’t mentioned sleeping together since before he confessed he was gay. It felt like a lifetime ago, even if it had only been a few months. He honestly thought it was off the table and he was fine with that, he would take whatever Hollander was willing to give him. But knowing now that he could have had it, after dreaming of it for so long… He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Why did you not tell me! I would have come home!” Ilya whined into his hands, a sound he wasn’t sure he had ever made before.

“You would have?”

He snapped his head up and looked at Hollander incredulously. “Yes!”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to make it a surprise. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m stupid.” Hollander rubbed his temples, clearly stressed.

“Not stupid. Maybe silly.” Ilya pulled his hands down from his temples and kissed them.

“I do want to, though, soon. I think.” Hollander said.

“You think?”

“No, I know, I’m just nervous.” Hollander admitted.

Ilya kissed his temple, then his cheek, then his lips.

“There is no rush. And when we do, will be slow. I will take care of you, do not worry.” Ilya reassured him. Finding English words was so hard when he was tipsy. Tipsy with an erection made it nearly impossible. Hollander had terrible timing.

Hollander smiled at him and petted his hair. Ilya felt his eyes get heavy. It had been such a long day. There was so much to process. It felt like he had lived three lives by now.

“Are you ready for bed?” Hollander asked, rubbing his back.

Ilya nodded. He had no more words.

Hollander gestured towards his bed, offering for him to stay in it tonight. Ilya didn’t need to be told twice. He flopped down on Hollander’s bed. Hollander inserted himself into Ilya’s arms, as if it had always been like this, as if they had never slept any other way. Ilya rubbed his cheek against the soft tuft of Hollander’s hair, letting the scent soothe the headache blooming in his temples. Hollander felt warm and solid, an anchor for Ilya amidst the chaos of his own brain. He waited, as he always did, for Hollander’s breathing to shallow. He had never met someone who could fall asleep so quickly. His steady breath was a lullaby to Ilya, seducing him into his own exhaustion and finally allowing him to sleep. On days when he slept in Hollander’s bed, and on days after they hooked up, Ilya didn’t have nightmares. Peace settled over him. And tonight, the peace enveloped him, until a deep and comfortable sleep took hold.

Chapter 16: Like ghosts in snow

Chapter Notes

Hollander had dropped multiple hints throughout the day that he wanted something from Ilya and Ilya knew exactly what it was, even if Hollander wouldn’t dare say it. He was happy to oblige, of course. He couldn’t even pretend he hadn’t been waiting for this for months. He had been patient, almost making peace with it never happening. But there was something Ilya wanted, too. He knew it was a risk, that pushing for it might make Hollander back off, but he didn’t care. If Hollander gave him what he wanted, Ilya would give him what he wanted - it was simple. And what he wanted was answers about that night with Rose Landry.

Ilya knew this was foolish. Hollander was gay and consistently hooking up with Ilya, but the thoughts still plagued him. If he just knew all of the details, he could put it to rest, he was sure of it. And he wanted the answers before they slept together so that she wouldn’t haunt his every movement with Hollander. He’d ask, Hollander would tell him, and they’d carry on with their night. Or so he hoped.

When he returned to the dorm after class, a freshly showered Hollander was sitting on the couch feigning nonchalance. He had his arms behind him, one leg over the other, staring at the tv. The TV was off. Ilya huffed a laugh to himself and announced he was going to take a shower.

As he washed his hair, he tried to think of how to initiate the conversation without scaring Hollander off. He knew it would have to be a slow and careful dance between the two. It had been months since their last time apart, Ilya now almost able to forget the agonizing pain it had left him in. He didn’t want to go back there, but he also hated being in the dark. He wasn’t asking for a relationship or a confession or anything that he knew would make Hollander splinter into pieces. He just wanted to know what happened that night. That was fair, wasn’t it?

He turned the shower off, the steam so thick in his chest now that it felt like he couldn’t breathe. He towel dried his hair, pulled on a hoodie and sweatpants, and headed to the living room. Hollander was still staring at the blank TV, his knee bouncing. Ilya threw himself down next to him and smiled.

“Anything interesting on?” He pointed with his thumb to the TV.

Hollander hit his shoulder and Ilya grabbed his wrist. He pulled him towards him, catching his lips with his own. They kissed, soft and slow, with Ilya’s pointer finger tracing Hollander’s jaw. He pulled back to look at his face - it was flushed, freckles bright stars against a pink backdrop. His doe eyes were wide, pupils blown out so much that his eyes looked black. Ilya kissed his cheek, right below his eye, as if trying to taste the smattering of freckles there. Hollander was vibrating with impatience. Ilya could feel himself holding back. He smiled.

Hollander shifted towards him, as if to connect their lips again, but Ilya held him back by his shoulders. Hollander let out a whimper of protest. The heat was emanating off of his frame, body buzzing with desire. Ilya took a breath to steady himself.

“Hollander,” Ilya started, dropping his hands, his fingers flitting up and down Shane’s arm.

Hollander looked dazed, clearly intent on this interaction going a specific way. He looked like he would lean forward again to try and kiss him.

“Hollander,” Ilya tried again, this time firmer, “I think we should talk.”

And just like that, Hollander’s pupils shrunk immediately. Ilya watched them retreat, the browns of his eyes taking over again. His body flinched backward, as if he had been hit, and he scooted away from Ilya by just a fraction of an inch. His mouth parted, then closed, the panic clearly seizing him. His eyes were darting between Ilya’s, searching… for what? An answer? Hope? An escape?

He reached out and cupped Hollander’s cheek, his thumb circling the velvet skin. Hollander just stared, eyes wide and jaw tight.

“It is nothing bad, Hollander. Is okay. We are okay.” He reassured him, pressing another soft kiss to his cheek.

Hollander paled. Ilya sighed then, retracting his hand and turning towards the TV, away from the panicked face beside him.

“I just want to know what happened.” Ilya admitted, finally. It was like a weight had been lifted from his chest. It was out there now. He thought about it often and he wanted answers and now Hollander knew. He looked back at him, his face still panicked but curious now, too. “That night you came back drunk,” Ilya clarified finally.

Hollander blinked. “What about it?”

“I do not know. All of it?” Ilya wasn’t used to being so honest. He felt raw, like he had sawed open the bones of his chest and presented Hollander his lungs for inspection, for scrutiny. He wanted a drink. He debated asking Hollander if he wanted to drink the vodka he had stashed in his drawer, but he wanted him sober for this. He wanted to hear everything Hollander could remember and then he wanted to lay him down and take him and alcohol would only complicate both.

Ilya let out a breath. Hollander seemed faraway now, like he was sorting through memories. Emotions flickered on his face in rapid succession, until finally he just looked scared. “I- Like what?”

“What did you do when you left the room?”

“You mean after I saw you with Svetlana?” He spat, with more anger than Ilya had ever seen. His eyes were squinting against the rage, nostrils flared, mouth pulled into a tight line. He hated it. He hated this expression. He wanted to kiss it away.

“Yes. I am sorry.” Ilya hung his head down, staring at the carpet below his feet. He was sorry. He had never meant for Hollander to see them.

“I called Rose. I went to her apartment.” Hollander said stiffly. Ilya’s chest felt empty.

“You drank?”

“Well, no. I - “ Hollander winced, as if embarrassed. “I told her what happened. And then I cried.” He rubbed a hand down his face and blew out a frustrated breath. Ilya’s eyes widened despite trying to remain neutral. “She told me. Well, not told me, but kind of led me to it.” He looked up at Ilya. “That I was gay. She said she thought I might be and when she said it out loud everything kind of clicked. And that’s when I drank.” He clarified.

Ilya wanted to hold him. He wanted to thank Rose. He wanted to go to sleep. Instead, his lips moved on their own, “did you two…?”

“Sleep together? Yeah. It was awful.” Hollander let out a small laugh. “Not that night, though. It was before. Like a week earlier.”

Ilya’s tongue felt dry and thick in his mouth, like a foreign object that didn’t belong.

“Why did you even date her? What happened? We were…” Ilya didn’t know how to continue.

Hollander sucked in a breath.

“When I went home, my parents were asking me if I was dating anyone and telling me I should bring a nice girl home.” Hollander sounded like he was in pain as he recalled his break back home. “It was stupid, I know it was, but I just felt like I had to try, you know? Like maybe I could do that. Be that.” His eyes looked wet now. Ilya let his thumb rub against Hollander’s thigh. His heart broke for him.

“And Alex?” He knew this was really pushing it. He knew addressing one thing was a lot, but two?

“Alex wasn’t really anything. I just thought. I don’t know. I thought maybe I should stop bothering you and kiss someone else.” Hollander looked down and blushed.

“You never bother me.” Ilya said sternly.

“I thought, after that night, maybe you were done.” There was more to it, but he could tell Hollander was getting overwhelmed.

“No.” Ilya said simply, willing to drop it for now. Hollander nodded, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

“Thank you.” That’s all Ilya had left in him to say. He went to lean forward to kiss Hollander, but Hollander placed a palm on his chest and pushed him gently back.

“I have questions, too.” Ilya braced himself. He didn’t expect this, but of course Hollander would have questions, too. He prepared himself to answer questions about the girls he’d been with, mentally categorizing the memories so he could easily pull up the information.

Ilya nodded, ready now, “okay.”

“Tell me about your mom?” Ilya let out a very small yelp. The air had suddenly left the room and he felt himself panicking for escape. His hands felt too big on his body, his skin too tight, his mouth impossible to move. His feet felt like lead. And the panic, the panic washed up his throat like a wave to shore, pulling away his voice with each ebb back into his stomach. He tried to breathe. He tried to count his breaths. He could no longer see Hollander, or the room he was in. All he could see was the room he had found her in, cold and dim, floorboards digging into his knees.

He didn’t know how long he had been trying to breathe through it, but suddenly, like a flash of heat in a snowstorm, Hollander’s arms were around him. His soft lips peppered kisses into his hair. The air filled his lungs again. He looked down and saw his hands shaking.

“I’m sorry, Ilya. I didn’t mean -“

“No.” Ilya said, too firm, too loud, his voice not his own. “I want to. I want to tell you.” His words came before his thoughts. He was moving on autopilot. He couldn’t feel his own body anymore. He clung to the warmth of Hollander. He held on to the anchor. He let it ground him like it always did.

Hollander simply nodded into his hair, his hands drawing idle circles on his back. Ilya leaned into him and took a breath.

“My mother was beautiful. She was smart, and funny, and kind. My father, he was terrible to her. I think it broke something in her.” He spoke slowly, trying to find the right words, wishing desperately to revert back to Russian so it was easier. “I was twelve. I found her. My father said she had an accident. She had accidentally swallowed a whole bottle of pills,” he laughed dryly. His body tensed. Hollander held him tighter.

“She was not weak,” he insisted, staring at Hollander now. He needed him to understand.

“I would never think that,” was all he said, with such sincerity that Ilya could never ever doubt that he meant it.

Ilya shuddered, a sob finally breaking on his lips. He curled against Hollander and cried, for the first time in a long time, he gave in to the hurt. Hollander held him tightly, rubbing his back and petting his hair. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but Ilya cried until he had no tears left. He could feel his eyes swell and ache, his lips crack, his body shudder. Hollander pressed kisses - to his ear, his cheek, the very corner of his mouth.

Before he realized, he spoke against the fabric of Hollander’s shirt, “sometimes I am scared I am like her.”

It was the heavy thing he carried with him, like a piece of lead in his pocket. It shadowed everything he did, everything he accomplished. It blinked every time he failed. He had never spoken it, oftentimes he couldn’t even fully think the words before the panic hit and he found something to distract himself. It was always there, though, chaining him.

“That’s okay,” Hollander spoke gently, like his words might spook Ilya, “because there’s things we can do to help. You can talk to me, or your friends, or a therapist. They even have medication. We can figure it out. If it gets bad, you can tell me, and we can figure it out.” He said it with certainty, as if it were obvious. Ilya took in a breath. He knew Hollander meant it. He knew, even if they weren’t speaking or kissing, he could go to him as a friend. For maybe the first time since they had moved in together, Ilya realized just how much their friendship had grown.

“Thank you.” It was all he could say. He pressed further into him, inhaling his scent, finding his anchor. He focused on the feeling of gentle fingers brushing through his curls. He pushed away the thoughts of the cold, dimly lit room that smelled of dust, and tried to remember the pieces of this space: Hollander’s shoes nearly lined up at the door, the line of coke and ginger ale on the top shelf of their fridge, the scuff mark on the wall from the time Ilya came home drunk and fell into it and the long lecture he’d received the next day, the new indent in Hollander’s bed from where Ilya slept now.

“Is the necklace…” Hollander started, still holding Ilya to him, “I notice you touch it a lot when you’re stressed. Was it hers?”

“Da. Yes. It is all I have left.” Ilya nodded sadly.

Hollander pressed a soft kiss to his temple and then said in a whisper: “Thank you for letting me in.”

***

They were both exhausted. As much as Ilya hated that he had ruined the night they were supposed to have, he didn’t regret it. Something rooted between them that night, something he knew would tether them together indefinitely, even if space and time and emotion wedged them apart. He’d have that root.

When they finally moved to their bedroom, Hollander didn’t even verbally offer his space. He simply held the blanket up and waited for Ilya to get in, then scooted up against him once he settled. Ilya hadn’t slept in his own bed in days now, but he didn’t miss it.

Chapter End Notes

Ugh my heart hurt writing this one

Chapter 17: Nothing comes as easy as you

Chapter Notes

Ilya woke up with Hollander still in his arms. He wasn’t used to it - Hollander often woke up earlier than him and was busy being productive by the time he woke up. But there he was. His plush lips were slightly parted, a whistle of air blowing through them. His long, black lashes dusted the soft, freckle adorned skin beneath them. He was radiating heat, his back a little damp against Ilya’s chest. Ilya wanted to kiss him. He couldn’t, of course, but he wanted to. He lightly pressed the pads of his fingers to Hollander’s cheek, barely a flutter of a presence, before pulling them back again. He laid there, soaking in how it felt to hold him, before he felt him stir. He groaned a little, stretching his body against Ilya’s. Ilya’s desire awakened beneath his sweatpants and he tried to move his hips back to avoid being caught.

“Good morning, Hollander.”

“Good morning, Rozanov.” He peeked at him with low lidded eyes and a sleepy smile.

Ilya gave in and pressed his lips to Hollander’s cheek, the feeling of his eyelashes fluttering against his mouth. As soon as he pulled away, he started extracting himself from Hollander.

Hollander pulled him back down. “It’s Saturday.”

“Yes, what difference is that to you? You do yoga and practice and see stupid Hayden Pike.”

“Why don’t you like Hayden?”

“No one likes Hayden.”

“I do! He’s my best friend.”

“Your best friend is bad at hockey.”

Hollander tossed a pillow at Ilya, letting a laugh slip between his lips. Ilya squeezed him, biting at his ear. They laid there for a while, Hollander still wrapped in Ilya’s embrace. The room was quiet except for their breathing.

“I’m hungry,” Ilya huffed, grabbing Hollander and dragging him to the bathroom. Hollander wouldn’t eat until his teeth were brushed and Ilya wasn’t playing around about food.

After they had brushed their teeth and moved to the kitchen, Hollander asked, “Should we grab stuff from the cafeteria before they take the breakfast stuff away?”

“No, I can cook.” Ilya stated, rummaging the fridge.

Hollander seemed surprised, but said nothing. He slid into the chair at the kitchen table and watched Ilya move across the kitchen.

Ilya placed a plate of egg whites, turkey bacon and arugula in front of Hollander. On his own plate, he had an egg and cheese omelette with home fries.

“Thanks. This looks great,” Hollander said and happily dug in.

Ilya felt a sense of pride watching him eat. He pushed the feeling down and worked on finishing his own plate.

***

Hollander was having a lazy Saturday. Rather, Ilya and Hollander were having a lazy Saturday. This had been decided by Hollander at some point, but Ilya had no idea when, because he had never communicated it. It was just decided and executed. He didn’t mind, though. It was nice, splaying out on the couch with Hollander tucked in beside him. They’d watched movies, kissed intermittently, and idly chatted. Ilya felt more relaxed than he had in months, his muscles subdued and his head light.

He stood up from the couch, nearly tossing Hollander to the ground, and reached out his hand. Hollander, both annoyed at almost falling and curious as to why Ilya was moving, grabbed his hand.

Ilya led him to the bedroom and pushed him onto his back on his bed. Hollander looked up, eyes wide.

“You still want?” Ilya asked casually, straddling Hollander’s waist.

“Yeah,” Hollander breathed out, arms at his side as if he were afraid to move.

Ilya bent forward and kissed him, gentle and slow at first, then deep and needy. Hollander opened his mouth, darting his tongue out to meet Ilya’s. Ilya’s hands ran up and down his chest, feeling his soft skin taut over hard muscle. He moaned into the kiss, eliciting a whimper from Hollander. He was drunk off of the scent of him, the look of him pinned beneath him. Ilya had lusted after quite a few men, but none were as pretty as Hollander. His doe eyes gleaned, his pupils enveloping the coffee brown irises. He looked like he had the unending universe in his eyes. Ilya nibbled at his plump lower lip, then kissed him fully. He alternated between licking, sucking and biting at his lips as they kissed. Hollander writhed below him, his hands exploring his curls.

Eventually the kissing devolved into a mess of grabbing each other, limbs wild and needy. Ilya finally pulled away, pulling Hollander up and stripping him of his clothing. Hollander did the same, tugging Ilya’s shirt off, then sliding his sweatpants and underwear down. Soon they were naked, their desire evident and flush against each other. Hollander was bucking wildly, desperate for contact. Ilya cupped his cheek, kissed him and then sat up. He kissed a trail down his chest, then his stomach, and finally he took him into his mouth. Hollander shuddered a gasp, his hands threading into Ilya’s hair once more. Ilya sucked and licked, not to get Hollander close, but to tease and relax him.

“Rozanov, please,” Hollander had caught on and was none too pleased at the lack of progress.

Ilya smiled around him, then pulled off with a wet ‘pop.’ He rubbed Hollander’s thighs briefly, then leaned over to the drawer and pulled out the lube.

“Tell me what you want,” Ilya said, holding the bottle in his hand but not moving.

“You. I want you. Please, Rozanov.” Ilya’s stomach flipped. He quickly undid the cap and smeared his fingers with lube, rubbing them together to warm it. He leaned down and trailed kisses down Hollander’s thigh as he toyed with his entrance. He watched Hollander's cock flex in the air, no doubt attempting to make contact with anything it could. Ilya dipped the tip of his finger in and waited. Hollander gasped, but settled quickly. Ilya continued pushing in, intentionally avoiding the bump that would bring Hollander too close too soon. He moved in and out, sucking on his inner thigh as he worked his fingers. Hollander was moaning and squirming beneath him, tugging at his curls as if it would make Ilya go faster. Ilya bit his thigh, then added another finger.

“Fuck, Rozanov. Want you.”

“Soon, дорогой.” Ilya purred against his skin.

He moved his fingers in and out, ghosting once or twice over the bump that made Hollander sputter. Once he could comfortably move his fingers around, and had Hollander wildly pressing against him to shove him deeper, he removed them and grabbed a condom. Hollander, through low lidded eyes, watched.

“Still okay?” Ilya checked as he finished pulling the condom down onto himself.

“Yes. Please. Yes.” Ilya smiled at how desperate Hollander was for it.

He pushed Hollander’s thighs to his chest, lined himself up and then slowly started entering. With each slight push, he’d pepper a kiss to his jaw. He moved so slow he wasn’t sure he was breathing. Hollander, who had been wild with need moments ago, was quiet with concentration. Ilya cupped his cheek, giving him a gentle kiss.

“Are you okay?” Hollander was so still and quiet.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just. A lot.” Ilya paused. “Don’t stop!” Hollander protested. Ilya laughed and resumed his very slow push in.

“We can stop whenever,” Ilya offered.

“Don’t stop.” Hollander almost sounded mad.

“Is not a competition, Hollander. You cannot fail. Is okay to stop when you need.”

“I don’t need!”

Ilya kissed his forehead. Hollander sighed. “I want you to keep going. Just stay slow, okay?”

Ilya nodded, his forehead against Hollander’s. He moved to trail kisses down his neck, licking and sucking. Hollander moaned and moved his hips a little. Ilya was big, and the first time always took some adjusting, but he was fairly certain Hollander’s nerves were what was making him so tense.

“You feel so good,” he mumbled into Hollander’s neck.

Hollander fluttered beneath him, whimpering and pushing down more against him. Ilya smiled.

“You are so pretty like this, under me and moaning. You take it so good. You open so good for me.” Ilya kept going, feeling the tension drain from Hollander.

“Rozanov,” Hollander choked out, digging his fingers into his shoulders and grinding wildly against him.

Ilya increased the speed, releasing breathy moans into the air. “Okay?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.” Hollander was clinging to him, his face flushed.

Ilya kissed his hairline, then pulled out so that only the tip was in.

Hollander whined a loud protest, before Ilya angled his hips and slid back in. He knew he had hit his mark when Hollander spluttered and spasmed beneath him. He was slick with sweat, his cheeks and ears covered in a rosy blush. Ilya caught his parted lips with his own, kissing him deeply as he kept a steady rhythm, sliding over Hollander’s sweet spot with every thrust.

“Rozanov-“ it was a warning. Ilya didn’t listen to it. He kept the same steady pace, hitting the same spot, watching as pre cum coated Hollander’s stomach.

He watched as Hollander reached down to touch himself and smacked his hand away. Hollander furrowed his brows, about to argue, when Ilya grabbed his cock. He smeared the pre cum over his head and began to move up and down, causing a string of curses and moans to escape Hollander.

He could feel Hollander’s entire body tensing beneath him, his moans now nothing but whimpers. He watched as he writhed, his face contorted, spilling hot sticky threads over Ilya’s fist. Ilya’s hips nearly faltered, so overcome with how fucking hot Hollander looked cumming beneath him. He managed two unrhythmic pumps before he came deep inside of him, moaning into his hair and then collapsing onto him. He could feel Hollander cringing at the stickiness between them and laughed.

“We will shower soon.” Ilya said, gently kissing Hollander’s jaw and forehead. He could taste the salt from his sweat.

Hollander nuzzled his head against each kiss, his hands holding on to the back of Ilya’s shoulders. His body was dead weight beneath Ilya, warm and sticky and a scent that was so Hollander - Ilya wished he could bottle it.

“I am going to pull out now, okay?” He whispered into Hollander’s ear. Hollander nodded against him, unable to talk.

Ilya put one hand on Hollander’s hip and the other on his cheek as he extracted himself. He rubbed a thumb across his jaw when he whimpered at the loss of contact. Once he was out, he disposed of the condom and offered a hand to Hollander.

“Shower time. You can go first.” He pulled Hollander into the bathroom and started the water, giving him a tender kiss before stepping out and letting him clean up.

When it was Ilya’s turn and he stood under the hot rainfall of water, he thought about how much he hated scrubbing Hollander off of his body. He wished he could have kept his scent on his skin like cologne. He’d even keep the sticky, hot mess he had made if it meant keeping him on his body.

When he exited, the sheets on Hollander’s bed were already changed and Hollander was tangled in them sleepily. Ilya gave a small laugh at the sight of him. Hollander could handle two hours in the gym without a care, but one fuck and he was dead to the world. Ilya climbed in next to him and pulled him close. He kissed his temple and into his hair.

“Good?”

“God, yeah,” Hollander mumbled into the pillow.

Ilya didn’t even wait for Hollander’s shallow breaths before he gave into sleep. Everything felt warm and soft and peaceful.

Chapter End Notes

Lemme know if I'm dragging this out too long. I just keep getting ideas for chapters so I haven't stopped yet lmao. I've also started using lyrics as song titles for the fun of it, so if you know this one ilu

As always, thank you for reading, commenting and giving kudos. It means the world to me.

Chapter 18: Stupid Hayden Pike

Chapter Notes

Ilya woke up with a pit of darkness in his stomach. Yesterday was good. It was almost too good. He was worried that once he opened his eyes Hollander would be gone and the silence would consume him. He tried to assess his surroundings without opening his eyes. It would hurt less to feel the emptiness than it would to see it was true. He shifted his arms a little - they did not budge. There was a dead weight on them that sent tv static through his veins. He smiled. He let his eyes slowly flutter open, only to be met with a tuft of black hair in his face. He inhaled the scent, drunk off of the giddyness he felt in the moment. Hollander was still wrapped in his arms, his skin flush against Ilya. He hadn’t run.

Ilya kissed his hair, over and over, until Hollander laughed and pushed back against him.

“Cut it out!” He was a fit of giggles, tossing pillows at Ilya. “You woke me up.” He whined.

“I did not know you could sleep in, Hollander. I will have to remember this.”

Hollander glared at him. “Don’t get used to it. My body is just tired,” he said sheepishly.

He was sore. Ilya knew this was what he meant. He sympathetically rubbed and squeezed down Hollander’s body, giving him a light massage. Hollander hummed, leaning into the touches.

“I am sorry if you hurt.” Ilya said softly.

“No, no, it’s okay. Just not used to it, you know?” Hollander gave a shy smile.

“Not yet,” Ilya offered, kissing his cheek with a wet smack.

Hollander flushed quickly and deeply, sending a shock of delight through Ilya’s body.

***

They were standing in the living room. They were on their way to the couch to watch a movie, but they didn’t make it. Ilya’s hand was cupping the back of Hollander’s head, the other pressing the small of his back into him. Hollander had his arms around Ilya’s neck. Their lips were fighting for dominance, tongues sliding over one another for the upperhand. It was messy and breathy and they were both moaning into open mouths.

They didn’t hear the door. Ilya heard nothing but the sounds of Hollander whimpering onto his tongue. It wasn’t until a pair of arms were around Ilya’s neck that he noticed something was wrong.

Hollander stared at him in absolute horror. He looked like he might cry.

“What are you doing to my fucking friend, you asshole?!” Hayden Pike. Why was Hayden Pike hanging off of Ilya’s neck?

Ilya stood there, not moving. Pike was squeezing his neck with his arms, legs dangling in an attempt to… drag him down? Choke him? Ilya wasn’t sure. He kept his eyes on Hollander, who was falling apart in front of him.

“Hayden, stop! Please let go!”

“He was attacking you!” Pike defended, maneuvering his arms to attempt to get a better angle to choke out Ilya. Ilya continued to stay still, listening and watching and not moving. It didn’t hurt. Whatever stupid Hayden Pike was attempting didn’t hurt. It was annoying, and sometimes the tugs pinched, but more than anything it was inconvenient. Not only had he interrupted his kiss, his day, his happiness, but he inevitably added another layer of complexity to his situation. Ilya had just experienced joy and now Hayden Pike was here trying to squeeze it out of him. Literally. He took a breath, holding himself back from killing him in the living room of their dorm. Hollander would be sad.

In a voice Ilya had never heard before, Hollander said, “Hayden. Let. Go.” It was so firm, so angry, so threatening. Ilya couldn’t believe this soft blueberry of a boy had just uttered the words. Pike must have felt it, too, because he let go and dropped to the floor.

Ilya looked down at him, scowling and rubbing his neck.

“How did you get in here, stupid Hayden Pike?”

“Don’t call him that,” Hollander groaned, as if that was what would cause issues in this scenario.

“Shane gave me a key,” Pike spit back from the ground.

Ilya looked at Hollander with wide, accusatory eyes. “No guests,” he repeated.

“It was for emergencies!” Hollander defended, which had Pike looking frantically between the two. He finally stood up, brushed himself off and turned to Ilya, finger in his face. Ilya wondered how mad Hollander would be if he bit it.

“What were you doing to him, you dick?” Pike spat.

Ilya looked at Hollander. He was the one in charge. If he wanted Ilya to lie, he would lie. He searched his eyes, but Hollander looked away, to the floor.

“Hayden, he wasn’t doing anything. We were kissing.” Ilya’s heart stopped. He had expected anything, but that. He looked between the two of them now.

Hollander’s head was down, staring at his feet. Pike looked like he had been smacked across the face. Ilya willed himself not to smile.

“What? The cockiest asshole at this school? The dude who slams you against the boards and chirps at you? The dude known for fucking chicks on every floor of this dorm? You were kissing him?” Ilya hated to admit it, but he had to give Pike credit. Out of every concern he had, it wasn’t that Hollander was kissing a man. It was which man that was sending him into a spiral.

“I know. I know it sounds crazy. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It just kind of… happened.”

Ilya hadn’t said a word. He almost felt like, despite the fact that his kiss had been interrupted, he wasn’t meant to be here.

“Happened when?” Pike asked incredulously.

“Uh,” Hollander was wide eyed now.

“Since we moved in, on and off.” Ilya stated.

Hollander and Pike slowly turned to look at him, both equally mortified. He shrugged.

“Shane, you’re gay?” Pike was finally catching up.

“I, uh, yeah.” Hollander looked like he would cry.

That’s when Ilya noticed Pike also looked like he would cry, “and you didn’t tell me? Why?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t find out until recently, even though we had been,” he gestured vaguely at Ilya.

“You were kissing Rozanov and didn’t know you were gay.” Pike repeated back.

“Y-yeah.” Hollander rubbed the back of his neck with a shaky hand.

“Did I do something? For you to not trust me?” Hayden looked devastated.

“No! Oh my God, Hayden, no.” Hollander hugged him, which Pike readily accepted. “I’m sorry. It’s been really…complicated. My parents don’t even know yet. I was still… figuring everything out.”

Pike nodded into Hollander’s shoulder and pulled back. “Okay. I’m sorry I… I should have knocked. That’s my bad.” He looked at Ilya, scrutinizing him. “I won’t tell anyone, obviously. And Shane,” he turned to Hollander now, placing both hands on his shoulders, “I support you. I think you have terrible taste in men and you can do way better than Rozanov, but I support you.”

Ilya blinked at him. He debated smothering him with a decorative couch pillow, but Hollander’s bright laugh broke through his thoughts. Hollander was smiling now. He seemed light.

“Thank you.” Hollander said, and the sag of his shoulders showed he really meant it. Pike gave him another hug.

“I came here to ask if you wanted to get dinner, by the way,” Pike said.

“Oh, I, uh.” Hollander looked at Ilya.

“Go. You two are very weird and I need cigarette. Maybe even drink. Want to forget how bad Hayden Pike is at choking people.” Ilya scrubbed a hand down his face.

Hollander laughed. Pike scowled.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll bring you back something!” Hollander said and Ilya’s heart fluttered. He smiled and nodded in thanks, and watched as the two boys exited the room.

He let out a huffed sigh once the door had closed. Having Hollander in his life was going to kill him. There was never a moment of peace that lasted more than three hours. He shook his head and laughed. He knew that, but he also knew he’d sacrifice a lifetime of hurt for those three hours. When had he become so soft?

He grabbed a light jacket and a new pack of cigarettes and headed out. He sat at a bench outside and lit up. He tried desperately to keep the thoughts at bay, but they taunted him.

What if he feels too seen now? What if he ends it?

What if he doesn’t say anything and it goes back to silence?

What if he runs?

Ilya blew out a puff of smoke, watching it waft into the air and disperse. He had been hiding in the good moments with Hollander, tucking himself in and curling against the impending dread. Summer was coming. Hollander was going home again. Ilya couldn’t stand to think of how he’d fill in his time while Hollander was gone. And he couldn’t even begin to think about how he’d handle it if Hollander came back a stoic version of himself like last time.

Ilya scuffed the tips of his shoes against the sidewalk in front of him. He didn’t want to spend a whole summer without Hollander. He didn’t want Hollander to have so much time to think, to potentially back out. Things had just gotten good. Now, they had had sex and Pike knew he was gay and summer break was coming up - there was too much. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to hold onto Hollander with all of it weighing them down.

He sucked down the last bit of his cigarette, until there was nothing but ember and filter left between his fingers. He stood up, stretched, and found a trash can to toss the butt of his cigarette into. He didn’t want to go back up to the room quite yet, but the idea of socializing felt too daunting. He went back up, brushed his teeth and took a long shower. He told himself it wasn’t because Hollander hated how he tasted and smelled after a cigarette.

When he got out, he heard the door to the dorm click. He slowly walked out, towel drying his hair, to find Hollander with a box in his hands.

“Chicken alfredo and breadsticks,” he beamed at Ilya, shaking the box. Ilya smiled.

He walked up to him, took the box and risked kissing him. To his surprise, Hollander accepted, deepening it as they stood in the kitchenette.

“I like having pretty boy delivering me alfredo,” Ilya said against his lips when they parted.

Hollander gave a happy hum, then lined his shoes up and hung his jacket up. He took Ilya’s towel, no doubt to put it in the hamper, and Ilya sat on the couch to dig into his food.

Hollander returned and sat next to him, leaning against him.

“How did it go?” Ilya asked around a mouthful of pasta.

“Good, I think. I mean, he’s not thrilled that it’s you. But he won’t tell anyone and he’s being really supportive.” Hollander seemed to stare off for a bit before continuing, “It’s nice. That someone knows.” He said finally.

Ilya nodded and squeezed Hollander’s thigh with his free hand.

“Summer break is coming up, you know.” Hollander said excitedly. Ilya suddenly didn’t feel hungry anymore. He placed his half eaten container on the coffee table.

“Da.”

“Do you have plans?” Hollander asked.

Ilya shook his head, licking sauce off of the corner of his lip.

“I was thinking…” Hollander sounded like a child trying to convince his parents about a sleepover. Ilya looked at him quizzically. “My parents said you could come to the cottage with us this year.” He said it so quickly and in such a high pitch that it took Ilya a few extra seconds to translate.

“Cottage?”

“Yeah! There’s a dock and a lake. We could jet ski and have a fire and there’s a rink nearby so we can practice a bunch,” Hollander continued to rattle off activities and Ilya stared at his now cold pasta.

“I don’t know, Hollander. Would not look good. Rivals playing house.” Ilya’s chest hurt as he said it.

“No one will know. You can come the day after me, maybe even two days after. It’s secluded, too, no one would ever know.” Ilya looked at him, doe eyes bright and a smile plastered across his face.

“Hollander, how long did it take you to plan this?” Asking his parents, a loose itinerary, plotting when they would arrive - he knew Hollander. This was not a spur of the moment decision.

“Two weeks,” Hollander mumbled to his lap, blush forming on his face.

Ilya held back his smile. Two weeks.

“Da. Yes. I will come.”

“Yes!” Hollander cheered and Ilya gave in to impulse and bit him on the cheek.

Chapter End Notes

I'mcomingtothecottage

Thanks so much for the love on the last chapter. The comments made me so happy. Also feel free to add in any suggestions you'd like to see!

Chapter 19: The Cottage

Chapter Notes

“I’ll see you in two days,” Hollander said, pulling a small suitcase across the kitchenette towards the door. The cottage was only a few hours’ drive away, but Hollander packed like he was going to Europe.

“Da, two days,” Ilya nodded. They had, or rather Hollander had, planned out the logistics. Hollander would take the drive today, in his sensible car, and then two days later Ilya would take the same drive in his much nicer sports car. Ilya would stay with Hollander and his parents for the summer at their cottage. Then, Ilya would return first and Hollander would return two days after. If anyone asked, Ilya would say he was visiting Svetlana.

“Don’t forget to turn off all of the lights and lock the door when you leave,” Hollander insisted.

“Da. I know. Go, before traffic.” Ilya kissed him, slowly and for much longer than was necessary. Hollander leaned into it, as if melting towards him.

“Okay. I’ll see you soon. I’ll text you when I get there.” Hollander waved and left, leaving Ilya at their door, watching him make his way down the hall. He felt the absence of him like a brick in his chest.

He closed the door once Hollander was out of view and retreated to the couch. He had kept himself busy all day helping Hollander get ready for his drive, but now he sat alone with the overwhelming cacophony of thoughts. He sighed, then checked his phone.

Cliff Marleau: The team is chilling at mine tonight before we leave for break. Bring the good Vodka

Ilya smiled, happy to have a new distraction.

***

Ilya had spent the night out with his team, drinking and chatting and playing card games. He and Hollander texted throughout, something that was new between them. Marleau joked that Ilya had found a girl for the summer just to house him. He didn’t correct him, but he did bring up the idea of codenames to Hollander. They both agreed that going forward they’d be “Jane” and “Lily.”

After sleeping most of the following day, Ilya woke up to four missed texts from Jane:

Jane: Did you have fun last night?

Jane: Rozanov it’s already noon. Are you still asleep?

Jane: I found extra sticks and gear for you in the garage so you can leave that stuff and use this.

Jane: You’re such a bum! Wake up!

It took Ilya almost a full minute to remember he had changed Hollander’s name. He laughed and replied.

Lily: good morning, hollander. yes last night was fun. I lost $50 during cards.

He did his morning routine and headed down to the gym for a quick workout. As he jogged, a text popped up:

Jane: What is wrong with you? Stop gambling. And don’t forget to pack! I know you didn’t yet.

He was right. Ilya planned to pack tonight so he’d be ready to head out at 8am the next day. It was early, arguably too early, but he wanted to get the drive out of the way. He shook his head and finished his workout.

Lily: I shut off everything. are you proud?

Jane: Yes, good job. I can’t wait for tomorrow when you get here.

Lily: will be good. do your parents eat bird food too?

Jane: No, asshole. Plus I’ll probably eat normally for the summer. Within reason.

Lily: thank god

***
Ilya had barely slept. The room had felt so empty and cold that around midnight he debated leaving right then and there. If it had just been Hollander, he’s sure he would have, but he wanted to make a good first impression for Hollander’s parents. He didn’t think too deeply about why it mattered so much to him.

At 8am, with drooping eyes and a slight headache, he had his car packed with a single duffle bag and was ready to head out.

Lily: on my way

Jane: See you soon! Lock the door!

Ilya had locked the door and unplugged the appliances and checked everything twice, which was two more times than he normally would. He picked up a cold brew and a breakfast sandwich from Tim Hortons and made his way to Hollander. He was excited and nervous, two things he wasn’t used to feeling. He blamed the jitters on the caffeine and blasted the radio until every thought he had was drowned out.

***

The driveway to the cottage was so long that Ilya thought he accidentally went down a gravel road instead. Hollander wasn’t kidding when he said it was private. Trees lined the entire drive, creating a hidden oasis. When he finally arrived at the cottage itself, pulling in behind Hollander’s car, it was a small cabin made of wood with large windows and a wooden staircase leading to the front door. There was a fire pit to the side with four chairs surrounding it and he could make out the very end of the dock in the backyard. It was the perfect little retreat. It was just as Hollander had described it.

He shut his car off and took a breath, sitting in silence for a moment. It felt bigger than it was. He was just spending the summer with his roommate and his family. That was a normal thing people did all the time. He couldn’t explain why he felt so much crushing pressure when he knew this was a simple summer vacation. He dragged a hand down his face, under his sunglasses, and sighed. He wanted them to like him. He didn’t want Hollander to regret this, to regret him.

A rapping on his window made him jump so high he hit his head on the roof of his car.

“What the fuck,” he swiveled to the window and saw Hollander, wide grin and waving hand, at his window.

He laughed. He laughed so hard his eyes started to tear. Hollander looked momentarily confused, and then laughed with him.

“Get out!” He demanded, pulling at the locked door.

Ilya unlocked the door and watched as Hollander flung it open. He stumbled back two steps and scowled at Ilya.

“Funny,” he grumbled, then immediately dragged Ilya out of his seat and hugged him. “You made it.”

“Did you think I would die on the way here?” Ilya asked into his hair.

“In this death trap? Maybe!”

They pulled away awkwardly, as if they both realized they had been hugging for too long. Ilya looked around to see if anyone was watching.

“My parents are on the dock. Dad is cooking some burgers and mom is reading. I told them I’d get you settled and then bring you out to meet them. Where are your bags?” Hollander peeked into the car.

“Bag.” Ilya corrected and pulled his duffle bag out of the backseat of his car.

“That’s it?” Hollander looked mortified.

“You do not have washing machine?”

“We do but -“

“Then is fine. You overpack. Show me my room now please.” Ilya closed his car door and locked it before turning expectantly to Hollander.

Hollander gave him a look and then held his arm out and said, “after you, asshole.”

Ilya chuckled and Hollander led him into the cottage and immediately up the stairs.

He pointed to the first door on the right, “this is my parents’ room.”

They walked further and he pointed to the left, “this is the bathroom.”

And then, at the end of the hall, he opened the door and said, “this is where you’ll be staying.”

The bedroom had one full sized bed and an air mattress on the ground. Ilya turned to Hollander and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, so,” Hollander was immediately on defense. “We don’t have an extra guest room. You’ll be staying in my room with me. I’m sorry. I know it’s not ideal and you were probably expecting your own space, but I can sleep on the air mattress and you can have the bed.”

Ilya stared at him blankly. Hollander, very flustered, tried again, “we could… share the bed?” He said it in a whisper, like his parents might hear him all the way outside. Ilya smiled.

“Is better.” He threw his bag into a corner and grabbed Hollander by his jaw, squeezing his cheeks so his lips pouted. And then he kissed him.

Hollander kissed him back, but only for a moment, before pushing him away. “Not while they’re awake, are you crazy?” He hissed. Ilya could tell he was being very serious, so he held up both hands in a motion of surrender and stepped back.

“I will behave.”

Hollander breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging. “Thank you. Come on, let’s go to the dock.”

Ilya took one last look at the room before they left. There was a simple desk in the corner of the room, with post it notes lining the space above it, sloppily written reminders across pastel pinks and yellows and blues.

Ice rink opens at 8am

Get ice cream cones next shop

Fill inner tubes with air tomorrow

There were posters of hockey greats on the walls and a book about hockey on the nightstand. The room was neat, no dust or clutter anywhere to be found. There was a window to the left of the bed that overlooked the water. And then there was the bed with its headboard against the wall and an air mattress at the foot of it. Ilya thought about Hollander blowing it up, maybe with help from his dad, and smiled.

Hollander seemed stiff as they descended the stairs and exited out of the large, glass doors leading to the backyard. They walked a short way to the dock, where Mrs. Hollander was reclined in a chair reading, a large sun hat shading her face. Ilya could tell instantly she was where Hollander got his looks from. She was beautiful, in a way that did not boast. It was a subtle, graceful beauty that took your breath away when you finally caught it. Mr. Hollander was at the grill, one hand on his hip as he flipped burgers. He looked serious, his face taut with concentration. Ilya could tell Hollander got his demeanor from his dad.

“Mom, Dad,” Hollander announced once they were both standing at the edge of the dock, “this is Ilya Rozanov.” He awkwardly gestured to Ilya. Ilya felt like a show pony, but without the extensive training, and gave a small wave and cautious smile. His arms suddenly felt too long for his body.

Mrs. Hollander looked up and smiled brightly, swinging her feet off the side of the chair and making her way to Ilya. Her presence immediately felt warm, inviting, comforting… Ilya wanted to hug her.

“Hi, Ilya, I’m Yuna. It’s so nice to meet you. I hear you’re our son’s biggest competition. What are your aspirations for hockey? Do you have a specific team you hope to be drafted to?” Yuna shook Ilya’s hand excitedly. Ilya, wide eyed, tried to translate in his head as quickly as possible. It felt like a post game interview.

“Mom, come on, no interview questions!” Hollander whined, as if he could read Ilya’s mind. “We’re here to relax.”

“And practice,” she reminded him.

“Yes. And practice.” Hollander groaned.

“It is very nice to meet you, Yuna. Hollander - uh, Shane, is very good to play against. I look forward to more games against him. I think I would like to play for any team that goes against his often, so that I can beat him all the time.” Ilya winked at Hollander.

Yuna laughed, like a stone skipping water: drops of laughter glittering, the sound refined but loud. Ilya wanted to hear it again, maybe for the entire summer.

“I respect the passion, Ilya.” Yuna said with sincerity.

David had made his way over, a greasy spatula still in his hand, as he used his free one to shake Ilya’s. “Hi, Ilya, I’m David. It’s nice to meet you. Do you like burgers?”

“Oh, yes.” Ilya nodded.

“Good, good. We’ll get along just fine.” David smiled at him and returned to his post at the grill, as if stuck there by some magnetic field.

Ilya looked over at Hollander, who was smiling with a faint, light pink blush on his cheeks. Ilya’s heart felt very full.

***

Ilya had been so nervous that things would be awkward - that he’d say or do the wrong thing. He was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to translate quickly enough and fall behind in conversation, that Hollander’s parents would only view him as his competition and not fully welcome him in, that Hollander would hate the way he didn’t fit in with his family and subsequently ditch him when they returned to university.

By day three, though, Ilya wasn’t scared at all. He and David were sitting on pillows on the floor around the coffee table in the living room, faces pulled into concentrated scrunches, as they worked on their 1000 piece puzzle. They did this every night, while Yuna and Hollander sat on the couch, mugs of tea in their hands, chatting idly.

This night was no different. It was warm, even with the air conditioner blowing softly in the background, so he was in a white tank top and basketball shorts. He made a triumphant noise when he found the end piece he was looking for and David happily clapped him on the back. Yuna chuckled from the couch.

“Are you two going to the rink tomorrow?” She asked over her mug.

Hollander was in a plain white t-shirt that was just a little too small and shorts similar to Ilya’s. It took all of his will power not to think about pulling Hollander’s shirt up and kissing the muscle below it, especially when it rose up to show his hip bone any time he shifted. He tried to brush the thoughts aside and focus on what Yuna was asking them.

“Yeah, I think so.” Hollander replied, looking down at Ilya for confirmation. He nodded briefly, then snagged another end piece.

“How do you keep finding them?” David huffed.

“I’ll pack you some sandwiches to take with you,” Yuna offered.

“You don’t have to -” Hollander started, but Ilya interrupted him.

“What kind?”

Yuna smiled. “I was thinking salami and cheese.”

“Yes. That would be good. Thank you.” Ilya smiled widely at her.

“At least someone appreciates me.” She said, poking Hollander’s leg with her toe from across the couch.

Hollander glared at Ilya. Ilya pretended not to notice, a smile tugging at his lips. They stayed like this, stretched out in the room, chatting and laughing, until precisely 9:30pm.

“Okay, time to get ready for bed.” Hollander announced, getting up to put his cup in the sink.

“I don’t know if I’m proud or concerned that I raised someone so punctual, even about bed time. It’s summer vacation, Shane, you can stay up late.” Yuna said gently.

“No, we have to get up early for practice tomorrow and then we have the fire at night, so we’ll be up late.” Hollander said it so matter of factly that Ilya wanted to smatter him in kisses.

“I got us the extra long sticks for our marshmallows,” David added, smiling at them both.

Ilya didn’t know what any of that meant, but he smiled, too. They said their good nights and raced up the stairs, trying to be the first to the top, pushing each other and laughing as they went. Ilya tumbled onto the landing, grabbing Hollander by the waist and dragging him down with him. They both laughed, wrestling each other on the floor. Hollander finally untangled himself and demanded they brush their teeth. He was very strict about his nightly routine.

Ilya stayed on the air mattress in front of the bed until they heard Yuna and David’s door click closed for the night. Hollander peeked over the foot of the bed, down at Ilya, and Ilya reached up and dragged him down. Hollander made a whispered squeak as he fell onto Ilya.

“What are you doing?” He hissed.

Ilya simply smiled and pinned Hollander beneath him. He kissed his all over his face, eliciting quiet giggles from Hollander.

“You’re going to wake them if you keep it up!” Hollander angrily whispered, but didn’t move away from Ilya’s kisses.

“You are right. Let me go slower. Is quieter.” Ilya hummed his agreement and slowly trailed kisses down the side of Hollander’s neck. He could hear the moan that Hollander kept in his mouth. Part of him wanted to tease it out, but the other part of him knew they couldn’t.

Ilya pulled away, staring down at a flushed Hollander.

“Okay, I am ready for bed.” He announced smugly.

Hollander stared at him in disbelief, jutted his hips up to crash his erection into him and then shoved him off. “You’re such an asshole,” he huffed, climbing into his bed and holding the sheet up for Ilya. Ilya smiled as he got into the bed, pulling Hollander to him as soon as he laid down.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry for the delay! I was visiting my mom and also had some writer's block. This chapter is light, mostly setting things up to move forward. Thanks for your patience!

Chapter 20: Stoking the fire

Chapter Notes

Ilya groaned, using his arm to shield his eyes from the sunlight that was drowning him.

“Come on, if we get ready now we can make it to the rink by 9,” Hollander said, tugging at Ilya’s other arm.

“Hollander, is summer. Why are we up with the dawn?” He scowled.

“So we can have the rink to ourselves for a few hours! Come on,” He pulled Ilya out of the bed with more aggression than Ilya was used to.

“Okay, okay.” He mumbled.

With a cooler full of water bottles, sandwiches and chips from Yuna, along with all of their gear, they loaded up into Hollander’s car. It was a short ten minute drive to the rink and, just as Hollander had planned, they were alone.

They yanked on their pads and skates, Ilya sneaking a sandwich before they got onto the ice.

“You’re ridiculous,” Hollander remarked as Ilya ate the sandwich in two bites.

“We did not get breakfast! Someone was in a rush!” Ilya chugged half a water bottle and gave the rest to Hollander. He finished it off and tossed it over the boards, into the pile of their things.

Ilya had experienced many fun things this trip so far, but this? This was his favorite. He and Hollander faced off, with Hollander winning the puck. They played aggressively, shooting the puck away from each other, trying desperately to score, slamming into one another. He hadn’t felt so challenged, so exhilarated, in ages. They were both panting and red faced, giving 100% of their energy to the puck. Ilya finally got to appreciate Hollander’s skills up close: how he handled the puck, the way he flitted across the ice like he was a hummingbird, the way his brain moved four steps ahead of his body. Ilya loved watching him, loved playing against him, loved this.

Two hours later, they collapsed onto the bench, trying to catch their breath. They were soaked through with sweat and Ilya’s body was already starting to ache. He knew tomorrow would be painful. It was a good practice, though. They had ended it at a tie, both unable to physically push themselves any further. Yuna would have been proud.

They ate in silence, cooling down and letting their breath return to a normal pace. Hollander looked happy in a drunk way - his face was relaxed, eyes low lidded, small smile permanently tugging on the corner of his lips. Ilya wanted to eat him whole.

They returned to the cottage and took turns showering. Ilya filled Yuna in on practice while Hollander showered and when he came out from his own shower, David pointed him upstairs where he said Hollander was taking a nap. Ilya nodded, headed off to partake in one himself.

“Set an alarm for four hours. That’s dinner time and you don’t want to sleep past that!” David called up the stairs after him. Ilya smiled and nodded again. He set an alarm for three hours, so that there wasn’t a chance Yuna or David would come in to wake them.

Hollander was sprawled out over the covers, hair sticking up in multiple directions, lips parted, and cheeks rosy. Ilya debated letting him have the bed and sleeping on the air mattress, both so Hollander could have the whole bed and so they wouldn’t be as hot. Ilya was selfish, though, and slipped in next to him. Hollander stirred, humming into Ilya’s arm and grabbing at him to pull him near. Ilya smiled, kissed into his hair and gave in to sleep immediately.

***

Ilya and Hollander nearly jumped out of their skin when the blaring of what could only be described as an air horn went off.

“What the fuck is that?” Hollander was sitting up now, scanning the room for threats.

Ilya groaned, slapping his phone to shut the alarm. In an abundance of caution, he slid onto the air mattress.

“I set alarm so they would not try to wake us and see.” He gestured vaguely to the bed in front of him.

“Oh. Good idea.” Hollander said earnestly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

They heard a soft knock at the door a moment later. Ilya silently cheered at his decision to get onto the air mattress.

“Come in,” they said in unison.

Yuna appeared. “You boys okay? I heard a loud sound.”

“It was just Ilya’s alarm.”

“Well, he has good timing. Your father decided to cook early. You two hungry?”

“Starving,” Ilya said, grabbing his stomach and rolling around dramatically.

Yuna let out a soft laugh, “Come on down when you’re ready.”

Ilya listened as her footsteps got further away, then jumped up onto the bed and kissed Hollander.

“Rozanov, no!” He whispered, pushing him off.

“You are so boring, Hollander.” He rolled his eyes, but got up and dragged Hollander with him.

After dinner, the four of them sat around the fire. Ilya didn’t understand why, exactly. They weren’t doing anything. They were all just staring at it, chatting quietly into the night. He looked at Hollander, watching as the red and orange danced across his face. He looked soft and young and happy. Hollander caught his gaze and smiled at him, making something stir in his stomach.

“Marshmallow time!” David said, handing out long wooden sticks. Ilya smacked Hollander with his.

“Ow! Hey! You’re going to eat off of that, stop messing around.”

“Eat?” Ilya repeated, horrified. What the hell was this tradition?

David passed around a bag of marshmallows. Hollander stabbed two onto his stick and then dangled it over the fire, carefully rotating it. Ilya mimicked him, feeling like an alien impersonating a human. Hollander’s marshmallow started to brown. Ilya looked down just as his caught on fire. He jumped up, flailing the stick in the air.

Hollander and Yuna were hysterically laughing. Ilya was too panicked to even scowl at them. David stood and blew out the flame at the end of Ilya’s stick, taking it from him and giving him his own stick with perfectly toasted marshmallows. Ilya muttered thanks and plopped back down, nibbling on the marshmallows and glaring at Hollander, who had actual tears streaming down his face from laughing so hard.

Eventually the fire died down to embers and Yuna and David wished the boys goodnight. Ilya and Hollander stared at the fire pit, watching the orange writhe and dissipate into ash.

“Do you want to swim?” Hollander asked softly, looking up at Ilya.

“Okay.” Ilya would have followed him anywhere.

They stripped off their clothes until they were down to their boxers and eased themselves into the cool water. It was dark, so dark that Ilya could barely make Hollander out in the shadows. He reached out, swimming blindly, until his hands hit slick skin. They grabbed onto one another, Hollander’s arms around Ilya’s neck and Ilya’s hands at Hollander’s waist. They treaded the water, the night quiet except for the sounds of cicadas and the water sloshing around them.

Ilya leaned in, pressing his wet lips to Hollander’s. Hollander kissed back hungrily, confident in the veil of darkness that cloaked them. He parted Ilya’s mouth with his tongue and Ilya met him halfway, until they were breathless and their lips were spit slicked. Ilya’s hands glided up and down Hollander’s wet, cool skin, tracing the curves of his muscles as if he were making a map. Hollander’s hand was fisted into Ilya’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer, his legs occasionally bumping Ilya’s. Ilya pulled back slightly, their pants filling the air, only to trail his hand between Hollander’s thighs. He rubbed his palm against Hollander’s erection, the wet fabric of his boxers creating resistance.

Hollander let out a quiet whimper, his head dipping to lean against Ilya’s forehead. He started to rub Ilya through his boxers, as well, the two of them treading water and spluttering quiet moans. Ilya pulled Hollander out first, only for him to follow suit. They clung to each other, clumsily jerking each other off in the water. It wasn’t particularly good - the water created resistance and they were so close that their arms were at awkward angles - but they were so desperate for each other, it wouldn’t stop them. Their lips reconnected and they sloppily made out as they tugged at each other. They were panting into each other’s mouths, their skin hot under the water. He could tell Hollander was struggling, his feet kicking wildly and his rhythm faltering. Ilya grabbed him and dragged him to the dock’s ladder. Ilya sat on the lowest rung, just out of the water, and pulled Hollander up between his legs. He kissed him roughly and reached down to continue stroking him. Hollander reached up slightly to stroke Ilya, bucking up as he did. They tried to keep their gasping moans slightly quieter than the roar of the cicadas that filled the air, so that if it carried, no one could pick the two apart. Hollander came first with a muffled cry into Ilya’s mouth, Ilya following a minute later. They dipped back into the water to rinse off, pulled their boxers up and quickly kissed before grabbing their clothing and slipping into the dark cottage.

Chapter End Notes

Have some fluff!

Chapter 21: Best kept secret

Chapter Notes

Hollander and Ilya had just come back from practice at the rink when Yuna intercepted them at the door. She was smiling, a smile Ilya hadn’t seen before: smug and mischievous.

“What’s up, mom?” Hollander asked, shouldering his bag of gear off and to the side.

“Do you remember Willa? Her older brother plays for Utah.”

“Yeah, the blonde girl?”

“That’s the one. Well, I had mentioned to her parents that you were home for the summer and they suggested you two go out together.”

“Out?” Hollander tilted his head in curiosity while Ilya looked on, dread building in his stomach.

“Yes, like a little date!” Yuna seemed so excited.

“Mom -” Hollander groaned, swiping a hand through his sweaty hair and leaving tufts of it sticking straight up. Ilya would have found this cute if he weren’t drowning on land.

“You haven’t had a date all semester, Shane. I love how dedicated you are to school and hockey, but it’s not healthy. You need to have a social life too.” She said sternly, crossing her arms.

“I have a social life. I hang out with Rozanov and Hayden!” He insisted. Ilya smiled at this.

“Yes, I understand, sweetie, but this is different. It’s just one date and it’s a good networking opportunity!” There it was. Yuna was always in manager mode. “It’s just a coffee date. Two hours tops! It’ll be nice. You two always got along.”

Hollander’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Okay.” Ilya’s heart broke for him as he watched Hollander move past his mom and head to the shower. The date started in two hours - Yuna moved quickly.

Ilya sat on the air mattress, freshly showered, as he watched Hollander rummage around for an outfit. They hadn’t spoken since their run in with Yuna. The silence felt thick in the air. Hollander tugged on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of jeans with more aggression than he normally would. Ilya could tell he was upset.

“Hollander.” Ilya started.

“Just leave it alone.” Hollander huffed.

Ilya stood up and grabbed his wrist as he roughly tried to tame his hair in the mirror. Hollander froze.

“Shane,” Ilya said softly, pulling him by his wrist to face him. His face looked so sad, tears clinging to his eyelashes like pearls. Ilya kissed his cheek. “Is okay.”

“I hate pretending. I hate lying. I hate,” He huffed, pulling away from Ilya and returning to the mirror to flatten down a hair.

“You could tell them?” Ilya suggested.

“No.” Hollander shut down the conversation.

Ilya nodded, easing up. They headed downstairs once Hollander was satisfied with his hair. Ilya didn’t tell him a piece was still jutting out in the back.

“Have fun!” Yuna waved Hollander off as he drove away. Ilya looked at his feet as he heard the car get further and further away from him.

“Sorry to take your buddy away for a few hours. I’m sure you and David could play a game in the meantime,” Yuna offered.

“Is okay. I have a headache. I will go nap while the room is quiet,” Ilya lied.

“Feel better, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything.” She petted his hair and he leaned into the touch. He wished he could tell her she was making a mistake. He knew, deep in his heart, that she’d accept Hollander. But it wasn’t his place.

He plopped down on the bed, inhaling the scent of Shane. Shit, when did he start thinking of him as Shane? He hadn’t noticed, really, the shift that had taken place between them. No longer roommates who shared heated touches, but still stuck in an inbetween space that neither of them knew how to name.

Ilya missed him. He missed his hot skin pressed against his body and his laugh in his ears and even his nagging about sunscreen and bug spray and swimming too soon after eating. He thought about Willa and how she was getting to stare at him across a table, how they’d talk and sip their drinks and be so close to one another that she might be able to smell his scent. He thought about Willa falling in love with Shane, because why wouldn’t she? Who wouldn’t? He thought about her trying to kiss him and Shane being too scared to reject her. His stomach ached and he covered his face with his hands.

He wanted to sleep. He wanted to give in to unconsciousness even if he knew it would be full of nightmares. He wanted time to move and to not have to think about Willa grabbing Shane’s hand, or smoothing down the rogue piece of hair at the back of his head, or touching his freckles with her fingertips. Ilya was tormenting himself. He knew this, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t get the images of them out of his head. He pulled an untouched box of cigarettes from his duffel bag, hung his head out of the window and smoked. His fingers shook as he brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply until his lungs burned enough to distract him. By the end of the cigarette, he had calmed down a little. He moved away from the window and back onto the bed, slowing his breathing and trying to think of anything else.

It was one and a half hours before Shane returned. Ilya had been painfully aware of each minute that passed, staring at the clock beside Shane’s bed and watching the numbers change. He heard Shane enter the house, heard Yuna ask about the date, heard Shane say it was fine and excuse himself before she could interview him.

The door opened and Ilya turned in the bed to face it. Shane looked exhausted. He shut the door behind him and climbed into bed next to Ilya, immediately putting his head on his chest. Ilya rested his chin on the top of Shane’s head.

“How did it go?”

“We talked about her classes and her brother and my classes and our summer plans and we drank tea.” Shane recounted dully.

“Did you have fun?”

“It was fine.” Shane sighed. “She could tell I wasn’t into it.”

“It was a date your mom set up. It is normal you were not into it.” They both knew it had nothing to do with that, but Shane nodded like it offered comfort.

“I missed you,” Ilya admitted.

Shane looked up at him, the light returning to his sad eyes. “Really?”

Ilya nodded. “Me too.” Shane said shyly.

Ilya kissed him, but they quickly pulled apart as Yuna called them down for dinner.

***

Ilya and Shane laid on their backs in bed. The window was cracked, a soft breeze carrying the scent of summer to them and cooling their skin. They were stripped to just their boxers, fighting against the Canadian heat as well as they could. Ilya turned his head to Shane, giving him a wry smile, before dragging his hand up his thigh.

Shane smacked him, “my parents are right down the hall! They’ll hear us.” His fear and anger bubbled through the whisper of his words.

“Ah, you are right. I will make you quiet.” Before Shane could ask what that meant, Ilya slipped his arm around Shane’s shoulders. He placed his hand tightly over Shane’s mouth, tugging him to him. Shane let out a muffled yelp and Ilya raised his eyebrows as if to say, see? I fixed it.

With his free hand, he pulled Shane out of his underwear. He was already hard, skin flushed from the friction against his boxers. Shane sighed a little as he was released from the fabric.

Ilya began moving his hand up and down in the rhythm that Shane liked, his thumb flitting across his slit to collect pre cum as it dribbled out. Shane was wriggling beside him, trying to buck up into his hand. Ilya whispered, “stay still. You will make the bed squeak.”

Shane stilled, eyes clamped closed in concentration. Ilya could feel his hard breathing through his fingertips. He brought his hand up to his mouth, spit in it and returned it to Shane’s cock, quickening his movements. He pressed his hand tighter to Shane’s mouth when the muffled whimpers started to escape. He could feel Shane’s hands twisting into the sheets. His body was tense next to him, sweat forming on his forehead, and his cock was painfully hard. Ilya knew he was close. He twisted his hand up and down the length of him, making sure to squeeze as he ran over the tip. Shane was moaning into his hand, the sound stifled, a gift for only Ilya to hear. Small bursts of hot air left Shane’s nose and hit Ilya’s knuckles.

“Cum for me,” Ilya whispered into his temple.

Shane was undone immediately. He bucked his hips once, releasing hot sticky tendrils of white onto his stomach. His body fell limp and Ilya pulled his hand away from his mouth, it was warm and sprinkled with spit from the escaped moans.

“So hot,” Shane whispered through a pant.

“Yes. Very.” Ilya agreed.

With a nod, Shane snaked his arm around Ilya’s shoulders. Ilya looked at him questioningly.

“Your turn,” Shane said, and slapped a hand over Ilya’s mouth.

Ilya smiled into it. He could feel the dampness of Shane’s fingers, taste the salt from the sweat. His hand was soft, but firm. Ilya felt drunk from the pressure of it against his face.

Shane pulled his erection from his boxers and he watched it spring free, red and warm and twitching against the air. Shane stroked it once, twice, then pulled away. Ilya let out a whimper of protest that died on Shane’s fingers. Shane then took his free hand and dragged it through his newly spilled cum, covering his palm in it. Ilya stared in shock, eyes wide and mouth parted beneath Shane’s strict fingers. Shane hated the mess of cum: the viscosity of it had him cleaning sheets before he’d even fully come down from his orgasm. And yet there he was, rubbing his hand through it, collecting it on his skin. Ilya watched with wide eyes and desperate curiosity.

Shane took his dripping hand and returned it to Ilya’s shaft. He pressed his hand harder against Ilya’s mouth as Ilya let out a guttural moan. Shane Hollander was full of surprises. Ilya had never been so turned on in his life. He tried to keep from bucking up into Shane’s hand. He focused on the slick cum Shane was using to coat him. Between watching Shane cum with his hand over his mouth and then feeling his cum on his cock, Ilya knew he wouldn’t last. He tried to breathe through the building tension he felt, tried to focus on the feeling of Shane’s hand sliding up and down and squeezing intermittently. But he could hear the sound of Shane’s cum on him, could smell it on the breeze as it wafted towards him, could feel Shane’s hand squeezing down on his mouth so he wouldn’t give them away. He was in Shane’s room, covered in his cum. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he bucked up, cumming over Shane’s hand and his stomach. Shane’s hand muffled the moan and Ilya resisted the urge to suck his fingers into his mouth.

Shane released him and Ilya whispered out a shaky, “fuck, Hollander, that was so hot.”

Shane blushed at the compliment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You are so good,” Ilya said, catching his lips into a quick kiss.

“You are too,” Shane said, almost as if he were shy. Ilya smiled at him.

“Let us clean up before you have a meltdown,” Ilya suggested.

“God, yes, please.”

Shane pulled a pack of wipes out of his nightstand and threw four to Ilya, then went to work on cleaning his hand and stomach. Ilya wiped himself down, smiling.

Once they were clean, they pulled their underwear back up and tangled into each other. It was hot, and their body heat wasn’t helping, but neither of them cared. Ilya fisted the hair at the top of Shane’s head, his arm behind his shoulders, and Shane draped his arm across Ilya’s chest, one of his legs curved over both of Ilya’s. Ilya fell asleep feeling like his body was liquid, all ease and contentment.

Chapter End Notes

Just having fun at the cottage, don't mind me~

Tysm for the comments/love on the last chapter!

Chapter 22: The summer's winding down - I haven't seen a heartbreak until now

Chapter Notes

Ilya could distantly hear a ringing in the fog of his dreams. He was sitting at a table with Shane and Shane’s parents. They were comforting him, but he wasn’t sure why. It felt good, though, warm and welcoming. Shane was holding his hand and Ilya wasn’t scared about it. His parents didn’t say anything, no one was flinching or yelling. Shane seemed happy and light. Ilya wasn’t worried for the first time in a long time. He was laughing out loud, but the sound was different this time. It was high pitched, weightless - the laughter traveled above their heads and faded into the bright light filtering in through the window. It was so warm…

The ringing was getting louder, cracking his dream into fragments. The light splintered and began to vibrate with each trill. Ilya’s body went from light and airy to suddenly heavy and much too warm. He grimaced, his sore body turning, before he realized it was his phone.

Shane grunted next to him, turning away from the sound, still enveloped by sleep despite the intrusion. Ilya reached a heavy arm over the duvet and onto the nightstand, where he plucked his phone up. Through sleep laden eyes, he looked at the screen.

The name flashing across it was sobering. The sleep and peace he had been engulfed in moments ago was suddenly stripped from his body, replaced with what felt like ice water in his veins. His chest burned against the cold feeling.

“Hello?” He answered in Russian.

Static, at first, played through the speaker of his phone. It sounded dingy, like it was ricocheting off of a wall before meeting his ears. He held his breath. The voice of his father swam up through the static, wavering in and out - it sounded like he was speaking through a tin can.

“Ilya?” It sounded wrong, sounded cold and detached and filthy. He hated his name in his father’s mouth. He didn’t know the Ilya his father called for. He didn’t know an Ilya outside of this new reality, where Yuna said it gently when asking if he wanted tea, or David said it through laughs when Ilya told a joke, or when Shane said it. Whenever Shane said it, it sounded like Ilya was a real, fully formed person. A person who was loved and seen. Ilya wanted that version back.

“Ilya?” The gruff voice was agitated now.

“Papa?” He responded quietly, slipping away from Shane’s body and hiding in the bathroom.

“Where are you?” It felt like an accusation, even though it wasn’t. He had no way of knowing where Ilya was.

“School, papa.” Ilya lied, liquid off his tongue.

“I received a call about your visa. You can visit home for two weeks.” His father didn’t sound excited. It sounded like a command.

“Okay.” Ilya resigned.

“I have booked tickets for August. The last two weeks before classes begin again.”

“Thank you.” His words were hollow. He’d have to leave the cottage early. He’d have to be without Shane for two weeks. He’d have to be home for two weeks.

“I will see you then. You better be practicing during the summer. Do not be lazy. You already lost too many games.” It came out as a snarl. Ilya hated that the few conversations he got to have in his mother tongue always sounded so harsh. He wanted to call Svetlana, just to counteract the acidity with her honeyed words.

“Yes, papa.” Ilya ran his thumb over the cool bathroom countertop, over and over, until he no longer felt his skin or the material beneath him.

His father hung up without another word and Ilya stared into the mirror. He looked tired. The bags under his eyes were purple. His skin looked ashen and his hand, as he dragged it up and down his face, was shaking.

He inhaled and pushed himself away from the counter. He returned to bed, where Shane was still deep in sleep. He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t care. He sank back down into the mattress, scooting his body against Shane’s. He inhaled deeply, nuzzled his head against his back and dipped back into sleep. The nightmares were relentless.

***

Ilya hadn’t told Shane about the phone call. He was going to, he was, but he needed time. He needed time to mourn what was being taken from him. He needed time to process the sadness, anger and ultimate numbness that would settle. He needed time to figure out how to say the words and how to endure the disappointed look Shane would make.

So, instead, they sat at the breakfast table and Shane remained happily in a world where he didn’t know Ilya would be leaving. He chatted about the hockey stats he had learned in his book, the one Ilya watched him read in a chair on the dock a few days earlier. He had been wearing his glasses and it took everything in Ilya to behave. He had to remember to ask him to put them on again when they were alone.

Yuna was listening intently and David was smiling at the two. Ilya stabbed a piece of pancake and swirled it in syrup before shoving it into his mouth and savoring the sweetness.

***

“We won’t be gone too late. Just dinner and a show after, so maybe 9pm? 10pm if there’s traffic,” Yuna explained to the two boys playing an NHL game on the couch.

Shane stole a glance at his mom, “Mom we’re fine. Enjoy your anniversary!” He smashed a button and Ilya groaned next to him. “Let’s go! I scored!”

Yuna rolled her eyes, “okay. I’ll leave my ringer on for emergencies only and I left money for pizza. Do you boys need anything before we head out?” She was fixing one of her earrings as she spoke. David appeared beside her, dressed in a blazer and slacks.
Ilya paused their game and Shane said, “I think we’re good. I hope you guys have fun!”

“Yes. Happy anniversary,” Ilya nodded.

“Thank you boys. Don’t get into too much trouble while we’re out,” she joked, because she knew it would be more of this: video games and pizza. Shane wasn’t much of a trouble maker and Ilya had been very tame during his stay.

“Have fun!” David said, waving to the boys and gently pushing Yuna out of the door by the small of her back.

Yuna and David had been gone for about thirty minutes by the time they finished up their game, with Shane winning by one goal.

“Did you want to order the pizza now?” Shane asked Ilya as he sprawled back on the couch.

“Mmm, no. Not yet.” Ilya shook his head, eyes ghosting over the gap between Shane’s pants and shirt, exposing tan skin taut over muscle.

“Well, what do you want to do?” Shane asked, not noticing Ilya’s eyes.

Ilya smirked, crawling on top of Shane and letting his body weight fully fall onto him. He heard an “oof.”

“I want you. It has been a week.” Ilya whined, biting at Shane’s neck.

“Oh.” Shane was slowly catching up to the conversation, his hands idly traveling up and down Ilya’s back.

“In your bed,” Ilya continued, kissing the spots that he had bitten.

“What if they come home?”

“In three hours? You will not last that long.” Ilya laughed against Shane’s skin. He could hear Shane huff at him, his hands still idly moving.

“Yeah, okay, I guess you’re right.” Shane said, and Ilya could feel him harden against his leg.

Ilya stood, whisking Shane up into his arms and rushing them up the stairs. Shane laughed loudly, smacking at Ilya and telling him to put him down.

“Okay.” Ilya agreed, and tossed him onto his bed.

Shane squealed as he landed, followed by a string of laughter that made his eyes crease in a way that warmed Ilya’s heart. As soon as he was flush against the bed, Ilya pounced. They kissed messily, both frantically undressing the other. They were clumsy and desperate and bogged down by desire, all tongues and lips and teeth. Shane was whimpering already, pressing himself as closely to Ilya as he could get, and Ilya was kissing any bit of exposed skin he could get to.

Ilya pressed Shane down flat into the mattress and pried his legs apart. He looked up at Shane, a silent question. “Nightstand.” Shane was squirming.

Ilya retrieved the lube and slicked his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it. He left a trail of kisses down Shane’s thigh, then lightly sucked and bit at the skin of his inner thigh while he pressed a finger to his entrance. Shane gave a small moan, as if to ask for more. Ilya pressed in, slightly, then held it. Shane grinded down against him and he added more of his finger. Soon, he had a full finger gliding in and out, Shane pushing down against him begging for more. He added a second, ghosting over the knot that he knew would leave Shane breathless.

“Fuck.” Shane bit out, gripping the sheets.

Once Ilya was sure Shane was ready for him, he went back to the nightstand. He could feel Shane freeze as he dug through it.

“Shit. I don’t have…” Shane looked defeated, sinking back onto the bed and putting his hands over his face. “I don’t have condoms here! Fuck!”

Ilya had been too nervous to pack any. He knew it was unrealistic to think the Hollanders would search his bags, but he wanted to make a good first impression and condoms accidentally falling out would not only be a bad look, it would raise too many questions. He figured Shane would have them, as most do, in his nightstand - if they even got the chance to use them. Ilya wasn’t sure they’d get this far with how Shane was when his parents were around.

Shane continued to grumble into his hands, when Ilya pulled them away.

“I have not been with anyone since we slept together.” He declared.

Shane blinked. “Yeah. Same.”

“Before that, I was tested.” Ilya continued. He left out that he had done it the day after he won his hockey game, when Shane had brought up wanting to sleep together again. He was the first 8am appointment they had. He left out that he wanted to make sure Shane was safe with him. He left out that he had decided not to sleep with anyone since the night Shane had made it clear he wanted to sleep together.

“I haven’t. After Rose.” Shane said. “And we used protection.” He added quickly.

Ilya nodded, running a hand up and down the side of Shane’s torso. “Do you want…” Ilya didn’t dare suggest. He didn’t want to influence Shane in any way.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Shane said.

“Do what?” Ilya needed to hear it.

Shane sat up and kissed Ilya deeply. “I want you to fuck me.” He said breathlessly when he pulled away. Ilya’s mouth was parted slightly, eyes wide. “Without a condom. I want to feel you.” Shane looked down at his lap, recovering from the bravery of his words.

Ilya threw him back down and kissed him with reckless abandon. They moaned into it, their tongues gliding over one another. Something felt different: the air felt staticky. Shane dug his fingers into Ilya’s shoulders, drawing him impossibly closer, until they were skin to skin from head to toe. Their lips never disconnected.

Ilya reworked his fingers into Shane as they kissed, easing the tension that had found its way to his body during their conversation. Shane moaned into his mouth, fingers digging deeper, as Ilya moved the two fingers in and out. Eventually he pulled them away, Shane whimpering at the loss, and slicked himself with lube. He lined himself up to his entrance and paused.

“Are you okay?” Ilya asked, looking down at Shane, who was low lidded with kiss swollen lips parted open.

“Yes.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. Please. Please fuck me.”

Ilya pressed in slowly, unable to stop the moan that escaped his lips as he entered. Shane let out a moan of his own, eyes closing. Ilya paused, caught his breath, then continued until he was fully inside of Shane. He stopped and lowered his body onto him, moving his hands through his hair and kissing his face.

“Fuck,” Shane sighed into Ilya’s cheek.

“Okay?” Ilya checked, still not moving his hips.

“So good. Feel so full. S’warm.” Shane slurred against Ilya’s skin. Ilya gave a light laugh.

“Is very warm. Is very good.” Ilya agreed, kissing his jaw and then his lips.

They kissed a bit, Ilya still inside of Shane, before he slowly began to roll his hips. Shane let out a shudder, gripping onto Ilya. Ilya kept moving in and out, still slow and steady.

Shane was a mess beneath him. He was writhing, pressing down to get more of Ilya, hands gripping him so hard he feared his parents would see the bruises tomorrow. Ilya bit at Shane’s lip, licking his way into his mouth, then pulling away to kiss across his cheek and on the shell of his ear. Shane was whimpering beneath him.

“Fuck me,” he pleaded.

“I am,” Ilya teased.

“More.” Shane demanded.

Ilya pulled out until just the tip was in, then re-aligned himself and shoved in, brushing against Shane’s prostate. Shane cursed into the air, his body tensing. Ilya kept a steady pace, grazing against it over and over. He could feel the sheen of sweat starting to cover Shane. He connected their lips and they kissed with desperation, spit falling from their lips onto their cheeks and chin. Shane drew his legs around Ilya’s waist, locking him in closer to him as he moved in and out. Ilya moaned into Shane’s open mouth, surprised at Shane’s need to be even closer. They were both pulling at each other’s hair, bodies slick and sliding against one another.

Shane’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head, his moans reduced to splutters.

“Ilya,” he choked out.

Ilya nearly froze. It took everything in him not to break the rhythm of his thrusts. Shane had never used his first name during sex before. When the initial shock wore off, he then had to fight back his impending orgasm from hearing it.

“Are you close?” Ilya asked against his ear.

“Yes. Fuck. Yes, Ilya, please.”

“Cum for me, Shane. Cum on my dick.” Ilya reached between them and touched Shane’s leaking cock.

Shane came as soon as the words left Ilya’s mouth. He released over his hand and stomach, moaning louder than Ilya had ever heard before.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya moaned, pressing his forehead to his.

“Cum in me,” Shane demanded, his body limp against the mattress.

Ilya’s eyes widened and then they closed, clamped shut as his orgasm tore through him at those words. His body trembled as he released into Shane. He was a mess of moans and pants and guttural groans. He fell onto Shane, kissing him wildly as he came down from the high. Shane kissed him just as hungrily, his hands traveling all over Ilya’s sweat soaked body. They parted their mouths, trying to catch their breath.

“I am going to pull out now, okay?” Ilya said, holding himself up now.

“Mhm,” Shane hummed. He looked exhausted, hair sticking up in tufts, skin glistening with sweat, eyes barely able to open.

Ilya pulled out and Shane let out a small whimper. He kissed his cheek and then pulled the wipes out of the nightstand so he could thoroughly clean them both. When he was done, he fell back next to Shane and then pulled him into his side, kissing his hair.

“Good?” Ilya asked.

“The best,” Shane said sleepily.

“Sleep. I will shower first and wake you when I am done.” He kissed Shane’s cheek, who nodded and began to give in to sleep.

Ilya liked showering here. The shampoo and conditioner smelled like Shane’s hair and the soap smelled like his skin, so every time he showered he got to carry his scent with him throughout the day. He dreaded going back. He dreaded leaving behind this make believe life they were living in, where they were carefree and intertwined.

He slipped back into the bedroom where Shane was strewn across the bed in a deep sleep. He chuckled, then leaned over and gently petted his hair until his eyes fluttered open.

“Time to shower,” he said softly. Shane whined, but got up and went to the bathroom. Ilya lay in the spot he left behind, soaking up the warmth of it. He stopped himself from counting how many more days they had left of this.

They ordered pizza and played video games. They kissed and shoved each other. They laughed and brushed hands on the couch. They moved three feet apart and pretended to look at their phones when they heard his parents’ tires on gravel.

Ilya found himself wanting to go to bed early these days. He couldn’t get close enough to Shane during the day. The evenings were the only time he could finally feel the heat of his skin and smell his shampoo. He knew they’d be able to share a bed back at the dorm. They had been doing it before they left. But there was something about existing outside of that bubble that made Ilya happy. Knowing that they still gravitated to each other even outside of their small, confined space made his body tingle. Ilya thought to himself that out of all the bravery he had shown throughout his life, this was the bravest thing he had ever done. Existing like this in the world, outside of the comfort of his dorm. He wondered if he’d ever do the next bravest thing.

Chapter End Notes

I thiiiiink we're nearing the end? This has become my comfort fic to write so I'll probably lose my mind when it's done lmao

Chapter 23: I got dreams but I can't make myself believe them

Chapter Notes

Ilya was showing Shane his handstand in the lake when he heard the worst sound in the world. One minute he was submerged in water, the sloshing movement flooding his ears, and the next he was right side up and hearing a voice that stopped him dead in his tracks.

How could he be here? How could anyone but them be in this oasis? His brain stuttered and he stared ahead, at the source of the sound, his wet skin cold against the breeze. He blinked, hoping it would go away, that it was just a terrible hallucination.

“Shane!” Stupid Hayden Pike said, walking toward the dock from the driveway.

Ilya scowled, lowering himself back down into the lake until only his scrunched nose and furrowed brow were visible. Shane huffed a laugh and turned to his friend.

“Hey Hayds! You decided to come!”

“Yeah I figured practicing against you two couldn’t hurt, even if it meant having to see Rozanov during my summer break.” Pike shrugged, sitting next to Shane on the dock, both sets of their feet dangling. Ilya imagined pulling Pike in by his ankles.

Shane looked at Ilya, still crouched and scowling. “I invited Hayden to join us for practice today,” he explained to Ilya, as if he hadn’t just found the most efficient method of torture for him.

Ilya was cranky. It wasn’t even that Hayden Pike was there - though that wasn’t ideal, either - but it was that anyone was there. Ilya wanted to spend time with Shane and his family, alone and uninterrupted, until he’d have to begrudgingly leave early. He still hadn’t told Shane. He wondered if Pike would still be here if he had.

***

Playing against Pike was fine. He was actually keeping up with him and Shane. It wasn’t as bad as Ilya thought it would be, not that he’d ever admit it.

“How does it feel to be worst player on the ice right now Pike?”

“Oh shut up, Roz.” Pike tried, but failed, to steal the puck from him.

“Is okay, your best friend Shane Hollander can teach you how to be second best.” Ilya smiled wickedly as he shot the puck into the opposing net.

Shane scowled at him like an angry kitten from across the ice. It made Ilya want to throw his gloves down and kiss him.

When they had finished practice, they stripped down and pulled on their bathing suits. Shane was floating idly in an inner tube, while Ilya was jumping off of the dock onto Pike.

“Rozanov! You’re going to drown me,” Pike spluttered, shoving at him while Shane huffed a laugh.

“Is okay, Pike. No one will realize you are gone,” Ilya shrugged, diving under the water and pulling Pike down by his ankles.

They splashed and wrestled while Shane mediated from his inner tube. After a long swim, some hot dogs grilled by David, and a quick game of soccer on the front lawn, Pike made his way home.

Shane and Ilya showered, then waited until David and Yuna were asleep before clambering into bed together. Ilya held Shane’s wrist loosely in his hand, his knee knocking into Shane’s thigh.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Hmm?” Shane hummed happily from beside him, no doubt thrilled that Ilya and Pike had made it a whole day without killing each other.

“I have to go back to Russia.” Ilya could feel Shane’s body tense beside him.

“What?” Shane breathed to the ceiling.

“My father has booked me a flight. I have to leave two weeks early. I will be back when classes start,” Ilya explained coolly, resisting the panic in his chest.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

They didn’t speak for a long while, their breaths releasing into the warmth of the room. Ilya had no comfort to provide. He could barely keep it together himself. He stared at the ceiling until it blurred, then blinked it back into focus, only to stare at it until it blurred again. He did this over and over, ignoring the heat pulling at his jaw. Shane was so still beside him that he almost wondered if he had fallen asleep.

“Do you want to go?” Shane’s voice finally broke through the hum of cicadas outside.

“I do not have a choice.” It sounded firmer than Ilya had intended.

“Right.” He could feel Shane’s nod jostle the pillow beneath his head. “So… Will you have friends there?”

Ilya furrowed his brow. “Not really.”

“Sasha? Or Svetlana? Won’t they be there?” Shane asked quietly. Ilya held back a smile - Shane sounded jealous.

“Sasha lives there, yes. I do not know if I will see him. Svetlana is not going to Russia this summer. She went earlier in the year.”

Shane clicked his tongue and nodded again. Ilya’s thumb traced circles on the inner side of his wrist. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into it like usual, either.

“I hate it,” Shane finally said decidedly.

“Yes, me too.”

“Just stay,” Shane said innocently, handing Ilya an improbability with ease.

“I cannot, Shane,” Ilya said firmly. He was suddenly exhausted and too hot and the room was too small.

“What if -“

“Stop. I am going to Russia,” Ilya said it too loudly and too harshly. Shane flinched beside him. The guilt hit Ilya in waves. He sat up, looking down at Shane, at the sadness brimming in his soft brown eyes. “We still have time. We will have so much fun.” Ilya comforted him, or maybe himself, or maybe both of them. He dragged his thumb across Shane’s jawline, then up and across his freckles. Shane leaned his face into the touch.

“I just thought we’d have more of it,” Shane admitted sadly.

“It is only two weeks. You will miss me that much? Toy will not be enough?” Ilya winked, all charisma and playfulness now.

Shane gave him a reluctant smile and swatted at his arms, “shut up.”

Ilya smiled and caught Shane’s lips in a kiss. Shane chased his mouth as he pulled away. Ilya could sense the desperation dripping from his body, the need clawing its way from him.

He wanted to unravel him. He wanted to make him feel so good that the memory of it lasted the entire summer. He wanted to ruin him for anyone else. He was selfish. He could admit it.

“Take off your clothes.” It never ceased to amaze Ilya how obedient Shane was. He complied immediately. He was so eager. It made Ilya’s cock twitch.

Ilya pulled his clothing off and threw it onto the pile with Shane’s on the floor. He leaned down and kissed him again, rough and messy. Shane quietly whimpered into the kiss, his need evident between his legs. He was already leaking.

“You are so pretty like this,” Ilya whispered against his neck, trailing kisses and bites along the pulsating vein. “So pretty when you are needy.”

Shane writhed at that, pulling Ilya back to his mouth for more kisses. Ilya relented, their tongues heatedly finding each other, hands grasping sweat slicked limbs. He pulled away after a few minutes, Shane mumbling a protest.

Ilya pulled his body away from him, sitting back on his heels, and commanded, “turn around. Put your head down on the pillow and put your ass in the air for me.”

Shane stared at him in wonder, mouth slightly agape, before scrambling to follow instructions. Ilya loved how much Shane wanted to please him. He thought of the sticky notes over the desk, his strict diet, his perfectly filled schedule - Shane was in control of every aspect of his life down to the second. Except with Ilya. With Ilya, he let go. He trusted him to take full control. He never even hesitated. It warmed something cold and callous in Ilya.

Once Shane had presented himself, and Ilya had taken in how beautiful he looked splayed out for him, he began. He rubbed flat palms over the back of Shane’s thighs, massaging the muscle. Shane let out a small groan. He worked his hands up to the meat of his ass, kneading and massaging him. He felt Shane yield to him, body relaxed and swaying. Ilya began to kiss up his thighs, over his ass, on his lower back. Any exposed stretch of skin his lips could reach, he covered. Finally, after he was sure he’d planted a kiss everywhere he could, he dipped down and placed a tongue to Shane’s opening. Shane gasped, covering his mouth with his hand so that the sound wouldn’t travel. Ilya pressed firmly with the flat of his tongue, moistening the entrance, before lapping at it. He let his hot breath come out in huffs, warming the area in between his licks. Shane was coming apart, hips struggling to stay upright. Ilya held him up by his hipbones, his thumbs digging into the sensitive flesh. He pointed his tongue and dipped in, keeping it rigid as he fucked in and out of Shane’s hole. Shane was whimpering into the pillow below him. He continued alternating between flat, all encompassing licks and rigid fucks in and out.

“Ilya, please,” Shane begged.

Ilya didn’t stop, didn’t even ask what Shane was begging for. He kept the same torturous pattern, keeping Shane flush to his mouth with the strong grip of his hands at his hips.

“Please. Please.” Shane’s voice broke over the words.

Ilya kept going, moaning into Shane’s skin as he went. He could feel Shane’s thighs trembling as he held him up. His pleas, a constant stream at this point, were muffled by the pillow. Ilya squeezed his hips again, then started quick and rough flicks against him. He added this to the rotation, giving each rhythm a few minutes so that Shane could fully experience each one before they were ripped from him and replaced with another. Shane sounded like he was sobbing into the pillow. Ilya stopped and leaned fully over him, his chest flush to Shane’s back, and guided his face out of the pillow with a steady finger and thumb to his chin. Shane turned his head to him and Ilya saw tears falling down his cheek. Ilya kissed the tears, until he tasted nothing but Shane’s sweat and salt and liquid.

“дорогой,” Ilya whispered against Shane’s temple as he kissed it.

Ilya had completed the first step of his plan: pleasure Shane until he cried.

He rubbed a flat palm over Shane’s back in gentle circles, whispering sweet nothings to him in Russian.

“Ilya, please. You have to fuck me. Please.” Shane was trying so hard to keep his voice to a whisper. Ilya was proud of him, of how controlled he was. He wanted to break him.

Ilya pulled back, placing his hands on Shane’s hips, and slid his dick between the crease of Shane’s ass, rocking back and forth. Shane whimpered. He let his tip brush past his spit soaked entrance, then continue past it, slipping easily between the skin of his cheeks. He kept going, despite Shane’s desperate pleas and moans.

“Ilya I will die,” Shane cried out quietly.

“No, моя любовь, I would never let that happen,” Ilya whispered back.

He continued for a few more minutes, until he was too sensitive to trust he’d last for the rest of his plan.

“Face me,” he commanded. Shane flipped over immediately, eyes dilated, spit pooling at the side of his mouth from how he was pushed into the pillow moments before.

“So good for me,” Ilya purred, slipping his thigh between Shane’s legs. He laid flat against him and kissed him deeply, his hands exploring Shane’s body, stopping to flick at his nipples occasionally.

Shane was writhing beneath him, rubbing his erection against Ilya’s leg. Ilya kissed and nipped at his neck, keeping his thigh firmly in place.

“Please fuck me,” Shane whined, still squirming and chasing the friction of Ilya’s thigh.

“I will,” Ilya promised, then covered Shane’s mouth with his own. Shane moaned into the kiss, still gyrating against him.

He pulled back, pulling Shane up with him and off of the bed. He stood, pushing down on Shane’s shoulders until Shane was kneeling in front of him. He grabbed the base of his dick and lined it up with Shane’s lips. Shane greedily took him into his mouth without hesitation. He sucked his way down like he was hungry for Ilya. Ilya moaned quietly, shoving his hand in Shane’s hair and pulling him even closer. He slid his leg in between Shane’s thighs again and Shane happily accepted the friction, thrusting against him as he sucked. Shane was so desperate as he moved against Ilya that his mouth was clumsy and sloppy, spit falling down his chin, his mouth losing suction with a “pop” more than once. Ilya tugged at his hair and moaned, watching him come undone. When Shane’s thrusts against his leg became more erratic, he pulled himself out of his mouth. Shane looked up, bewildered. Ilya’s hand stayed in his hair, but he used the other to press a thumb to his bottom lip. Shane sucked it into his mouth with a moan, grinding his hips desperately again. Ilya tried to focus on the feeling of Shane’s tongue on the pad of his thumb so that he wouldn’t cum untouched just from watching Shane gyrate against his shin in desperation. He felt him whimper against his finger as his hips stuttered, his face red and eyes clamped shut as he released onto Ilya’s leg. Ilya removed his thumb and petted his hair.

“Fuck,” Shane muttered, seemingly embarrassed but also limp from his orgasm.

“On the bed. I am not done with you,” Ilya said, watching Shane’s eyes widen and then seeing the arousal return to them.

Shane quickly climbed back onto the bed. Ilya used a tissue to clean his leg off, then climbed on top of Shane. He kissed him, slow, deep and lazy. They stayed that way for a while, kissing, threading their hands in each other’s hair, laying missionary just to feel their bodies against each other.

Finally, Ilya reached over to the drawer for the lube, leaving as much of their bodies touching as he could. He poured some into his hand and then began working Shane open. He reconnected their lips as his fingers moved in and out of him. Shane moaned into the kiss, his hands digging into Ilya’s shoulders. Once Ilya was satisfied that Shane could take him, he lined up with his entrance. He paused and looked down at Shane.

“Ilya if you don’t fuck me right now,” Shane threatened, blush tinted cheeks and a sheen of sweat adorning his face.

Ilya smiled, gave him a sweet kiss, and pressed into him. He moved slowly, until Shane had taken all of him. He then rocked his hips a little, not moving in or out, but grinding his presence into Shane until he was sure Shane had adjusted to it. Then, he pulled all the way out, tilted his hips and slammed into Shane’s prostate. Ilya was quick to cover Shane’s mouth with his own, swallowing the loud moan that escaped his lips. He kept their mouths connected as Shane essentially screamed into him. Ilya continually slammed against him, grazing his spot over and over. Shane was a sweaty, squirming mess beneath him, grasping at his shoulders and arms. His moans were constant and spluttered into the heat of Ilya’s mouth. Shane was unraveling in the best way.

Ilya knew Shane was cumming when his body started to tremble and his mouth was stretched over a silent scream. He had no cum left to release, but the orgasm wracked his body nonetheless. Ilya felt him clench around him, his hands white knuckled against Ilya’s shoulders. His eyes were, honest to God, rolled to the back of his head. Ilya reveled in it. As soon as Shane had finished riding the waves of his orgasm, Ilya switched the pace and angle to chase his own. He thrusted hard and fast, hips loose, until his vision whited out and he was muffling a moan into the crook of Shane’s neck.

He collapsed onto him, panting. Shane stroked his back, also catching his breath.

“Fuck,” Shane said over Ilya’s shoulder.

“Is it good enough to wait for?” Ilya dared to ask.

“What?”

Ilya pulled back and looked down at Shane. “While I am in Russia. You will wait until I can fill you again?”

“Of course. Obviously, Ilya.”

“I do not know. Maybe you will use grindr while I am away.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you stupid? I would never use Grindr.” Shane rolled his eyes. Ilya wanted to take comfort in this, but he knew Shane could find someone just on campus. Shane seemed to notice how quiet Ilya had gotten. “Besides, we could always… you know, call.”

Ilya raised his eyebrows and parted his lips in mock surprise. “Shane! Are you suggesting we have phone sex? Where has the golden boy gone?”

“I don’t know,” Shane mumbled, “maybe you fucked him out of me.” He said it so shyly. Ilya’s eyes widened and he laughed, then leaned down and planted kisses on every inch of Shane’s face.

“Cut it out!” Shane protested, blocking his face with his hands.

“I did not know you had such words in you, Shane. I cannot wait for phone sex now,” Ilya nearly giggled.

Ilya eventually pulled out and cleaned them up, before pulling Shane to him and kissing into his hair. Shane fell asleep almost immediately and Ilya traced circles with his fingers against his arm. Ilya had done a hard thing: he had asked Shane to wait for him, to wait until he was back to have sex again. He asked him because he couldn’t ask for what he really wanted. The only thing he could dare to ask Shane to give him right now was sex - sex with Ilya and only Ilya. That alone seemed so big, such a burden to put on Shane. The truth was that Ilya wanted so much more. He wanted to ask Shane to be his, not just sexually but in the mundane moments. He wanted Shane to be his in the daylight, in the moments between classes, in every way a person can belong to another. Whether he was in Russia or Canada or in bed beside him, he wanted Shane to be his. It was an impossible thing. He would never ask for it, because he knew they couldn’t have it. So instead he asked for what he could: wait for me. Let me be the one to please you. Let me be the only one who can undo you like this. For now that would be enough. It had to be. Maybe one day Ilya would be braver.

Chapter End Notes

Did I start a SECOND college AU fic while I was sick? Yes. Yes, I did. Feel free to check it out here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/80677256/chapters/211901066

I don't know what possessed me when I wrote this chapter but I'm patting her on the back because PHEW. Also some of the comments on the last chapter actually had me crying, they were so sweet. Ty for making my heart happy.

Chapter 24: Fool for you

Chapter Notes

Ilya was leaving tomorrow. The summer had been perfect: he and David had finished three puzzles, he and Yuna had cooked together, and he and Shane… Well, they had practiced hockey and swam in the lake and splashed each other from their jet skis and taught each other their favorite work out routines. At night, when the house was asleep, they had sex and kissed and fell asleep intertwined. Ilya couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at peace. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt that way, now that he thought about it. There was always an edge to the happiness, as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But this summer was one good thing after another, without the ache he was so used to.

Shane looked like a sad kitten. He wasn’t even attempting to hide how upset he was that Ilya had to leave early.

He had gone through stages: the first stage was anger. He had spent an entire day two weeks ago absolutely furious. Ilya couldn’t understand what had happened. They had a perfectly fine time the day before and they were at the rink when Shane threw his gloves down and stormed off. It took Ilya two hours, one of which was spent edging him in a hidden alcove of trees, to coax the truth out of Shane. Once he had come down from his eventual orgasm, he admitted he was angry that their plans had changed, that his father was taking him away. Ilya soothed him with gentle kisses and whispered words, but he felt the same way. He was angry at what was being taken from him. He was angry that he was leaving his oasis to return to a cold and unwelcome home.

The second stage was jealousy, about a week ago. Shane had brought Sasha up no less than three times in an hour before Ilya finally broke.

“Do you have crush? Why are you so obsessed?” He snapped.

“Do I have a crush? Do you?!” Shane shot back, exasperated.

“No, are you crazy?”

“It didn’t seem so crazy when you two were on the couch.”

Ilya groaned and rolled his eyes. “Shane. I do not want Sasha. I do not want Svetlana. I want to hurry through the trip and come home and fuck you,” He made eye contact with Shane, who promptly crumpled into his lap and clung to him.

Today the third stage, it seemed, was grief. Nothing Ilya tried had been working. He suggested they practice at the rink. Shane declined. He suggested they go for a swim. Shane declined. He suggested they play games with his parents. Shane declined. The only thing Shane did was curl against Ilya in bed and stay silent. Ilya brushed his fingers through Shane’s hair, trailing them down his neck and rubbing them into his shoulders.

“Shane, please, look at me.”

Shane sat up, eyes red and brimming with tears.

“It will be okay. It will be so quick,” Ilya reassured him.

“Two weeks is not quick,” Shane grumbled.

“Will feel quick,” Ilya corrected, rubbing his thumb across Shane’s freckles.

Shane huffed and got up, pacing the room and biting at the skin of his thumb. Ilya stood and grabbed him, halting him in his tracks.

“Shane,” Ilya cooed.

A single tear slipped down Shane’s cheek and he looked away from Ilya, as if embarrassed. Ilya hooked his finger under his chin, forcing him to look at him. They locked eyes and Ilya leaned in for a kiss.
It was the most tender kiss Ilya had ever experienced. It was soft and slow, but deep and languid. They sighed into each other, their bodies leaning against one another. Ilya’s hands roamed Shane’s back and Shane’s hands grasped onto Ilya’s neck. Ilya could have stayed in that kiss for hours, maybe even days. He had no thoughts, only the warmth of Shane’s mouth and the quiet whimpers that escaped it.

The door opened so quickly that neither of them had time to register it. By the time they leapt away, it was too late. David and Yuna were standing there, mouths agape. Shane made a terrible noise, as if he were being sliced in half. Ilya’s eyes darted between the three of them, assessing the severity of the situation. Yuna looked like she might cry, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes glossy and wide. David looked dumbfounded. His face was slack, a mixture of confusion and shock. Shane looked physically ill, his limbs tight to his body, his face scrunched up in pain and tears running down his face. Ilya reached for him, but he sidestepped him.

“We just wanted to surprise you both with Metros tickets,” David rushed to explain, holding his phone up to display the tickets.

“I was going to tell you,” Shane said hurriedly.

“Tell us what, exactly?” Yuna whispered, still processing the scene.

“I’m gay,” Shane stated, mostly to his feet.

“Honey,” Yuna started.

“And Ilya and I,” Shane finally looked to Ilya. He looked broken and scared. Ilya searched for the word: what was it when you touched and kissed and shared a bed every night? What was it when you adored someone but you were both too scared to do it out loud?

“Are lovers,” Ilya supplied.

“Ew, Ilya, no. That’s gross,” Shane lifted his shoulders as if the word made him shiver.

“Oh,” Ilya said it so quietly that it was a ghost of a word in the room.

“Why don’t you two come downstairs and we can talk?” David suggested, always the level headed one.

The two of them nodded and followed Shane’s parents into the living room. Yuna made everyone tea and they clung to it like life rafts.

“Shane, why didn’t you tell us?” Yuna sounded heartbroken.

“I was going to I just. It’s still so new. I just figured it out myself and I wasn’t ready for it to be so… real. And I’m not ready to be out, either. No one in the league is out and I don’t want to ruin my chances before I even get them,” Shane was rambling, words leaving his mouth in a panic.

“You don’t have to come out right now if you’re not ready. I’m just sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell us. We would have supported you no matter what.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I wanted to. I just…”

“You have no reason to be sorry. If anything, we’re sorry. We’re sorry we didn’t make it easier for you,” Yuna let her tears fall.

“I forgive you. I love you guys. This is such a mess,” Shane moaned into the palms of his hands.

“And you two?” David asked, gesturing between them. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since the school year started,” Ilya said matter of factly.

Shane glared at him, but ultimately nodded. His parents exchanged a shocked look.

“I see,” David paused, mulling something over. “I guess it doesn’t matter if they share the room. No one can get pregnant,” He chuckled to Yuna and she huffed a laugh, smacking his arm.

“Do we need to go over protection and safety? Let me pull up some articles,” Yuna grabbed her phone.

“NO!” Ilya and Shane shouted.

“Mom, we’re good. Thank you.” Shane was six shades of red. Ilya stifled a laugh.

“Ilya, are you out to your parents?” Yuna asked gently.

“Mmm, no. Not appropriate for Russia. Also, I am bisexual, so I dated women while there,” He fidgeted with his hands.

“I’m sorry. That must be hard… hiding who you are. You boys deserve better,” she sounded so sad.

Shane tucked his head between his legs. Ilya looked at Yuna and David, their faces twisted with concern, before rubbing his hand up and down Shane’s back.

“Shane,” he said gently, moving his hand to his hair.

“M’okay. Just overwhelmed.” Shane breathed into the space between his legs.

Ilya slid beside him, his leg flush against Shane’s, and rubbed gentle circles on his back.

“Shane, come here,” he coaxed. Shane slowly sat up and looked at him.

“You are safe here. Everything is okay. Nothing bad is happening,” Ilya comforted him, then pulled him into his chest and held him. Shane went limp against his body and accepted being held.

Yuna and David exchanged a warm look between themselves and Ilya kissed into Shane’s hair.

***

Ilya was sure that things would change between him and the Hollanders. He expected Yuna and David to be less welcoming and for Shane to retreat again. He steeled himself after their discussion on the couch, preemptively numbing himself to the impending pain he’d be left with. But David made his favorite meal for his last night there: chicken parmesan and ice cream for dessert. He even brought out his best vodka - Yuna had tsked but ultimately turned a blind eye. David and Ilya enjoyed a glass together, chatting happily. At one point after dinner, Yuna had inserted herself between Ilya and Shane on the couch, grabbed them by their heads and pulled them each onto her shoulders. She rubbed their backs as they cuddled into her like little kids. Ilya wanted to be shy, or embarrassed, about how his body snuggled deeper into her and how he reveled in her gentle circles on his back - but he couldn’t muster anything other than genuine joy. He caught Shane’s eyes across his mother’s chest, expecting embarrassment or avoidance, but Shane was looking at him with tear brimmed eyes and a smile tugging at his lips.

Yuna and David exchanged numbers with Ilya that night, threatening no less than death if he didn’t text them when he landed in Russia, and again when he returned to Canada.

“Don’t make me worry, Ilya,” Yuna threatened. It was the first time Ilya had ever felt intimidated by a Canadian.

“Thank you,” he said to them at the end of the night, “for everything.” He gestured wildly at the cottage and all of them.

“You’ll have to come back for Thanksgiving,” David stated and Yuna nodded beside him.

Shane smiled down at the floor and Ilya’s grin nearly split his face in half. “Yes, okay, thank you,” he nodded enthusiastically.

They said goodnight and headed back up to the bedroom. Shane hadn’t spoken much since he had come out. He’d accepted his parents’ affection and quietly ate his food, but he hadn’t said anything in hours. Ilya’s stomach did something complicated as they entered the bedroom.

They didn’t wait for Yuna and David to go to bed this time before they climbed into bed. Shane was clinging to Ilya immediately, his body snaking around him.

“You were very brave,” Ilya said into his hair.

“Fuck off,” Shane huffed, before looking up at him and kissing him.

They stayed that way for a long while, entangled and kissing, hands roaming but not escalating. It was tender. It was also a little sad. They both knew they wouldn’t have this for two weeks and there was a desperation just beneath the intimacy of it.

They kissed until their lips were sore and then Ilya was breaking Shane apart, his fingers inside of him, his mouth on his neck, his teeth against the sensitive skin below his ear. Shane was quietly moaning, his hands digging into Ilya’s shoulders. And soon, Ilya was inside of him, pressing kisses to his lips, brushing his hands through his hair. It was slow, almost agonizingly slow, and they both moaned into each other’s mouths. Their bodies were pulling themselves closer, closer, closer until every inch of them touched. Ilya felt like he would burst. They came together, Shane spilling between them and Ilya spilling inside of him, saying each other’s name like a prayer. Ilya collapsed onto Shane, disregarding the sticky mess between them, and kissed him until he had no breath left.

He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell him. Instead, he cleaned them up and held Shane until they drifted off to sleep.

Chapter End Notes

It's gonna get real sad before it gets real cute. Thanks for your patience with this chapter!

Chapter 25: Friendly Russia

Chapter Notes

I'm so sorry in advance. I was sad when I wrote this and I was even more sad when I finished it. But nonetheless I love this chapter with my whole heart.

Thank you for reading <3

Ilya spent the entirety of his flight sipping on airline alcohol and watching movies. He tried to sleep, knew he should sleep, but sleep never found him. When they finally landed, he was a little tipsy and very exhausted. He pulled his phone out as he waited for his luggage at the carousel and started a group chat.

Ilya: I have arrived.

Yuna: Thank you for letting us know, sweetie. We hope you have a good trip!

David: I hope they have the good vodka out for you!

Jane: I’ll call you later this week - stay safe.

Ilya smiled down at his phone, wobbling a little on his feet. He took a quick breath, steadied himself and yanked his luggage off the conveyor belt as it passed.

***

Ilya had expected this trip would be unpleasant, but he didn’t realize just how hard it would be. His father was sick and no one had told him.

“You were too busy playing hockey and going to college and ignoring your family,” Andrei spat, the insult landing in Ilya’s sternum and spreading like wildfire.

He was right. Ilya had left, had focused on himself and rarely ever tried to contact them. If he was honest with himself, he never wanted to see his family again. It made the guilt even more unbearable. He had chosen to leave and in his absence his father had deteriorated. He hadn’t even known, and certainly hadn’t helped.

And now, he was doling out pills and shuffling his father from one doctor appointment to another. His father wove in and out of reality, sometimes aware of Ilya and disgusted by him, weighed down by his disappointment in him, and other times soft and quiet and wondering, asking Ilya for a glass of water and thanking him like it had always been like this. It gave Ilya whiplash. He felt cruel, wanting the softer side of his father, but knowing that was only wishing him further into decay. He remained patient, taking the aggressive screams when they came, turning himself soft and gentle when the fear replaced the anger. His father’s eyes looked like they were constantly searching, as if he were being swept up by a wave and was desperate to find higher ground. He’d spend minutes, eyes moving back and forth, looking scared and searching for comfort. Ilya would talk to him, quiet Russian words falling from his lips. They said nothing, gibberish meant to soothe, but they calmed the fear. They ebbed the wave. He kept talking.

Alzheimer’s. The doctor had explained it. No matter how they viewed it, the reality remained: this was a fight his father would not survive. The same father who had gone to war and returned largely unscathed. The same father who policed the most violent criminals and never lost his life. The same father who felt more intimidating than anything Ilya had ever encountered in life. He would not be making it out alive. This was the first fight his father would lose. And his father wasn’t even aware he was losing, had no idea he should be swinging, was simply hanging loosely by his hands as the disease beat into him.

Between his brother’s sneered insults about Ilya’s absence, and his father’s ever changing moods and needs, Ilya felt frayed. He collapsed onto his bed, his room dark and smelling faintly of cigarette smoke. It was jarring how much he hadn’t missed it. He never thought of this bed, these walls, this place. Even now, as he lay atop the soft duvet, he thought of the cottage and the bed he had shared with Shane. He longed for it - to be overheated and slick with sweat in the thin sheets, Shane hanging from his side. He thought of the dorm beds - it didn’t matter which one, really - and sinking into them, heavy with release and exhaustion. He thought about Shane’s scent embedded in both sets of sheets, of the indents of them side by side. He thought about how comfortable the beds were, not because their cheap college mattresses were comfortable but because there was a safe space there for him. He realized that he hadn’t ever longed for this room, and that the rooms he did long for didn’t matter, either. Home was constantly moving, constantly changing. Home was a smattering of freckles and soft pink lips. Home moved from the dorm room, to the gym, to the rink, to the cottage. Home smelled like jasmine and jojoba oil and something nutty. It smelled like Shane.

Ilya’s chest ached and he curled into a ball in the middle of his mattress, the crushing weight of it all too much for his exhausted body. He had barely been sleeping and his meals lately had consisted of vodka, cigarettes and bread. He knew Shane would be furious.

He also knew he had ignored three calls from him. The texts sat opened and unanswered, as well.

Jane: Hey! How’s it going over there?

Jane: Ilya? Are you okay? It’s been a few days and you haven’t said anything.

Jane: I miss you. Can you tell me you’re okay?

He couldn’t. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t take on another thing. His phone was usually shut off and stored in a drawer. Ilya was so overwhelmed by his current reality that he couldn’t process anything beyond what he needed to: his father. He wanted to tell Shane. He wanted to call him and cry and let him soothe him. But then the callous numbness would reach up and choke him, dragging him back down to this room, berating him. It would tell him that he shouldn’t burden Shane with his problems, that he wasn’t anything to him and shouldn’t expect comfort. He wallowed, let a few tears fall, then wiped his face and headed back into the cold reality he faced.

***

It took Ilya a full week before he answered Shane’s call. It was late, around 3am his time, and he was sitting against the wall behind his bed, feet tangled in sheets. He couldn’t sleep - he could never sleep - and was watching a hockey game on his phone when the notification overtook his screen.

His thumb hesitated over “decline” for a full ten seconds, before he huffed a sigh and accepted the FaceTime. Shane’s face wobbled onto Ilya’s screen. He looked like an angry kitten. Ilya’s heart thumped, wanting to press the pads of his fingertips to the screen, to seep through and swipe his hand across a constellation of freckles.

“What the fuck Ilya?” Shane yelled. Shane never yelled, not in earnest, and the sound made Ilya wince. He swallowed down the rising acid in his throat and looked away from the screen.

Shane ambled on, “I’ve called you so many times. I’ve texted you. You could have been dead! What the fuck is going on?” He sounded angry, yes, but also like he was on the verge of tears. Ilya wanted to hold him.

“I am sorry,” Ilya’s voice was so quiet that he wasn’t sure the phone could carry it. He sounded pathetic, like a wounded animal stuttering out its last breath. He hated this version of himself. He wanted to hang up.

Shane’s angry kitten expression melted into one of concern almost instantly. It made Ilya feel guilty and sick. His mind grasped at straws, trying to find a joke or a snarky comment that he could make to fix this. He found nothing, his mind was empty and exhausted. He sighed.

“Ilya,” Shane’s voice was gentle now, soothing. “Tell me.”

He didn’t specify what. It was a vague, all encompassing question. Tell me. Tell me why you ache, tell me why you are broken, tell me what hurts. Ilya choked back a sob, schooling his face back into neutrality. He felt like he had been dipped in concrete and left to set.

“My father is sick,” he managed, but barely.

He focused so hard on the big brown orbs staring back at him that his vision went blurry on the sides. There was nothing but Shane’s eyes, everything else an incomprehensible array of color and haze.

“Like a cold?” Shane offered.

“Like Alzheimer’s,” Ilya corrected, his voice hollow.

“Oh, Ilya. I’m sorry,” Shane practically cooed.

“Is that Ilya?” He heard Yuna in the background. He realized now where Shane was, tucked under a blanket on the couch at the cottage.

Yuna’s face appeared on the screen, her head pushing Shane’s back. “Mom! Not right now!” Shane shrieked, his arm wavering and moving the phone side to side.

Ilya watched Yuna’s face, the frame wobbling, and saw her wide smile falter.

“Ilya, sweetie, you look exhausted,” she said, a frown tugging on her lips.

“Yes. I feel exhausted,” Ilya admitted.

“Can we send you something? Maybe some cookies.”

“No, but thank you.”

“When you come back, the first weekend after school starts you two are coming for dinner,” She insisted, her eyes narrowing.

“That sounds good. Thank you,” Ilya couldn’t muster any emotion in his face.

“We love you,” she said softly. “You’ll get through this.” She didn’t know what he was getting through, but Ilya knew she meant what she said with sincerity. She believed in him. His heart hurt, but in a warmer way than normal. He nodded, words failing him. She pulled back and a disgruntled Shane reappeared.

“I’m so sorry. She’s impossible,” he huffed.

“Is okay. I liked it.” Ilya admitted.

Shane searched his face, carefully scanning it. Even in the small preview, Ilya could see he looked awful. The skin below his eyes were purple and swollen, his face gaunt, his hair disheveled. He suddenly felt embarrassed, letting Shane see him in this state. He opened his mouth to tease him, to remind him of his cocky flirtation, but Shane spoke first.

“I wish I could be there to help.”

“Me too,” Ilya said it before he could stop himself. “Tell me about the cottage. Tell me what you have been doing.”

Shane shifted, uncertain, but then launched into every activity he had done in the week they hadn’t spoken. Practice with Hayden, swimming in the lake, jogging in the mornings. Ilya watched Shane’s face as he spoke, enjoying the way his mouth moved and the way his eyes lit up. Shane told him how he was helping David with the puzzles now, and somewhere from beyond the phone David shouted that he couldn’t find edge pieces like Ilya could. Ilya smiled for the first time in a week, pulling the blanket up from his feet to cover him entirely. He curled up under it, holding the glowing screen to his face with one uncovered hand, the other keeping the blanket firmly in place.

Shane looked at him affectionately and said, “you should sleep.”

“It is not easy. Not here.”

“What if I stay on the phone with you?” Shane suggested, and Ilya liked the idea very much.

“Yes. Would be good,” Ilya’s eyes felt heavy. He stared at Shane beside him, pretending he wasn’t trapped within the confines of his phone, but was actually beside him, facing him in his bed and making his body warm.

“Keep talking,” Ilya said, eyes fluttering closed.

And Shane did. He talked about his hockey book and the last game he watched and how Hayden had become obsessed with Jackie. Ilya smiled, eyes closed, listening to Shane’s voice like it was water in a desert.

He woke up, phone still in his hand, stretched across blankets, and looked at the screen. Shane was still there, but this time he was tucked into bed, his phone propped up on his nightstand so that it showed his face hands free. Ilya had slept a solid six hours, which was four more than he normally got. He stretched, taking his time, keeping his eyes on Shane’s slumbering face. Eventually he ended the call and sent a message to Shane:

Ilya: Thank you. I have to go now but I am thinking of your face and it helps.

It was too honest, too much, but he had no energy left to pretend. He sent it, unafraid and numb to the potential consequence.

He felt hungry, which was unusual in the mornings here. He chalked it up to finally having slept and trekked downstairs to fix himself breakfast. His father was at the table already, chewing on a piece of toast. Ilya steeled himself for his father’s usual morning aggravation, but it never came.

“How was your sleep, papa?” Ilya asked as he cooked eggs on the stove. It was weird, speaking Russian when he had just spent the night speaking English.

“Good. I’m playing chess with Ivan today,” he said airily.

He hadn’t spoken to Ivan in ten years. They had fallen out and vehemently hated one another. Ilya simply nodded, sliding his cooked eggs onto a plate and shutting the burner.
He sat in front of his father and ate.

“Would you like coffee?” His father asked. It was the first time his father ever offered him anything.

Ilya paused, his fork midway to his mouth, then said:

“Yes, papa, thank you.”

His father poured him a cup of black coffee and set it down in front of him. Ilya took a sip, watching his father from behind the rim of the mug.

“Ilya, I need your help.” His father sounded vulnerable. Ilya hated it.

“What’s wrong papa?”

“Your mother. She didn’t come home last night.”

Ilya flinched. “Mama is dead. Your wife is Polina, remember? She’s visiting her parents this week. She’ll be back soon, I think on Monday,” Ilya reassured him.

His father stared past him, looking into a reality that Ilya could not join him in, until he shook his head and stitched his brows together in frustration.

“I know that,” he spat.

Ilya nodded, sipping from his mug again. “You’ve been so lazy since coming home. You won’t get drafted if you keep it up,” his father’s tone was back to cold and cruel.

“You’re right, papa. I’ll go for a run after breakfast,” He agreed, placing his empty mug in the sink and clearing their plates.

He did go for a run. Not because his father’s words had gotten to him, but because he needed to feel the burn in his lungs and the pounding of the asphalt against his soles. He ran until his thighs were shaking and he couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t even form a thought. He ran until his house was a dot on the map instead of a haunted house he could enter. He ran until tears stung his eyes. He ran until he saw the gates.

The wrought iron welcomed him like an old friend, the loud creak of it sounding through the air like a greeting just for him. His running shoes treaded the soft dirt, pieces of grass clinging to the bottoms. They carried him as if on autopilot, as if they knew the terrain and the path embedded deep within their make. Or maybe it was him, his make up, his design, that had memorized the aching path.

He knelt by the large stone, his fingers brushing dirt and debris from the words.

IRINA ROZANOV

He realized, suddenly, he hadn’t brought any flowers with him. He flushed, embarrassed at himself.

“Sorry, mama, this was an impromptu visit,” He sighed, sitting against the large headstone.

He meant to tell her his father was sick and his brother was stupid and that he never wanted to come back here, but instead he whispered:

“I’ve fallen in love and I don’t know what to do with myself.”

The tears fell, then, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He loved him.

Fuck.

He tipped his head back against the cool stone, hot tears chasing each other down his cheek, and huffed.

“I don’t know how I let this happen, mama, but I did. And he’s perfect. You would love him. I know you would. He makes things less scary. He makes me say the hard part out loud and then he walks me through the aftermath. Every time I see him it’s like breathing again after being underwater for too long. I wish you could meet him. I wish -“

He was cut off by his phone vibrating. Anger bubbled up his throat, flipping his phone over to see if it was his father or his brother that was interrupting him.

His breath hitched. Shane was FaceTiming him. He laughed, unbridled, into the quiet air. He answered the phone with a blissful smile.

“Shane!” He laughed, eyes crinkled, switching back to English. Shane jumped, surprise written across his face. “I want you to meet someone. Is okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” Shane said hesitantly, shifting in his seat.

Ilya tapped his phone, switching the camera view. He held it out so that Shane could properly see the headstone.

“Shane, mama. Mama, Shane.” Ilya felt a little silly but something in him was desperate for this. It was like he was possessed with the need for them to meet, even in such a laughable instance.

To his surprise, he heard Shane talking. Not to him, but out loud.

“Hi Mrs. Rozanov. It’s nice to meet you. Ilya told me all about you. He loves you very much. I’m sorry you aren’t here to see it, but he turned out really good. The best, actually. And you don’t have to worry because I’m watching him for you.” Shane grew shy and tapered off.

Ilya was silently crying behind the phone. He sniffed, wiped his tears away and switched the point of view again.

“Thank you for letting me meet her,” Shane said, giving him a soft smile.

Ilya wanted to tell him. He wanted to scream it. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not while Shane was through a screen.

So he said the next most honest thing.

“I cannot wait to come back home.”

Chapter 26: To the end

Chapter Notes

Sorrysorrysorry I've been heavy on the angst lately. It will be worth!!!

Also we hit over 1k kudos and that's insane??? I started this story as a way to get back into writing again after years of not doing it and knowing that over 1k people have read & liked this story means...everything. I cried. Thanks for being here <3

Ilya had gone with his father to his doctor’s visit a few days earlier. His father was confused and combative. He swung at Ilya and the doctor, cursing at them as if they had attempted to kill him. Eventually they had him calm, eating shchi in a seat in the waiting room, while Ilya was pulled into the room to speak with the doctor.

“Mr. Rozanov, your father’s condition is deteriorating at a rapid rate. We recommend getting his affairs in order as soon as possible. At his current rate of degeneration, he will have less than a year.”

Ilya had nodded, gotten his father home safely, called a lawyer and handled his affairs all within the next six hours. He moved without thought or emotion. He didn’t eat, or pause, or answer the three calls Shane made to his phone. By the time everything was done, he locked himself in his room and gave in to sleep. The nightmares consumed him, until his entire body was soaked in sweat and he was pressed into the mattress as he recoiled against the images.

He sat up, panting, his body aching from the tension. His phone lit up next to him. The fourth call of the day. He sighed and answered.

“Shane.”

“What happened?” Shane’s voice was soothing. He wasn’t angry about the missed calls, wasn’t panicked, wasn’t frustrated. He was simply there, ready for Ilya to confide in him on his own time. Ilya’s heart broke at the unfairness of it all.

“He only has a year left. I met with lawyers. Very busy day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is complicated,” he admitted, shrouded in the darkness, braver now outside of the nightmares and following Shane’s soft voice. “I only have one year left. Is good and bad. Only one more year my father will be here. Only one more year I have to endure him. Only one more year to… connect? Only one more year to keep running. I cannot explain.” Ilya was frustrated. English was hard when he was run ragged and stressed.

“You only have a year left with your dad but you also have to deal with your dad for a year,” Shane repeated back.

“Da. Yes.”

“It’s okay to feel both,” Shane offered gently.

Ilya felt the hot tears fall then. He sniffled, swiping a hand across his face.

“Ilya?” Shane asked softly.

“Yes?”

“Who taught you the word endure?”

Ilya laughed, too loudly for how quiet it was. “I watched soap opera with Yuna. I learned endure and infidelity.”

Shane laughed, bright and bubbly. Ilya wanted to bury himself in the sound.

“What did you do today?” Ilya asked, relaxing back into the mattress. He propped his phone against a pillow and burrowed under the blankets.

Shane smiled, knowing he would be Ilya’s soft lullaby into sleep. He rattled off his daily activities in great depth, something Ilya thought he secretly enjoyed about this arrangement. Ilya remembered hearing about macros and smoothies before drifting off.

***

Ilya slept the entire flight back, his body utterly exhausted. He could normally only manage an extended nap at best on these flights, his long legs cramped against the seat in front of him, but the weight of the past two weeks had dragged him down into unconsciousness. When he finally fluttered his eyes open again, it was because of a kind and gentle stewardess. She had her hand on his bicep, shaking him ever so slightly. He squinted at her and made a strangled sound that he meant as a question.

“Sir, we are de-planing now,” she said softly. She was older, somehow maternal, and Ilya watched the laugh lines on her face deepen as she gave him a smile.

He looked around them, bleary eyed and sore from his awkward sleeping position, and saw only a few elderly people left, waiting for a steward to grab their luggage from the overhead compartments. He nodded and whispered thanks to the woman, grabbing the bag at his feet and hurrying off of the plane.

Ilya had told Shane when he would be arriving, but had declined his offer to give him a ride back to the dorms. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see him - he had missed him so much that it felt like he was missing a limb - but Ilya was bringing something back with him that he was ashamed of and he needed the uber ride to process it. He knew Shane would find out, whether it was immediately or after a few days. Ilya couldn’t hide it - the darkness that he was smuggling inside of him. It had gotten bad again. Ilya knew this, knew it like a familiar song on the radio. The cold tendrils that started at the ends of his fingers and toes and slowly crept their way inward. Eventually it would consume him. And he would let it. What else could he do? The worst part this time was that Shane would want to help and Ilya wasn’t sure he could. He didn’t know what would be worse: losing himself to this thing he could not control or the look of devastation on Shane’s face when he realized he couldn’t heal it.

Ilya sighed, grabbing his luggage from the conveyor belt and opening his phone to order an uber.

“Ride for Mr. Rozanov,” a poorly disguised voice rang from behind him.

Ilya spun around to find Shane shyly smiling at him. “I know you told me not to come, but I couldn’t wait,” he blushed as he said it.

Ilya swallowed down the annoyance. He didn’t want Shane here. He had told him not to come. He was tired. The flight had been long and even though he had slept, he didn’t feel rested. He wanted more time alone - maybe to wallow, maybe to catch his breath. But Shane was there, standing innocently with his hands at his sides, blushing at someone he had clearly missed, and the anger dissipated quickly.

He stepped forward and let his bags drop to the floor as he hugged him. He didn’t linger. He knew this space was too public to give Shane anything other than a casual hug between friends. Shane nodded in a silent agreement and grabbed one of Ilya’s bags, leading him to the parking garage. Once the car was loaded and they were ten minutes into their ride, Shane squeezed Ilya’s thigh once and let go.

“I’m so excited you’re back,” he sighed.

“Me too,” Ilya responded. He meant it. Even with hell itself clawing up his throat.

***

Ilya beelined for the shower as soon as they got back, claiming that he needed the airport stench off of him. He knew Shane wouldn’t argue that, and it gave him time to let the hot water scald his skin and detract from the pain settling in his chest. When he got out, he declined Shane’s offer of food and said that he was tired - which was true - and turned in early for the night. Shane usually went to sleep early, but 8pm was too early even for him, so he stayed in the living room until he was ready for bed. Ilya felt the mattress sink next to him at some point during his nightmare addled sleep. The familiar warmth that pressed against him pulled him up just enough from his dreams that he could catch his breath, before falling back into the torment again.

He didn’t get up the next day. It felt like his blood had been replaced with lead during the night. Shane tried, unsuccessfully, to wake him up for three classes before he gave up. At 5pm, he cracked the door open and the light seeped into the dark room, burning Ilya’s eyes. He groaned, twisting away from it.

“Ilya,” Shane said it so quietly, like he was afraid Ilya would break at the sound.

Ilya didn’t want to look at him, couldn’t stand to see his face and the pain it held, but he twisted in the sheets and faced him anyway. Shane looked broken, as Ilya had expected - glassy eyes, tight lips, furrowed brows. Ilya knew he couldn’t look much better, curls unfurled, shirt askew, eyes sunken. He felt a pang of guilt as he looked over Shane’s face, but then it was gone, and the heaviness returned, so that all he could feel was the constant strain of catching his breath. His body couldn’t process Shane’s worry when it was fighting to stay alive.

Shane must have realized he wasn’t going to respond. He placed a soft hand to Ilya’s cheek and held it there, his thumb caressing the bone beneath his skin. The touch hurt, felt like fire on Ilya’s overwhelmed body. He tugged himself away from it, burrowing back under the covers. He tried not to imagine the flinch that probably crossed Shane’s face, or the pain that sat there now, but his mind presented it to him over and over again.

All you do is hurt him.

You’re worthless.

So weak. Pathetic, look at you.

The voices were a cacophony in his head, overwhelming his senses, forcing him to draw his body in and against itself. He curled into a ball, his muscles aching.

Shane left him alone the rest of the night, then dutifully returned to bed to sleep, his body pressed tightly against Ilya’s. Ilya shoved his face into the pillow, staunching his tears.

***

By day three, Shane had switched tactics. He had left Ilya alone to give him space, but when Ilya still hadn’t emerged from bed, hadn’t tried to eat, hadn’t even showered, Shane became more forceful. Ilya wasn’t used to this version of Shane. Shane was always so eager to obey and the only time he showed his commanding side was when he was barking plays during hockey. Even then, he was open to opinions. This Shane, though, was unrelenting, albeit in a gentle way.

It started in the morning. He had thrown open the curtains at 9am, nearly blinding Ilya after so many days in the dark. Ilya pulled the blankets over his head, cursing in Russian, but Shane yanked them down. He sat on the bed beside Ilya with a bowl in his hands and Ilya squinted at him, annoyance evident in his features. Shane smiled at him, brushing off Ilya’s grumpiness, and then shoved a spoon into his mouth. Ilya spluttered, sitting up in shock.

“What the fuck, Hollander?” he shouted, swallowing down what tasted like yogurt.

“You don’t even have to chew it. Just swallow,” Shane said, his voice cheery. Ilya glared at him, but then another spoonful was in his mouth.

He coughed, trying to swat Shane away. “Stop that!”

“Mm,” Shane scrunched his face up as if thinking, then shoved the spoon in again, “no.”

Ilya was so mad that he couldn’t even move. He angrily swallowed down the yogurt and then opened his mouth to yell at Shane, only for more yogurt to be forced into his mouth.

“Hollander!” He yelled around the mouthful.

Shane smiled warmly at him, all patience and kindness. Ilya wanted to cry. Shane placed the half eaten bowl on the bedside table and grabbed a glass of water that had sat there, untouched. He shoved it into Ilya’s hands.

“Drink,” he said simply.

Ilya stared at him.

“Drink it or I’ll pour it on you,” Shane said with a shrug.

Ilya was floored. Who was this man that had replaced Shane? He gulped the water down, knowing by now that this Shane meant it, and he didn’t want a wet bed.

Shane took the empty glass, then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Ilya’s forehead. “Good job,” he said so earnestly it made Ilya want to crumple up.

Shane let Ilya wallow again for two hours before he returned to the room.

“Do not come near me with a spoon, Hollander,” Ilya warned.

“I don’t have a spoon, Ilya,” he assured him, but there was something mischievous in his words.

“Or a fork!” Ilya added quickly.

“No fork,” Shane shook his head and then, honest to God, Ilya watched him pretend to trip. It was slow and exaggerated and ridiculous. As he went down, Ilya noticed that his hands had not been empty, and before he could react at all, he was covered in… pudding?

“What the fuck!” The gelatinous goop was sliding down his skin, leaving a sticky residue, and its bowl tumbled to the ground.

“Ah, fuck, sorry. I guess you should shower and clean up. I’ll handle the sheets,” Shane said with a smile.

Ilya was going to kill him. But first, he was going to shower. The cold, slick feeling of the pudding was making his skin crawl.

It had felt good, the hot water raining down on his skin, the dense steam clouding his senses. He rinsed off three days’ worth of sweat and exhaustion. When he finally emerged into the bedroom, he noticed that, true to his word, Shane had changed the sheets while Ilya showered. Despite the temptation of clean sheets, he decided to venture into the living room instead. Shane heard him enter and turned to look at him from the couch.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes assessing him.

“Hi,” Ilya replied, sinking down next to him on the couch.

There was a hockey game on the tv and chicken alfredo on the coffee table.

“You do not eat this,” Ilya observed.

“It’s not for me,” Shane shrugged.

Ilya sighed, but took the plate into his lap and slowly picked at it, his eyes watching the puck on tv. Shane didn’t move any closer, leaving a generous two inches between them, which Ilya was silently grateful for. They didn’t speak, not even to analyze the game, and by the time it ended Ilya had finished his plate.

“I am sorry,” he whispered to the floor.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Shane said simply, as if it were true.

Ilya leaned his head against Shane’s shoulder and Shane finally wrapped his arms around him, running his fingers through his hair over and over. Ilya pushed into the touch, the feeling soothing to his scalp. He inhaled Shane’s familiar scent and then his body was wracked with sobs. His shoulders shuddered, a horrible sound escaping him as he cried. Shane held him tighter, his fingers still working through his hair, not once hesitating. Ilya cried until he had no tears left, until all he was reduced to was a heaving chest and cracked lips. His eyes burned and he felt feverish, like his body was rejecting itself. He extracted himself from Shane and looked at him, the effort of it weighing him down.

“I am tired,” he admitted.

Shane nodded, his face showing nothing but softness. There was no fear, no judgment - not even worry. His face remained open and sweet and somehow even fond.

“We can go to bed, but you have to drink a glass of water first. You’ll wake up with a headache otherwise,” he said it like it was just a fact, like he had recited science to him or something.

Ilya relented, too worn out to argue. He chugged a full glass of water, and even a second as Shane pressed it into his hands, before he fell back into the sheets. Shane held him tightly and Ilya gave into sleep.

Chapter 27: 'Cause you're brave, so I'm brave, or I'm trying anyway

Chapter Notes

I'm so sorry for the delay! I was so busy this week I had no time to write. I think we only have three more chapters left now. I'm going to miss this AU so much T-T; Also, italicized dialogue between Svetlana and Ilya is in Russian.

Thank you so much for all your support on this! I have a new fic I'm also working on, in addition to Drowning Lessons, with a plot I absolutely love. But I'm finding it hard to write so I'm really hoping I can get it to you before this one ends. Anyways, love u <3

Ilya was sitting at the kitchen table when Shane woke up. He had spent the morning making phone calls and was on his second cup of coffee. Shane slowly lowered himself into the chair in front of Ilya, his eyes still squinting against the light.

“You’re up early,” Shane said.

“Yes,” Ilya sipped his coffee.

“Have you eaten?”

“No, was waiting for you. Pancakes?” He offered.

Shane, who notoriously did not eat pancakes, nodded. Ilya smiled and got up to start making the pancakes.

“I found a therapist,” he said to the pan.

He could feel Shane shift behind him. “You did?”

“Yes, this morning. Her name is Galina. She speaks Russian,” Ilya said casually, even though his heart was beating out of its chest. Would Shane still want to do this when he knew how broken Ilya was? When he knew Ilya needed help, real help, and maybe even medication? Was this finally too scary?

“I’m proud of you,” Shane said, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Ilya sank back into the feeling. Shane kissed his neck and shoulder.

“You are not scared?” Ilya ventured, holding his breath, his knuckles white against the spatula.

“Only of losing you,” Shane admitted.

Ilya’s heart broke and healed all at once. He knew he had to tell Shane soon. He couldn’t keep existing like this.

“I would like to go back to the cottage. Just us,” Ilya said, flipping the pancakes.

“Yeah? That would be nice. Maybe this weekend?” Shane said, excitement lacing his words.

“This weekend is good, yes,” Ilya nodded, kissing him and then returning to the pancakes.

“We owe my parents a dinner, too. Maybe the weekend after?” Shane reminded him. Ilya’s chest felt lighter. He had two things to look forward to.

“Yes,” he nodded again, giving Shane a lopsided smile. Shane returned it in kind.

***

Ilya was washing up from breakfast, because Shane would not rest unless the sink was clear, when there was a loud knock at the door. Shane skidded into the room, eyes wide, hands up in surrender. Ilya slowly put the soapy pan back into the sink and turned to Shane, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Why do you look like that?” Ilya asked suspiciously, another loud rap at the door startling him.

“I may have done something you’re going to be mad about,” Shane started, approaching Ilya like he was a rabid animal. Slowly, Shane closed the gap between them, placing his hands on Ilya’s arms. His breathing was heavy.

“Shane, who is at the door?”

“It had been days, Ilya! I was scared. I didn’t know what else to do,” he rambled, his voice higher than normal.

“Ilyusha, if you don’t open this door right now I will break it down,” a voice that could instill fear in a soldier sounded through the wood. Shane couldn’t understand the threat in Russian, but Ilya heard it loud and clear.

“You called Svetlana?!” He hissed, then even lower, “you hate her! She makes you jealous.”

Shane’s cheeks flushed and his eyes found the floor. “She’s your closest friend from home. And I don’t,” he began to whisper, “I don’t hate her. I just don’t love that you were fucking her. In our dorm. Or ever,” he finished bitterly.

Ilya laughed, loud and happy. He kissed Shane hard on the mouth and threw the door open, scooping Svetlana up into a hug.

“Sveta!”

She squirmed out of his hug, stepping back and grabbing him by the shoulders to assess him.

“You’re alive,” she observed, still in Russian, grabbing his face in her hand and squeezing. “What happened? He made it sound like you were dead. I think he may have been crying. I rushed here. I have two speeding tickets, Ilya. Tell me what happened.”

“I was sad,” Ilya said, unable to find the words. He looked into Svetlana’s eyes, desperately trying to communicate the weight of his words. And she knew, of course she knew.

“And now?”

“I’m getting there. A little better each day. He force fed me,” Ilya scrunched his face up in recollection.

“He seems to care very much about your wellbeing. He called me in the dead of the night,” she said suspiciously.

Ilya looked at Shane, who watched them talk with wide eyes, unable to understand a single word they shared. He turned back to Svetlana. “I love him. I’m going to tell him soon. No one can know about this,” he added the last part with narrowed eyes.

“I think he loves you, too,” she replied, her face soft now. “I won’t tell anyone, you know this. Now introduce me.”

Ilya smiled brightly, the feeling of warmth returning to him for the first time since he landed, and turned to Shane.

“Shane,” he started, his grin taking over his face.

Shane, however, was staring directly at Svetlana, eyes fixated. “She knows,” he said plainly. It wasn’t angry or sad, just factual.

Ilya and Svetlana faltered, then Ilya cleared his throat. “Yes. She will not tell,” he assured Shane.

“I’m glad you have someone that knows,” Shane replied, still staring at Svetlana, a mixed emotion on his face.

“Me too,” Ilya said with sincerity.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shane,” Svetlana said, reaching out her hand.

Shane shook it slowly, still assessing her. Ilya hesitated, eyes darting between the two.

“Thank you for coming. I’m sorry for scaring you, I was… I was scared, too. He’s doing better now but I’m still glad you’re here,” he said softly, still shaking her hand. Then he dropped his hands to his side and added, “Please stay out of our room.”

Ilya and Svetlana laughed, nearly in tears. Shane’s face stayed serious. Ilya walked over to him and hugged him, nuzzling his face into Shane’s neck. He wanted to say it so badly, but he just inhaled Shane’s scent instead. Shane reached around his waist and held him there - the easiest PDA he had ever gotten out of him. He wondered if it was because he trusted Svetlana with their secret or if it was because he was marking his territory.

***

It scared Ilya how easily it all fell into place after that. Shane was hesitant with Svetlana at first, but after a day, they were getting along in a way Ilya had never expected. Svetlana knew a lot about hockey and all Shane ever really wanted to talk about was hockey, so Ilya wedged himself between the two as they passionately dissected every team in the NHL. He felt light and hopeful and the darkness that had ensnared him just two days ago had retreated. He had a therapy session booked for the next day and he couldn’t wait to tell Galina the good that had happened, especially after having to tell her the bad. And in a few days, he’d finally get to tell Shane what he’d been holding in.

He was nervous, but there was no way Shane didn’t know by now. It was a thing that existed that they simply didn’t say out loud. Ilya was convinced. There was no way he couldn’t know how much Ilya cared for him. It was blatant: it was in the way his face softened for him, in the way he held him at night, in the way he texted with Yuna and David, in the way he made space in the empty parts of him so that Shane could nestle in. It was everywhere. It was so loud he had no idea how they ever hid it from the outside world.

He knew that wouldn’t change. He knew that they couldn’t publicly be together, especially not before being drafted. He knew there would be the possibility that they’d be drafted to teams countries apart. But he’d make it work. He’d take any part of Shane, of his life, that he could get. He’d take red eyes, he’d move schedules around, he’d lose sleep. He’d make it work. He had no other choice. He just couldn’t exist in a world where Shane wasn’t his.

Chapter 28: I know your heart like my only friend

Chapter Notes

We're only two more chapters away from the end and I WILL CRY

The cottage was the last place Ilya had felt truly happy before things fell apart and being back there left him winded. It felt impossible, to be here alone with Shane, to have a stretch of time where they could exist however they wanted. The last time they were here, the only witness to their touches was the dark of night, the crumpled bedsheets and the trees that shielded them. Now, though, Ilya held Shane’s hand as they walked up to the steps and opened the door to the cottage. It smelled like carpet and wood and the lake and everything he had ever wanted all wrapped in one. He flopped onto the couch, pulling Shane on top of him, and kissed him deeply. Shane giggled into the kiss, but held on tightly and kissed back with eagerness. They didn’t have to hide. Ilya didn’t need to hide.

They spent the day playing house - making and eating meals, having sex in places Shane’s parents would not approve of, playing video games, napping in sun spots. Ilya felt like he might burst.

They ended up at the fire pit. Ilya still thought it was silly as a concept, but he loved it. The air around them was cool and Shane sat in Ilya’s lap in one of the chairs as the fire heated their faces. Ilya’s arms were wrapped tightly around Shane, who poked at the fire with a stick to keep the flames high and warm. Ilya kissed his cheek.

“I’m so glad we came here. It’s been nice - being here with you,” Shane hummed, leaning his head on Ilya’s.

“Shane,” Ilya started, pulling away to look at him.

Shane looked nervous and his body tensed like he was waiting for bad news.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” he whispered, kissing him softly, then kissing across his jawline.

“I don’t know what that means, Ilya,” Shane said, laughing as Ilya kissed across his face.

“It means,” Ilya said, pulling away and looking at Shane. He cupped his cheek in his hand, running the thumb over his soft skin. “I love you.”

Shane’s mouth fell open. Ilya watched the shadow from the flames dance in his eyes, which were wide and wet.

For a moment, Ilya thought he might have made a mistake. Shane looked pained. He couldn’t have misread the situation. They were alone at the cottage. They were acting like a couple. Could this have really been a surprise to Shane? And was it a bad one?

“Fuck,” Shane breathed.

Ilya blinked at him, his hand now sliding away from his cheek.

“I–” Ilya began, trying to think of how to fix this, how to pull it back.

“I love you, too,” Shane gushed, “holy shit.”

He was breathless, and then laughing. He crashed his lips onto Ilya’s and Ilya finally released the tension from his body. Shane was going to kill him.

They kissed for a long time, until the fire had died down and only the embers lit them in the night. When they pulled away, Ilya’s lips were swollen and stinging. They pressed their foreheads together, both smiling.

“I love you so much,” Shane whispered.

“I love you so much, too,” Ilya said, gripping onto Shane’s waist tightly.

“Does that mean…?” Shane looked down shyly.

“What?” Ilya asked, confused.

“That we’re, you know, together?” Shane offered, sounding embarrassed.

“You want to be my boyfriend, Hollander?” Ilya teased.

“Shut up. Maybe,” Shane bit his lip.

“Okay,” Ilya took a breath, “Will you be my boyfriend, Shane?” He felt silly. Like they were too old to be doing this. But he felt young. He felt like he was living for the first time. He wanted to have this.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will,” Shane laughed and kissed him again.

***

They decided to go to Yuna and David’s the next day, instead of waiting for next weekend. Shane was buzzing, constantly smiling and fidgeting.

“Do we have enough gas?” He asked anxiously.

“Yes, Shane,” Ilya replied patiently. Shane had asked if they had packed everything, if they had locked the door, if they had put the fire out entirely, and a million other things.

“It will be okay. They already know about us. It is just a title now,” Ilya reassured him, running his thumb across Shane’s thigh as Shane drove.

“I know, I know. Sorry,” he said, gnawing at his lip.

“No need to be sorry. It is just okay to be excited, instead of nervous, yes?” Ilya offered.

“Yeah, you’re right. This is good. An upgrade from lovers,” Shane smirked, squeezing Ilya’s thigh.

“Was appropriate word at the time,” Ilya huffed.

Yuna had the door thrown open before they were even at the steps. She bounded towards Ilya, wrapping him in her arms and softly petting at his hair. David walked out, giving Shane a warm smile and pulling him into a hug.

“Are you okay?” She asked Ilya, her eyes full of concern. Ilya’s heart ached.

“Yes, mostly. Shane has helped. Was a rough trip,” he admitted.

Yuna nodded, her thumb gently rubbing his cheek. “We’re so glad you’re here,” she said softly.

“I guess I’ve been replaced as the favorite,” Shane grumbled from beside them. Everyone laughed as Yuna turned to pull him into a hug.

“Okay, everyone inside before my chicken burns!” David said, giving Ilya a squeeze before ushering them in.

***

They were all seated at the table, Ilya happily digging into his chicken parmesan already, when Shane stiffened beside him. He glanced at him, cheeks full, and raised an eyebrow.

Shane took a breath and gave a small nod.

“Mom, dad, I — we have something to tell you,” he said in such a serious tone that Ilya wanted to bite his cheek.

Ilya swallowed and straightened in his seat, wiping his mouth and nodding.

Yuna looked concerned. David was unperturbed, as he always was.

“What is it, sweetie?” Yuna asked, her hand fidgeting with her napkin.

“Ilya and I are together,” Shane said, chest puffed out. “Boyfriends. He’s my boyfriend,” he clarified, in case “together” wasn’t enough.

Yuna and David looked at him in confusion. The chicken in Ilya’s stomach felt like a rock settled at the bottom of a lake, heavy and dark and unmoving. They had been so excited to see him, so welcoming and kind, but now that he was more permanent, they seemed to falter. Ilya couldn’t help but let the voices creep back in, the ones that told him this had been obvious all along. He was likeable - palatable in small doses, good for parties and social settings - but loving him was harder. Maybe even too hard. He had just barely accepted that Shane loved him, so the shock of Yuna and David being hesitant wasn’t shocking, just hurtful. It reminded him of his father, who didn’t even love him out of familial obligation. He was useful, like a show dog, strutted around events to provide easy conversation and tales of trophies, money, cars. He looked down at his hands in his lap, twisting them until they were red and raw.

They didn’t think he deserved Shane and, truthfully, neither did he. The last two days had been testament to that. He was hard to love at best, but at his worst? It was an Olympic event, he was sure. He felt guilty, suddenly, for telling Shane he loved him. He had trapped him. He had burdened him with his sadness and then locked him in. Had Shane told him he loved him out of pity? Would he leave once they got back to the dorms? Ilya should have never even considered having him.

“Yes, sweetie, we know,” Yuna said slowly, as if they were concussed.

What?

Ilya and Shane exchanged confused and panicked looks. How could they know? They only just found out themselves.

Yuna sensed their confusion and added, “you told us over the summer, remember?”

“No,” Shane rapidly shook his head, “we weren’t together then. Not really.”

David and Yuna looked at each other and then at them. Their faces looked wholly unconvinced.

“Right. Sorry. We must have been confused,” David said, a knowing smile on his lips. “Well, thank you for telling us. This is fantastic news. Should I break out the good vodka to celebrate?” He asked, winking at Ilya.

Ilya released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Holy shit. His mind was racing.

Yuna came up behind them and squeezed them, one boy in each arm. “Happy looks good on you both,” she said, her smile reaching her eyes.

Shane smiled back sheepishly and Ilya held back his tears. They were happy for them.

And then it dawned on him: they thought they had been dating this whole time. He laughed, startling Shane. Shane looked at him, surprised, then also started laughing. They were wiping tears from their eyes by the time David had poured them all drinks, their stomachs aching from laughter.

David and Ilya started a puzzle as everyone chatted in the living room. They had dessert, made plans for dinner again next weekend and then finally everyone was hugging goodbye.

“It’s so good to have you back, Ilya,” Yuna said, her hand on his cheek.

“Good to be back,” he replied so genuinely he feared he’d cry into her hand.

“See you two next weekend,” David said, clapping him on the back as Yuna hugged and rocked Shane.

“Love you,” Shane said as he waved, heading towards the car.

“Love you both,” Yuna replied, waving back.

When they finally crawled into bed that night, bodies heavy with exhaustion and joy, Ilya pulled Shane into him and whispered into his hair, “I love them. And I love you.”

“They love you, too. And so do I,” he replied, and Ilya could hear the smile in his voice.

Ilya let the tears fall quietly into Shane’s hair as he held him. They weren’t the sad tears he had been fighting against for weeks, but the fat, happy tears he remembered shedding when he was five and his mom lifted him into a hug after his first ever goal.

For the first time in a long time, Ilya had made a home.

Chapter 29: Look how far we've come, think I've finally won

Chapter Notes

WE ARE ONE CHAPTER AWAY FROM THE END I AM CRYING. Next chapter will be very short tbh, but I just need one more to wrap things up. Thank you SO much for being here, especially if you got this far. This was my first HR fic and my first fic generally in years, so it's my whole heart and soul.

I started a new fic to distract myself from my own heartbreak of being at the end of this one, if you'd like to check it out. It's an AU about Shane and Ilya being drafted to the Centaurs as rookies: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82079481

It was cold and raining the day that Ilya got the call. He was on his way to class, laughing at something Marleau had said, backpack slung around his shoulder, when his phone vibrated. His brother hadn’t called him since his last visit. He knew what this call meant. He made a quick excuse to Marleau and headed back to the dorm. Shane was sitting on the couch, textbooks strewn across the coffee table, studying in between classes. He looked up at Ilya, startled.

“Don’t you have class–” Ilya’s face must have betrayed him. Shane’s eyebrows knitted together in worry.

“I have to take a call,” Ilya said, dropping his bag and heading to his room.

He sat at the edge of the bed and dialed the number back.

“Ilya,” Andrei answered, his voice even and cold.

“You called,” Ilya replied. It wasn’t a question.

“Papa is dead,” Andrei said simply, as if he was giving Ilya the weather. “When are you coming?”

Shane had quietly slipped into the room and sat beside Ilya. He rubbed idle circles into his lower back. Ilya leaned into it and took a breath.

“I can probably get on an early flight tomorrow. I will text you my arrival time,” Ilya replied, his eyes unfocused.

“Okay,” Andrei replied and hung up.

Ilya felt hollow. Shane could hum into his mouth and the sound would bounce off the walls of his insides. The numbness blanketed him, until his entire body was stiff, bracing against everything threatening to crush him.

“I’m sorry,” Shane offered.

“This will be the last time,” Ilya said to the floor. He turned to Shane, who still drew circles into his shirt, wide eyed and attentive. “I am not going back after this. I will say goodbye to mama.”

“You’re sure?” Shane offered - a chance for Ilya to climb off of the ledge.

“I am sure,” Ilya nodded slowly. Ilya had only been certain of two things in his life: he loved Shane and he would never return to Russia. Everything else shifted with his mood. Everything else couldn’t drum up commitment from him. But he was sure now, just as sure as he was of Shane beside him, that he would be saying goodbye to his home country tomorrow.

***

Svetlana drove that night to meet him so they could board the plane together. Ilya’s heart eased when Shane hugged her warmly and thanked her for going with him. Ilya loved Svetlana so much - she was the only family he had left, really - and seeing Shane embrace her made something in him thaw. The flight there was uneventful. Ilya held Svetlana’s soft, small hand in his the entire time, his thumb idly rubbing up and down it to soothe himself, more than to soothe her. She watched a movie on the small screen in front of her, while Ilya ran through a mental checklist of what he had to do when they landed: funeral arrangements, the house, visiting his mother, and getting back to Shane as soon as possible.

Andrei was as expected: cold and frustrated. He hadn’t started arrangements yet, expecting Ilya to take care of it when he arrived. And so he did: he handled the funeral arrangements, the announcements, the phone calls, the lawyers, the financials. As he picked his father’s coffin, distant memories tugged at him: his mother laying serenely in dark cherry wood, hands clasped as if waiting for permission. He pushed the thoughts aside, signing documents and moving to the next task. By the time the funeral itself had arrived two days later, Ilya had packed up everything in the house that his brother did not want or need. He gave the house to him without question - he wanted nothing from this family except to escape it. He had donated what he could, tossed what he couldn’t, and kept only one thing: a faded and frayed photo of him with his mother from when he was five. He wrapped it in a hoodie and buried it deep in his suitcase.

The morning of the funeral, dressed in a fitted black suit he used for all formal occasions, he made his way into the familiar cemetery, ignoring the mud that was slowly beginning to cling to his dress shoes. He continued until he was at his mother’s headstone, this time laying a bouquet of white lilies on the soft bed of grass surrounding it. He had chosen to have his father buried in a cemetery across town. He didn’t deserve to rest beside the woman he had tormented. Ilya couldn’t give her peace while she was alive, but he could make sure she had it in death. In fact, he felt that it was the only thing he ever did give his mother - too young to understand how much she needed, too young to give it to her even if he had understood. This was all he had now. He brushed his fingers against the cool stone and sighed.

“I’m not coming back, mama. Papa is dead now and there is nothing for me here,” he explained gently, the guilt tightening in his chest. “I told him I loved him. The boy you met, Shane. He loves me back, mama,” Ilya wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his suit sleeve.

“I wish I could take you with me. It’s unfair, only being able to keep one of you. But I have you here,” he said, touching the cross that hung under his dress shirt. “And here,” he touched his chest, above his heart.

“I hope you understand. I think you would. I want to be happy now. I haven’t been happy in a long time. I didn’t think I ever would be again. But now, I think I can finally live,” he tilted his head to the sky and sighed. “I love you, mama. I hope I make you proud. I won’t ever stop trying. Everything I do is for you, for your memory. And I hope you watch over us. I hope you see our happy moments. I hope it makes you understand - makes you forgive me for leaving.”

Ilya took a shaky breath and shoved his hands into his pocket. He rocked on his heels, trying to calm himself to avoid the tears threatening to fall.

“I love you, mama,” he said, taking one last look at the grave. He turned and headed towards the large gates, exiting them for the last time.

***

The funeral passed in a blur. Ilya remembered bits and pieces: his father’s old colleagues bowing their heads mournfully, Svetlana’s arm against his at all times, the feeling of pushing food into his mouth but never tasting it. He wrapped up his affairs, had a few facetime calls with Shane, and before he knew it, he was boarding a plane from Russia for the last time.

He hadn’t told his brother, not in so many words, that he wouldn’t come back. But he had given him everything: the house, what little money was left, the legacy. He had even hugged him goodbye, something they rarely if ever did. Ilya thought that Andrei might know, in the end, that he wouldn’t be returning.

Svetlana slept slumped against him on the plane and he fiddled with his phone, flipping aimlessly through social media. He missed the cramped dorm beds and the way they smelled like Shane. He missed Shane: the heat of him when they slept, the smattering of freckles that hid beneath a blush whenever Ilya teased him, the slope of his soft, pink lips. His body was buzzing with anticipation to get back to him.

***

Svetlana hugged him when they landed, fierce and warm, and held it. He kept his arms wrapped around her small frame, inhaling the scent of her hair, exhaling into the nape of her neck.

“Thank you,” he said.

She tsked. “Nothing to thank me for. I will see you in a week. Shane invited me for dinner,” she said smugly.

Ilya couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

“Love you. Have a safe trip back,” Ilya said, his head tilting towards the uber idling as it waited for her.

“Love you. I will,” she replied, kissing his cheek and walking away, dragging her suitcase behind her with ease.

“Ride for Mr. Rozanov,” Shane’s voice said behind him, the smile evident in his voice.

Ilya whirled around, already grinning. It felt so different from last time. He felt lighter.

“If I hug you, I will kiss you. If I kiss you, I will not stop. We must go,” Ilya whispered to him, his eyes dark with lust and love and everything he was failing to contain these days.

Shane’s eyes widened and a blush spread across his cheeks. He nodded quickly, grabbing Ilya’s bag and leading him to the car.

***

His lips were on Shane as soon as the door closed behind them. They kissed messily, greedily, hands ruffling hair and clothing. When they broke apart, they were panting.

“I need to shower,” Ilya said, his hands still firmly planted on Shane’s waist.

He watched Shane assess him, his eyes scanning his face. He knew what he was looking for: the darkness Ilya had brought back with him last time. Guilt pulled gently at Ilya’s chest, but he refused to give into it.

“I am okay,” Ilya said - and for once, he meant it. “But to be safe – maybe you should shower with me,” his smile was slow and predatory.

Shane’s responding smile cracked into his chest and let the warmth seep in.

They showered, but it wasn’t the lustful showers they had taken before. They washed each other, slowly exploring slick skin with equally slick hands. They took their time, sighing into the warm water and into gentle kisses. They kneaded each other’s muscles, held each other under the spray, relaxed against one another like falling into bed after a long day.

They both pulled on sweatpants, but didn’t bother with shirts. They climbed into bed, onto their sides, and Ilya wrapped himself around Shane like he might break apart if he didn’t have constant contact. He inhaled the scent of his shampoo, his clean skin, the deeper scent of him that ran beneath it all.

“I missed you,” Shane said against Ilya’s arm, tucked under his head.

“I missed you. So much,” Ilya hummed into his neck.

Ilya used his free hand to trace down Shane’s side, over and over, creating a worn path that he would return to for the rest of his life, he was sure of it. Finally, he tugged at his waist band - a question silently forming between them.

“Please,” Shane whispered.

Ilya tugged both of their pants off and then resumed his position, spooning Shane with their exposed skin flush against one another. He reached back to grab the lube off of the bedside table, one of his arms still tucked warmly beneath Shane.

He worked him open slowly, gently. They had time. They had nothing but time now. Shane sighed into the air, his body pushing back against Ilya’s fingers. He felt warm and soft beneath Ilya. He felt like a warm summer day, or a biscuit fresh out of the oven, or the hug of someone you loved your whole life but hadn’t seen in a while. He peppered kisses along Shane’s shoulders, neck, cheek. Shane leaned his head back and connected their lips, kissing Ilya slow and deep, as Ilya moved his fingers in and out of him. When he brushed across his prostate, Shane gasped into his mouth and he swallowed around the sound.

Eventually, Ilya added lube to himself and lined up at Shane’s entrance. They didn’t bother with condoms anymore, both preferring to feel the uninterrupted heat and silk of their bodies. Ilya pushed in slowly, hips calm and controlled. Shane moaned beneath him. Ilya held his breath until he had made his way fully in, exhaling as Shane pressed back against him and they were flush together. The hand that was beneath Shane’s face guided him towards Ilya so that he could kiss him. They swirled their tongues together, a slow mess of spit and heat. Ilya moved in slow thrusts, his other hand firm against Shane’s hip. They moaned into each other’s mouths, Shane’s hips pushing back to meet Ilya’s as he thrust forward. It was slow and warm, almost too much but somehow not enough. It took everything in him to remain steady, slow and concentrated. They were both practically whimpering, bodies trembling with control and pleasure.

“I love you,” Ilya said, his eyes low lidded as he looked down at Shane.

“I love you,” Shane said, the words broken on a moan, “so much.”

Ilya kept a steady pace until both of them were panting and sweating from their impending release. His hips picked up speed, grazing Shane’s prostate with each thrust in. They were both moaning now, uncontrolled and loud. Shane came first, untouched and across the sheets with Ilya’s name falling from his lips in a moan. Ilya was close behind, groaning out Shane’s name as he filled him, slowing his hips to a stop once he had milked the last of it.

They pulled apart and Ilya got a warm wash cloth and towel from the bathroom. He threw the towel over the mess next to Shane, then used the wash cloth to gently clean him. He moved slowly and deliberately, knowing Shane was oversensitive now. He threw the cloth at the hamper, then returned to the bed and pulled Shane into his arms.

He kissed into his hair, onto his cheeks and then quickly against his lips.

“Welcome home,” Shane hummed into his chest. Ilya could feel him drifting into sleep.

“Yes. I am happy to be home,” Ilya said, blinking away the threat of tears.

He fell asleep, then, holding home in his arms, knowing he could never leave again.

Chapter 30: Even when I'm not with you, I'm still with you

Chapter Notes

Light pooled beneath the dorm door and even in their state of bliss, Shane paused to turn to Ilya and ask, “did you leave the light on when we left?”

“No. You told me three times to shut it off. I put my shoes on in the dark,” Ilya huffed.

Shane gestured towards the door and Ilya pushed Shane behind him as he went to open it.

“Why are you protecting me? I should protect you!” Shane whispered angrily.

“Yes, next time.” Ilya dismissed him, then threw the door open, body tensed for a fight.

Yuna and David stood in the kitchen holding a sheet cake and smiling from ear to ear. There were balloons floating lazily beside them as they shouted, “congratulations!”

They held the cake up and Ilya read the icing:
‘Congratulations Shane and Ilya’ above an Ottawa Centaurs logo.

“Mom! Dad!” Shane popped out from behind Ilya and ran to his parents to hug them, the cake placed on the kitchen table. Ilya walked over to it and read it again.

Shane and Ilya.

Before he had time to really let it sink in, David and Yuna were hugging him, whispering congratulations into his hair. Ilya didn’t realize he was crying until Shane had come up and gently swiped a tear away with his thumb. Ilya’s smile was so wide that he could barely fit it on his face. Shane smiled back, happy tears glossing his own eyes, and they kissed. A quick, gentle kiss. A quiet celebration - for being drafted together, for making it this far, for having people on their side - however few there may be.

The door swung open and Ilya quickly stood in front of the cake, to block the thing that made him happiest from anyone who may ruin it. Shane and Ilya.

Hayden Pike stumbled in, arms outstretched, smiling so wide he looked like the Cheshire cat.

“Hayden! Congratulations on getting drafted to the Metros! We’ll be so close to each other. We can hang out all the time,” Shane beamed, throwing himself into Hayden’s arms.

“I’m bummed we didn’t get the same team, but I think this worked out really well,” he said, giving Ilya a small smile. He returned it.

***

The next day, Ilya sat at the cottage’s kitchen table with Shane, Yuna, David, Hayden and Svetlana. There were several dishes of steaming food spread across it varying from American to Japanese to Russian. David had learned how to make Ilya’s favorite Russian dishes and still managed to make him chicken parmesan, too. Ilya felt unbelievably warm as he passed a plate of pelmeni to Svetlana. He felt Shane’s foot tap his beneath the table and looked over. Shane was beaming at him, eyes glossy. Ilya leaned down quickly to give him a chaste kiss. He knew, deep down, that keeping his love for Shane would be hard. Even now, he found it difficult to not hold his hand as they walked down the halls, not to kiss him after a particularly good goal, not to purr дорогой (sweetheart) as they grocery shopped. It would only get harder. He knew this and yet, he couldn’t help the deep, unwavering joy in his chest. He had found home. He had found family. He was no longer weathering a storm alone, braced against the cold and the ache. He had warmth and love and so many hands grounding him, now. If the sacrifice was secrecy, he would make it. Ten times over, he would do it. He would take every pain again, make every mistake again, if it led him to Shane.

“I love you,” Ilya whispered over the thrum of chatter at the table.

“I love you,” Shane echoed, his hand finding Ilya’s under the table and squeezing.

And that was enough.

Chapter End Notes

I am SOBBING I can't believe we're finally done. I'm gonna miss writing this ;~; Thank you SO much to everyone who read, commented and left kudos. You got me through a really rough time and I'm so thankful every day that I got to be a part of this community of readers/writers.

I still have two ongoing fics if you're interested! And two completed ones, as well.

Thankyouthankyouthankyou.